Fanfic:Split in Twain
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"She has already been Healed." Merine Sedai said as she pulled away from the woman laying atop the cot. There were few beds now, and many lay on the floor of the hospital tents or storage rooms, some even without blankets. But room had been made for the former Sitter who had led the sortie and retrieved sisters many thought were lost to the Seanchan.
Merine dipped her hands into a washing bowel, "The Amyrlin Seat will wish her to report, but she is too weary for it now." There had been a body pulled off of her, Merine had heard, the man who had brought reinforcements to break the siege. The Soldiers, Dedicated, and Ash'man who were there all claimed that the lord had managed a crude Healing. He had probably never been trained, but being the son of the Amyrlin Seat and an Asha'man of old, he probably had always had the spark and rarely even took in the Flame and the Void, let alone saidin. He had lived to an extreme old age, but his face showed none of the signs of channeling.
Except, this crude weave he had managed seemed to have drained the life out of him. He would have been an exceptional Healer. Merine supposed, as she toweled her hands off. She was one of the few who remembered Lord Kadar's father, Jaisen Davram Asha'man, who had since gone taint mad. He could have been the First Weaver with Talent like that. How he managed to spend little if any of his Sister's strength is beyond me.
Her soft brown eyes darted between the men who lined the cot. One of them, the younger, was dressed as a Whitecloak and looked to be about fifty turnings of the Wheel old. His name was Jaisen, and Merine supposed that Lord Kadar had named him after his own father. She looked quickly to his elder, a man with just a few grey hairs in his beard. He wore the colors of dark blue and silver Merine recognized as the Amyrlin Seat's House colors. He had been the one to lead the main force of the reinforcements to break the siege and run the Seanchan down. That man was named Telam, and Merine did not know where that name came from. Both were the Aes Sedai's nephews.
"Your father is dead." she said bluntly, for if she gave a shred of hope, they would cling to it needlessly. "Yet believe me when I say he gave his life to her." That was the simplest way to put it. "No one killed him." her lips tightened in a regretful smile.
The younger man did not look like he believed her. His jaw clenched. But the elder spoke for them, takign one look at the dazed Aes Sedai who was his aunt, before speaking to Merine, "We will report for her, then, to the Duchess." Merine blinked, although for an Aes Sedai it could have been a flinch. Amora Sedai was much more than a duchess or a lady, she was the Amyrlin Seat, equal to a queen. Although, these men, her kin, rarely aknowledged that. It pained her to see the decendants of one born in the Tower to treat it so distainfully.
The older man put his fist to his chest in salute and nodded. It was not quite a bow. And then he turned on his heels. The Whitecloak gave Merine a disparaging look, haughty, as if he believed her words had twisted the truth, and trailed after his elder brother. They were gone.
The last look was for Master Firredal Gaidin. He appeared to Merine as stoic as any of the battle-worn soldiers who had flooded the Yellow section of the Tower. But he also seemed around the edges, to the experienced Yellow, extremely tired. It was to him she spoke. "She needs much rest." she said softly. "We need all of the beds we can. Now that the siege is broken, anyone who can may return to the surface. Please take her up to her apartments . . " knowing this Aes Sedai, Merine added in a whisper, " . . keep her away from spirits for a time. She is too weak for ale and wine."
Firredal nodded. He was small and slightly built, and even with a Warder's endurance he doubted that he could carry Saphire all the way back up to her rooms. Still, he would find a way if necessary.
His frame of mind was hard to describe even to himself. He no longer held the Void, but he had been pushed all the way through exhaustion into some other state: a numbness that allowed him to keep moving when he should have collapsed. It was very like the Void, in that it walled away his feelings and kept everything around him distant; anything that wasn't immediately important didn't exist.
Approaching the cot, he laid a hand on Saphire's shoulder. "Did you hear her?" he asked tonelessly. The question was as much to find out whether she was awake as anything else. Even through the Bond she was... distant. Unreachable.
If she was awake enough to walk, then he could help her back to her rooms. Otherwise, he would need to summon attendants to carry her.
OOC: Another thought... we could meet (by accident) one or both of the nephews at the BoB. There's plenty of potential for a duel, a bar fight, and a reconciliation there... Especially since Firredal would feel compelled to stand up for both Saphire and their father.
She felt Firredal's hand on her shoulder, and it brought her back. Shake off this downy sleep, death's counterfeit. she thought, and urged herself to rouse from the half-daze she had submerged into.
"Aye." Saphire said almost inaudibly, "My sisters and brother both are dead." Losing Leisha was like losing a leg. She felt hobbled by her loss. Losing Kadar was like losing half her heart too, and Kayla the other half. But it felt good to feel Firredal's hand. So much warmer than than the chill found in Kadar's when she had woken on the the grey fields.
Saphire turned her head slightly so that she could look at her hand, half surprised she hadn't dropped the contents in her spell. Her fingers unfurled and there were two rings. Both gold. Both printed with the symbol of four swans in flight. One crafted for a man, the other was thinner and formed for a woman.
She remembered pulling Kadar ring off his finger, as was custom. It was worn and withered by time. What had surprised her was the finding of another ring on his person, equally thinned by long years of wear. And it made her called to her . . .
Kayla.
And she squeezed her hand shut around them. Painfully hard. Saphire felt pulled back to the here, and it strained her heart. The Aes Sedai's eyes began to mist and she closed her eyes until she could compose herself. Slow, steady breaths, and then she could open them and look sister Merine in the face.
"Thank you, sister." she said, and propped herself up on her elbow. Firredal pulsed in that knot that was the bond. Concern tinged the numbness she felt from him. And she regarded him, "I can walk, so long as there is a stiff apple brandy on the other side."
Merine Sedai gave Firredal another look as she dried her hands. A look that said, Remember what I told you. And then to the Green, "Not until your strength is returned."
"I know my own strength." Saphire said stubbornly as she launched herself up on her own two feet. Perhaps too quickly. She wobbled a little.
Firredal put a hand out to steady his Aes Sedai, pulling the movement short at the last moment to let her catch his arm. She was leaning on him heavily, but he didn't let it show; he was stronger than he looked. Of course, with his small size and slight build, he didn't look strong at all.
Merine Sedai looked unconvinced, but she moved away. Firredal held his arm steady, but the look he gave Saphire said that he knew just how unsteady she was. "Let's get you back to your rooms," he said quietly.
He turned slightly, aiming them at the door. He could give her better support if she would put an arm around his shoulders, but he doubted her pride would let her do that before they reached the hallway. So he kept his arm steady and waited to feel her movement through it: essentially preparing to follow from the front.
Saphire hated being weak. She hated it even more than gateways. But Firredal's discretion made accepting aid easier. About as important as trusting him with her life was trusting him to help her maintain dignity. He was beyond exhausted too, and she appreciated his silent support, a feeling that he would realize almost as soon as she felt it. She valued it as much as she had Leisha's urging to draw on her strength . . .
Leisha!
. . . the thought of her strained Saphire's heart and she stumbled. She held on to Firredal tighter in the lurch. Cool composure only reached as deep as skin. And even that was fraying. Inside, Saphire's thoughts and feelings were flooding, searching for any crack from which to pour forth freely. She thought, if anyone asked her directly how she felt, she would not be able to hold back the tears.
They reached the empty hall Saphire paused to put her arm around Firredal's narrow shoulders. It was a long climb up the stairwell to her apartments. Saphire forced a faint smile, feeling him through the bond, and knowing he was right. She needed more help than she wanted to admit. But also she knew that despite his strength, he held grief closely at bay. Leisha had been dear to him too.
Firredal slowed his pace as they mounted the steps. He would have liked to say that he was doing it for his Aes Sedai, but it wasn't true. He was, simply, exhausted. On the other hand, he wasn't Aes Sedai; he wasn't required to tell the truth.
Except to myself. The reflection was unexpectedly melancholy. But not being honest with himself was what had led to the trouble with Lady Tobieth, to his self-imposed exile from Cairhien, to his split with Dai'Cuebiyari. Truth be told, he was too old to bother fooling himself anymore. Too old, and far too tired.
He missed Leisha. She had been a good companion, steady and reliable, likable. He had wondered, sometimes, if they might become something more... but he had lacked the courage to pursue the matter. The risks were too great; they were both sworn to protect Saphire Sedai, and they couldn't afford bad feelings between them if things didn't work out.
Now he regretted that. It was one thing to avoid a danger, but quite another to sacrifice an opportunity. The feel of Saphire's body close to his, leaning on him, was both reassuring and yet strangely un-enticing. That much proximity should have filled him with lust, but they were both so exhausted that all he could feel was determination - a mix of stubbornness from both sides of their Bond - and an odd sort of connection. There was comfort in their proximity, in their shared grief. Perhaps even in their shared bloody-mindedness, which demanded a return to their own territory before a full collapse.
They reached the top of the stairs at long last, and turned towards the Halls of the Green and Saphire Sedai's rooms. Saphire seemed to have gained a second wind; she was moving more strongly now that they were on level ground. Firredal adjusted automatically, but he was feeling weaker still. The distance between himself and the rest of the world was becoming a sort of tunnel vision, the kind that usually presaged unconsciousness. Even with the Bond, he wondered how much longer he could keep moving. He had never really pushed it to its limit; perhaps he would find out now.
That part of her mind that was Firredal felt as exhausted as she was. She had not been this close to a man since Liana's father, Daimor, decades past. Her grief for him had passed, at last, for Saphire found it extremely difficult to let go of those she had grown close to. But no one could mourn forever.
She should have felt something for Firredal. He had been her Warder and saved her life countless times since she had bonded him, less than a handful of years after Daimor had died, when Liana was newborn. All of that time, her silent grief held lust and love at bay. Yet even now, rather than evoking an urge for more, their closeness reinforced how they were of one mind and body. He had almost died too, when she had slipped away. Now grief bound them too.
What was a slow and careful walk to her apartments on the outside was a struggle to maintain strength and composure on the inside. Saphire felt on the edge of crumbling, and yet she sensed not only regret but satisfaction from the bond. A sort of peace that came with being close to someone and drawing comfort from what they shared. Saphire's hand paused on the door-handle to her rooms. It pleased her that he felt that way. For it was only him and their bond that was keeping her together.
She looked at him with tired emerald eyes. They misted over. She was approaching the edge of breaking down. "I am glad you are with me, Firredal." she said simply, sincerely. "Please do come inside." It was the same as if she had asked, 'Please do not leave me.' For her, it was a statement of profound trust. She did not share grief with her family. But Firredal, he was different. He was a part of her.
Firredal nodded and followed her through the door. Truth be told, he was not sure he could have made it back to his own chambers. He had been here before, of course - Saphire often included her Warders in closeted discussions - but seldom when the day's business was done.
"Let us get you into bed," he said quietly. "That apple brandy will have to wait."
Saphire released a long regretful sigh. But she knew better than to argue with him, at least when she was this fatigued. Perhaps she wanted sleep just as much as a good stiff drink. Anything to forget the losses of the day.
"Fine." Saphire said, shuffling out of her sitting room and into the dressing room, where it led beyond into her bedroom. "But that brandy will be had in the Band of Brothers. And I don't want to see the bottom of any glasses until I'm good and done." She would have smiled wryly, but instead, a yawn stretched her jaw almost painfully.
She used the walls and side tables for support as she slipped behind her changing screen. Apple blossoms were painted on it in traditional Green Ajah style. From behind it the sound of pieces of armor falling away carelessly to the floor could be heard. She slipped into a light wool robe. Advendsora leaf patterns lined the sleeves and hem and belt. When she stepped out, it was clear she hadn't even invested the time into arranging her hair into a loose sleeping braid. It remained free and unarranged over her shoulders. A sight rarely seen in en'Damier women.
The removing of her armor felt like stripping away the cool serene mask she had been taught to wear as Aes Sedai. Saphire closed her eyes as the impressions of Leisha's death returned to her unbidden. It crashed upon her like the rise of the evening tide. She put a hand to her mouth, and the other to a side-table for support.
"I was just thinking of Leisha . . " hot salty tears welled in her eyes. " . . . her death was brief and brilliant. Yet, I never saw her. I never said farewell." She braced herself. "How did she look, Firredal?"
She looked... dead. Firredal kept that thought to himself, knowing that his natural tendency towards irreverence was out of place here. And it wasn't really funny, even in his head.
It was tragic.
She had been his friend, his sister - in some ways closer than his actual sister back in Cairhien. Lovers might fight, argue, hold grudges; but he and Leisha had always been united in their support of Saphire. Her loss had left a hole in his heart, and Saphire's... but also in their companionship. He wasn't sure how to deal with that. And his last sight of her had been her body cut open and emptied, left behind like an unstrung puppet. Her wit and personality, her grace and skill - everything that he might have recognized as her - was gone.
"...And I'll be joining you in those drinks," he said slowly, knowing she would feel his melancholy through the Bond. "The proof of Leisha's last moments wasn't in how she looked, but in the enemies she left scattered in her wake. There were too many, and she knew it. She accepted her death, and she made them pay for it... so dearly that they had no time to pursue us."
It occurred to him that he was sitting in the middle of the floor - and doubtless doing horrible things to Saphire Sedai's favorite rug - but he didn't think he could stand back up for anything less than Tarmon Gai'don itself. "She looked... as if she saw the need for what she was doing. As if she accepted it. And they were fallen all the way to her body, with arrows in them, or sword cuts for those who managed to come close. I think a few of her killers survived, but they must have been the lucky ones - the ones at the back of the charge. Anyone with any sense would have thrown down their weapons and fled. For all I know, some of them did." He hadn't had a chance to look that closely.
He swallowed. "If there is beauty in discharging one's duty with honor, then she was... radiant."
Hot tears rolled down her cheeks. Saphire felt grateful for Leisha's sacrifice, but at his words, chin lifted and she breathed in a sigh. Closed her eyes. And a flush of pride warmed her and left a shiver in its wake.
"I pray I die with as much honor, as beautifully, and as nobly as she did." Saphire realized that she was on her knees. Neither could she stand any longer. "May the Light illumine her soul, as brightly as she deserved, and may she shelter in the Creator's hand until her rebirth. May she be reborn as radiantly in the Light as she passed."
She couldn't hold herself back any longer. There were times when Aes Sedai serenity did not hold. This time it shattered.
Saphire reached out for the one person who shared and understood her loss. Firredal. She wrapped her arms around him, and though he was smaller than her, she leaned her head against his shoulder. "I was blessed when the Pattern wove you both into my life. Light, I will miss her!"
Firredal raised his arms, holding Saphire against him. He was, he discovered, too tired to weep... but he wanted to. Leisha gone... It seemed impossible, despite the shared and reflected ache in their hearts. I will miss her, too.
He didn't speak. Words required too much effort, especially for something that Saphire already knew - something the Aes Sedai could feel for herself. Instead, he sat there on the floor, holding and being held, offering and accepting comfort. He realized then that the tears had come, that they were making itch-tickling tracks down his cheeks. He made no move to wipe them away; holding Saphire was more important, for both of them.
After a time they began to feel better. The grief was not gone, but it... receded. And other thoughts began to intrude, chief among them the awareness that his legs were going to sleep. "Let's get you into bed," Firredal said softly. It felt good to be holding her, but a night on the floor would do neither of them any good.
"Aye." she conceded. But before she moved to rise, Saphire brushed his tears away with her fingertips. She wanted to give back even a little of the comfort she had taken from their embrace. Then she wiped her own tears away on her sleeve. It had been good to give in to grief, if for a moment. Yet now with the tide receded, it was time to embrace the oblivion of sleep. For a time she could forget.
Like two feet shuffling they managed to get through to her bedchamber. Saphire would have lit the bedside lamp, or the hearth, if she had the strength. But her goal was only to the reach the bed, and saidar was as far out of reach as Leisha now was.
She practically collapsed onto her bed. Saphire had never really thought 'till now how close she had cone to death, how even simple Healing could have snuffed her out like a weak flame on the wick. The barest breath and she was out. Firredal surely felt it too. Just as she felt his fatigue.
He would know her concern. He could not power himself to his apartments, for he was as weak as she.
Saphire didn't have to offer. The bond was wordless.
Firredal had one small advantage in all this: because Saphire had been taken to the Yellow, he had taken time - or, more to the point, ordered by one of the Healers - to go get cleaned up (so they could tell whether the blood on his face was his own). Even after helping his Aes Sedai up the stairs, his clothes were reasonably clean.
Which is good, he thought, as darkness closed in. Because I'd be sleeping in them either way.
