Fanfic:Losing Control
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Jaryd hurried away from the Gardens, Amadie's hurt brown eyes -and Carra's angry green- haunting him more with every footstep. Why had he done that? He had grown beyond such mischief. He had left the rumors behind years before. What had possessed him to throw a novice into the stream, just because she had tried to push him in?
He walked blindly through the halls of the Grey Tower, uncertain where his feet took him, only knowing he needed to find a place to sit, to think, to decide what to do. Could he apologize? Would she believe him, if he did? He scrubbed his head with his fingers in frustration, hoping for a clear thought to guide him. As he dropped his hand, he saw Landrin ahead of him.
The Asha'man slowed as he approached, and Jaryd bowed, struggling to hide his inner conflict. "Jaryd Kosari," Landrin said in the most formal voice the Altaran had ever heard, "it is time."
"What?" Jaryd yelped. He knew what that meant. The stories the Dedicated had told...they all began with those fateful words. He had wanted to hear them for years now. Yet today of all days? A pit of dread and shame began to form in his stomach.
"It is time." Landrin turned and walked away, and Jaryd followed, panic roaring through him, uncontrollably shaking. I cannot do this. I am not worthy. They walked for what seemed like an eternity before Landrin finally opened two great doors and led him in.
"I will tell you two things which no man hears until he stands where you do now," the Master of Soldiers said formally, as Jaryd stared in unrelenting fear at the archways that stood in the center of the room. "Once you begin, you must go on till the end. Refuse at any time thereafter and you will be put out of the Tower. Second. To seek, to strive, is to know danger." The light emitted from the arches pulsed, he noticed in an oddly detached way. "Some men have entered, and never come out again. Even when the ter'angreal was allowed to grow quiet, they were not there. And they were never seen again. If you will survive, you must be steadfast. Falter, fail, and..."
Dread. He knew his swarthy face had gone paler than death, that his fingers clutched at his sleeves. "This is your last chance. Refuse now and it only counts as the first refusal. You may still try twice more. If you accept now, there is no turning back. It is no shame to refuse. Many Asha'man could not face the Arches the first time. Choose."
He had a choice? He blinked at Landrin in confusion, then took a deep breath. Then another...then a third. "I cannot," he said finally, his gaze falling to the ground in shame. "I...cannot." Without a word, the Asha'man took him by the shoulder and led him from a room. Once above ground, Jaryd ducked away, running to escape from his shame.
Months passed, then seasons. He buried himself in his classwork and chores, ignoring friend and foe alike. Every time he saw Landrin he relived the shame of his refusal; he tried to keep such meetings to a minimum, but it seemed as more time passed, the Asha'man insisted on seeing him more and more.
A year and a half, and another stubborn refusal to even consider the test, after that fateful day, he walked through the Garden, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he contemplated his plight. Would he ever be summoned again? Would he have the courage to face it if he were?
"It is time," Landrin's voice said out of nowhere. Jaryd's body tried to crawl out of his skin as he jumped, whirling to face the Asha'man.
"Again?" He managed to get out, before Landrin had him by the arm and was dragging him away. The journey to the depths of the Tower passed in a blur; finally he stood before the great doors once more, and this time -knowing what lay beyond- he thought he might actually be sick on the Master of Soldier's boots. Instead, he forced his shoulders back, forced his eyes to focus on a spot beyond the arches, and forced his stomach to be still.
"This is your last chance. Refuse now and it counts as the second refusal. You may still try once more. If you accept now, there is no turning back. It is no shame to refuse. Choose." He wondered, in that brief moment of indecision, how many men who refused the test twice actually made it to the dragon pin.
He turned in a full circle, staring at the arches, at the men gathered around, at the room itself, at the door out, and then finally back at Landrin. "If I do not go forward now," he whispered, "I never will. I accept."
The Asha'man gave a sharp nod. Having made his decision Jaryd stripped without comment or shame, and stood in an odd pool of calm as the ceremonial words washed over him as he was led to face one of the three arches.
"The first time is for what was. The way back will come but once. Be steadfast."
He took one last look back at the door- would avoiding this test be worth the price of refusal? Never. He threw himself at the arch without looking.
Jaryd mended leather and chainmail, and carved serving utensils from wood. It brought in a few pennies here and there. However, there wasn't much else a man with a bad leg could do in the rough world of the Rahad, and for the most part he simply burdened his family, a constant, living reminder of the cost of pride.
It hadn't been that long ago that he had been lord of the alleys and roofs, with little boys -and girls- imitating his swagger, and grown men steering clear of his territory. He had held the world in the palm of his hand, comfortable in his dominance- until he had challenged the wrong man. In the space of one moment in time, he went from king of the world to a broken cripple- unable to stand, let alone walk.
Marisa told him he should be thankfully he lived, and she cared for him with the same rough affection she always had...but he heard her sobs in the night, her desperate prayers to the Creator for salvation. It was hard enough living in the Rahad under normal circumstances; being the partner to a known former gang leader made it that much more difficult. Every day had its own dangers and fears.
Be steadfast.
He sighed as he leaned down awkwardly to choose another length of wood that would eventually be a spoon. When he straightened, he found that Marisa had joined him. She had her arms crossed and dark hair pulled back behind a kerchief; not for the first time he noticed the dark shadows beneath her eyes, the hollow cheeks, how thin her arms were. What had happened to the feisty woman he had fallen in love with?
The way back comes but once.
The way back to what? He reached out and caressed his wife's cheek with the back of one hand, pushing a lock of smoky hair behind her ear. "I am sorry," he whispered. Her eyes flashed, and for a moment the old Marisa returned, fiery and short-tempered.
"The next time you say that," she said in a conversational tone, "I am going to knock you upside the head with one of my frying pans." He grinned, and she glared at him. "I'm serious. I'm sick of your apologies. I'm getting sick of you in general. Men have survived worse injuries without losing themselves to it." He blinked, taken aback. He thought he'd been doing fairly well. The temptation to roll over and die upon hearing the news had been strong, and it had taken weeks of effort to remind himself that his wife and children were worth the torment of never walking again.
"Nevermind," she said sharply, when he opened his mouth. Suddenly she wouldn't meet his eyes, staring off into the distance. She stayed that way for some time, clearly struggling with herself. "We couldn't pay our dues last month," she said finally, squatting next to his chair so they were at eye level. "I worked hard, but it wasn't enough. I asked Samsen for the coin to pay."
"Samsen!" Jaryd exclaimed. "Marisa, you know what he will do if you don't get the coin back to him." He could tell that she had not been able to pay, and had been avoiding thought of consequence. "Light," he said softly. "What were you thinking, woman?"
"I was thinking that our children needed a roof over their head," Marisa snapped, "which is apparently more than what you think about during the long hours that you sit here doing nothing. I was willing to take a risk if it meant we wouldn't be begging at street corners on Bel Tine."
He ignored that- they could argue 'why' later. "How long has it been since you said you would pay him back, Marisa?" Jaryd asked her, dread building in his belly. He looked around anxiously.
"I'm two weeks past due," she admitted. Annoyed defiance still flashed in her eyes- she took care of the family. He sat and did nothing. She had the right to make such decisions. "But-"
He cut her off, a larger concern on his mind. "Do you have any idea what he will do to our children if you don't pay him back within the week?" He knew Samsen better than she ever had, knew what he was capable of. He saw a measure of comprehension flash in her eyes.
Be steadfast.
She stared at him, paralyzed, and in that moment Jaryd faced the reality of his situation as he never had before. He could not take care of his family, nor protect them from the evils that surrounded them. He could not ease the burden on Marisa's shoulders, nor erase the shadow of desperation and fear from her eyes. He could not prevent Samsen from hurting their children, nor prevent him from ensuring Marisa lost her position at the tavern. His wife and children would be homeless in a brutal world, without a hope of survival. All of that would happen because he, Jaryd Kosari, had been offended by the empty words of a stranger, and sought retribution with a knife.
Be steadfast.
The shock of it left him breathless and pale, staring at the only woman he had ever loved with something akin to panic. What have I done? It was all his fault.
The way back comes but once.
On the ground before him, an arch appeared, glowing with a soft light. All he had to do was push himself out of his chair and he would fall into it. Marisa had begun to cry, shoulders and head bowed, hands over her face. "I didn't know what else to do," she whispered. "I had to do something, Jaryd. I had to."
Be Steadfast.
He reached for her, touched her face, pulled her as close as the chair allowed. He knew he could not stay, but he could not bear to see her pain. She sobbed, her body -Light, she had become so thin and fragile- shaking against him. He saw the arch flicker out of the corner of his eye, and cursed. "I'm sorry," he said again. "Someday maybe you will believe me, my love."
He let go, pushed himself out of his chair, and fell into the archway.
He fell out of the arch, his legs momentarily confused by the return of feeling and motion. He pulled himself up to hands and knees, then to his feet, still struggling to understand what had happened.
"You are washed clean," Landrin said, "of what sin you may have done, and of those against you. You are washed clean of what crime you may have committed, and of those committed against you. You come to us washed clean and pure, in heart and soul." Icy water poured over his body.
Marisa. The last time he had seen her had been that fateful night in Ebou Dar. She had teased him mercilessly, knowing how he felt for her. She had finally kissed him for the first -and last- time just before they left the gang house. Even now, decades later, he could feel her lips burning on his. Burning....just as she had burned an hour later, in flames he now knew he had created. Light help me. He would never see her again.
Landrin had turned him, guided him to another arch. ""The second time is for what is. The way back will come but once. Be Steadfast."
He stared blindly at the light. Could he continue?
Yes.
"You have been found guilty of murder, for which the sentence is death." Jaryd stared across the great void of the Hall at the Amyrlin and M'hael, his face carefully blank. The chains on his hands and feet weighed him down, but the true restriction lay in the shield that blocked him from channeling. There would be no justice in this meeting, it seemed. "Your sentence will be carried out at dawn, in the full view of Hama Valon," they finished. "This meeting of the Hall of the Tower is adjourned."
His guards turned him roughly, and led him from the Hall, laughing when he stumbled on his chains. "Come along, Lord of Blood, you'll need to get cleaned up for your date with the headsmen," Meric said. Jaryd stared at him coldly, then very deliberately spat on his shoe. The Shienaran man stiffened, then gave Jaryd a buffet across the face that nearly knocked him over. They spent the rest of the journey to the dungeon in silence.
After they had shoved him into his cell, they settled on the bench across from the door. He knew they maintained his shield, and hated them for it, for maintaining the false justice the Hall had enacted upon him. Helpless rage filled him, and he slammed his hands against the walls of his cage, swearing in every way he knew how even as Meric laughed.
Be steadfast.
The thought interrupted his fury, and he fell quiet. What did it mean? How could he be steadfast when he knew he would be unjustly executed in just a few short hours? Would the history writers ever know that he had killed Jocelynn Sedai to protect the Tower, or would his name be forever accompanied by the black mark of traitor?
He settled against the wall, head bowed. After a time he slipped into a semi-stupor, his thoughts drifting hither and thither. Jocelynn had been of the Black Ajah. Those who testified against him had lied, their eyes mocking him as their lips condemned him. His request to have them swear the Oaths once again had been met with stern disapproval. The witnesses were not on trial, they had reminded him- he was. And thus he would die. Injustice and fear ate at him, preventing him from true sleep.
His guard changed three times during the night, and each time he had to quell the surge of hope that maybe he would be freed. Finally someone new came in- Relina Gaidar strode to his cage, staring down at him with impassive gray eyes. "Up," she said coldly, as she opened the door. After he struggled to his feet she yanked him out by his wrist manacles. "Light, you're a bloody mess," she commented, looking him over with a critical eye.
"I apologize for my odor, Lady Gaidar," Jaryd said wryly. "I assure you that it is just as offensive to me. However, I am quite certain you would be equally malodorous if you spent several days in a cell without the courtesy of a bucket of water."
She rolled her eyes and turned away without comment, pulling him along behind her as she strode away, his guards following quietly behind. He was led through the Tower in this fashion, out the great front doors, and through the grounds to the gate. A great crowd had gathered there. The execution of a treasonous Asha'man would be an event all would want to see, he supposed. After a moment, he forced himself to walk tall, with shoulders back and head up. If he had to die, he might as well do it with a semblance of grace.
Relina pushed him forward until he stood before the Amyrlin and the M'hael, in a clear space maintained by a complement of other Gaidin. She pushed him to his knees without preamble, and he bit back a curse. "After much deliberation," the Amyrlin said, her voice magnified by the One Power, "we have decided to grant you your request." Jaryd's head jerked up, and he stared at her in utter shock. "As you are the one on trial, you shall be the one to swear the Oaths. If you can clearly state that you did not kill Jocelynn after swearing them, you shall be allowed to walk free."
A woman wearing a gray-fringed shawl walked forward, holding a narrow box that Jaryd recognized. The M'hael lifted the Oath Rod from within, and moved forward, to stand before Jaryd. "Repeat after me," he said. His eyes were cold- he believed this an unnecessary delay, it seemed.
As Jaryd opened his mouth to speak the Oaths, a silver arch materialized next to him, glowing softly in the morning light.
The way back will come but once.
The M'hael spoke the first Oath, his voice ringing against the walls. As he spoke, the arch dimmed. He then motioned for Jaryd to repeat. As Jaryd opened his mouth, the arch flickered and when it came back, it was nearly transparent. It flickered again, and he realized he had to choose- was justice more important than what lay beyond the arch? "By the Light and my hope of salvation and rebirth." Flicker. "I swear to speak no word that is not true." The sensation of being shoved into a space far too small for his body consumed him. Conflict, anguish, fear, and resolve flooded him in rapid succession. Flicker. The arch took a moment to re-appear this time, and he felt panic roiling in his gut.
"I killed her because she was a Darkfriend!" He cried, and as he threw himself at the arch, the roar from the crowd rose to a volume beyond bearing.
His arms ached from the weight of the manacles. He looked down, surprised to see that the marks from the iron stood out in angry red welts around his wrists. What is this?
"You are washed clean of false pride. You are washed clean of false ambition. You come to us washed clean, in heart and soul." Landrin's voice interrupted his thoughts as water poured over his head. Then he turned to face the last Arch.
"Are they real?" Jaryd asked, looking at his wrists once more.
"No one knows," Landrin responded, and Jaryd nodded. Something about them was real, or he would not have welts on his wrist. The faces of those who had lied about him were imprinted on his mind- he would find them, someday, and find out just how real the test was. "The third time is for what will be. The way back will come but once. Be steadfast."
With an odd smile, Jaryd walked into the arch. Real or not, he was almost done.
Jaryd sat in a room full of men and women in rough attire. Smoke hung in the air like a veil, blocking what little light came from the window from making it far. Across from him, Amadie exuded sensuality despite her rough-cut brown dress. He supposed she couldn't help it, but it did attract attention that made him uncomfortable. "You have to do it tonight," Amadie commented, her voice as smoky as the room. "If we wait much longer, that woman will declare war on the White Tower, and I don't feel like playing to the tune of the Dark One's fiddle any more than I must."
Jaryd arched an eyebrow. "Do you have enough support to maintain order afterwards?"
"Support or not, it must be done," Amadie said sharply. "Once that bloody declaration goes public, Aes Sedai will be fighting Aes Sedai- do you really need me to spell out why that is a terrible idea on the eve of Tarmon Gai'don, Jaryd? If we fail- at least we tried, and that- that creature is no longer guiding us to ruin." She hadn't been raised long enough to develop an ageless face -neither of them had- and still struggled to retain the legendary Aes Sedai composure. Tonight, it seemed, was an off night for her.
Jaryd sighed as the young Blue stood. "You know what to do, Jaryd. Make sure it happens tonight." She gave him a long, searching look, then took her leave.
Time passed all too quickly after that. Jaryd made a point to eat, nap, take a long walk in the gardens, and to visit the Gray courtyard where he had spent many prior evenings contemplating the meaning of justice. It seemed all too likely to him that he would never see the light of day again, so he forced himself to enjoy it, to push thoughts of the dark deed ahead out of his mind. Then he went to the Vaults and retrieved an angreal that he knew he would need.
Finally the time came. He bound the slender angreal to his calf and made sure his boot knife had been secured. Then he departed, moving like a shadow through the back stairs of the Grey Tower. What he was about to do was morally reprehensible, could never be forgiven, and yet it had to happen. Could he do it? Would he be able to live with himself afterwards? He still battled with himself even as he reached his destination. He knocked softly, and a husky voice he knew all too well bid him enter. He obeyed as he had so many times before, pushing the door shut with his foot and shedding his cloak in one smooth motion. Then he moved on to the next room, where he knew the Amyrlin Seat awaited him.
Rissara Diamoca, the Flame of Hama Valon, the Amyrlin Seat, lay languidly across an enormous four poster bed, her filmy silk robe open to either side of her perfectly tan curves, with perfect honey ringlets spilling down to hide the more interesting parts. Her insatiable appetite had become known from the ocean to the Spine of the World in the last five years, as she had risen from a relatively unknown Green, to Sitter, to Keeper, and finally to the Amyrlin Seat. Jaryd had been with her throughout the entire journey, a fish caught in tides beyond his control. She had pulled him into her collection -as she called it- when he was a mere Dedicated, and by the time he had realized how tangled and dark her webs truly were, it had seemed too late to back out. He had come to her when beckoned, and departed when dismissed, and kept her secrets as his own, buried deep alongside his pride.
Then one day Amadie had found him and spoken of better times. She had awakened a fire he forgot he had, and showed him he had the unique ability to solve a problem the Tower did not care to address. You share her bed at night, Amadie had whispered into his ear, so close he could feel the heat of her breath, the soft flutter of her eyelashes. She would not suspect you.
While Rissara watched, her pinky caught between her lips in anticipation, he pulled off his coat, and then his shirt. He looked down, eyes tracing each scar that marred his tan skin, remembering how he had obtained each one. Would he get new ones tonight? Before he continued, he leaned down to kiss those plump lips, marveling again at her beauty.
Be steadfast.
As he kissed her, he reached down and caught her arms, pulling them above her head. She squirmed, made a noise; he silenced her with another kiss. When she relaxed, he seized saidin through the angreal and slammed a shield between her and the Source. Rissara was as good at breaking shields as Jaryd was at making them. As strong as he was, it took every ounce of the strength loaned him by the angreal to keep the shield in place. Air wrapped around her, holding her in place. Finally he pulled away to stare down at her. The scream he expected never came; she simply stared back in silence.
"Tell me you aren't Black Ajah," he whispered finally.
She laughed, the rich tone rolling through the room. "I thought I made it clear politics did not belong in the bedchamber," she said.
Be Steadfast.
"Please, tell me." He lifted his foot to her bed, pulled his knife from his boot, holding it in uncertain fingers. Could he do it? Could he kill a woman, even one so evil as she?
Be Steadfast.
"Why should I lie to soothe your silly fears?" She asked. "The Great Lord of the Dark will reward me greatly for the chaos I have sewn these last few years. Don't you think, my pet? You have certainly helped enough in your own way." Confirmation felt like a lead boot in his belly, but even as he struggled to comprehend what the Amyrlin had said, a silver arch materialized, spanning the space between her bed and the window.
The way back will come but once.
"If you do not kill me," she said calmly, "I am going to scream." He stared at her. If she screamed, he would be lucky to live to see the inside of a cell. And yet- the arch beckoned.
"I hate you," he whispered, putting the point of the blade against the soft skin at the base of her neck. "I hate you, but this is not who I am," he whispered. "This is not who I will be." He pulled the knife away, and dropped it on the floor. "I am not a traitor." The law had to be upheld- he could not exact justice in the shadows of the night, even if his leader was a Darkfriend and the world had gone to ash and dust.
Be steadfast.
"Then you are a fool, Jaryd Kosari," she said.
As he turned from her, she screamed, the sound rebounding through the room. He ignored it as he rounded the bed and approached the arch. "I will find you," he said, and then he stepped through.
Jaryd walked out of the arches in a daze. Landrin guided him to kneel before the M'hael, and even once he knelt he found he could not collect his thoughts.
"You are washed clean of what you were. You are washed clean of all ties that bind you to the world. You are a Dedicated of the Grey Tower." Jasrin's voice rang solid- no whispers here, no sultry secrets. "You are sealed to us now." The M'hael took his hand and pressed a pin into it; Jaryd looked at the sword blankly for a long moment. "Welcome, Son."
Jaryd stood, barely aware of his nudity as he stared around at the men who surrounded him. Then he grinned, tossing the pin in his hand. "With pride, Father," he said.
Light, it had been a long journey.
