Fanfic:A Pledge of Conviction
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Mirin watched breathlessly as Rhykana disappeared around the corner. Rhykana had a class to teach on ter'angreal, a lesson that usually occupied her for an hour or more.
It was impossible that the other Accepted would catch her.
She walked quietly down the hall toward Rhykana's room, her slippered feet making little noise. Casually, she opened the door and walked in. She closed the door quietly behind her and gazed about the messy room in distaste. Where to begin? The desk was strewn with papers and pots of colored ink. The bookshelf was crowded with books, papers, and journals. A small lockbox on the bookshelf caught her eye.
Rhykana paused in the hallway, leaning for a moment against the wall, letting the cold from the stone seep into her skin. Emmond’s dagger was clenched tightly in her left hand, and she wanted nothing more than to let it drop and simply walk away. To kill Aslanin would be to kill a friend. But more than that, it would be to kill the only person who could follow the leaps her mind made, who could create ter'angreal with her.
But there was nothing to be done. She straightened slowly, forcing herself to think practically as she did. There was the matter of the dagger. She could not very well take the thing into the classroom with her. And anyways, today it was Aslanin’s turn to teach, not hers. He would not mind her absence. Her mind filled with that bittersweet thought, Rhykana turned around, heading swiftly down the hallway back to her room.
Mirin examined the box carefully for signs of saidar, and finding none, she embraced the Source to probe open the lock with a touch of Air. But as she wove, her Power-enhanced hearing heard footsteps coming down the hall. She waited for the steps to pass - but when they didn't, she spun around in horror.
She looked around. There was no place to hide in the small room. What could she weave? What would Rhykana do? She froze as the doorknob twisted.
The doorknob twisted easily in her hand, when it usually stuck. Rhykana paused, filled with sudden paranoia and unease. Someone had been here, or someone already was here. She glanced quickly down the hallway, to check that it was empty of all Accepted. That done, she swiftly unwrapped the throwing dagger, holding it easily in throwing position, and thrust the door open, ready to throw.
She embraced the Source as the door flew inward, quickly weaving the small weave of Air that would ensure that her dagger struck true. Her wrist cocked back, and her eyes met the terrified gaze of the Accepted before her. “What are you doing?” Rhykana asked, her voice cold and quiet, her body tense.
Mirin looked guiltily at the jewelry box in hand, and then saw the dagger, poised to strike. She swallowed, hard. Perhaps truth would be the best path. "I was curious about your mission for Emmond," she said. How did her voice sound so steady?
Rhykana stepped forward, her feet light, as she had been taught in the Yards. She changed the grip of the dagger, for slicing rather than throwing. “Are you that stupid to think that I wouldn’t notice that someone had gone through my things?” she asked, her voice dry. She could almost smell the stupid girl’s terror. “I would put down that box before it explodes. It’s a ter’angreal, you see.” Rhykana tried to smile, but in all honesty it was a baring of her teeth.
Mirin blinked. Explode? "Then perhaps you could catch it," she said lightly. With a sudden motion, she tossed the box at Rhykana's face, and ran for the door.
Cursing, Rhykana batted the lockbox away with a thread of air. She pivoted in place, throwing up a Ward to block the doorway as she did. Rhykana had worked closely with explosions for three years, and a running girl was hardly as fast as a ball of fire.
Mirin hissed through her teeth as the weave flew past her head. She spun around, channeling the weave that she knew best - a web of Spirit. Even as she wove, she knew it was a mistake. No matter her Talent, the complex weave took too long to form. Against the more experienced Accepted, she had no chance of winning.
Compulsion? The girl wanted to fight her with Compulsion? Rhykana laughed in her face, as she sliced through the weave with careful flicks of Spirit, aimed precisely at the places that would make the weave fall apart with minimum effort.
“I can see why Lydarian found you, you silly chit,” Rhykana said, her voice cold and biting.
She stepped forward, reaching out to grab Mirin by the shoulder and slam her against the door. If she thought it would do any good, she would have tried to shield the girl. That would have been pointless; they both knew that Mirin was by far the stronger of the two of them. But Rhykana had the knife, and the training to use it. “Let me repeat myself. What. Are. You. Doing.”
Mirin grunted as Rhykana stepped forward and slammed her against the door.
"I told you," she answered. Her voice was angry and vicious even though she trembled in fear. "I wanted to know your mission for Emmond. What did he give you?"
Rhykana pressed the knife against Mirin’s neck. “The question remains. What made you think you deserved to know? What made you think you had the right to investigate? And now that I have caught you, what makes you think that I will accept that as an answer?”
Mirin spat out the words. "Curiosity. Pure silly flaming curiosity." She already regretted trying to find out. Why had Rhykana re-appeared? Didn't she have a class to teach? A puzzle to solve for later. "Perhaps we can help each other," she offered. "Emmond didn't say that we couldn't work together."
Rhykana pressed the dagger forward, against Mirin’s neck, just because she could. It had been years since she had caused someone pain. Not since her second Arch, so many years ago. It had been a knife then, too. For a long moment, her eyes were caught on the dagger, pressing so close to Mirin’s jugular. “I think you will find that both of our tasks are far too personal for that,” she said, as pleasantly as she could manage, her thumb stroking the handle of the blade.
Mirin’s lips tightened. "Mine isn't," she said shortly. She wondered if the other girl would be curious. She tried not to breathe as the dagger moved closer. She did not want a scar, nor did she want to have to explain any injury to a sister or brother.
“I don’t care,” Rhykana told her, simply. The girl, no matter how strong in the One Power, was no interest to her. So, she had a Talent with Compulsion. So did Rhykana. Mirin had nothing else to offer, for she was obviously so recently turned to the Black.
“And you have not answered.” She leaned forward, pressing her forehead into Mirin’s. “Why should I accept that as an answer? Why should I care that you could not squash your curiosity?” She fought the urge to press the blade just a little more, just a little further. “What do you have to offer me?”
She smiled, although she doubted Mirin could see it. “I have no need of your help.”
It suddenly occurred to Mirin that she could possibly not make it out of this situation alive. Seriously? she thought. Anger filled her, as well as more than a little desperation. Is this how it ends? Pathetic.
"Kill me and you'll regret it," she said coldly. "This isn't about what I can offer you. Look beyond your own short-sighted plots for a change, you nimwit. Together we'd be far stronger than you alone."
Rhykana laughed. She leaned back, so that she could see the other Accepted’s face better. “Mirin. That is your name, isn’t it?” She tapped a finger against the dagger, and her smile disappeared.
“I have known that I would join the Black Ajah since my first year as a novice.” Rhykana’s voice lost all of its humor, returning to her usual tone – cold and practical. “Do you know how many years that has been? A great many more than you have been at the Tower, you silly chit. You lecture me about plans? I have had long term plans for the Black Ajah for many years.” Rhykana no longer noticed the girl’s terror, or the blade at Mirin’s throat. “When did you first speak to our dear Lydie? A few paltry months ago? I must repeat myself again, then. What do you have to offer me?”
Mirin's voice dropped to a soft whisper. "What do you want, Rhykana? Power? Glory? Perhaps you seek to one day to replace our beloved Asha'man and become the Head of the Black Ajah itself? You may think that you need no help, Rhykana. But you aren't invincible. You can't watch everyone, or hear everything. I can help you."
And before Rhykana asked, she continued speaking, her voice growing in strength. "And before you ask what's in it for me, well, all I want is information. If we communicate and work together, then the world would be at our feet. Don't look at me with such disdain, Rhykana. I understand that you're a loner. But even you can see how having someone to watch your back could be helpful."
Rhykana gazed at the other girl, wondering if she was startled by the change in discourse, or if she had believed that her offer had been accepted. Rhykana had no desire to become the wary ally that Mirin suggested. But, the girl had mettle, and Rhykana could not help but find that she was intrigued - perhaps she would break into the girl’s room, just to give her a taste of her own medicine. It was true that she had no interest in the sort of ally that was more enemy than friend, but it was becoming increasingly obvious that she needed more people like Makenna in her life and at her side.
“My name is Rhykana Meran. I do not believe we have met before now. I have the same Talent for Compulsion that you do, although Lydarian did not approach me for that reason.” Rhykana looked steadily at the other girl, not allowing her face to deviate from her stony expression. “I will join the Black Ajah so that I may kill the man who raped me when I was a girl, and all the men like him I can find.” And so I can enjoy their deaths and their blood on my hands, she thought, reflectively. “Why on earth did you find yourself in Lydie’s mess, Mirin? You are not her type of girl.”
Mirin noticed the sudden change in tone. She wondered what had happened. Rhykana's face was unreadable. She barely restrained herself from rolling her eyes as Rhykana introduced herself - as though Mirin did not know who she was - but she supposed that it was a very polite gesture for them to "meet" properly.
"Lydarian Sedai summoned me to her rooms one day," Mirin said. "Why? After meeting you, I'm not quite sure. If she already had you, then I'm not certain why she was interested in me."
A slightly melancholy expression crossed her face. Life would be so much easier if she had not somehow caught Lydarian's interest.
Rhykana sighed, and dropped the dagger on the bed next to her. “I was not sure, myself, before today. I knew that she had found another prodigy, and I helped her recruit Makenna.” It had not been one of her brightest moves, but she had had no choice. And ultimately, she was glad that she had, for Makenna might have become an enemy otherwise.
“She usually goes for young girls,” she said, voice dry and sardonic. “To more easily mold them, I imagine. You and Makenna do not fit that bill.”
She did not mention that she had, as a novice. Rhykana had long suspected that Lydarian had been working on her mind, with subtle manipulations and less subtle Compulsion, before Rhykana had discovered her own Talent. She often wondered what it was that Lydie thought she had created. “But now it is easy to understand. She did not recruit us to the Black Ajah, she recruited us for herself.
“I imagine she sees us as her own private army. If I had to venture a guess, she intends to become the Head of our new Ajah.” Rhykana smiled, grimly. “But you’ve realized that by now, haven’t you?” Mirin was smarter than she had expected, and full of flattery besides.
Mirin blinked. She was only eighteen years old, nearing nineteen. It was startling to be lumped together in age with Makenna, who was in her late thirties. She watched Rhykana carefully, grateful that the dagger had left Rhykana's hand, yet she remained wary. The feeling of that knife pressed to her throat was too fresh.
"Where do your loyalties lie?" she asked, bluntly. "Lydarian, or Emmond?"
“Not with Lydarian,” Rhykana said, immediately. “And I do not believe with Emmond, either. I would say the Black Ajah, but that would also be a lie. The Black Ajah is a means to an end, and more hostile than I had been lead to believe.” It was, as it always had been, stupid to believe Lydarian.
“With myself, I suppose. And Makenna, for the moment.” Rhykana considered, her gaze roaming distractedly about the room. “We are currently only pawns, and I aim to change that."
Mirin stiffened at the mention of Makenna. She had not forgotten her lessons as a novice. It had not been so long ago. They had been... interesting, and less than pleasant.
"Are the two of you already in an alliance?" she asked. Rhykana did not strike Mirin as the type of woman to accept equals.
“I would not go that far,” Rhykana said, wryly. “We are united against Lydarian, perhaps, but I do not know what will happen after today’s revelation with Emmond.” She returned her gaze to the other Accepted. It had not been long since Mirin had been raised to the ring. Makenna was certainly tolerable, but then they were both Accepted. Rhykana had to wonder what it would have been like to been a novice still. Perhaps Makenna’s alliance would not have been as tolerable.
“And you, Mirin? Are you finding yourself swayed by Emmond?” There was no question that Lydarian had managed to alienate the three of them.
Mirin licked her lips. A strange thought had been lurking at the back of her mind, an idea that she had not wanted to consider. Perhaps this was the reason why she approached Rhykana instead of Makenna, her former mentor; perhaps this was the reason why she had stayed in Rhykana’s room instead of fleeing. Although her upbringing and education had brought a polished veneer to her mannerisms, she was still a passionate, young woman who made decisions based on simple, brash intuition.
And right now, that intuition was telling her something... insane. Insane and absolutely stupid. Yet it felt like the right thing to do.
Mirin tried not to think of it - but she remembered all her study of political intrigue. She remembered her training as a young Cairhienin girl in the Game of Houses. She recalled the rise and fall of nations and all the books she had studied in history. The pieces were laid out like a game of stones. With sudden clarity, she knew the steps that she must take to ensure her own survival and relevance in this dangerous game that she found herself caught in.
There was no more time to think. Rhykana was watching her suspiciously. The silence had stretched too long. She had to seize the moment.
“No,” Mirin said, hoarsely. “I am not swayed by Emmond.”
She dropped to her knees and placed her hand over her heart.
“In the name of the Great Lord, I swear fealty to Rhykana Meran, Accepted of the Grey Tower. I promise to serve you in whatever way you require. For as long as you require. I believe that you will win, Rhykana. I am sworn to you now.”
