Fanfic:A Rude Interruption
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Hama Valon bustled with activity at nearly every hour of the day or night. The Grey Tower tried its best to keep the place respectable with wide, clean streets, friendly establishments, and regular public holidays. The city watch kept trouble to a minimum, while Aes Sedai and Asha'man kept an eye on the merchants and craftsmen who sold their wares in the trade district. However, societal rot existed no matter how fine a place seemed. It seeped into every alley way, cobblestone, and wall. Where a fine inn served wine to noblemen existed, so, too, did a smoke-shrouded tavern with a bawdy name. When Laine Enterprises deemed a city worthy of their presence, chances were strong that thieves, pickpockets, and swindlers also found safe haven.
Dakson Torellion had long since grown comfortable with the underbelly of Hama Valon. He preferred it to the brutality of the Practice Yards, in fact. He believed that people in general had motives as varied as the patches on a Gleeman's cloak, and that variety showed nowhere as clearly as it did in the run down taverns and dock shops of the world. The line between good and evil grew rather murky in such places, and no one cared if a strange man with shaggy hair and two days of stubble played at dice or sat quietly by himself in a corner. If some of them recognized him as the man who had once been at the center of every crowd and the instigator of every fight, they said little to that effect.
He went there because the shadows of his past came out to haunt him at night, their ghostly voices chasing through his mind. The company at the taverns at least kept him busy, even if he no longer felt the urge to partake of the liquid escape that it poured from a tap. He had spent most of his time as Drin'far'ji and even as Ji'alantin intent on drowning his memories, and himself, in beer. He had been vaguely aware that it took more and more drink to push the world away, but nothing had mattered as much as numbing the pain, forgetting, drifting away and being free if only for a little while. The ragged nightmare of his life had continued unabated until Seth Arcuraim had laid his bloody hands on him and burned the liquor –and the fog- away.
That night he sat at the back of the Lucky Penny, alone save for his thoughts. He had his feet up on the table and his chair leaned against the wall, carefully sharpening his dagger with his whetstone. A half-empty mug sat near his calf on the table, forgotten since he had placed it there well over an hour before. His eyes were on the people who sat or strolled around the room in front of him, but his mind had drifted away on a sea of wild black hair and stormy eyes.
A knife slamming point-first into the table near his head knocked him out of his reverie, and he turned his head slightly to look at it. He could tell the knife itself came from Tarabon; no other country produced such ornate –and in his opinion, ridiculous- scrollwork on hilt and blade of a weapon. He rolled his head further back to get a glimpse of the person who had interrupted him. The man was average height, Dax thought, with straw-colored hair and dark brown eyes that glared out at Dax from above a sheer Taraboner veil. His dark green coat bore scrollwork nearly as elaborate as the knife.
"Rude," he said simply, ostentatiously turned back to stropping his dagger with the stone.
The man pulled his knife free of the table, and a moment later Dax felt the cold kiss of the blade in the soft spot just below his ear, digging in until he felt sharp pain as it pierced his skin. "Dakson Torellion," the man said. "Do I have your attention?"
Dax straightened carefully, turning to look at the man. The knife followed, the point shifting enough to scratch him. He didn't bother hiding his wince. "It seems I have some time to spare," he said in a bored tone. "Which spurned lover's father, brother, or new lover are you?" he asked. The stranger's face flushed below that veil; in that one moment of distraction, the Tairen's hand shot out, wrapping around the man's wrist and pushing the knife away from his face. The stranger struggled, but he had no leverage from his position. Dax's fingers tightened, digging into the man's tendons, twisting until the Taraboner's hand popped open and the knife fell.
Dax rose to his feet, still holding the man's wrist in that vice-like grip. "I ask again: who are you?"
"Jasyn Simir," the man said coldly, making a futile effort to pull free of Dax's grip. "Don't pretend you don't know my daughter Avarie."
"Mother's milk in a cup," Dax snapped as he shoved Jasyn away like a small child, "not her again." The older man had staggered back, then caught his balance and stood again, staring murder past that stupid veil. "What …exactly…. did your precious daughter have to say about me?" Dax inquired in a resigned tone. He tuned out a few minutes into the diatribe that followed. It was more of the same. He had no patience for such foolishness.
"Jasyn, this isn't worth it. Pick up your knife and go home," he said finally, his voice as even as he could force it to be. "Avarie lied to you as much as she lied to me." Eventually he had to live down that mistake…right? The Taraboner crouched to pick up his knife, and Dax waited warily.
A moment later Jasyn exploded to his feet, and Dax caught the knife against his own. As soon as metal touched metal a space cleared around them, the occupants scattering with practiced ease. Dax twisted his left hand, knocking his assailant's blade away, then dropped his hands to his chest, dagger pushed forward and against his right hand.
Dax stepped back, and his assailant followed, his curses filling the sudden silence. The older man struck at his right side with his bare fist, then slashed diagonally with his knife. Dax took a step out of the Taraboner's range with his right foot, his right fist lashing out to connect with the man's wrist and knock the punch aside. Then he shifted into high guard and slashed down at Jasyn's right shoulder.
Jasyn stepped into the blow, rather than way, catching Dax's forearm on his shoulder and attempting to wrap his own arms around it to yank him off balance. Dax yanked away with the strength of years of training, and shifted back to high guard, his eyes carefully examining his opponent.
After fighting Gaidin and Trollocs, one slightly overweight man in a tavern would normally not be a challenge. However, here his uniform hindered him from deadly strikes –fighting was one thing, killing quite another- and Jasyn's strength had been bolstered by rage.
Dax feinted to the left, pulling away and down at the last moment, then across. His knife sliced the man's coat, and then Avarie's father knocked his hand away, his own blade slicing at Dax's shoulder.
Knives flashing, they circled one another, feinting one way than the other, slashing up, down, side to side. Dax was distantly aware that the other people in the room were talking among themselves, laughing and cheering by turns. Entertainment, are we? He parried another strike by kicking Jasyn in the side, nearly knocking the man over.
Dax finally broke the silence. "Your daughter lied," he hissed when the man had straightened. He had switched his dagger to his right and settled into wide guard, arms wide, apparently an open target. With a dagger, it worked quite well. "I told her I wanted no children, right from the beginning," he said, lifting his arm to block Jasyn's fist from connecting with his jaw. "She said she understood." His knife had slashed down, aiming for the Taraboner's legs. Jasyn stepped to the side, and his own knife hand came up.
Their blades met with a clash, and Dax pushed his arm up, preventing the older man from freeing his blade. "Did she tell you what she did while she was here?" he asked, looking the man in the eye. "Did she tell you where she worked, how she made her money?" Jasyn glowered, and yanked his blade free. They circled again like two great cats. "No. Your precious daughter stood on the corner with her skirts tied up to her thigh," he said. "She was quite popular, or so I heard. I met her when she stopped at a tavern after a hard night of….work."
Jasyn's face darkened and he lashed out, the rage that had kept him before now working against him, his blows choppy and incoherent. Dax blocked them easily with knife and fist, his own anger transforming to a sort of savage glee as he toyed with the man who had dared interrupt his night. High guard shifted to a shoulder cut, pulled out to shielded guard and then into a thrust straight for the man's neck.
To his surprise, Jasyn's arm shot out, fingers wrapping around his wrist and twisting sharply in much the same move he had used moments before. He clenched his fist and turned against the gesture until his hand lined up properly, then he yanked free, his knife cutting deep into the thick pad of the man's palm as it pulled through.
The two had drawn near a table now empty of occupants; Dax shifted carefully with each attack and parry, until finally he was able to hook his heel behind a chair. He feinted, slashing at the man's face as he reached back, groping. His fingers wrapped around wood, and he swung the chair at the Taraboner. Caught off guard, the man stumbled, arms flying up to protect his face. The Tairen dropped his knife and the chair, hauled back, and delivered a powerful blow to the side of the man's head.
Dark eyes rolled back and Jasyn collapsed, landing in an untidy heap on the floor. Dax strode to his side, staring down at him expressionlessly. A tavern girl hurried over and did something, and a moment later the Simir man groaned.
Dax crouched over the stranger, one fist gathering the cloth at his throat and pulling him up until their faces were inches apart. "Your daughter's child is your daughter's fault, and I want nothing to do with it," he said coldly. "If I ever see you again I will kill you."
He stood in one fluid motion and strode to the wall, where he retrieved his sword and clipped it to his belt. Then he flipped a gold coin to the innkeeper and departed, still roiling with anger. He wasn't sure who he hated more at that moment- Avarie Simir for her lies, or Asha'man Seth for removing the haze that had allowed him to live in some measure of peace.
