Fanfic:Feast of Lights
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Mirin brushed at her hair vigorously. Despite her efforts, her dark curls refused to be tamed; if anything, they sprang up wilder than before. Her eyes glittered with excitement. The Feast of Lights! It was her favorite holiday. She plucked at her eyebrows and powdered her face. A final swipe of lipstick and she was ready. She looked at her reflection with satisfaction.
Usually, her face was pretty enough, if a bit plain. But with a touch of makeup and a deft hand with a brush, her best features were accentuated. Her light grey eyes seemed brighter and expressive; her smile was charming and flirtatious. Her hair tumbled in attractive, unruly waves down her back.
Her door creaked open and a girl poked her head in. “Are you ready, Mirin?”
Mirin turned. “Yes, almost,” she replied.
She tossed a silver fur cloak around her shoulders. It settled warmly across her back. She had managed to purchase it with the meager funds that she had been given as an Accepted – along with a touch of the Power. Mirin knew the risks of using Compulsion, but she couldn’t stop herself from exploring her newly found Talent. Surely a small touch of the Power wouldn’t hurt anyone. And besides, she would have paid the full price if she could afford it.
She smiled wryly. Her excuses sounded pitiful and weak, even to herself. The truth was, she simply couldn’t resist the power that came with her Talent. The rush that came with breaking the rules was sweet and addicting. She felt invincible. She glanced at her reflection one last time, and then walked out of her room into the hall.
There were fewer than two dozen Accepted in the Tower, and each face was familiar. At the front stood Liri, slender and beautiful in a warm yellow cloak. Next to her was Astoria, a haughty Tairen. She watched Mirin approach with obvious dislike. Makenna, an aspiring Brown and Mirin’s former mentor, stood alone by the wall. Mirin tried to catch her eye, but, like a Brown sister, Makenna seemed to be lost in her thoughts.
Mirin moved to stand next to Betrys, her best friend.
Astoria sniffed. “Kept us waiting long enough, Mirin.” When she turned away, Mirin stuck out her tongue at the back of her head.
The women walked out of the Tower in an orderly line. When Mirin passed through the gates, she stopped and looked around her in delight.
The streets of Hama Valon were packed with revelers. Lamps and candles filled the windows of storefronts and homes, and even the trees were decorated with floating lights. Music flowed merrily through the streets.
The small group of Accepted dispersed. A small street shop selling lanterns and feathered masks caught Mirin’s eye. She grasped Betrys hand and pulled her friend towards the stall.
Giggling, they tried on various masks. Mirin decided to buy a sleek silver and black mask with delicate, dark feathers; while Betrys chose a gorgeous green mask with subtle flecks of gold.
A voice spoke behind her. “’ello, Accepted.”
Mirin spun around. A tall, dark-haired man stood behind them. Mirin recognized him immediately – Valadin, a Dedicated who aspired to the Green Ajah. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Betrys blushing bright red.
The festive atmosphere suddenly turned awkward. Mirin rolled her eyes. She grasped their arms and pushed their hands together. “Go, dance,” she said, forcefully.
Betrys gave her a look of genuine alarm. “But what ‘bout you?” she asked.
Mirin laughed prettily. “Oh Betrys, I’ll have no trouble finding a partner.” She winked.
Betrys shot another startled glance at Mirin. Then, she was swept up in the dancing crowd.
Mirin danced her way through the streets. Her cheeks were flushed from the exercise. Oh, how she loved the Feast of Lights! Another merry tune caught her ear and she turned toward the nearest inn.
'Lavender’s blue, fiddle diddle dee
Lavender’s green,
When I am king, fiddle diddle dee
You shall be queen.'
She stood by the wall, her foot tapping to the music. When the maid came close, she tossed the woman a coin for a warm drink.
A stranger walked up to her. “You look like you want to dance,” he said. He offered his arm.
Mirin smiled and shook her head. The feathers of her mask bobbed with the movement. “Thank you, sir, but I am waiting for my drink.”
The man winked. “I’ll buy you another for a dance.” His voice was slurred.
“No, thank you,” Mirin said firmly.
“Oh, come on, let’s have some fun,” he said. He placed a hand around her arm and attempted to drag her out to the dance floor.
Mirin embraced the Source, holding as little of the Power as possible. Even though she couldn’t see anyone in the inn who would report her, she wanted to avoid attention. In the blink of an eye, she had woven her most familiar weave, a web of Compulsion, in threads of Spirit as fine as silk. She laid the weave on the man. He immediately released her arm, and stood still, looking slightly dazed. She slipped away before he could recover.
The barmaid finally brought her a mug of warm ale. She stood in a different corner of the inn, hoping that the man would not find her again. The Compulsion had been barely a brush on his mind, just a light touch of Spirit to disorient him for Mirin’s escape. Her foot tapped to the music.
“What did you do to him?” The low, gravelly voice came from a tall man standing before her. A black-and-red mask covered the top half of his face. His lips were curved in a wicked smile.
Mirin’s heart began racing, but she tried to remain calm. She raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” she asked, coolly.
His eyes glittered through the holes of his mask. “I saw you and that drunk fellow over there. He was pulling at you, and then suddenly stopped as though he’d been hit over the head. You must have done something, although I could not see what.”
Mirin drew herself up to her fullest height, and was miffed to discover that she still barely reached his shoulder. “Are you an Asha’man? A Dedicated?” she demanded.
“No,” the man seemed amused. “I’m not of the Grey Tower.”
Mirin let out a relieved breath.
“And you? Are you an Aes Sedai?”
She tossed her head and smiled prettily. “It’s the Feast of Lights, stranger. Today is not a day for titles,” she said, avoiding his question.
He laughed. “Very well, woman. Would you like to dance?”
Mirin tapped her lip as she considered. 'Why not,' she thought. This man, unlike the other, seemed to be pleasant company.
“After I finish my drink,” she said, and sipped at her drink.
He swept a mocking bow. “As you wish, my lady. Although you do seem eager.” He gestured to her tapping foot.
She stilled her foot and glared up at him, though the corners of her mouth twitched in amusement. His expression, half-hidden by the mask, was unreadable, but his eyes, a unique blend of grey and green, shone with a warm light. She felt a familiar buzz of excitement settle into her stomach – the excitement of knowing that a man desired 'her'. She felt powerful. Beautiful. Invincible.
Mirin tilted her head back to catch the last few drops of her ale. He reached for her empty tankard, gently pried it from her fingers, and set it aside. She shivered as he touched the small of her back, guiding her to the dance floor.
He sang along as they danced.
'“A brisk young man, fiddle diddle dee
Met with a maid,
And laid her down, fiddle diddle dee
Under the shade.
Lavender’s blue, fiddle diddle dee
Lavender’s green,
When I am king, fiddle diddle dee
You shall be queen.”'
Step, step, turn. Step, step, double turn, and then he spun her in a dizzying circle. He was a good dancer, Mirin noticed. She liked a man who could dance – especially a tall man. Even if he couldn’t sing.
“You’re a terrible singer,” she murmured.
He smiled mockingly. “What was that?” Then, in a sudden movement, he swept her off the floor with seemingly no effort at all. Mirin laughed in delight. How she loved the Feast of Lights!
Down in the vale, fiddle diddle dee
Where flowers grow,
And the birds sing, fiddle diddle dee
All in a row
The dance ended. As the musicians struck up another tune, Mirin pulled away.
He caught her arm. “Will join me for another?”
“You should let other men have a chance,” she said, playfully. Her smile remained friendly, but she felt surprised and a little taken aback. Tradition at the Feast of Lights called for single men and women to switch partners every dance. Dancing twice with a partner was nearly a declaration of a steady relationship. Dancing thrice was practically a marriage proposal.
Her partner was not deterred. “Let us grab a bite then. I know a place with the most delicious sweetbread. My treat.”
Mirin shook her head. “No, I – ” But a growl from her stomach betrayed her. He gave her a pointed look, and they both laughed. 'Why not,' she thought, again. She loved sweetbread.
They stepped out into the cold. He led her down the street and into a small shop. After purchasing two warm loaves of sweetbread, they sat by a window to eat. Mirin bit into her bread. It was hot and delicious, perfect for a cold winter day.
“What’s it like, at the Grey Tower?” he asked.
“It’s alright,” she said, carefully. She did not want to speak too much of the Tower to an outsider. But his eyes were steady and honest and…. concerned. 'What was he worried about?' she wondered.
“Are people training there treated well?”
She stared. “Why, of course we are,” she stated. Then she realized her mistake and blushed a furious shade of red. He smiled at her, amused. Mirin lifted her chin proudly.
“I’m glad to hear it,” he said, gently.
For a few long minutes, they chewed on their bread in silence. Mirin snuck glances at him as she ate. Although he didn’t seem particularly handsome, he wasn’t unpleasing to look at. His chin was sharp and defined, with perhaps a day’s growth of whiskers. His eyes were a warm shade of green and grey. But then again, that black and red mask covering the top half of his face could be covering anything.
“Would you like to dance another?” he asked again.
She shook her head, although a small part of her wanted to agree. He was a wonderful dancer, and quite attractive. But there were proprieties that had to be observed…
“I see,” the man said.
Abruptly, he stood and brushed crumbs from his hand. “It was a pleasure dancing with you, my lady. I hope that we meet again.” He bowed, surprisingly without a single trace of irony. And then he stepped out of the shop and was gone.
She followed him into the street, but could not find him in the crowd. Soon, she was swept up again with a new partner.
All too soon, the sun began to set. It was time to leave. She had to find her fellow Accepted and return to the Tower. She sighed regretfully. If only she could stay and dance a little longer!
She moved down the street. As she went closer to the Tower, other trainees of the Tower began to appear. They flowed in a steady stream of black and white back through the gates of the Tower.
Darkness fell. As he returned to his inn, Adrian found his thoughts occupied by the woman in the silver and black mask. If only he had managed to discover her name, he thought. Dancing with her, laughing with her, had been so pleasant. Still, it stung that she had not wanted to join him for a second dance.
Well. Even with her rejection, the day had been pleasurable for his last day of freedom.
'Tomorrow', he thought. 'Tomorrow I will seek my fate at the Grey Tower.'
Perhaps he would see her again.
Many thanks to Sean and Astarte, who approved the use of their characters for a brief interaction. I hope you enjoyed the story. May the Light illumine your path and bring you peace!
