Avaiya She'ar
An Answer Too Late
Wed Jan 26, 2005 22:40

The nights in Tar Valon grew ever colder, and the Keeper of Chronicles was still mourning her folly in turning away the hand of love when it had been offered up to her. Duty had called, and Love had beckoned, and she'd so foolishly chosen the former. She'd said no to the one man who could make her heart skip a beat, to the one joy against which saidar so vastly paled. She'd given herself to him completely, once, and the guilt that filled her soul afterwards had been the driving force of her final answer. She'd held her love in time and time again, succumbing only when she thought she might die for the lack of his touch. Held back until the reins snapped and she was forced to yield to emotion. All the while thinking it was for the best. For the good of Aes Sedai. For the good of the Tower. The World.

She was the Keeper, for Lights sake! Her role in the Final Battle was a small step down from that of the Amyrlin; how could she yield when so much rested on her young shoulders? She could not, so who was she to lead him on? Who was she to let him have her only when she couldn't resist any longer? Who was she to hurt him so…

If you love someone, she'd been told time and time again, you must let them go.

So she had. Avaiya She'ar had ignored the resounding break of her heart and pushed the love of her life away in preference of duty. It was for the best. It had to be. Yet if that was so, why did she lay alone now, her tearless green eyes settled on the dying embers of a lukewarm fireplace, arms wrapped around herself in spite of her blanket, the frost-covered windows throw open to the wind; she wanted to smell the water. She wanted the winter winds that filled his sails to wash over her, even if the cold pebbled and paled her skin. Her shivers were a small price to pay for the comfort it held in its icy grasp.

I felt for sure last night
That once we said goodbye
No one else will know these lonely dreams
No one else will know that part of me
Im still driving away
And Im sorry every day
I wont always love these selfish things
I won't always live not stopping

The city had long since faded to silence, the heavy snow dampening the few sounds which might otherwise have disturbed her sleepless solemnity. Did she dare to walk his dreams? Did she dare to lose herself in them without ever him knowing, as she'd done so many nights before. She did not, she knew. Not after what she'd done. Avaiya had no right to see him.. unless…

Avaiya rolled over in her bed, the blankets shifting and crinkling around her, the soft hiss of her bare skin against the sheets providing a backdrop for quiet thoughts. Could she let go, finally? Would he even take her, if she could? The whole Tower though him a fool because of her, teased and poked fun at the poor man in love with the untouchable. The poor fool captured by an inescapable trap. He was not the first to love her, and certainly not the first to watch her from afar with jealous, hungry eyes. But he was the firs to have her. He was the first man she loved.

The Amyrlin had already asked her to greet them at the docks, her pardon from the task coming only with the understanding of the relationship she held with that particular Aes Sedai. Her feelings for Akadias were secret, hidden from all but the closest of eyes. She could go. She could go not as the Keeper, but as a woman in love. Perhaps, just perhaps, she could win him back. The Light send her apologies would be enough.

It was my turn to decide
I knew this was our time
No one else will have me like you do
No one else will have me, only you

Youll sit alone forever
If you wait for the right time
What are you hoping for?
I'm here I'm now I'm ready
Holding on tight
Dont give away the end
The one thing that stays mine

Morning came in a rush of hope, and Avaiya rose to greet the sun before it had topped the horizon. A veil of pinkish light saw her washed and dressed, throwing a shimmering tone to the silk which covered her body; Grey silk, the only embroidery marking it being an intricate snowflake patter set in white about the neck and hem. Avaiya had been known to deviate from the colors of her Ajah before with reason, though never to the approval of even the most liberal Sister, and she did so now with a special purpose. She was his , after all, and she would shun the entirety of her Ajah, bear their disdain, if it meant proving it.

Stole and staff were left locked away in her chambers, and Avaiya bore the rude stares of her Sisters with pride. Her gait was steady and determined, her path unimpeded as she wound down the stairs and through the halls, silver slippers eagerly sliding over multi-colored runners and tiles, past a series of petitioners and a multitude of bobbing Novices and Accepted. A few of those threw smiles her way, and those whom she had formerly been in rank with gave her devious grins. Some of her closest friends remained in the seven-colored bands, but they knew well enough where she headed.

She was going to fall in love all over again.

Amazing still it seems
Ill be 23
I wont always love what I'll never have
I wont always live in my regrets

Youll sit alone forever
If you wait for the right time
What are you hoping for?
I'm here I'm now I'm ready
Holding on tight
Dont give away the end
The one thing that stays mine

The docks were already bustling with people; sailors loading and unloading the wares of ships, passengers preparing to board, Aes Sedai like herself come to greet the newest Novices. Avaiya exchanged a smile with Haelere, the Sitter for her Ajah giving a slight wink. Haelere was one of the few women of her Ajah who Avaiya truly felt sisterhood with, her lighthearted manner matching that of the young Keeper. Yet she was not here to be Keeper right then, and Haelere knew it.

Men and women alike gave a secondary glance to her hands, searching for that golden band before scuttling out of her way. Looks alone did not define Avaiya, as she was far too young for the ageless graces of Sisterhood to have settled, but that ring, along with her attire, was enough. The ship was there, though the sailors aboard it were only now lowering the plank to the docks. Avaiya stood on her tiptoes, forsaking all sense of Aes Sedai dignity for second-sooner glimpse of the keeper of her heart. A fringe of dark hair momentarily excited her, though her hope fell as the dark-haired captain exited the ship.

Her search resumed, and she saw Akadias come up along the banister of the ship, that broad, beloved smile covering his face. Her heart leapt, and she resisted the temptation to wave a hand to signal her presence. Instead, she simply pushed her way through the crowd with a smattering of apologies and excuse-me's, her lips curling into that adoring smile that had always been reserved just for Akadias. She was almost there. Just a step away from the boarding plank. She would ru.... Rush into his arms while the ship swayed beneath them. Up where everyone could see them. Where she could deny it no longer.

Her view blocked by a larger man, Avaiya did not understand the loud, uproarious applause that rippled through the audience, and she didn't care. She slipped past the man, that smile never faltering as she broke into the front of the crowd, taking perhaps one step into the open ring of space surrounding the place where the plank met the dock.

Avaiya's breath failed her as her green eyes fell upon her beloved.. and upon the woman by his side. White flowers decorated her hair, and Akadias' arm decorated her waist, pulling her close and giving her a winning smile. Giving his wife a winning smile… give her Avaiya's smile. The one she had thought to be all her own.

Her feet failed her, then, her silver-silhouetted frame set a foot or so apart from the crowd, her face falling to an expression of shock, then sadness. The walls of her world were falling inward. Yet she could not turn, only stare. And stare she did, her green eyes locked upon his, half-pinned auburn curls framing that crushed expression. The faintest sheen of tears danced upon her lashes.. and she waited, just for that moment.

His hand lifted to wave to the applauding crowd – it was customary to welcome newlyweds in such a manner – and his gaze scanned the crowd. For just one moment, one unforgetful moment, their eyes met. Green on brown, so full of life as to shame the earth their colors mocked. Only a moment, as Avaiya's heart could take no more.

Youll sit alone forever
If you wait for the right time
What are you hoping for?
I'm here I'm now I'm ready
Holding on tight
Dont give away the end
The one thing that stays mine...

Deaf to the world, she turned, pushing her way through the happy crowd and running as fast as she could, back through the city. Only when she'd cleared the docks did she let the tears grace her cheeks, and only when her door was locked behind her and the prying eyes were shut out did Avaiya throw herself onto her bed, burying her face in white-silk pillows with little care for the stains her tears might leave.

She threw her pain into the silk. Avaiya She'ar, Keeper of Chronicles and Aes Sedai of the White, the emotionless and cold, forsook that serene expression and screamed the agony her heart could never express, with only the cold, dead ashes of the nights fire to comfort her.

---

Avaiya She'ar, Keeper of the Chronicles
New Dawn
Fri Jan 28, 2005 16:53

Morning came despite Avaiya's red-eyed resistance, forcing the broken-hearted Aes Sedai from her bed before the sun showed its face over the distant horizon. The pale light the announced its coming greeted her, and for one brief moment, the White Sister focused her vivid, brilliant green eyes upon the still-open window, her skin paled and lips purpled with the cold. She cared not as she rested a slender hand upon the windowsill, sighing her heartache to the singing snowbirds outside of her window. The night had passed at last, with her slow, wretched agony subsiding only with renewed vows to replace those that she had only dreamt she would swear to her unattainable love. Avaiya had given herself over to love, made the dangerous choice to put duty on a slow backburner, and she'd been burnt for her change of heart.

Silence hung heavy over the room, giving the faint squeak of the windows a thunderous effect as Avaiya pushed the frosted panes shut, flipping the brass latch with numbed fingers. Embracing held little of its usual joy, enhancing the sharp pain that accompanied every breath, as white-hot against her heart as the strands of fire that she settled over the contents of her white-marble basin. Frigid hands stung at the sudden transition from cold to hot, tingling along every slender finger as though pricked by a thousand tiny pins. It was an almost enjoyable sensation; it let Avaiya know she could still feel.

She watched her hands beneath the rippling surface, the expression upon her pretty face as stoic and cold as the air which graced her slowly-warming cheeks. Fingers flexed, slowly regaining some sense of feeling. The mirror before her reflected a depressing scene; auburn-curls were flattened by her evening of abandonment, cheeks still stained with the telltale streaks where her tears had fallen. The backdrop provided to her was one of simplicity, her room decorated in the theme of white and silver Tairen mazes, the down-filled comforter of her bed massed in a pile upon the floor, sheets mangled from her sleepless writhing. Books were scattered about table, some upon the floor where they had been swept the evening before. The only thing she'd retained from her home in Arad Doman, a simple vase of Sea Folk porcelain, had been punished for it's crime of sharing an origin with her beloved, laying on the floor in a thousand tiny pieces, surrounded by the broken-stems and scattered petal of the lilies that had occupied it.

Avaiya shook her hands free of the water, rubbing at her eyes and cheeks to clear away any trace of her evenings occupations and taking little shame in wiping them off on her dress. With almost mechanical movement, the White Sister peeled her dress away, tossing the silver fabric into the fireplace with a spray of ash and allowing a weave of Fire to consume both the commitment she had made to Akadias and the dress which expressed it. White was her color, now, and Avaiya bypassed her defiant collection of a dozen different-colored silks, plucking a white-silk, corseted piece from her wardrobe. Laces were tied and fabric was smoothed in the same mechanical, precise method with which it had been removed, several failing attempts passing through her fumbling fingers before she finally pulled the strings at the base of her spine tight and wrapped them into a tiny bow.

Strands of fire and water adjusted her auburn curls, renewing the life and bounce that had been stolen by the night. She fashioned them back with a moonstone clip, leaving half of her hair to fall about her copper shoulders. A simple chocker of white beadwork was chosen from the jade-carved box upon her nightstand and fashioned about her slender neck, and Avaiya resorted to the sets of powders stowed away in a bottom drawer to erase even the faintest sign of her shameful tears. Is this how Demetri felt when she was sent away from her lover? Avaiya's heart felt for the newly-raised Green as she recalled hiding away the orders in a locked and hidden cabinet, passing her guilt off then as a burden of duty.

As Avaiya settled the White stole of her office upon her shoulders, its weight should have buckled her knees. Yet she stood, stoic and quiet, focusing upon her own reflection for one passing moment. This is the path you have chosen. , she recalled silently, The path you will follow.

Leaving the care of her chaotic room to a later time, Avaiya stepped into the open Halls of the Tower with a newer mask, the smile that had once been sincere now painted with effort upon her lips. Her choice awaited.

---

Akadias din Starwind Bent Blade
This Old Wound
Fri Jan 28, 2005 16:54

” Adam was but human--this explains it all. He did not want the apple for the apple's sake, he wanted it only because it was forbidden. The mistake was in not forbidding the serpent; then he would have eaten the serpent.” – Mark Twain


The sun had died but an hour hence, and Akadias din Starwind was already beginning to regret not staying aboard his mother's vessel. First had come the feast, a makeshift affair to be certain, but complicated by the fact that half the Tower had been present and Florisca and Diaras had proposed a toast to the newlyweds – a toast he could have done without. Smiling a false smile, irritated and bored beyond belief, he sat through the courses, wishing for nothing more than the right to carry Avaiya far, far away from all he'd done to her. Synnove, at his side, was all dimples and delight, but it had already worn thin for Akadias. Telling himself that she could only enjoy this farce at his cost for so long, he counted the minutes until he could leave – and was foiled.

It was with sadistic glee on her face that Haelere do'Adriel a'Ciuleaan stood, glass held high in her hand, to call the musicians to her side. With a whisper for their ears, she had them playing a merry air – and her challenging eyes rested on his dark ones as she suggested a dance. Akadias tried to demur, but Synnove, at his side, had already leapt at the Aes Sedai's suggestion. Coerced to agree to her enthusiastic plea, he took her arm, keeping a decent slice of space between them despite Synnove's wranglings. Thankfully, they were spared the indignity of a second such debacle: Haelere sat primly in her seat, discussing something with one of her Ajahmates, when the music ended and Synnove permitted him to return to his seat. Spooning dessert into his mouth with indecent haste, he was unprepared for his new bride's vicious hiss of embarrassment. “You could at least pretend,” she wagered, her undertones heavy with anger, “and stop fidgeting.”

“Perhaps,” Akadias hissed back, “they think me eager to have you to myself.” The very idea made him want to laugh, but it soothed Synnove's ruffled feathers. Pushing his dish away, he realized he'd not tasted a bite of it, and couldn't recall what it had been – it had tasted like ashes, and he was glad to be done. Standing, he caught Synnove's arm in his hand, hauling her to her feet, and bowed to the assorted Sitters gathered on their side of the banquet table. Making his pardons effulgent and effluent, he dragged his wife from the Hall, all the while smiling fit to make his face ache. Light, but did every new Aes Sedai make mistakes of this caliber? No wonder so few remained in the Tower for their first years! He would never live the shame of this stupidity down.

And perhaps, he wasn't meant to. Shoving such thoughts aside, he escorted Synnove through the halls, giving her the crudest tour of the Tower he'd ever given anyone. “The Gaidin and their trainees live in that building, out there,” he asserted, pointing through a window, “that building is the Great Library,” out another window, “The Novices and Accepted live in the galleries between the main floors, and the Aes Sedai of the Grey Ajah live here. While you wish to remain on the mainland, you'll live in here, and that room,” he said, pointing at the door to what had once been his own chamber, “should have everything you need. Good night, Synnove,” he finished, turning on his heel and disappearing.

Light, but it was a relief to be free of her: she had been nothing but questions since they'd arrived. Some questions he understood: marvel at the towering trees of the Ogier's Grove, wonder at the Tower's towering height, curiosity about fancloth cloaks and the skybridges that ran parallel to the streets. Other questions were simply stupid – where was his Warder, did the city have many ships, why had she not gotten to meet the Amyrlin Seat? He had begun to ignore them out of self-defense, and before the coach had arrived at the Tower courtyard to divulge him and Synnove, he was seriously regretting his outburst the night before. If he had ordered her away, she might have gone, and he would have been no worse off than he'd been before leaving. In fact, he might have been improved, gaining Avaiya for his year of lonely self-torture…but he had put his foot in his mouth and chosen what lay before him right then instead of waiting, and believing.

As was his wont when he could not think, or possibly sleep, he stalked the silent city, ignoring the horses in favor of his long legs. From Southharbor to Northharbor he traveled, stopping occasionally to indulge himself by visiting a place from his memory. The taverns along the dockside greeted him warmly, and it was there that he found enough interest to note what he was being fed as he chased it down with stout brown ale. Nowhere near drunk, but not quite sober, he finally gained the harbor and stumbled aboard his Spirit, the one true friend he'd managed never to offend – or, so he'd believed. Hadn't he left Spirit, too, thinking of bigger and better ships? He had pictured himself a Cargomaster, or a Master of the Blades, not just a Grey brother with a ship that stayed tied to the harbor. He'd brought Avaiya here, once, just after (or just before, he supposed) his “stunt” of kidnapping the Keeper of the Chronicles and giving half the Tower's Gaidin their daily exercise. That, he was sure, had been the beginning of their end: how could she think of anything but his stupid antic as he had tried his best to make her see him as a suitable companion?

It was all his fault – and all his problem. Stubbornly, he had yearned to go back into the past, and become again an Atha'an Miere, all the while knowing that no exile could sap him of his very heritage if he wished to keep it. All he had ever had to do was believe, and yet, he had not: he had mourned the passage of his youth and ignored the promise of his future. With a soft groan, he collapsed on Spirit's foredeck, using one arm as a pillow. With the other, he ran his hand endlessly over the fretwork of the ship's rails, a kind of loving caress between friends. As if vengeful, Spirit wedged a splinter into his finger, and he sighed as he sat up, holding his finger out toward the moon's wan beams as he performed that minor surgical procedure upon himself.

Not even his best friend could stand him tonight.

But could he blame him?

It was the sound of feet on the harbor that caught his attention. Of course, the Harbors of Tar Valon underwent heavy use all of the time – there was nearly always someone on the docks, and so, there was no reason to think that the feet were coming for him. Still, he kept one eye on the wooden planks as he squeezed his finger mercilessly. The slap and shuffle neared, growing louder, and then, ceased. Quietly, Akadias shifted his weight, trying to disappear into the shadow, but it was too late if he wanted to avoid his visitor's eyes. For one second, his dark eyes met the glint of a hard, steel-blue pair, and he could have groaned in fury. He'd been praying for Avaiya, and instead, he got her lapdog: Gennora Arawn, sister of the White Ajah for an even shorter span of time than he'd been a Brother of the Grey, could be described no other way. Even as an Accepted, her tongue had been black with the polish off her superiors' boots…

Aah, the splinter had come. Pulling upward, he dropped the hair-fine annoyance to the deck, then stepped forward. Gennora's face wore a supercilious smile, as if she'd been granted access to some secret he should know, but didn't. In the long list of people Akadias wanted to see right this instant, she was at the very bottom: leaning forward, over his own deck, he was still hands above her head. Easily, he dropped from railing to harbor, but it was to no avail: he was still hands over the tiny Andoran White sister. Snatching the papers from her hands, he contemplated dropping them straight into the drink, but refrained. He'd known the messengers would come, and actually, he welcomed the idea – this way, she at least had to see him.

“Don't you have something else to be about?” Akadias inquired, rudely, shoving past the White sister wrapped tightly in her shawl and that stupid sneer. “Haelere might strain a finger signing those forms if you don't hurry back, don't you think?” Another hollow little victory, but Gennora crumpled like paper – she needed a strong shield to hide behind. Haelere had that shield, he supposed, but Akadias intended to seize the pestilent, petulant root of the White Ajah by her hair. “Don't you think,” he said, turning back to face the White sister, “that I had good reason to leave her? Why do you insist on putting your flaming nose in my business? Run back to the Tower, you stupid little barnacle, and when you get there, ask Haelere this: where was her “helpful little hand” when Avaiya broke my heart?”

She'd do no such thing, of course, and with the papers shoved firmly under his arm, Akadias headed toward the Tower. Every step exponentially increased his rage, and by the time the sun peeked decorously over the veil of the horizon, limning Dragonmount in gold and pink, he was in a fine fury indeed. Taking the steps to the Amyrlin's Study three at a time, ignoring the suicidally steep rise as he vaulted ever higher, he realized he'd crushed her “urgent” messages into a meaningless ball. Well, anything truly important would hardly be sent across the city when the Keeper herself was only a few floors away: this little ruse of Haelere's was just that: a ruse.

Unshaven, unkempt, red-eyed and furious, Akadias reached Avaiya's floor. Stalking down the beautifully appointed hall, he came face to face with a brick wall of glowering Gaidin. Even before his stupid stunt, he'd never had a fondness for the Gaidin or their trainees: they were more trouble than they were worth. This man was not an exception. Showing his irritation, he snapped, “Oh, go play with something pointed!” and slammed past. The doors to the Study were closed, but that didn't stop him: yanking the handles around, he admitted himself, ignoring the Gaidin's heavy breathing down the collar of his wrinkled silk tunic. Ignoring Avaiya, clad in snowy white, seated at her desk, he threw the ball of paper into the crackling fire within the grate and whirled on his heel.

He had to get out, and he had to go quickly – he had been wrong to think he could face her now, like this, after all he'd done and she'd done to him.

Dead wrong.

---

Avaiya She'ar
This Old Love
Sat Jan 29, 2005 13:59

Haelere had spent half of one early hour locked away in Avaiya's office, her rouged lips pursed upon the edge of an Illianer porcelain cup. She was not so forgetful, even in her old age, as to bring the fine Sea Folk porcelain that the Tower more often supplied for their Sisters, and had decided instead to supply her personal property for the morning's leisure. The last thing the newest White Sister, Keeper or not, needed was yet another reminder of Akadias din Starwind Bent Blade. Even the thought of the damnable boy was enough to rub the White Sitter the wrong way, just as the thought of such a promising love being dashed to pieces by the stupidity of youth was enough to make her face twist in distaste despite her usually frigid exterior. White as the fringe of her shawl might have been, she was a passionate-hearted woman, and she'd seen more than once the way those two had looked at one another since Novicehood; such a love was not meant to be destroyed by impatience and fear.

“I don't know, Haelere,” Avaiya sighed, settling her white-porcelain cup upon its matching saucer, her pretty features trained to apathy. “We've enough to worry about without adding something so small to the pile.” It was small, really, when compared to the troubles of the world. Her smile was hollow, but present as just the barest curve of her lips. “It's over and done with, there's no ne-“

“Oh, shutup, Avaiya,” Haelere sighed with the slightest hint of mirth, her icy façade abandoned when in the presence of a girl she had seen rise from one Novicehood, “This is no ‘small' concern we have on our hands, and you know it.” She sniffed a bit indignantly, touching a weave of fire to the teapot before pouring herself another cup, staring at Avaiya as she stirred in the small sugar cubes, “If it were a small concern, Sister, I would not have to order a new vase for your room.” A slight smile crossed her features at Avaiya's shocked expression, “Yes, yes, I saw. It was hard not to go looking about with all the racket you made last night.

The young Keeper stared a bit irritably over the rim of her teacup, shaking her head. “I can order my own vase,” she mumbled into the chamomile, inhaling the heavy steam and exhaling in a heavy sigh. “And I apologize for it, Haelere, but the last thing I need is to worry about… him , now of all times. We've got Seanchan harbored somewhere in Andor, and Neyrana is still missing. I've got a week to turn her up, or at least explain what happened, before the Red Ajah starts hounding me again.” Those green eyes rolled skyward momentarily, “And so help me, Haelere, if I hear one more thing out of Merve..” Avaiya left the comment to trail, the pause that should have followed interrupted by Haelere's faint chuckle.

“She means well,” the Sitter said lightly, “or as well as any Red possibly can mean. They're worried for a Sister, I'd be doing the same thing and so would you.”

Avaiya shrugged, pushing the empty teacup away and leaning back in her chair. She settle her eyes upon the fireplace, giving only a slight mumble of a response as Haelere excused herself; they both had much to think about, even if those thoughts were of a completely different nature. The sap-filled logs popped and snapped within the river-washed stones, occasionally sending up a spray of embers as one gave way, crumbling atop the others. The flames flickered without pattern or course, and Avaiya wondered if she was doing much the same; was she really following a path at all, or was she simply making it up as she went along?

With a failing attempt to put the thought from her mind, Avaiya bent to retrieve one clipped sheaf of papers from a bottom drawer, tossing them upon the surface of her desk with a heavy sigh for the task they provided. Avaiya had never liked Neyrana al'Tarin much, not in the days when she'd been an unwilling and rebellious Novice and Neyrana a hard-nosed, flipskirt Accepted, and not in any of the days that followed. Were it not for the fact that she, too, was Aes Sedai now and the duty that the white silk stole wrapped around her shoulders demanded, she might have thanked the Light that the wretched woman had seemed to vanish from the face of the earth.

But she was Aes Sedai, and the Last Battle would require every last ounce of power that the White Tower provided; even the power of a woman who would see the Dragon Reborn gentled before that battle ever came.

The voice that sounded outside her door brought Avaiya's attention up from the stack of reports, brow furrowed. It wasn't long that the curious expression remained upon her face, as her door slammed open hard, showing the image of a frazzled Akadias. Her heart shattered anew, leaping into her throat as shock was quickly replaced with anger. What right did he have, coming here? What point was there to just waltzing into her office to throw away a fistful of garbage? Did he yearn so much to see her pained as to go out of his way to do so?

The Gaidin stood confusedly in the hall outside as Akadias shoved his way out, his footsteps receding down the hallway. Anger shattering her forced composure, Avaiya snatched the blown-glass vase that held her series of quills, storming out the door and taking the few steps necessary to come within throwing distance. With a faulty aim, Avaiya hurled the vase, quills and all, right at Akadias' head, watching as it crashed against the wall to the left of his head. The Keeper waited only long enough for the man to look back, meeting his gaze with an infuriated, almost hateful glare before turning around and retreating into her office, slamming the door hard behind herself.

The sliding snap of the bolt followed after.

---

Akadias din Starwind Bent Blade
Laying the Blame
Sat Jan 29, 2005 22:12

The door slammed closed with a satisfying thud, and the Gaidin on its other side sneered in his own amusement. Swallowing the urge to pummel that smug grin off the other man's flat Shienaran face, Akadias stalked off, down the hall. Within the hour, he'd have to deal with an enraged Sitter, an infuriated wife, a tempestuous Keeper, and the rest of his troubles. They'd not stop today, that was for certain: even Iseult, his dear mentor, would forsake him over his rash act. He regretted it all, but he'd made his bed, and he intended to lay in it until the sheer agony of staying still, that apathetic ache, made him regain his feet and find a real solution. In time, the agony of exile might ease, permitting him a clear head, but that was like wishing for his broken heart to mend itself, which had not happened even in the space of a year.

The scent of rage made him turn back, gave him warning enough to duck a flying vase that shattered inches from his head. Quills pattered to the Tairen rug in a rain of feathers: he stepped through them, heading back toward that wooden portal covered in delicate, but strong elstone. The stylized white teardrop of the Flame of Tar Valon stood out in stark relief, colors glowing in the pearly surface, a sheen like spilt oil mixed with rain. One twist of the knob said that it was bolted, and, ignoring the Gaidin and his grim presence, Akadias kicked the door. A resounding crack greeted his effort, the sound of the wooden bar, powdery with age and likely mold, giving way between the double doors. He kicked again, harder, and felt the entire construct shake violently under the force of his rage. Not bothering to think of what Wards Avaiya might have at her disposal, or what they could do to him, he wasted no time in slamming himself into the door a third time, just missing the Gaidin's grasping hands.

Air kept the lumbering hulk outside: Akadias had not even realized that he held saidin until he needed it. He called all he could, trying to lose himself in the coldly rational fire of its hatred and need. It didn't help to have saidin flooding through him as he stood, halfway across the room from Avaiya, her mouth opened as if to scream. The torrent of rage melded with the white-hot anger that already motivated him, coming as close to true hatred as he'd ever been in his easy-going life. She dared to play the part of the jilted lover? It had been her voice saying no, her will that had been done! Had she forgotten that? Was the broken heart in his chest gone the way of the broken glass on her desk? What wastebasket would he have to fetch it from to make it whole?

For the first time in a long time indeed – about a year, he judged – Akadias let his emotions take over. A towering inferno of black anger greeted Avaiya's wave of baleful disdain as she stood up behind her desk. He knew that only a few moments would come between his assault of the door and her first attempt to gentle him: that was half the reason he clung to saidin now, like a lifesaver in the wild, foaming waterfall of his resentment. He didn't recall taking the four steps between the artfully arranged chairs and her desk, but now, he hung over it. She still smelled of flowers, sweet night-blooming white blossoms native to her own Arad Doman, and underneath, blended in so well that it seemed part of her natural aura of aroma, was the stink of fury. He found himself breathing her in despite his anger, trying to memorize the precise way she smelled.

He had been a fool to come back. If he had been wise, he would have run from this office into his own quarters, awoken Synnove, and sent her back to her mother, with or without an explanation or even an apology. Instead, he knew now that he'd fight to keep her nearby, just because Avaiya so obviously loathed her – it shone in the feral depths of her jeweled eyes. If she thought he and his cousin lovers, she was mistaken, but she didn't know that, and he wasn't going to tell her otherwise. Let her see how it ached, how the certainty nagged like a tooth gone rotten, how the images were a potent torture guaranteed to draw bloody sweat in the watches of the night. She deserved it all, and more – and none of it.

Yet, where had her mercy been?

You promised me
Time will heal
Make me forget
You promised me
Love will save us all
And time will heal
You promised me...
How love will save
Make me forget

He could afford no mercy, no vestige of a tender thought, now, as he faced her here, in her own den. This was the place, the title, the status and prestige that had meant more to her than anything else? Her happiness was to follow the greatest woman in the world with a stick, and a ribbon around her shoulders? Fine! She could keep it all, but she couldn't have him. He was not chasing her another step, sacrificing another future. Did she think he could salvage his career in the Grey Ajah? He didn't. Yet, he'd given it up, for her. Did she have a moment to spare for him now? No! No! No! Why should she? She was the Keeper, all she had ever wanted to be. And he – he was no one. A nameless face in a forgettable Ajah, removed from importance by her ambition.

He kept his hands to himself with the utmost of his control, control that was fraying as quickly as a rope under a sharp blade in a gale. He longed to grab her, to take her by the shoulders and shake her, shake her until she cried for him to stop and begged for the chance to put it all right again. Yes, he knew that violence was no solution, but he didn't care : if it put her body against his and her thoughts on him, then he wanted it. Desperation stole his words as he watched her, still standing behind her desk with that sneer of challenge stretched across lips masterfully painted a cheery shade that betrayed the grey under her eyes. It looked so conspicuous, so like a disguise, and it was: from far away, she had her luminous beauty and self-assurance, but up close, her lipstick resembled smeared blood – who else's heart had she eaten? - and her kohl only served to emphasize the webwork of irritated veins in her sclera.

She was close to her breaking point, too, but his would come first – he had not had the same amount of time in which to practice maintaining it. In his home nation of ships, what had been done to Avaiya was called “quick tempering”: hot tar spread directly upon the arctic ice of a winter hull, when the wood contracted and nestled tightly within itself. Some said it was the best way to prevent leaks, others that it ruined the wood of a ship forever. Either way, it was still practiced, and still vaunted as a valid method to make both an Aes Sedai and a raker. He hadn't been quick tempered: in fact, if anything, the method used to ensure he didn't leak seemed to be promises and a thin coat of pitch. It wasn't enough: he simply didn't have the necessary strength for this prolonged match of wills.

You promised me...
I trusted you
I wanted your words
Believed in you
I needed your words
Time will heal
make me forget
And love will save us all

“ You said no,” he reminded her, harshly, his hot breath parting her hair. “And then here you stand, thinking that I'm going to give up everything just to follow you around, licking your bootsoles? Avaiya, you never knew me if you can think that,” he growled, pushing himself away from her desk lest he start shaking her after all. “You cry to Haelere about your broken heart, but where did you think I should take mine? Was I supposed to stay here, watching you parade about with your flaming staff, pretending that an outdated, antiquated position in a council we used to laugh at was better than anything I could offer you? I didn't, and Father of Storms, Avaiya, but I'm glad I didn't. I can't stand to look at you like this.” His hands were fists, and he was treading carefully around a sea of half-truths calculated to hurt, to rend and tear and bite at her until the water turned pink with her blood. “You had your chance,” he added, coldly, staring down at her pale face, framed by that rich hair. She'd been too beautiful to believe without the dark silk she'd worn that night, just that curtain of reddish brown cascading down her back and over his shoulders – and he wasn't thinking of that.

He didn't have the right to think of that one night under the Arches any more: he was a married man. The idea of touching Synnove, strange, silly, stupid Synnove, was repulsive, but Avaiya didn't know that. She didn't even know the girl was his first cousin, blood-tied so closely that his mother had likely had to use his exile to make her sister agree to the match. Light, for all the Keeper of the Chronicles knew, they were lovers, met and married upon the sea while he had been gone. Why disabuse such a pretty notion? Why let either of them clamber up the wall Synnove laid between them? Better to make it a mountain, or an ocean: then, they'd never stand again, together in this awkwardly arabesque emotion, love gone wrong. Better never to cast his eyes at that impenetrable cliff or the myth that was a sunrise.

And then again, he could just let the Gaidin pounding on the office door fill him full of arrows. Either option was death.

You promised me another wish
Another way
You promised me another dream
Another day
You promised me another time
You promised me another life
You promised me.

How, exactly, did he live without her? He wasn't happy and he wasn't happy about not being happy, but he wasn't going to tell her that – she should know. Damn his passion for her, and damn her parents for their momentary indiscretions in making a Lady for House She'ar instead of a Lord! A man he could best, ignore, or beat: a woman, and he was captivated. A lover, and he was bound; he would always belong to her in some strange, carnal sense. She had had him first, and thrown him away. When would that stop aching? When did he heal? How could he make sure she never used herself against him again?

More than that, how did he keep himself from allowing her to use him, again? It was her touch he craved and her body that was his ideal: he was dissatisfied with anything less, and rightfully so! Who compared? It was in his mind to leave then, shoulder past the harried Gaidin and take the punches that would likely head his way for daring to keep the man from his duty – guarding two of the world's most arrogant and senseless women – and go on living. However, his heart didn't agree with his mind's sensible suggestion: it made him cross the void of silk and color to stand in front of her desk once more. Hands that were only half his own delved into the carefully ordered confection of curls, marring some and crushing others flat, as he pulled her to her feet. Her mouth was sweet, hot, and wet – and her rigid lips seemed to be on the verge of melting when his world went black.

You promised me...
Another lie
Oh you promised me...
And I waited...
And I'm still waiting...

"The Promise" - The Cure

---

Avaiya She'ar
Last Confession
Sun Jan 30, 2005 02:28

Her weight fell briefly against that locked door; serenity falling prey to the sea of troubles that swam about her like blood-brought silverpike, snapping at her ankles and tearing at her heart. A trembling hand lifted to half-parted lips, powdered lids closing against the fresh tears which she had so often promised herself never to spill again. Did he think she did not want to have him? That she took such joy in following the Amyrlin Seat around like some glorified secretary? What joy was to be found in the shallow embrace of power when she'd felt something so much stronger while lying peacefully within his arms? There was none, she knew. Just as she knew she would never have a place in those arms again.

The young Keeper was roused from her barely-victorious attempts at keeping such a prominent sign of her pain at bay by the crash of the doors upon which she rested, stumbling forward in shock. She spun upon her heels, backing towards her desk with a mask of calm anger; a slowly overwhelming sensation of renewed hatred for this man who insisted upon breaking her already-crumbling heart. Why must he torture her so! He knew she loved him – how could he not? He knew how pained she was for all the talk the Tower gave. Could he not go back to his wife and his bed and simply leave her to her shame?

The answer was given as Akadias came crashing through those doors, and were it not for the pain his anger tore from her, she might well have reached to saidar for her comfort. But the sharp sting that tore at her chest reminded her how unwilling she was to hurt him, the burden of her blame resting as heavily as the burdens of her office. Light, but the latter seemed so insignificant now! Did he not care? Was there no trace of love left behind those dark, hateful eyes that might make him understand? She could see there was not, at least not for her. His love was with his wife now, and Avaiya found herself hating the woman anew with that simple thought. Burn his eyes, though, he didn't understand. He presumed so much of how she felt. Why she felt.

His words struck her harder than his hands ever could, and yet Avaiya could not find it in her power to turn away from that accusatory glare. That hateful snarl, that angry voice; they imprisoned her where she stood, kept her features glued to his despite the agony that sight provoked. His words were blades dragging across her skin, his voice the whip that ripped at her heart. Every accusation, every blame. It sent her spiraling into some limbo of confusion, some Hell composed of their assumptions and errors, all poured into their lives with just the right combination to rip them apart.

The dawn is breaking
A light shining through
You're barely waking
And I'm tangled up in you
Yeah

But I'm open, you're closed
Where I follow, you'll go
I worry I won't see your face
Light up again

Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the wrong words seem to rhyme
Out of the doubt that fills my mind
I somehow find, you and I collide

By the time Akadias brought his lips to hers, Avaiya's heart was long since destroyed, her pain ringing through every bit of her slender figure. She yearned to scream into that kiss just as she yearned to embrace it, wishing for all and nothing simultaneously. Her hands tightened to fists out of pure indecision, not knowing if they should push him away or cradle his unshaven face.

Breathlessness overcame her when the strong form of her lover fell into her arms, quick reaction being the only thing that saved him from a nasty spill to the floor. Reaction, and the love that simply would not leave Avaiya be. Haelere stared at her from the doorway, and Avaiya looked up just in time to see the light of saidar fade from around the elderly Sitter. Her face was riddled with sympathy, her brow furrowed into an apologetic expression. A moment of understanding passed between the two Whites, and Haelere ushered both Javein and Maltier out the door despite the Gaidins' irritated protests.

Avaiya embraced, the sharp joy muted by the apathy that was slowly working its way into her heart. She wanted to keep him there, just watching until he roused. So badly she yearned to just hold him close in those moments, that she might hold him in her arms one final time without his voice screaming a slew of damnation. Despite her desires, despite the screaming of her agonized heart, weaves of Air cradled her once-lover gently as a babe, and Avaiya rose, steeling herself against the pain that would come of returning Akadias' to his wife.

I'm quiet, you know
You make a first impression
I've found I'm scared to know
I'm always on your mind

Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the stars refuse to shine
Out of the back you fall in time
I somehow find, you and I collide

Don't stop here
I've lost my place
I'm close behind

Akadias' would be returned to his room, and in Synnove's absence, Avaiya settled herself at the desk in one corner of his room, her breath catching as she ever so quietly pulled a piece of parchment from one drawer, the quill in her hand as deadly to her as the sharpest blade. When morning came, it would come with her final goodbye, her final confession, folded upon the blankets that covered Akadias' chest.

My Heart,

What words can I say to make peace with you now, with all that has come between us? What explanation can I give that will smooth the hatred you now hold for me in a heart I once thought to be my own? Words will never be adequate, no matter how smoothly penned or coolly spoken, to express all that lies in my troubled heart for you, to express that apology that I will never be able to speak?

You told me once that everything is bound to die if you never meant to nouri..., and I cannot help but wonder if perhaps the love we shared was simply never meant to be; bound to fail and falter no matter the effort given it. How do I tell you that I am sorry? How do I explain that it was not you that I ever refused? I wasn't ready, and had I known then that I would wake to find you gone far beyond my reach, that I would wake to find that misunderstanding written upon parchment, to know that you felt that I did not love you… I don't know.

I wonder even now if I you will ever know how I feel. I wonder what might have been, had I been braver. It was not duty that kept me from you. Not honor or obligation, but youth and trepidation. It was never shame that confined us to our secret venues and darkened niches. Never that, my love. The only shame I have ever felt towards you is that of knowing that I will never, can never, have you. That of knowing that when you wake to read this you will return to sleep in the arms of a woman who is not myself.

I would say these words, if I thought I could, just so you would know their truth. I would scream them for the world to hear. But I cannot. I cannot see your face, see the hatred that I have put in your heart. I don't think my heart could take it, to know that another has your love while I have only your regret, only your anger and distrust. To know that I've hurt you is enough, to see it is far too much.

I love you, Akadias din Starwind. Not for rank or title or prestige. Not for anything but being the same man I fell in love with so many years ago, the man I ran away from as a Novice for fear that I was falling too hard, too fast. I never meant to hurt you. I would never try to hurt you, Akadias. I would sooner die. What I would give to only make you believe that.

I'm sorry for all I've done. I'm sorry for all that I didn't do. I'm sorry for the pain I've caused, for ever making you think that I was using you or that I didn't love you.

I do love you. I will always love you.

My heart is yours, Akadias din Starwind Bent Blade. It always has been, and even with all that has come to pass, it always will be. Only yours.

And that is why I must let you go. Whatever you do in life, my love, be happy. That is more important to me than anything.

With all of my love, always,
Avaiya.

The day would pass as any other day, and Avaiya would shed no more tears for her lost love. He would find happiness, she hoped, in his new wife. Night would find her locked away in the Testing room, silently seated beneath the inactive arches. Consciousness, she hoped, would flush out the temptation to walk his dreams.

Even the best fall down sometimes
Even the wrong words seem to rhyme
Out of the doubt that fills your mind
You finally find, you and I collide

You finally find
You and I collide
You finally find
You and I collide…

---

Avaiya She'ar
Recollection
Wed Feb 23, 2005 19:54

Hundreds of Festivals had taken host within the White Tower over Avaiya's decade and a half of residence there, each with its own dramas and fatigues. Love, it seemed, did not last long in Tar Valon's beacon of power, unless it was the love that an Aes Sedai the green had for his or her Warder. There was just far too much present to foul things up; from snooping Sisters to wide-eyed Novices with even wider legs, Avaiya had yet to see a love affair not gone wrong or disturbed at least once. Yet while she'd seen a multitude of loves torn apart by the stresses of being Aes Sedai, or having dreams of becoming such, she never thought that such affairs would be hers .

Evelyn gave Avaiya a knowing look as the Keeper scanned the milling crowd, and it was returned with a hopeless shrug and halfhearted smile. Her relationship with Akadias, former relationship, had never been as secret as she'd liked to pretend, and with his random kidnappings and their little entourage into the city that rainy day in late Autumn, it was – or had been – all but public knowledge prior to its untimely destruction. For only a moment her green eyes came to rest upon him, a few feet away from the doors, scanning the crowd just as she had been. Avaiya could allow herself only a lingering gaze, tearing her eyes away and erecting that wall of apathy that she had perfected so well. Badly as she wanted to believe all of the rumors that his Sea Folk whore's vicious parents had more or less forced him into the marriage, Avaiya did not.

It was not like Akadias to be forced into anything. Not unless it was her forcing him.

Blair had settled himself behind Avaiya, his features settled into a wryly amused expression. Her newly bonded Warder was a tall man, towering over Avaiya at a decent bit over six and a half feet. His black hair was winged with gray at its temples and nearly often looked as though he had just gotten out of bed, and despite the fact that his tattooed hands were covered by the leather of his gloves, the long chain of gold leading from nose to ear gave away his Sea Folk heritage. In honesty, Avaiya had been wary to bond him despite the friendship that had spanned from her first Novice days; days in which he had already been a newly raised Gaidin. Blair had never been one for the idea of bonding, despite his training, so he had always said, though in passing he had promised Avaiya in their younger days that if ever she were in need of a Warder, he would demand that it be him.

So it had.

Child of the wilderness
Born into emptiness
Learn to be lonely
Learn to find your way in darkness

Who will be there for you
Comfort and care for you
Learn to be lonely
Learn to be your one companion

For the sake of friendship, Avaiya squashed the feelings of trepidation and the constant reminder that Blair gave her of Akadias. He might be taller than both of them, and while his broad-shouldered, muscled figure might be a far cry from that of her Akadias - her Akadias? - their shared heritage gave Avaiya a constant reminder of what she was not. She was not good enough for him, perhaps. She was not the same, not approved. Not the type of girl his family would be proud of. No matter what the specifics, there simply remained something that Avaiya lacked, and she would have given her right arm to know what in the name of the Dark One it was.

Nevertheless, Blair remained more of a friend than a Warder, though he served his purpose well enough. He could rival a Blademaster with his short staff, and though he did not take orders from Avaiya, he got done what needed to be done. At least his age squandered any sort of moronic rumors of a love affair, thank the Light.

“Shutup, Blair,” she grumbled as he settled one giant hand on her shoulder, squeezing lightly. The dark man chuckled, shrugging in defense as he circle around her chair and down the dais steps, moving off into the crowd with little effort, likely to find himself some sort of girl to dance with. He'd not take her to bed, Avaiya knew Blair's morals better than that, but he could use a bit of fun, and Avaiya did not begrudge him for it. There was logically no reason for him to suffer just because she did. They'd already announced their bonding earlier that night, and Avaiya was sure they'd be repeating it soon enough; there were enough noble ladies present who would try to bed Blair just to get the chance to bend Avaiya's ear to their petitions, and the mans resistance to such things was half of Avaiya's reason for having chose to bond him.

Never dreamed, out in the world
There are arms to hold you
You've always known
Your heart was on it's own

Shaking her head with only the faintest of smiles, Avaiya excused herself quietly, stepping down from the dais and making her way through the parting crowd, the white fringe of her shawl swaying against silver silk with every step. Music and laughter faded away as the White sister and Keeper made her way through those perfectly designed doors and into the empty halls of the White Tower. Luckily, the Great Hall was on the ground level, and Avaiya didn't have her usual trouble with a thousand yapping Sisters or, worse, the acknowledgement of a thousand more petitioners as she made her way through the door, garnering only a sideways glance from the Tower guards.

The weather was still cool, though Avaiya did well to ignore it. Not that there was all that much to ignore; the Tower's most Talented cloud dancers had done well to push the weather in the Towers favor, creating an atmosphere of slightly warmer weather than was usual for the time of year. Her walk was uneventful, the streets emptied in lieu of the festival, and Avaiya made her way to the Southern bridge with ease.

The sun still held the slightest of sway in the western sky, casting a pale haze against the otherwise dark sky, silhouetting the gentle slopes of the horizon. Yet it was the Southern bridge that held the Keeper's focus, arcing in a perfect arch over the rippling waters of the river. The pale white rail felt cold to the touch as Avaiya stepped from walkway to archway, ascending the gentle arc of the bridge with slow, thoughtful steps. So many memories flooded back as Avaiya paused upon the peak of that bridge, her lips turning to the gentlest of smiles as she recalled so fondly that evening in their late Accepted days.. before everything got in the way. Before she was Keeper.. and before he was married.

So laugh in your loneliness
Child of the wilderness
Learn to be lonely
Learn how to love
Life that is lived alone

“We shouldn't be here..” Akadias said with that sometimes perpetual frown, knowing well enough exactly how Avaiya's schemes always worked out. She had the idea, she forced him into it, and he usually ended up taking the fall. He gave a glance back to the Tower, knowing well enough the consequences of a venture like this.

Avaiya laughed, taking his dark, tattooed hands and pulling him close, sliding her coppery arms about his waist as she stood on her tiptoes, her impish, mischievous smile disturbed as she pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, “We shouldn't do a lot of things,” she whispered softly, resting her head on his shoulder as she swayed in time to some unheard tune…

Learn to be lonely
Life can be lived
Life can be loved
Alone

A single tear splashed upon that rail, and Avaiya raised a hurried hand to wipe its trail away, leaning forward with her arms crossed over the banister, eyes focused on the river below as it snaked its way out through the horizon.

…Would it always hurt so much?

---

Akadias din Starwind Bent Blade
Delicious
Wed Feb 23, 2005 23:46

He had only left a moment, stepped out onto a balcony to clear his head, to find upon his return that she was gone. His rooms were silent, empty: they held the barest trace of her perfume and the refrain of his resoundingly shattered shell of a marriage. For that, he felt nothing: there was nothing to feel. Synnove had been a mistake, and their marriage a farce: the curtains had fallen and the act was over. They also held the equivalent of a year's wages in ruffles and lace: as he had promised himself he would, he ripped. He tore, and shredded: he released his frustrated anger on dozens of yards of pale pink material scattered with roses. Without a thought for anything save his own fury, his own hatred, he pounded his fists against the innocent flowers, wishing that he could rend each one from the fabric. He settled for stripping his rooms of it, amassing a huge pile in front of the door that he threw haphazardly toward the fireplace.

Let it burn: let it turn to ash as his heart did now, pounding in his throat. He swallowed the acid bile rising in his throat, turning his face from the dawning sunrise in his grate. Fire rarely sprang to his aid, but when it came, it seared, burnt, fried. The yards of pink material folded gently, giving way to the heat of his bitter anger. He stared into the grate as the flowers disappeared, leaving only a misting of pale ash to occlude his silken rugs. Some things Synnove had only accelerated: in a way, Akadias had never meant to make these rooms his home. They were homey now, comforting in the presence of the Grey Ajah's necessary grandeur. That was the only residue of her he wanted in his life: stage dressing for his unused chambers.

The sun was rising, he noted, through his grainy, red-rimmed eyes. The silk-draped halls were silent, even and especially for a Festival night. There should be knots of women discussing the evening, disseminating it with social surgeons' scalpels, but the halls were empty this aurora, and he was glad. Although he was sober, he stumbled as he shambled, searching each corridor in turn as he followed the Tower's slow upward spiral. She would be waiting at the top. She would be waiting. She had promised him that, and how could she turn him away when he had her words to bind her? She could not lie. He repeated that to himself, again and again, within his mind, his new mantra, his new religion. She could not lie. He, also, suffered the same curse and the same burden, but he had never lied to her – only sought to misdirect her in the throes of his broken heart.

And he had been wrong. For the Light's sweet blessings, he would tell her so on his knees. If she felt he had too much pride there, he would grovel on his belly. It did not matter now, this prickly honor that he had sought to assuage: what mattered was her. Madly, passionately, crazedly, he was in love, and he would have her. With Synnove out of the way, why would she disagree? What argument could she give? He pondered that as he climbed, ignoring the few hardy souls daring the Tower this morn with heads swelled from wine and feet aching from dancing. His heart was trampled and his soul burnt with arcane fire: he would have his relief. He would extract it, drop by golden drop, from her full and pouting Domani lips, and if he let her up to breathe, it would be for them both. He didn't want to take another breath on his own for the rest of his life.

Blindly, still searching, but no longer with his eyes, Akadias trusted to his protean antennae, scent and hearing, demanding that they find him safe passage into the lair of his sleeping princess. Without regard for the wide-eyed wisps in their white uniforms, Akadias turned through the halls, opening her bedroom door although his nose told him the truth before his eyes and ears perceived it. Indeed, her rooms were cold: sterile and white, bare of her essence. There was an odd odor, burlesque counterpoint to the delicate fragrance of stark white lilies, the kind that nothing could touch lest the petals be permanently discolored by the oils of the skin: the new scent did not match Avaiya. Foolishly, he thought it himself, the aroma of his madness: anything seemed possible in this strange and strained morning. All he was sure of was the fact that he was finally sure of it all, and he had to tell her of this new certainty before it had time to waver and wilt, like a sea-rose in the Aiel Waste. He had to find her.

He moved on, seeking anywhere they had been. Morning classrooms held half-loads of pupils, all those surprised eyes turning toward him as he hoped to see that implacable face amongst the students. If they only knew what use their desks and chairs had of an evening, he was sure most of them would never sit in them again. He said nothing, only moved on, growing haggard, growing wild, with each successive mistake. Fourth-floor History, that memorable locale, did not produce Avaiya: the Accepted's gallery broom closets were all empty. He hunted on, following the dim ghost of her living in his nose, tracing her through the maze of corridors and the sea of bodies crammed into every available corner and surging like an insurmountable tide.

And he found her. Unlike him, she was coolly perfect, her face a portrait of sweet serenity drying in the loving rays of a faraway sun. Chestnut hair hung in an aureole of loose curls to cling to her curves, and the silver of her gown caught something in the luminous green of her eyes, emphasizing the absence of red lines. She looked as if she had slept, when he knew her rooms had been empty all the night: wild jealousy joined the melee of emotions, throbbing in his throat like a second pulse. She would not stoop so low, she would not crave revenge – would she? Wouldn't he? He had exacted his revenge upon her, and the knife had slipped in his fumbling fingers, scoring him to the bone. Would she not want the chance to finish him now, when he lay open and bleeding at her feet?

It was easy to cut through the crowd of petitioners, so he did: ignoring the glances cast his way as he sliced through the sea of faces, he plucked her from their grasp as easily as a mother might pry candy from her child's fingers. They were stunned, but so was he: she resisted, subtly, and she reeked of another man. The odor was intertwined in her own, as if she were marked property: Akadias wrinkled his nose and carried her onward anyway. Her limp weight kept him from having an easy job of it, and his impatience put paid to any other chance whatsoever: he would have her here. She fought: her hands were tight and drawn as he gathered them implacably together, pinning them above her head: the crowd murmured restlessly but no one dared stop an Aes Sedai – not even one assaulting the body of the Keeper of the Chronicles.

Their eyes had a brief, angry exchange, one that Akadias fancied went along the lines of reputation and honor on her part and passion and pride on his. Still, she did not channel: he had not the heart to force a shield on her, and so, she was a loaded gun pressed to his temple. He embraced that, and her: this close, the warmth of her body through the silk was enough to drive him mad with lust alone – never mind the guilt, the angst, the agony. His kiss was harsh, a burning brand to sear her lips, and he did not spare her the embarrassment of his full reaction. There would be eternal creases in her gown, and her hair looked tumbled, as if she'd recently arisen from a bed. He liked her this way, freed of her status, but he didn't think she'd forgive him for the face she lost as they struggled in the hall, before a hundred petitioners with queries less important than his.

All he wanted to know was whether she loved him still.

The fire in her eyes said she'd rather die than answer, but he pressed his luck, and his weight on the delicate bones of her wrists, reminding her that she was well and truly caught unless she resorted to violence. He did not hurt her, but he did assert his strength: she was weaker, but that did not make it his right to bend her to his will. Still, he wanted nothing more than to press her to the floor, even if it had to be here in the hall, before a hundred pairs of eyes, and lose himself. Taking a breath, dragging her into his lungs like the fragrant smoke of a fine pipe, he hissed down at her – as if anything could preserve her dignity now – entreated her to answer.

“Tell me you don't love me now, Avaiya. Tell me you don't want me here, and I'll go. One lie, that's all it takes,” he whispered, catching her chin in his palm even as her hands flailed for freedom above her head. “Just make me believe it, when you say it. I won't leave you until you do.”

---

Avaiya She'ar
Break Through
Thu Feb 24, 2005 09:59

Avaiya could not have said how long she stood upon that bridge, her eyes focused solemnly upon the waters of the split river, gleaming darkly in its mock-up of the evening sky. The night was growing ever colder, and though Avaiya could feel the icy chill being replaced by a warning numbness, she had not the desire to return to the Tower just yet. There was too much going on in her young mind for her to focus clearly on all of the propriety and mannerisms that came with dealing with the crowd that danced the night away within those strong white walls. Too many nobles to listen to, Novices to watch, petitioners to deal with… Avaiya simply had not the mind to deal with it all right then.

“You'll catch your death out here,” came a low, drawling voice from behind her, and the White Sister need not turn to see Blair standing a few feet away. She'd felt him coming, and while she'd half-considered using a Gateway to get out of his walking range, she knew better. Blair would start walking in whatever direction she'd gone if he didn't know where she was, and the last thing she wanted was her Warder attempting to trek on foot all the way to Arad Doman, or whatever other land she might run away to. Avaiya's dark complexion turned to him with only the slightest of smiles touching her face, shoulders rolling in a gentle shrug.

“Doubtful,” she murmured, turning her face back out towards the horizon, eyes dragging over the sharp, jagged peak of Dragonmount. There was so much to be done before the Last Battle came around, and Avaiya half-wondered if any of it actually would be. Likely not, she guessed. The Aes Sedai heaved a heavy sigh, pushing herself away from the banister as Blair nodded towards the city. Half snorting her derisive laughter, she mimicked his nod, stepping past him as he fell behind to watch her go.

The night passed uneventfully, with Avaiya catching a decent sleep in Evelyn's office, knowing well enough that sleeping in her own rooms, or anywhere else that wasn't locked up tight, was like begging for disturbance. Blair stood watch through morning, escorting Avaiya to her rooms a few hours before dawn and waiting outside as she washed and changed. With that accomplished, the pair headed back to the Great Hall, with Avaiya brushing a few last wrinkles out of her dress as she went and adjusting a few of the many pins that held her carefully curled hair.

Many of the guests had long since stumbled out, though it seemed the drunken stupors had not prevented hundreds of new petitioners from rising bright and early to plead their case to the world's most powerful women. Silently damning the white stole on her shoulders and the position it announced, Avaiya had half a mind to turn and head back down the halls. It was too late for that, of course, for as soon as one man spotted Avaiya, he made very sure to make her presence well known. Casting Blair a helpless look as she headed off into the crowd, Avaiya pushed down the evenings emotional score, attempting to focus clearly upon the agreements that this person or that was attempting, with no success, to talk her into.

Needless to say, when Avaiya was plucked so unceremoniously from amongst the petitioners, she was shocked. Almost immediately, she knew who it was. Everything about him was familiar.. including the kidnapping scenario. Avaiya did well to keep her face from flaring red, Physically, Avaiya could not compare to Akadias, and she did not try, instead pressing herself back against the wall as he pinned there, her sharp green eyes focused upon him in something that blended hate and pain.

”One lie..,” he hissed in her ear, knowing full well that he was asking for the one thing she could not give. She felt Blair's presence growing ever closer, and she knew that she had only a matter of moments. Seconds spanned in silence, stretching out to infinity before Avaiya spoke, her voice a quiet whisper, eyes narrowed in an expression that conveyed the devastation this man had wreaked upon her heart.

“I do love you,” she whispered faintly, shaking her head ever so lightly, glancing to the side before she returned her eyed to him, “But you have no idea how much you've hurt me, Akadias. I can't,” she paused, correcting herself, “I don't trust you with my heart. I don't trust myself to love you anymore…” She might have said more, but she saw Blair's heavy hand settle its firm grasp upon Akadias' shoulder, ripping him away from her with enough force to make the crowd gasp. Leave it to a Warder to assault one Aes Sedai in defense of another.

Avaiya turned with her freedom, smoothing out her dresses and motioning for one petitioner to follow her into the room where she always held such talks. One last glance to Akadias, her face settled in a grim frown, before she disappeared through oak arches.

Blair felt Akadias move to follow her, and tightened his grip upon the Gray brother's shoulder, “Don't be stupid,” he mumbled, jerking Akadias back, “Hurting her pride even more won't win her back, boy. You'll be lucky if she even looks at you after this stunt. I'd figure you of all people know exactly how much pride means to Avaiya.” He cast Akadias a knowing glance, arching a brow questioningly.

"Give her time, boy. Give her time."

---

Akadias din Starwind Bent Blade
Dare You to Move
Sun Apr 3, 2005 19:10

When he opened his eyes again, Tamira’s concerned face was peering down into his, his pillow clutched to her anxious bosom. His first instinct was to recoil, but the divan’s wooden arm only gave him a bruise for his efforts. Rubbing his skull, now aching for two reasons, he swung himself upright, eyeing the self-styled songstress with unquenched curiosity. She’d been kind to him, and he knew he owed her more than he could admit to, but why was she in his rooms? It wouldn’t do to have her here, and not just because someone would tell Avaiya about it, either. He could imagine her white-lipped response to another juicy report of female visitors to one Akadias din Starwind, and well, how could he blame her? Except, of course, that she had her own visitor to prey on his mind, and she had told him she needed Blair to protect her from…from him!

What exactly would he do to Avaiya, unguarded, anyway? Shoving down memories garnered from the few chances he’d had to have her like that, he wished he could have his pillow back. Between that pillow, a bottle of dark rum, and three days, he could drink himself into a blissful oblivion. He might be swaying from side to side when Aksana dropped him on her riverboat headed to Maradon, but he had every reason. Flaming bloody ashes, but he’d lost his wife – if you could call either Synnove or Avaiya such – his reputation (well, it hadn’t been too good to start with) – his family (who had excommunicated him anyway). All right, so he hadn’t lost much of anything, because he’d had nothing to begin with, but any way you viewed the issue, it was high time he won at something. He’d trudged through years of training, fought the demons in the Three Arches, battled the numbing exhaustion of their final test, and he had nothing to show for it.

For the sweet wind from the south’s sake, he needed a victory. Scooping up the bone tube and its Shienar summons, he dropped them into Tamira’s fingers. She, using the tiny tweezers with a surprising alacrity, retrieved his message and read it, unfazed by the fact that the request was signed by a King, even if he was only king of Shienar. Who was his little bar-maid that she had seen a King’s hand before? What new intrigue had he saddled himself with? Now he really wanted that pillow, but nowhere near as much as he wanted a bottle of wine. Tamira, when he dared a glance in her direction, was eyeing him with a frank fondness, a kind of encompassing disregard that one might give a trained dog. He ought to be used to it by now, he knew, but somehow, it still managed to irritate him.

Why in the Light had he given up drinking?

“I don’t give a Tinker’s damn about Shienar, or the king, or my bloody flaming nose,” he warned Tamira, who looked fit to burst. “I don’t want to go, I don’t have a choice.” She rolled her eyes at him, and he flopped backward, banging his head on the divan’s wooden arm. Their strange relationship had never seemed more odd than it did then, with Tamira’s excitement and his reluctance. Where had he found this girl – or where had she found him? With his luck, she was likely the leaky faucet dripping straight into Aksana’s ear, and here he was, unburdening his soul to her. Flame and ash, but what could it hurt, now, to keep talking? In Tar Valon, everyone’s mouth could find a willing ear and a little cache of coin to still their wagging tongue, unless the next ear was willing to pay more. Let Aksana hear that he was tired of the bullying, the concealed lessons on his character flaws, the secrets! He’d do what she wanted because he had no choice, but he didn’t have to like it. Besides, Tamira had earned her coins, no matter the source of them – she had been kinder than he had ever expected.

“I have three flaming days to convince the bloody busiest woman in the damned world that she can trust me again,” he disclosed, “and I can’t even give her time to get back on her feet from the last promises I broke. There’s just no bloody way – she’s even picked her flaming replacement. She bonded a Warder – it’s like being slapped in the face. Even worse when he looks like you, only half a hand taller, and…” His diatribe cut off sharply as Tamira’s eyes widened. Folding an arm under his head, he watched her with no small amount of amusement as her facile mind knitted facts together into whole cloth, and reached a conclusion. Tempted to reach up and close her gaping mouth, he instead limited himself to cleaning one pristine fingernail with another, just as clean. When he glanced up again, she had control of herself.

“What do you do when you only have three days to convince a woman of something it took her years to realize the first time?” he inquired, not honestly expecting an answer. She still looked a trifle taken aback, but who could blame her? The Aes Sedai were beyond the ken of most people, even those who took coin from one to spy on another. And certainly, now that both their secrets were in the open, he couldn’t pretend that it wasn’t so – she was a spy. The nice thing about those attracted to a deal was that a higher price commanded more of their loyalties, and Akadias had a rather convincing offer for the mercenary at heart. First, though, she had to own up to her allegiances, so he could baldly offer her more. There was a science to the information market, and while he was no expert, he’d dabbled in it long enough to know a little.

Since information was all he had, he might as well put it to use. Swinging his legs off the end of the small couch, he patted the cushion next to him, a clear invitation for Tamira to be seated. She seemed to weigh the idea a moment, but in the end, she sat next to him anyway. Silence reigned for a long while, broken only by his stomach’s angry complaints. He ignored those, drawing his long legs up to his chest, as uncomfortable as the position was now on the narrow settee. “At the rate we’re coming up with ideas,” he ventured, bitterly, “my best option is still to wait for her to come to me, unless I want to send her a message from the flaming docks.” With a small sniff, Tamira stood, fleeing his presence: he’d been wondering when she’d go and what excuse she’d make. Unfortunately, she’d find that her ground-breaking news about his love life was as dated as moldy cheese in the Kitchens – he thought even the Novices knew that he was mad for Avaiya by now.

The only woman who didn’t know it was the Keeper herself, and she didn’t care, anyway.

Regaining his feet, he went in search of something to eat and maybe, just maybe, someone to talk to while he did. Blair couldn’t complain about his presence in her office if he didn’t steal her, and Avaiya needed feeding, anyway – she had always been skin and bones. Alluring skin, yes, but she had a haunted look in her eyes these days and a permanent scowl on her forehead. Dropping food and forks alike onto a tray, he commandeered two servings of the night’s special – something involving fowl, from the looks of it – and headed upstairs. She'd never come to him, so he'd go to her...and dare her to turn him away.