Fanfic:No (Lembirt's Three Arches)
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The First Arch
To either side of the massive, solid Sun Throne, the highest ranking Nobles of Cairhien stood, the slashes on the breasts of the coats and dresses making a riot of colour among the square columns. All wore their greatest finery, the men in dark meticulously pressed coats, the woman with their hair piled high atop their heads in elaborate towers of curls. Lembirt himself was dressed in coat and trousers of the finest black silk the caravans had brought from beyond the Aiel waste, and his own grey-streaked hair was neatly combed away from his face. The green, red and white slashes of House Antii covered his coat from collar to hem, more than anyone else in the room.
Be steadfast.
The thought wasn't his own, but he didn't question it in the slightest. The hollow, lifeless tone seemed as natural to Lembirt as his breathing, as though it was supposed to be there.
The way back will come but once.
For the first time in years, Lembirt Antii, High Seat of House Adillarn, felt nervous. All of his plotting, all of his scheming, every ruthless decision, every heartless action, every breath he had taken for the last fifty years boiled down to what he achieved here, in this Throne room, in this moment. The tiny part of him that still felt emotion wondered if it had been worth it, but that thought was instantly and ruthlessly squashed by the larger part of his consciousness, that part of him that was constantly screaming "You are better than them! You deserve to rule!"
Lembirt wanted to take a deep breath to steady himself, but his stiff pride wouldn't allow him to show even the slightest weakness, not here and not now, in front of all of his rivals, not when it was finally all coming together. The only sound in the vast chamber was the rustle of fabric from the surrounding nobles, and the sharp staccato sounds of boots upon stone as Lembirt approached the dais.
Be steadfast. The way back will come but once.
An Aes Sedai stood upon the dais, dressed herself in fine blue silk with the long fringe of her delicately embroidered shawl reaching nearly to the ground. As Lembirt neared the steps of the dais, he could see in her hands what he knew would be there: the golden circle of the crown of Cairhien. The woman, cool and serene as if she was standing atop some grassy hill in the golden sun, rather than standing alone in front of the most powerful men and women in this nation, regarded him with dark eyes that seemed to search deep into his soul as he approached. Lembirt knew the person he was. Although some small, cramped part of his soul screamed at that gaze, the larger part of him had long since learned to ignore that scream, because he had no choice but to do the things that had brought him to this place. He was Lembirt Antii. He was destined to rule. He deserved it.
He knelt on the dais, facing the silent masses below, as the Aes Sedai began to recite the ancient verses that were always spoken as a new King or Queen of Cairhien was invested. "Lord Lembirt Antii, High Seat of House Adillarn, on this day, here, beneath the Light, on the Hill of the Golden Dawn, you have been chosen to lead the Cairhienin. They have chosen you to be their King. Do you accept?"
The way will come but once. Be steadfast.
Lembirt gazed out into the gathered crowd. Those men and women, who had postured and gambolled with him in the constantly changing Game of Houses, looked up at him. He may have won on this day, but the fight could never end until the day he died. This was his life. But, for today, he had undeniably won, and all he had to do to take the prize strung before him was to say yes. The Aes Sedai waited, the Sun crown held impassively in her steady, pale hands, as she waited to place it upon his head.
He looked out at his subjects, saw the hate in their eyes. The tiny voice inside of him screamed that this was wrong, that this was no victory, but he quashed that voice as he always did. There was no room for compassion in Daes Dae'mar. As he surveyed the gathered nobles, he noticed, in the clear corridor down the middle of the room, a great silvery-white arch, standing unsupported. He knew, in the same way as he knew that the voice speaking in his mind was speaking the utter truth, that his only hope lay behind that Arch. And he knew that he must leave now, or else never have the chance to know what else his life might have been.
"Do you accept?" the Aes Sedai asked again, probably baffled at his lack of response. Lembirt ignored her. Finally, for the first time in his life, Lembirt listened to that tiny voice that was screaming that this was wrong, and that nothing he had done was worth the price he paid with his soul for his actions. To reach this point, he had driven nobles from the country, had some assassinated, and others hanged. There was no one in the nation of Cairhien who had not felt the gentle brush of his hand on their shoulder, no-one who was free of his all-encompassing web. The tiny voice cried that he had nothing to show for all his despicable deeds except for a city full of enemies, a loveless marriage, and a son who cared more for his grammar tutor than he did for his father.
Lembirt rose to his feet. Some of the assembled nobles gasped, and the Aes Sedai finally showed some emotion, her mouth opening in a silent question. Lembirt ignored them all. Stepping through that arch was all that mattered, and it took every fibre of his moral being, every inch of that soul he had never quite managed to silence, to walk into the archway where the endless, dancing white light embraced him.
The Second Arch
The keeper banged her ornate staff against the coloured tiles. The sharp sound echoed through the chamber, coming clearly to Lembirt where he hid behind the cloth-and-lattice wall, high above the Aes Sedai and Asha'man assembled below.
Be Steadfast. The way back will come but once.
He had been Dedicated for a little more than a year, and a Soldier for a year before that. By the standards of the Grey Tower, his rise through the ranks was at an almost unheard of speed, matched only by Accepted Zuri, one of the first people he had met at the Tower and his partner in plotting from his first weeks here. They had been coming here, to the small chamber above the Hall of Sitters, since they were a Novice and Soldier not yet sure of their Ajahs. Soon, he would be an Asha'man; his training was almost complete and it had been hinted that he would soon be ready to take whatever mysterious test it was that Dedicated and Accepted took before they received their shawl or Ajah cord. The information he learned eavesdropping on the Hall of Sitters was more valuable now than it had ever been before. What other Dedicated was raised to Asha'man with a clear understanding of the politics of the Tower? Instead of spending a year or more as an unsure new Asha'man, teaching classes and doing small missions, he would be able to begin his rise to power almost immediately. Brown M'Haels were uncommon; no one really expects the quiet, scholarly, often absent minded brothers and sisters to think of anything beyond their dusty libraries. That was the entire reason he was aspiring to Brown; wit h any luck no one would suspect a thing until it was too late. Be steadfast.
The way back will come but once.
Down below, on the floor, Selinda Aes Sedai, one of the Sitters for the Brown, was the subject of a harsh berating by the Keeper. Selinda was weak, in the hall; if he wanted a Sitter position, hers was the one to grasp for. Of course, no one would know this without witnessing the proceedings in the Hall. He was so intent on straining to hear the distant words spoken below that he didn't hear the sounds of soft slippered feet climbing the stairs behind him.
He didn't fail to notice the strong hand closing on his shoulder, though, nor did he miss the tingling on his forearms as he felt a woman nearby channel, as he felt a shield slide into place between himself and the Source. Panicked, even as he whirled about to face his attackers, he battered frantically at the unyielding shield. Where was Zuri? Why hadn't she warned him that someone was approaching, as they had planned? And why now, after all this time, had someone finally discovered them?
As he turned, he met the steady gaze of an Aes Sedai wearing a yellow silk dress and shawl. An Aes Sedai of the Yellow Ajah, Zuri's Ajah of aspiration. The strong hand on his shoulder belonged to a Warder. He struggled against the shield. It bowed slightly, but wouldn't break. One woman shouldn't have been able to shield him this effectively! Then, to his horror, from behind the Yellow Aes Sedai stepped none other than Zuri, the seven stripes of her Accepted's dress smudged slightly with dust from the little-used passage way.
"There he is, Aes Sedai, just as I told you," said Zuri, pointing at Lembirt. "I found him here, spying, last week, and I knew he would come back at the next meeting of the Hall, so I came and got you."
The Aes Sedai nodded coolly, her impassive green eyes taking in the black-clad Dedicated, the silver pin shining brightly in the light of the Aes Sedai's globe of light. Shining as brightly as the unshed tears in Lembirt's eyes. In his life, Zuri was the first person he had ever considered an equal, had ever thought might perhaps be on the same level as him. Everyone else had been a game-piece, to use and discard, because they were not smart enough, not strong enough to succeed. Zuri though, had never disappointed him.
"This is a serious crime, Dedicated. I expect that you will be exiled from the tower for this, if not suffer a worse fate. I would not have believed this possible of you." There was sadness in the woman's voice; Lembirt was well known, and well liked. He had created a role for himself, and played it well: a somewhat socially awkward youth, interested in knowledge, and always polite, even when the situation didn't really demand it. He acted like the archetypal Brown, and he knew it must be a shock to realise that he was really the most ruthless sort of Blue at his core.
"I know that, Aes Sedai." On the stairway below him, a silvery archway appeared. There was much he wanted to say to Zuri; she had surpassed his expectations. It has been said that a student is only finished training when she has bested her master, and Zuri had certainly bested him. The archway flickered.
Be steadfast. The way back comes but once.
But there wasn't time for that. As much as he wanted to say to her, he knew that now he had to leave. He wrenched his shoulder free from the Warder's grip and threw himself down the narrow, crooked stairway, through the arch, into the brilliance beyond. The frantic yells of the people above drowned out to a meaningless buzz as his world resolved to nothing but endless, swirling white.
The Third Arch
Once, he had worn the finest black silk, bought from the Atha'an Miere, tailored exquisitely into a point-collared black coat by the most skilled tailor he had managed to find in his travels throughout the cities of the world. Coat and trousers alike had been finely pressed by his personal valet, and his fine black boots had always been polished until they shone like mirrors.
Be steadfast. The way back will come but once.
Now, he wore non-descript brown trousers and a rough worn shirt, both filthy from days of wear. His feet were bare, and it took every bit of his remaining willpower to keep from curling them against the creeping cold of the uncarpeted tile floor.
Once, his collar had been decorated with the sword and dragon of an Asha'man, and he had worn the multi-hued Ajah Cord of the M'Hael. In his hand, he once had held the fang-topped staff of the Male leader of the Grey Tower.
Be steadfast. The way back will come but once.
Now, he had been stripped of rank and privilege, and his hands and feet were bound, shackled with heavy steel chains. He was cut off from the one power by an impenetrable shield held by the linked Sitters of the Hall and Ajah Heads who now sat before him as he awaited his judgement.
The rapping of a staff broke the heavy silence in the room. "Once, Lembirt Antii, you were our M'Hael. Once you were our Father. But what you have done was unforgivable."
What had brought him to this point? Every step he made had seemed so reasonable at the time, so logical, so justified. When he had opened that dusty volume and read of the long-forgotten talent called Compulsion... What Brown in the world would have turned away from the opportunity to learn? He had been a sitter for the Brown Ajah then, looking for a way to advance. He might have worn the Brown cord, but that was all a sham, part of his quest for power. He was really just a Cairhienin Noble, still, throwing himself into the Game of the Houses.
When he thought he knew what how the weave had to be performed, it had been a small step to try to practice it. The beggars of the cities of the world were a perfect target; no one would miss them, no one would be surprised if they suddenly emerged with their minds crushed. No one would stop him from what he needed to do, to learn. He wasn't breaking the three oaths. If someone died because he tried to Compel them and failed, then how was that different from a Healer who tried to heal someone already too weak?
"You may now repent. If you submit to binding on the Oath Rod, if you accept exile to the farms to live out the rest of your existence, we may some day forgive you."
Soon, he grew proficient in the forgotten, forbidden talent. It had been a small step to begin using it on his Brothers and Sisters. After, how was it really any different from manipulating them? This way was faster, and less traumatic in the long run. And if they didn't even know they were being Compelled, how could they possibly object?
And then, the final step on the road to the Pit of Doom. He had been raised to M'Hael. He spent half of his time wheedling his way around the Three Oaths anyway, why not just remove them and save himself some effort? It wouldn't make any real difference in the long run. He was the M'Hael. He had access to the Oath Rod. It wouldn't be hard.
"If, however, you do not acknowledge the error of your ways, I am afraid that you will be Gentled, and held in captivity until the Wheel wills that your soul is woven out of the Pattern."
The way back will come but once. Be steadfast.
He noticed a silvery-white archway, then, resting between the desks of Sitters. It seemed as though it had always been there, even though Lembirt knew that couldn't be. He had been watching, and finally entering, this room since he was a Soldier, more than seventy years ago. Yet, there the arch was.
"Do you repent, Lembirt?" There was real emotion in the Amyrlin's voice. Lembirt had known, worked with this woman for many, many years. They had been friends, once upon a time. He she didn't want to believe that Lembirt was really capable of such things, capable of the murders, of the treachery, but so it was. She had been the one to finally catch Lembirt. She knew every word of the grisly allegations were true.
Under the weight of the heavy chains, it took the slight man a titanic effort to reach his feet, and an even greater one to lurch to the silver arch before him. The woman screamed after him, breaking her Aes Sedai calm, as she demanded to know if Lembirt repented, and as the one-time M'Hael plunged through the curtain of dancing light, he answered her with one word, a breath of a whisper torn from his soul that drifted like eider-down in the silence. "No."
The light consumed him.
