Fanfic:Ravak's Survival Test
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Rav sat in front of the large fireplace in the foyer of the Warders' Hall, book in hand. A Comprehensive Discussion of Pre-Breaking Relics was not a light read, but then Ravak wasn't a light reader. He had become wryly amused a few days previous by the idea of becoming a librarian, after his days of fighting came to an end. Somehow he knew that day would never come.
A figure injected itself between the fireplace and the chair, a deep shadow falling across the Drin. He didn't recognise the woman, but he knew a fancloak for what it was, and what it represented. "You will come with me now, Drin Darrow." Her voice offered no room for argument. He stood up, brushing at his shoulders and chest with his free hand. The Gaidar pointed firmly at the chair, and he placed the book upon it. With a crook of her finger, she led the way outside.
The air was mild outdoors, but Rav still pulled his scarf up around his mouth and nose. He had accepted the fact that he could smell violence and other crimes, although he still couldn't keep it from overpowering his senses. The scarf didn't do much to block out the smell, but it was a crutch for his mental defences. The Gaidar, sometimes seeming a disembodied head due to her shifting cloak, headed straight for the stables beyond the Weaponry Hall. Briefly, he wondered if he was receiving a punishment of some sort, but that was normally preceded by a visit to the Mistress of Training's office. Maybe someone thought he needed more instruction when working with animals. He pushed both thoughts aside, forcing himself to be patient. It wouldn't be long until he found out one way or the other.
Inside the Stables, there were four other bearers of the fancloak. The Mistress of Training was one of them, but it was one of the men who spoke. "Ravak Darrow, Drin'far'ji of the Grey Tower," the Illianer's voice was firm and formal sounding, "Today, you be leaving the Tower's protection for the first time since you began your training. O'er the next two days, you will be blindfolded and your care will be in the hands of your escort. You will be fed, watered, defended and cared for like a child, for as long as you be wearing that blindfold. You will no remove that blindfold, even if your escort comes under attack. Do you understand?"
It was an unusual set of instructions to take in, although the Drin found himself nodding in agreement. "The survival test," he murmured, although if any of the assemblage of Warders heard, they gave no response. A black cloth was passed over his eyes, and tied off behind his head. Darkness. He couldn't a thing, and was suddenly aware of his predicament. I have to remain blind for two days? He truly would need protection like a child. Hands helped him onto the saddle of a horse, although he had no clue whether it was a gelding or a mare. The lack of knowing anything was worrying.
For measureless hours, the collection of horses and Gaidin rode. The terrain changed, although Rav didn't have keen enough senses or knowledge of the area to tell where they may be heading. Every few hours, he was dismounted and spun around several times. He could feel his eyes rolling in his head, even though the entire world was pitch black. The whole experience made him feel very ill at ease.
When the party finally stopped for the evening - at least, he assumed it was evening - he sat on the ground as the camp was built around him. Time passed, hours possibly, before a warm bowl was placed in his hands. Before he could ask for a fork or spoon, someone began to fed him. Like a child. Silently, he resented this entire affair. How was any of this meant to test him, aside from his resilience against ridicule? His glower was hidden by the blindfold.
Eventually he was bundled into a bedroll, tucked in tight as if he couldn't use his own hands. He hoped the darkness hid the red of his cheeks. This entire scenario was completely undignified. Despite the anger roiled within, sleep came quickly.
The second day started with Ravak being woken up by rough hands shaking him awake. Without thinking he reached for the cloth covering his face, before he recollected where and what he was doing. Once again, he was fed his breakfast, even though he was entirely capable of doing that himself. Then it was back on the horses for another day's worth of travel. Again, the terrain changed underfoot, but he had no more clue where he was than he had been yesterday. Infrequently there were stops, where he was dismounted and spun around. They could have been going back and forth over the same patches of land, for all of the awareness he had.
When it was close to evening, by his own time keeping, the party stopped once more. The air had grown cold as the sun had fallen under the horizon, and Rav was grateful for the heat his scarf trapped in. Once more, firm arms aided his descend from the horse's back. He anticipated another bout of spinning, but instead the Illianer Gaidin spoke in that hard and formal tone. "Ravak Darrow, this be your survival test. You are in the Mountains of Mist. You must remain behind in this area for four days, where your knowledge and training will be tested in order to survive. All you have are the clothes on your back, a waterskin," Rav heard something land on the ground near his feet, "a utility knife," another, lighter something landed near the first, "and some pack rations." There was a third and final thump.
"At the end of those there four days, you will begin your journey back to the Grey Tower, alone and unaided. You shall arrive at the Tower on the sunset of the tenth day, a week from now. If you do seek help, you will fail. If you do be tempted to leave the wilderness before those four first days be up, you will fail. If you arrive at the Grey Tower late or early, you will fail. And failure do mean you must leave the Grey Tower, never to return." The Warder's words were hard steel, bearing no room for compromises. Rav nodded silently behind the blindfold. "Do you have any questions?" Rav shook his head, whilst adding "No."
"Then our journey do end, and your journey now begins. You may remove the blindfold once you can no longer hear us as we depart." A moment later, the sound of horse hooves made a procession, the sounds fading after a few minutes.
Rav pulled the blindfold off, and stuffed it into his pocket. He blinked in some surprise, the evening's sky only half of an hour after dusk. Pulling the black scarf up over his mouth, he surveyed his immediate surroundings. It was a forest clearing, encircled by the sorts of trees that shed their leaves in the autumn. Beyond that and the sky, he could see little else. The cold had made its presence known a few hours ago, so heat was the Drin's principal concern.
Glancing at his feet, Rav saw what the Warders had provided. A small utility knife, albeit not the one he had for himself; a full waterskin, enough for a day if he eked it out; and pack rations that were only marginally closer to food than the travel bars from his time in the Wastes. That, the blindfold, scarf, and the light-grey uniform was everything he had.
Stepping in amongst the trees, the Shienaran began to collect sticks and leaves in order to start a fire. It would be too dark in too short a time to worry about sourcing water today, and he could take some shelter under the foliage of the forest for one night. Locating fuel was relatively straightforward, and after finding a large, flat rock upon which to center his camp, Rav set about making the fire. Under the canopy, the light was murky, and the light made odd shapes and shadows in the darkness. Rav found a suitable resting spot against a tree, yet close enough to the campfire to feel the heat. Even though it was early, the Drin tried to settle down and sleep. The constant sounds of the forest and his lack of tiredness didn't make that task easy, but he sat determinedly with his eyes shut, until sleep found him.
The Shienaran found himself shivering. The stone house was cold and desolate, bare of any furnishings or decorations. Small arms hugged his slender frame as he stood in the doorway of the building, the cold morning air cutting through his clothes as if they weren't there. Despite this, he wanted nothing more than to move back into the cold street, rather than having to step into-
"Come 'ere boy!" That growl, deep and commanding, came from inside the house. Rav shudder had nothing to do with the wind. "I won't tell you again, boy." That was softer, yet more dangerous. Slowly Rav closed the door behind him, the light of salvation being drowned by the shadow of what lay within. Somehow he knew what was coming, as if it had already happened. Had it? He looked down at his hands, if as that was important. He wiggled ten fingers, as if that was something special. What else would you expect?
"Boy!" That shout brooked no room for discussion. Rav walked as seriously and as calmly as he could towards the source of that voice. Behind a desk of solid wood - no, it was stone - sat an austere figure. His face was hard and gnarled, with two eyes as dark as onyx glaring at the small child before him. A scar ran across his left cheek, which only emphasised the man's grim expression. A short beard covered his face, but his head was bare aside from a grey topknot. There was no love in Ketash Masaki's demeanour for his kin, the small red-haired child that shook before him like a tree in a storm.
Standing under that disapproving and disappointed stare seemed oddly familiar. Everything did, but Rav couldn't recall why. It was like a strong case of déjà vu. Slowly, hesitantly, Ravak stepped up to the desk, so that his stomach was pressed against it. He placed his right hand on the table, somehow knowing that was what he was meant to do. His uncle's glare turned from his face to a long knife on the table.
"No! I won't let this happen again." Ravak looked around for the source of the voice. Once more, there was that sense of everything that was happening now had somehow happened before. The voice was also familiar, although not through this perceived recollection.
A hard grip seizing his wrist brought his attention back to the present. Uncle Ketash forced his right hand into a fist, aside from his ring finger. The young Shienaran watched in confusion. "You need to be taught a lesson, boy, about duty. You're far too much like your father. A soft southerner who doesn't understand that each man has to stand against the Shadow to prove his worth. You play at swords in the street with your friends, but what are you truly willing to sacrifice in order to see peace?" Rav frowned at the words. He knew about sacrifice and duty. He had sacrificed everything: his family, his friends, the entire world he knew. That had all been in an effort to properly prepare himself, so that when he had to meet his obligations, he would be able to achieve them. "You're just soft. You know nothing of duty, of pledging yourself to something more than your own selfish wants." No, that wasn't right. He had pledged himself to Shienar, to defend the Borderlands against the Shadow. He had also pledged himself to the Grey Tower, in repayment for their education and training. Thirdly, he had...
Wait, the Grey Tower? The hold around his wrist broke as an older Rav replaced the small, cowering boy of yesteryear. He looked at his uncle with a mixture of repulsion and satisfaction. "You never taught me a lesson about duty." Rav's voice was calm, yet inside he seethed. "You taught me a lesson about cruelty, and about ignorance. You may have died in the name of duty, but that doesn't give you any right to define what it means." He held his right hand in front of his uncle's face, wiggling the shorn ring finger pointedly. "I think I've held onto this for too long." With his left hand, Rav removed the golden band on his ring finger, and threw it on the table. He closed his eyes, listening to the ring bounce across the stone desk, as the iciness of the house's stark interior pushed itself into his consciousness.
Rav awoke with a shudder, and then found himself unable to stop shuddering. It felt like the night's cold had suffused its way into his marrow. He moved towards the flat stone where the dead embers of the campfire lay. He still had a little more kindling, and with some effort got the fire going again. Huddling close in an effort to absorb as much heat as possible, Rav put some of the pemmican in his mouth, and forced himself to eat it slowly. His rations would last for a day, if he were on a patrol, much like his waterskin was good for half a day. He could possibly stretch that to two or three days, but he would have to forage or hunt for the other seven before he was back in the Grey Tower. He plotted out plans for the days ahead in his mind, as the sky turned from midnight blue to hues of orange and red, and as feelings of warmth slowly returned to his curled form.
When there was enough light to see the ground clearly, the Drin began to move. Whilst it may have been a ruse, he recalled the direction the Warders had moved when they left him the day before, and he had no better sense of where to go. Water was high on his list of requirements, followed by more firewood, then food. If he could find somewhere to shelter, that would be ideal as well, but that seemed like a slightly lower priority. All four were important, however.
Rav tried to appreciate the sounds of the forest, but it was all quite unfamiliar. Some of the bird calls he recognised from the Tower's Gardens, but others were new. Occasionally he heard wolf howls, or the sound of deer making their escape from the noisy transgressor in their midst. Insects added to the noise in what felt like a cacophony to the Shienaran. He wasn't used to all of this nature.
Eventually, once the sky was comfortably above the horizon, the sounds of running water became clear. He moved carefully towards the babbling noise, aware that water no doubt attracted animals as well as bedraggled Drin. As he got nearer, the sounds of water came from a stream that spanned no more than two feet at its widest. Round pebbles formed the waterbed, and Rav caught the rare sight of a fish as he approached. "All alone," Rav muttered with relief as he unstopped the waterskin, and drunk deeply. As long as he didn't lose his sense of direction, he now had fresh water for the next few days.
He refilled his waterskin, and splashed cool water across his face. That was one issue resolved, but now his mind moved onto firewood. That task didn't take much work. Sticks and leaves and twigs filled his pockets after not much effort, the sharp ends poking through the material of his uniform into his sides. He accepted the discomfort quietly, seldom allowing himself to sigh in annoyance. Once again, he would have to find somewhere to set the fire that wouldn't ignite the whole of the underbrush.
Water and firewood sorted, Rav turned his attentions onto food. He regarded the utility knife with disdain, unsure how he was to catch any prey with such a lacklustre weapon. A bow or a sling, he would have appreciated and understood, even if he had no skill in either. With a utility knife, his options seemed non-existent. The Drin had noticed some mushrooms growing in clumps, as he had wandered the forest for wood, as well as some berry bushes. His mind rewound back to days with his sister, cooking and baking all different sorts of foods. Mushrooms had rarely featured in those meals, and berries sporadically. He could probably tell some berries that were safe to eat, but most would be a gamble. "A bigger gamble if I go without eating," he grumbled to himself. He decided that a diet of fungi, fruit, and slight portions of his rations was the best he could presently hope for. Over the next few hours, during which the sky transitioned from light blue to dark purple, Rav collected mushrooms and berries from wherever he could spot any. Before complete darkness enveloped the forest, he found a flat and clear area to start his second night's fire.
He ate quickly, the sharpness of the berries mixing unpleasantly with the savory taste of the mushrooms. Ultimately the rations replaced both tastes with grease and fat. Rav settled into sleep quickly this time.
Somehow, he knew this nightmare had been going on for a long time, but he could only recollect the present, and not the past. Rav was barefoot, feet resting on dusty ground. Orange dirt covered him up to his ankles, and it was accompanied by a tingling sensation. In each hand was a sword. His left held a longsword, similar to his own but with the heron-mark of a blademaster on the grip. In his right hand was his father's sword-breaker. Both were covered by black blood, that had a sickly smell beyond that of the soil. His stomach roiled as he realised where he was. The Blight. He heaved, and for a moment he thought he was in a moonlit forest. Then the Blight violently reasserted itself.
There were Trollocs now, with faces disfigured by boar snouts or dog-like noses or birds' beaks. His swords slashed and arced wildly, not at all like his training with the forms. That didn't concern him, as Trollocs fell to his swords whilst he evaded all of the black scythe-like blades with ease. In the melée, he saw another combatant, a dark-haired man with a broken nose. The man's blade cleaved through the Shadowspawn with the same ease as Rav's. Within a few moments, the two men were standing a few feet apart, the bodies of countless Trollocs lifeless at their feet. Rav saluted the Ji'alantin. He had been here before, fighting Trollocs with this man, yet it wasn't like this. It had been more bloody, more visceral, more... real.
There was a lurching shift in reality, and suddenly it wasn't the familiar face of Dakson Torellion that greeted Rav's. Instead of a grey uniform, a long black robe draped over black plate armour. A sword of the same dull black metal was gripped in a pasty white hand. And the face... Eyeless. Fear struck at the Drin's heart. A fear that froze him solid and turned his insides to ice, even as sweat beaded down his face from the infernal heat of the Blight. The two swords in his hands may well as not been there, for all he could move his limbs.
The Halfman slid forward, serpentine and sinuous. It was unnatural how it moved. Nothing ruffled the folds of its cloak. Even its voice was all wrong. "Welcome back to the Shadow, friend of the Dark." Its eyeless visage grinned wide, all too knowing.
Rav lurched awake, gasping for air in ragged breaths. The shining rays of the mid-afternoon sun blinded him with more vigour than was befitting, and the forest floor thrashed and squirmed under his legs. This too had to be a dream. He closed his eyes, the world still seeming to convolve and undulated behind his eyelids, and bid him to sleep on.
He sat on his bed at home. It was soft, much softer than the mattress back in the Grey Tower. He ran his hands along the edge in memory, the wavy line still cognisant despite the time apart. How long had it been since he had last slept here? More than a year by now, it had to be. Blue-grey eyes turned to examine the rest of the room. His sister's bed was beside his own. They had always shared a room, so it was very fortunate that they had got along. Had? A shiver ran through him. They had been over a year apart, and he had never written a single letter back home, telling them that he was safe, where he was, what he was doing. His cheeks reddened. He pulled the juniper and rosemary-scented scarf up over his mouth and nose to hide his embarrassment.
Rav rose and moved over to his bedside table. With one calloused thumb, he wiped dust off the top of a book that had lain dormant since his departure. The Travels of Jain Farstrider. For a brief moment, he thought the book had another title, something about pre-Breaking Relics. When he glanced again, it was back to the childhood book.
When had he stopped being a child? Was it when he left for the wider world, intent on learning with the world's best soldiers in order to become one himself? Maybe it was before then, when his training with the Shienaran army had begun. Or earlier still, when his uncle decided that a little boy could do without all of his ten fingers. That latter memory seemed both recent and far, far away.
Rav was abruptly aware of the sounds of sobbing from the room. Looking sideways, there was now a form occupying his blankets, wailing muffled by the pillows. Red hair, a bit brighter than his own, surrounded a young boy's head. There was a second figure, a hand gently resting on the weeping form of a young Ravak Darrow. Elia was perched on the edge of her own bed, and watched her younger brother with a look of distress and tenderness. The older Rav didn't remember this. Is this a dream or a memory? Neither seemed right somehow, as Elia was the adult woman he had left behind, whereas the young boy had to be no more than twelve. There wasn't that much of an age gap between them.
"Elia?" Long, loose strawberry-blonde waves sprung to life as green eyes stared to meet his own. The air in his lungs caught for a moment as he realised she had been crying, the red rings surrounding her eyes a tell-tale sign of distress.
Guilt struck him hard, and struck him again as Elia spoke. "Where did you go little brother?" She wore a forlorn expression, one he had gifted her. Why had he never written to her, to tell her that he was alright, that he was safe and happy and becoming the soldier he wanted to be? What had she done when she awoke that morning, after he had left, to find her little brother gone? How long had she looked for him within the house, within the city, until she had to resign herself to the fact that she would never know what happened to her younger, loyal brother? Rav physically shook as those thoughts washed over him. Why had he been so blind or selfish, to have never considered how she would react? Leaving Fal Dara wasn't just a decision that had changed his life; it has also affected hers and their parents. He couldn't even bring himself to think about his parents, his mind was so rapt with Elia's worries. Green eyes bore into him, and dragged all of his suppressed thoughts of her out. He began to weep himself, the younger and older Ravs making a cacophonous tune of grief.
Pain tore at the Drin as he awoke. His stomach growled ferociously. How long since he had last eaten? The weakness and agony that he felt told him that it had been at least a day, maybe two. His throat was so parched, he coughed hoarsely just trying to breath. It was a real struggle to bring the waterskin up to his mouth, to pour the liquid down his throat. More water splashed over his uniform than he swallowed, but he couldn't care. Sodden and able to breath more easily, he reached for his pack of rations, fungi and fruit stuffed on top. He couldn't say why, but he purposefully chose the pemmican over the fresher foods. He worked his way through the rations in a single sitting, until the pack just contained the results of his foraging.
Even without the agonising pain of hunger weakening him, his body still ached. How long had he been asleep? At least one whole day, he realised with disbelief. The weather had changed to a temperate heat, and he felt no remains of the previous night's - no, the previous two nights' cold. Funnily, or possibly worryingly, he wanted to fall asleep again. With no small amount of effort, he forced himself to his feet, gripping the waterskin and rations in either hand.
This was now the fourth day, Rav realised. He had to leave only after the fourth day was over. He made preparations for the night ahead like he had done before. Water, firewood, and foraged foods. Once more he had an assortment of mushrooms and berries, some nuts too, which he knew would afflict him with the same lurid dreams and nightmares as before. What choice do I have? Fortunately the day's worth of rations was still sustaining him. Curled around another fire, he slipped into a dreamless but restful sleep.
He started the next day like he had the last, with water and firewood. It was midday when he set out in the direction the Warders had taken, stomach over-full with water in lieu of actual food. The forest broke and a vista of hills stretched out before the Shienaran. The peaks of the Mountains of Mist soon became apparent behind him as he cleared the forest, settling his mind about whether he was travelling in the correct direction. At the very least, he was moving eastwards, and would find some sign of Andor or Ghealdan given enough time. Night fell with no sign of recent civilisation, although he had passed through a stony field that may once have been a building of some sort. Rav settled down for the night in a bowl-topped hill, his fire sheltered from prowling eyes. He ate a scant amount of the mushrooms and nuts, enough to give himself energy, and hoped for a restful night as he closed his eyes.
The next three days and nights followed on from the first. During the daylight hours, he foraged for food, found fresh water to replenish his waterskin, and found fuel for his fires. That latter was much harder outside the forest, and each night's fire was a dismal and feeble attempt for heat that didn't last for any length of time. His muscles now constantly ached with the strain of any action, water not replacing the energy needed, and his cautious nibbling of actual food tempered by the fears of another lost day. By the end of the eighth day after the Warders had left, the Drin relented. He ate enough for a proper meal, his stomach silencing its complaints finally. It was a cloudless, bright night, and Rav lay staring at the stars. It was a beautiful night, and he wanted to drink it in.
Fears started to creep into his mind as he watched the sky. He still had no real idea if he was moving towards the Grey Tower or not. Maybe it would be days yet before he struck upon a hamlet or a town, and the reality was that he wouldn't last several more days out here. That he had escaped the notice of any wild animals was a blessing, he knew. But suffering from a missing day every time he had a proper meal? No, he needed to strike upon somewhere habitable sometime soon. The next question was if his pace had been sufficient to reach the Tower in time. He had one more full day and night to find the Tower. Arrive on the sunset of the tenth. That thought lingered as sleep enveloped him.
Sparks crackled as Rav added more wood to the fire. He was aware of the warmth in the room, and could have settled for a cold fireplace easily, but he liked how the flames made ripples of light along the stark, stone walls. The antechamber was finely decorated, at least for the Citadel. A square Taraboner carpet covering most of the floor was the most extravagant feature, but the solid Shienaran chair that the grey-haired man sat back in was his favourite piece. He ran a hand along the top of his head, bare aside from the top-knot that was tradition. He was never an active member of Shienar's military, but he was Shienaran, and he had the same duty to protect the Borderlands. That wasn't the actual reason for his presence at the Grey Tower's northern outpost, however. That reason lay beyond the antechamber's inner door.
Through the Bond, Rav could feel his Aes Sedai's frustration. He imagined that she had misplaced some piece of parchment, or her travelling inkwell - that was always going missing. Even after so many years, she still coveted his ter'angreal, and her constant misplacement of her quills and inkwells was a long-standing prank between them. He allowed himself an amused smile, as he picked up a book from the side table. Being Bonded to a Brown sister had the major benefit of access to some restricted volumes, and Rav had basked in learning as much as he could. He possibly would have been a better Asha'man than a Gaidin, if he had been born with the spark. It wasn't the first time he had had that thought.
Feeling the approach of his charge, Rav rose to his feet. The book was placed on the table, page marked by a dagger. He was armed with his longsword and sword-breaker, throwing daggers and bow. He also had his ter'angreal and spare ink, which would no doubt be needed. As the antechamber's door opened, he smiled warmly. A matching smile was spread across the coppery-skinned Brown, almond-shaped eyes twinkling playfully. He crossed the room in two quick strides, wrapped an arm around her slender waist, and pressed his lips against hers. There was a momentary resistance, both physical and emotional from the beautiful Cairhienin, before a hand grasped the back of his head and pulled him in deeper. He could feel her mind race.
They were only together for a few seconds, but it was still painful to part from her touch. Rav was once again standing straight and at attention, whilst a silent sigh escaped her lips. Dark eyes opened, and a loving if intense stare examined his face. Her voice also had that same firm and tender tone. "I hope you don't think you can convince me to stay here, wrapped up warm and safe, while you go off gallivanting into the Blight."
"I wouldn't dream of it," he replied, just a touch of mocking in his voice. She pursed her lips, considering, but through the Bond she would feel his sincerity. Only twice in forty or so years had he actually kept her from doing what she intended to do. Delay her often, certainly, but actually force her to abandon her plans... This was not going to be a day for either.
"Mm," she murmured, considering him. He wore a fine coat of Shienaran cut, brown with silver embroidery. There were five stars on each side of his collar, and the same pattern repeated on his cuffs. Not a Shienaran symbol, but a Cairhienin one. Rav still found it odd, how he had been entangled in Cairhienin politics and Daes Dae'mar. Well, the latter only slightly. An excellent swordsman, being a Gaidin, and a fancloak allowed him a lot of leeway to avoid the finer points of the Great Game. He was always vigilant at watching her, although Cairhien made him wary even of her family members. Especially her family, he thought without amusement. He still despaired over the notion of having to harm one's own flesh and blood.
The Shienaran considered her now. The Lady Aikaterine of House Riatin. Katrie Sedai of the Brown Ajah. Tall, statuesque, and gorgeous. A lot had changed for both of them since their first encounter in the Grey Tower's library. A lot. Still, he was always able to see that young Novice who had entranced him at first sight. She gave him a quizzical look, no doubt sensing his passion raising again. That didn't stop him from admiring her. She wore a blue woollen dress, also marked with the five stars, as well as the suggestion of the Rising Sun of Cairhien in the embroidery. Things had changed a lot, for her to be showing so much allegiance or favour to the city she once hated. Rav's eyes drifted to where the dress accentuated her curves. He took a hold of himself, his face melting from a smile into that stoicism that was the hallmark of Gaidin and Gaidar. She laid a hand upon his chest, one finger slightly snagging the ring he wore on a leather cord around his neck. "Always so serious…"
They left their chambers, Ravak leading the way through the hallways of the Citadel, his Warder's cloak sometimes making him appear to be a floating head in front of the Aes Sedai. Eyes scanned every inch of stone, every shadow, and every flickering flame for anything out of place. Eventually they stepped outside into the snowstorm that whipped around the Citadel. Neither of them gave pause for the cold, although Katrie pulled her thick cloak tight around her. Both of them knew that the freezing winds wouldn't last for long, once they got going.
In the comparative shelter of the stables, Rav checked over Katrie's white mare Sanasant; that meant knowledge in the Old Tongue. A good name for a Brown's steed. He had prepared saddlebags earlier for the trip, so all he had to do was secure them on Sanasant. Then he moved to his own horse, O'vin. He was a brown stallion, with a foul temper for anyone other than Rav. Even Katrie had given up trying to assist with O'vin, a sore point for her pride. Saddled, laden and ready, Rav led O'vin into the snowstorm ahead of Katrie and Sanasant. They moved towards the northern gate of the Citadel, and from there, onto the Blight.
As they rode in a comfortable silence, Rav considered the long journey that had brought him here. The young boy that played with wooden swords would never would have imagined growing up to be a Warder, married and Bonded to an Aes Sedai who was also the head of a Great House of Cairhien. It seemed faintly ridiculous even to the grey-haired Shienaran. How had his life reached this point, where he had made more oaths and pledges than he had intended, yet had been able to meet each one in the companionship of his best friend. He turned in the saddle, receiving a knowing smile from Katrie even as she studied one of her travel journals.
Grey-blue eyes flared brightly with determination. The sun was peeking above the horizon, meaning he had a single day to find the Tower. This test seemed an ignoble thing in some respects. He had ignored it before, but he smelt almost as vile as the Blight did, ten or so days without a bath and wearing the same clothes. If he got back to the Tower just in time, maybe he could at least fetch a clean uniform. He knew that some Ji attended their ceremonies fresh-faced in pristine light grey, the last time they would have to wear that shade. He intended to be one of them, in spite of the odds.
He drank and ate what remained of his supplies. He wasn't planning to stop for any more bad nightmares, or... vivid dreams. Last night's dream will still crystal clear in his mind, not fading away like so many often did. He knew it wasn't a portent or a vision of the future, just a delusion brought about by fruit and fungi that wasn't meant to be consumed. And yet parts of that dream seemed achievable now. Maybe not everything with Katrie, but being able to fulfill his duties. That all seemed within reach.
It was long past the twilight hours before Rav caught sight of the Grey Tower. Somehow, in spite of days of concern that he could have been heading the wrong direction, he had not. His limbs, especially his legs, just wanted to rest. They sought relief from the burning that singed every one of his working muscles. There were miles to go still, but grim determination took hold of the reins and forced him on.
Ravak eyed the guards severely as he approached them, a scowl fixed upon his face. He scratched idly at his beard with one hand, which itched against the dirty scarf. He didn't care what Mordjen or the other man may have thought about him at that time. He stalked through the quiet grounds, orange and red marring the sky. His gaze was fixed on the Warders Hall, his strength of will already conceding to his body's exhaustion.
The doors of the Warders Hall was open in spite of the hour, a red carpet making a line into the foyer. At either side, Drin and Ji stood at attention. Rav didn't, couldn't care less. He wanted to sleep. The far end of the room was where he needed to be. There stood the Mistress of Training, the Mistress of Arms, and the Gaidar Captain. The Shienaran didn't see them. He saw an end to this test. He saw warm sheets. He saw a path to duty.
Somehow, as if time had skipped a beat, Rav was on his knee in front of the Mistress of Arms. Unseeing blue-grey eyes watched her, whilst unhearing ears listened. "We are gathered here today to witness that Ravak Darrow, Drin'far'ji, has proven himself worthy to wear a darker shade of grey." A sword was in her hands, the tip hovering over matted red hair. The Shienaran looked without seeing. "Ravak, you have succeeded in the challenges set against you by your superiors, mastering them with honour and without aid."
"It is the duty of every individual to devote themselves to the advancement and betterment of their home and calling." Ravak heard those words clearly, and he sighed audibly hearing that. If he had the strength, he may even had started to chuckle. That line surmised him to a fault. The sword touched his right shoulder, then his left. "It is with pleasure that I perform my duty in conferring upon you the rank of Ji'alantin of the Grey Tower. Arise Ravak Darrow, Ji'alantin."
Ravak Darrow stood, nothing about the ceremony having given him new life or vigour. The simple image of his bed was forefront in his mind. But he conceded to the situation, giving a salute to Mistress Ubriel. With that, he moved past the ceremony, ascending the stairs towards his room. He was spent, in body and soul. And yet somehow, he was renewed.
