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ly'Anjolie Halin'kor: "If True Love Reigned"

ly'Anjolie Halin'kor
MRP: Prologue: The Horns of a Dilemma
Mon Jun 3 19:42:06 2002

Three bits of explanation:

1) For this section of the MRP, ly'Anjolie Halin'kor is a Novice. About five "weeks" into the MRP, she has become an Accepted, thus making the whole plot plausible (always a plus). She is still bonded to Riordan al'Tammas, although that will change when they come back. This MRP is also Riordan's WMRP.

2) All NPC's are mine, and nothing in this string needs an answer by anyone; I got it done meself. Whoo me. I don't need any help until act three. Also, Kailin and Sorlin are kind of half-included here; Briar is, too, but not for a while.

3) I've got permission from Joni to stick this here. Whoo me!

-Misty

And now, with no further ado, here goes a very long, convoluted, and evil MRP. Its overall title is "If True Love Reigned," but each section has a title, too...yeah...I admit, I have no idea what I'm doing, but as long as it's readable...Anyway, here goes.

Jelun fir'Arklai, NPC (ly'Anjolie Halin'kor)
MRP: Prologue: Patience Pays Off
Mon Jun 3 19:48:21 2002

Towers, walls, and fanciful minarets were reflected in the many shining lakes and ponds of the Arad Doman capital city of Bandar Eban. Jelun fir’Arklai, her dark Domani beauty unmarred by the passage of years, sat on the side of one such contained pond, its fountain pushing water skyward from the lips of a lovingly detailed fish. The ripples that formed in its mirrorlike surface distorted her reflection, but she never came here to gaze at herself. No, she came here to be gazed at, albeit by nothing human. Her fingers dangled into water shaded by the broad leaves of waterstars, and small, gilded fish came up to nibble at them, from time to time. Soon, the decorative fountain would freeze over, for another year. It was early morning, in early autumn, and the woman, the First of her House, and newly appointed to the Council of Seats, the small faction that held sway over the mercantile trade of Arad Doman, was waiting.

She did not like to wait.

She had never been known for patience. Yet, for this, she could wait. Last night, her messenger, her prize thief-catcher, imported from Illian and worth his weight in Sharan silks to her, had whispered to her a promise of information about what she had been hoping was true, and she intended to act on it. House Halin’kor was far more powerful than House Arklai; House Halin’kor had had three Kings on the Throne, and House Arklai had only managed to align itself through the good deeds done by some minor nobles during the Wars of the Ascension, in centuries past. Good deeds wore thin, in time; ruling members did not. She didn’t like being ignored, that was for certain. Neither did she think that she should skate by, forever, on some bit of dry, preserved history. She wanted to be history, herself. She had all the earmarks of the powerful, and the ambition to make good on them.

She was tired of being "second-rate." She intended to set herself on the Throne, the First of the House Arklai. And if her informant’s news was what she had been wanting, been waiting, to hear, then she would be a happy woman, indeed. Her personal maid entered the courtyard, curtsying in her presence, and the man, tall and swarthy, entered with a quick, jerky bow. She did not react, or look up from her sport among the fishes. It was tantamount to the core of Domani teachings to not pay attention to a man that interested you; indifference won many more words and far more in trade franchises than sweet words or even the lure of her canopied bed. Those, too, were potently persuasive, but her first and best weapon was studied indifference. He cleared his throat, thinking she did not see him, but she sat, stroking a waterstar, waiting for him to grow impatient.

Impatient men felt a need to justify their presence; impatient men talked, and were unguarded of their tongues. They said far more than a man politely greeted, more than they ought to say. She loved men; they thought women weak, when truly, they were the prey, and any woman a predator, able to have her way with a few caresses, a lie, a wheedle…Turning liquid brown eyes on him, she feigned surprise, and was gratified at his response. Sometimes, she worried that she had grown old, or had lost her infamous beauty in a few brief moments, but reactions like his boosted her confidence.

When he left, she was smiling; she called for her maid, and, in a briskly clipped tone, she left instructions for her brother to be summoned from the Tarabon front, and the endless war over the Almoth Plain, where he was playing at being a Child of the Light, and sat herself at a small, carved desk, to begin to draft a friendly letter to the First of House Halin’kor. Soon, she would hold that woman's title in her hands…but first, to remove her...impediment.

Her plans were moving right along.

al'Zyrata Halin'kor
MRP: Prologue: A Clandestine Visit
Mon Jun 3 20:01:57 2002

It was with some trepidation that al’Zyrata allowed the footman of her carriage to hand her down; she felt as exposed as if she had cut the clinging silk gown she wore, of a pale violet shade, to show her breasts, the way immoral outsiders did. It amused her no end to think that women would consider her dress indecent, but they showed flesh. All that showed of al’Zyrata were her tiny hands, under dagged sleeves, her face and neatly coiffed hair. The "lady’s maid" fussing with the fall of her dress was a trained assassin, it was true, but they were only two, and going into a house where thin welcome was to be had. She could not help her nervousness, but she did hide it, as best as she could.

She didn’t want to be here, however, it had to be done; scandal, in Bandar Eban, could slaughter the House and its honor at this delicate point. It was crucial that House Arklai be kept silent about the skeleton in the Halin’kor family closet; it was necessary that peace be negotiated. It was a mark of how essential the errand that al’Zyrata had agreed to come alone to the Palace of the Night Stars. Her own home, the Palace of Minarets, a regal manor of golden Kandori marble depicting life in all its forms, was up the gently rounded hills, engineered by the Ogier who had built the city, near the Royal Palace, which crowned the highest, seeming a marble and elstone waterfall more than a mere building. It was the strongly held opinion of most of Bandar Eban's citizens that they occupied the most beautiful city of the world, and on clear days, it was believable.

She had very little idea of what would transpire, within the Palace, but she was al’Zyrata Halin’kor, and she was not afraid. She had been guiding her House for thirty years, the eldest daughter of a distinguished High Seat, and his Andoran wife. Her dark hair was clipped close, with only a hint of the ringlets her mother had given her, but the resemblance to her father was pronounced, in the arch of her cheekbones and the shape of her almandine blue eyes. She was proud of how she looked, and she always had been; it was as much a part of her as her mother’s long, patrician nose. She was a woman to be reckoned with, a proud member in a long and glorious tradition. She was history, walking; that was reason enough to know that she could deal with what was to occur.

The Palace loomed up, its arched portal opening by an invisible servant, and al’Zyrata let it consume her. She would do battle in the belly of the beast, and emerge triumphant. Ahead of her, a herald declared her presence, and she let herself be escorted in to the private chambers of the First of House Arklai. Because Jelun was not royalty, only a member of the minor nobility, a bare step up from mere merchants, her name did not bear the al’ that al’Zyrata’s did; her status was demarcated by the "fir" on "fir’Arklai." That was one of the great multitude of addresses assigned to the nobility; they were as myriad as snowflakes in winter. She knew all of them, in one way or another; Domani society was clannish, and large. It was one of the things that had been drilled into her, all her life.

She swept grandly into the small room, and was ushered to a chair. Jelun fir’Arklai looked up as she entered, and al’Zyrata felt her eyes upon her, weighing, measuring…She took her seat and proffered cup of tea, and waited. Unlike Jelun, patience was something she had learnt, and well. She let the other woman’s affected attitude wear thin, willing enough to make desultory comments, until the other woman steered the conversation where she thought it must go. At last, small talk aside, she arranged herself, indolently, on the chair she had been offered, and fastened dark-blue, direct eyes on Jelun. The other woman leaned forward, her moving fingers belying her eagerness.

"I believe you’ll find a match between House Halin’kor and House Arklai mutually beneficial…once I tell you this…"

al’Zyrata’s gilded skin paled under the soft flow of words. Her infamous composure dangled on the brink of breakage, under the implied threat in the woman’s words. Easier than marriage would be execution, but it could be traced back to her, and that would be even worse than living with the blackmail. For honor, then, she would accede; soon enough, impatience would deliver Jelun into her hands. With any hope, as well, her sister’s promising match to a young Andoran lord need not be compromised, either, but…just in case.

"With that in mind, perhaps it is best that our Houses put aside animosity and celebrate being united…our House will offer its second daughter to your first son. Such a wedding could be arranged in…oh, three moons? The Feast of Lights would be a propitious date to seal this union, I believe..." There, that had been casual; easy as talk of the sale and trading of silks.

"Indeed." The younger woman inclined her head, and smiled. al'Zyrata felt a sudden wave of nausea, but composure was the only weapon that she had upon her person, and it had yet to fail her. She clung to it, standing, and declaring their audience at an end. Anything more would be mere foolishness; both women knew that the upcoming union was a tentative thing, done to preserve familial honor, or, in the Arklai case, to gain some vestige of that virtue...

As al’Zyrata left, their business concluded, Jelun’s long nails clicked delicately on the marble windowsill stretching along the wall behind her seat, and her narrowed dark eyes held no happiness at all. There was blood in the water, and Jelun wanted to seize her opportunity now, not wait for the Feast of Lights. Yet…it had all been far too easy, and she did not like feeling that she had been the fool.

Jelun fir'Arklai
MRP: Prologue: Complications Abound
Mon Jun 3 20:09:13 2002

Everything in both plans, the public and the private, had gone well; the Second Daughter had defaulted the bargain, her wide blue eyes full of hatred for her elder sister as she had accepted the kind "help" of her newly-found friend. Jelun had been that newly-found friend, and it had been she who had delicately skewed the younger woman’s perception of her elder sister. cer’Sera Halin’kor was twenty years younger than her elder sister and her brothers, a dark-haired, blue-eyed, pale-skinned variation on her Andoran mother. It had all been easier than Jelun had suspected; there was much hatred in the family, and her manipulation was faultless, at least to her view. She did not think that al’Zyrata would ever know what had caused her sister to default and defile the familial honor. Best of all, without the child to settle the bargain, House Arklai was free to bring its discoveries to light.

She had first approached the parents of a fine young Tairen lordling, who had agreed that a powerful match in Arad Doman would be to their liking. It had been far easier to convince cer’Sera that her heart was more important than some bargain made for her; the girl had darted almost directly for the lordling, and Jelun had heard that a wedding was planned in the Stone of Tear. She wondered how long it would be before the dense child caught on to how she had been used, and laughed, to herself. She laughed until her composure and serenity were gone, and she looked ridiculous, paints smeared by tearful giggles of mirth and satisfaction. She knew she ought to feel remorse, but there was nothing in her laughter save her triumph. By this time next year, if she planned well and wisely, she could be Queen, perhaps…a stunning victory.

She had thought to reach the same ends years before with her failed marriage, but she had been grateful when the childless union had faltered, and her arranged bridegroom had died of an "accident." That "accident" had taken a year of careful planning, and her husband had never once known what was in store for him. It had left her rich, noble, and insatiably driven for more. To her ends, she manipulated people the way a lacemaker moved bobbins; these this way, those others that, to the specifications of a pattern that only she was certain of.

In the morning, she could arrive, as planned, at the Palace of Minarets, with the accustomed gift for a bride to be, and display complete shock to know the girl was gone. House Halin’kor had two daughters, and House Arklai two daughters; Jelun was widowed, and unsuitably old, even if both sons of House Halin’kor were unwed, which they were not. Desun and cer’Sera had been the only suitable match; let al’Zyrata deny that as she would. There would be no help for her but to bend knee and do as Jelun wished; it seemed that she had won, after all. And it had all been so easy.

She couldn’t believe how easy it had all been.

She was dressed in her finest that morning; she was going to a victory, after all. As she alighted from her coach at the Palace of the Minarets, she looked up, as familiarly as a woman who had just come home, and smiled. Soon, it would be home. She thought that the golden marble palace would do admirably well, until she was ready for the one that overshadowed it, its white marble and pearly elstone shimmering in the morning sun.

Soon.

Soon, for everything she’d ever wanted.

al'Zyrata Halin'kor
MRP: Prologue: Averting Disaster
Mon Jun 3 20:16:57 2002

It was with an odd satisfaction that al’Zyrata watched Jelun’s expression of disinterest and affected shock slip. The woman had something to do with the vitriolic letter and her sister’s sudden disappearance, the evening before, she was certain. However, with no proof, she could do nothing, and she was still honor-bound about their bargain. It had been a revelation of another of House Halin’kor’s skeletal secrets that had shocked Jelun so; all of Bandar Eban was certain there were but two daughters of the House of Halin’kor, and that the third had died in her cradle. The truth was almost something from a bard’s tale, but truth it was; al’Zyrata had seen the child three years before, when she had pleaded to remain at the White Tower.

That had been a shock, seeing yet another child come before them, claiming to be ly’Anjolie. Most girls had not even resembled her Andoran mother, who had died shortly before the girl's return; not one had borne the correct mark. It was true that the child was studying with the Aes Sedai, but one had been with her, and had vouched for her veracity. Aes Sedai did not lie, and al’Zyrata had nothing but respect for them. Now, however, they were a hurdle to be overcome. She needed her sister, to keep this bargain; light only knew what the secret that the other woman held over her head would do to their claim on the throne. Honor was first, and foremost. She twisted the golden bracelet on her left wrist and sighed. Nothing to do save summon the child, of course.

It was with a heavy heart that she penned her missive, a letter to the Amyrlin Seat herself, explaining some of her situation, and requesting the return of the Third of her House, so that the child could be married. It was, as she pointed out in her letter, the noblewoman’s lot in life; the girl had been born Halin’kor and the House required her. Surely, she could be released, now? She had been Tower-trained for four years; Queen Morgase of Andor sat her throne with less Tower training than that. She read over it as she carefully shook sand onto it; it was logical and well-argued, and she did not see how they could disagree, when the need was genuine.

It had taken much persuasion, as well, to convince Jelun that the youngest daughter of House Halin’kor was a better match; in her heart, she hoped that the shy blonde child she remembered had grown to be a woman of strength and integrity. She did not like to sell the child so, but honor was everything, and honor could be salvaged in only this way. The girl would learn happiness, here in Arad Doman; with her family, and the power she would exert, how could a woman not be happy? Assuredly, she would learn to enjoy the comforts of a royal life; what young woman would say no?

Deiree Delenn Karaeth
MRP: Prologue: Sealed to the White Tower
Mon Jun 3 20:24:25 2002

The morning mail was always the best of the work of being Keeper; as she signed and assigned missives, she learnt the workings of the world, and of Daes Dae’mar. Surprisingly, she had developed a natural bent for the Game, and Ariana had complimented her upon it. As she set the last letters into the folder of morning work, for Ariana to complete, fingers quick at using the once-unfamiliar leather portfolio, a knock came at the outer door. She frowned, and gestured the Novice on duty to answer it; no sooner had the girl greeted the stranger outside than an Accepted led him in. Her bright grey eyes were wide with curiosity, and Deiree echoed the emotion; men were an uncommon sight, to ask questions of the Amyrlin. Far more frequent, although still rare, were women.

"Child," she greeted, hating the formal address. The man bowed, took in the dark blue stole over the shoulders of her grey gown, and bowed again. She stood, and gestured that he sit; he was clinging to a cased scroll, and looking nervous. He refused, albeit in a frightened tone; she merely raised a smooth brow. He looked tired, and less than kempt; he looked as if he had run all the way here, from Illian. From the Accepted’s tiny shrug, he had, no doubt, elected to come before the Amyrlin Seat first, as some did. She hated to tell him that today’s schedule was full, when he had obviously come so far, but tomorrow was soon enough. It had to be; tomorrow was the first opening she had. Just as she opened her mouth to offer that, with her sincere apologies, he cleared his throat.

"I have come with a missive for the Amyrlin Seat," he said, formally, extending the scroll. Deiree examined it for a personal sigil, and found none; the scroll was addressed to the Amyrlin, but Deiree dealt with all mail not on a particular format, and this was far short of it. Her nails sliced through the crimson wax seal, and she extracted the fine parchment within, her thundercloud eyes scanning down the page. As she neared the bottom, she shook her head. An odd request, but not too uncommon; many a girl’s family demanded her back. No doubt Madeline could handle this with far more tact than she.

"I can deal with this," she answered the messenger. "Give me but an hour to write a letter to your mistress…ah…al’Zyrata…and you will be hastened on your way. You might sleep in your own bed, this night, Goodman." There was no doubt that she could find a man capable of Traveling to Arad Doman; she could do that little for the messenger, who would be the bearer of bad tidings. The messenger blinked at her, and she waved him away. "Have the Accepted Olonoda take you to a chamber where you can rest, and I will deal with this, myself." He bowed out of her office, the puzzled Accepted on his heels. Deiree could hear her coaxings to the man to come this way, and laughed, but only to herself. With him gone from her office, she ghosted down the hall, in the opposite direction, seeking out the Mistress of Novices.

The audience with Madeline had been brief, but confusing. al’Zyrata had not seemed to think her sister capable of becoming Aes Sedai, and had alluded to wanting her at home; Deiree had gone along to see what the formal answer to such a plea would be, though she was certain she knew well enough that it would be a refusal. Indeed it was; the child in question had become Accepted, and Accepted were Sealed to the Tower. There was no chance, now, of the House reclaiming its daughter, until she was Aes Sedai. Deiree remembered the ceremony, and the tearful, sobbing conclusion, now that the name was before her. She dipped her pen into a vial of black ink, and began, in a looping backscrawl, to explain the circumstances to this al’Zyrata Halin’kor of Arad Doman.

She was really feeling quite sorry for the messenger; at least, if it were any consolation, he would be able to deliver the news quickly.

al'Zyrata Halin'kor
MRP: Prologue: News from the White Tower
Mon Jun 3 20:51:08 2002

"And you spoke with the Keeper of the Chronicles, herself? An Aes Sedai? You are certain?"

The man nodded, looking nervous. al’Zyrata had been surprised beyond belief to see him home so quickly; the trip to Tar Valon took six weeks, at the very least, and her messenger had been gone less than a month. She half thought that he might have simply spent her coin on drinking and whores, except for the message he had brought with him; the Flame of Tar Valon, with a sunburst behind it, a sigil she did not know but did not doubt belonged to the Keeper of the Chronicles, was evident in the broken crimson wax. She had read over the terse words a dozen times already, and already, as well, her response was forming in her head. The family had to keep its honor; ly’Anjolie had to wed Desun Arklai at the Feast of Lights. Simple as that.

She dismissed the man with a wave of her hand, lounging on her chaise, holding a herbal pack to her head, to soothe the growing headache that she was getting. Light knew she wanted an easy solution; she spent the night discarding and outlining plans. By dawn’s early light, she determined which she would use. A quick ring of the bell on her desk brought her personal maid, Zyren, and she murmured, "Bring me Ostar Knidae. Have him rousted out of whatever bar he’s in, and bring him to me before midday."

After her personal maid had left, she roused herself, headache and all, and went in search of her secretary, an older woman with a surprising bent on her. One would not know it, but the woman was Cairhienin, and her mind was excellent. Surely, she’d have a passable solution to the entire dilemma; while she intended to go through the trouble of stealing her sister from the Tower, anyway, simply because she had been refused her, ly’Anjolie might prove utterly unsuitable. There was only so much that could be done to hide the family’s secrets, though; the girl had to be a solution. Her secretary suggested a few, outlandish things, but none of them had any pretense of keeping the family honorable. All that was left, now, was honor; later, there would be time for explanation, for hedging, for riddles and enigmas.

Restlessly, she paced the sanctum of her private audience chamber, buried deeply in the golden Palace of the Minarets. The room had a balcony, but the Arad Doman skies were grey; she did not dare go out into the fresh air. So much she had to do, and so little time; she waited impatiently, uncaring of the dark circles under her eyes. It was near to her time limit when he arrived, and she sat up, gesturing him in, around the maid, who looked utterly exhausted and near to tears. She would have to reward the woman suitably; Ostar Knidae was known to be none too kind about being removed from his ale. However, he was the best he was at what he did…and she required that he be. A mistake would be just as dishonorable as defaulting on the dealings with House Arklai.

"Ostar. Sit. I have need of your…services. There is a person whom I wish to have here, and I would pay greatly to see her. She is my sister…and she’s in the White Tower. She is Accepted, but…that should pose no problem. I’m willing to pay…" She spread her hands, exposing pale wrists, her liquid eyes large, "just about whatever you would ask."

He grunted, sourly. She tried not to wrinkle her nose at the scent of ale wafting her way, and sat, to begin to give instructions. Her tone was no longer caressing; this was business, and he’d agreed. She would soon have her sister here, and then, when the child was wed, there’d be no silliness about where she belonged. She felt a slight bit of guilt about the final instructions, but they were necessary; the White Tower must not suspect the House. That would be disastrous.

"Do not fail in my instructions," she warned, standing to show that the audience was at an end. "Otherwise, we’ll all be brought to the Tower for execution, and I warrant, I’ll see your head on the block for all of it."

That had been nine weeks before; now, as the first winter winds rushed over the island city of Tar Valon, a dark-haired, moustached man with a long scar down his left cheek glared up at the White Tower. He’d been forced to come here; his first few attempts, after waiting a few decent weeks, had all been turned away. Even carefully schooled young women, carefully picked to match his description, were turned away, and he sensed that al’Zyrata had thought along the same lines. Jelun drove a hard bargain; every girl had left the woman’s presence weeping, and angry. He had barely been able to pay the last one off. She had almost exposed him, as well as herself. At his shoulder was a smaller, more agile man, his hair grey with age, but his eyes bright. Emkar was a fine assistant, and he’d been bought for no more than a few concessions. He thought that the man’s vendetta against the House of Halin’kor might be too personal, but that was Emkar’s dilemma, and none of his.

Now was time to find a place in an inn and begin to amass information about the Aes Sedai and their trainees. He had some work to be about.

Continue - Act One

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