Fanfic:The Damane
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Anelle was gone. Seonin could still feel the shocking pain of the arrow as it pierced Anelle’s chest. She could sense the way Anelle had gasped for air as her lungs filled with blood. Through the collar, the pain of death was magnified twofold. Seonin’s breath became labored and she choked on her own spit. The sweetness of saidar slipped away and she fell to the ground beside Anelle. Her stomach heaved and she vomited onto the grass, the grass stained with the blood of her sul’dam. Her eyes burned with tears.
This was intended to be a safe mission, although Seonin had learned that safety was relative. This land was hostile, and they had been ambushed. Still, how could it have gone so wrong with a simple supply caravan? Her people were dying around her, falling by the dozens as lightning and fire struck them down. Seonin blinked blearily up at the sky. It was her job to fight the opposing channelers. Without her, the battle was lost. But she could do nothing. Anelle was dead, the other sul’dam was dead, and there was no one else to wear the bracelet and command Seonin to battle.
She felt numb all over. Let me die with Anelle, she prayed. She closed her eyes.
Hours seemed to pass. Slowly, Seonin became aware of her surroundings. She was no longer laying flat on her back. Instead, she was hunched over Anelle’s body, cradling the dead sul’dam in her arms. Her ears seemed to be filled with a dull roar. She was screaming, a long, horrible, draining wail. When she ran out of air, she took another ragged breath and screamed again.
Abruptly, she sensed a woman embracing saidar. A thread of Spirit came slithering towards her. Click. Her collar came away, falling loose to the ground. Seonin gasped and dropped Anelle’s body to clutch at her neck. Then, she lunged for the collar. But before she could snap it back around her neck, someone snatched it out of her grasp.
“NO!” Her voice was hoarse from screaming. Without looking up at the woman who had dared to take away her collar, she threw herself at the woman’s feet and groveled. “Please! Seonin is not a marath’damane. Seonin has been trained and needs to be collared. Seonin promises to be a good damane.”
There was disgust and pity in the woman’s voice as she spoke. “Get up, girl. Come on, get to your feet. You’re free, don’t you understand? You –”
Seonin interrupted with another scream. “No! Seonin failed in her mission. Seonin failed to protect her sul’dam. Seonin is a bad damane and needs to be collared. Seonin needs to be punished. Anelle… oh, poor Anelle! Poor Seonin! Seonin is a bad damane… Seonin is a failure…”
She did not know how long she continued to rant. She heard other voices discussing what to do with her, but she was too overwhelmed by grief and pain to listen. Eventually, her cries grew weak and her eyes became heavy. She collapsed to the ground in exhaustion.
Seonin stirred. The air no longer smelled of the blood and sweat of battle. Instead, it had a clean, sterile smell that was wholly unfamiliar. Her eyes popped open. She tried to call out, but her voice came out as a croak. Her fingers prodded her neck. She could hardly believe it. The collar was gone.
She climbed out of bed and walked around the room. The collar had circled her neck for over seven years, and she felt lost without it. There was a tablestand holding a pitcher of water and a bowl for washing. A lone rickety chair sat by the bed. The curtains framing the window were a soft, pastel yellow. When she looked through the window, she gasped. A tower of grey stone and glass rose high into the sky. Where was she? Terrified, she drew the curtains over the window, blocking out the morning light.
As a damane, she had spent most of her time in a tiny room, restricted by her collar. She had been trained to stay in place, to be patient, and to endure. It had been a long time since she did anything without a command from a sul’dam, but she still felt a hint of curiosity. What was beyond that door? Why did the tower seem somehow familiar? She sat on edge of the bed and stared at the door for several long hours.
As she sat there, she remembered…
The white stag stepped delicately out of the forest. It bent its neck to lap at the water from the river. Behind it, the sun was sinking under the horizon, its light painting the sky in a rainbow of colors. In the distance, there was a tower that glistened with silvery light.
Familiar footsteps approached her door. Seonin jumped to her feet and bowed.
“G’morning, Nin,” said Anelle. She reached for the bracelet that hung on the wall, and clasped it to her wrist. “Did you Dream last night?”
Seonin nodded, her eyes not leaving the floor. Quietly, she told her sul’dam about the stag.
Anelle’s voice was thoughtful. “A stag. White, you say? The meaning is clear. Great danger approaches, yet it will bring unexpected blessings. Come, Nin. I must tell my brother of this omen.”
Seonin knelt as Anelle spoke with her brother. High Lord Eban listened carefully. Then he shook his head.
“Great danger is everywhere in this savage land,” he said. “These people have not prepared for the Return, and they resist us. They even allow marath’damane to run free. I will be careful, sister, even more careful than usual. Perhaps my enemies will send another assassin after me.”
“But treachery is usually heralded by other symbols, such as a boar, or a snake, or a rat,” said Anelle. “A white stag brings danger, yes, but also opportunity. Where is the opportunity in assassination?” Her hand tugged on Seonin’s leash as she gestured with her hands. Seonin endured the pain without even a thought of irritation. She was used to the habits of her sul’dam.
High Lord Eban chuckled. “Aren’t you the one who always says that reading the omens is an inexact science? Thank you for your advice, sister. We shall see what happens today. Do not leave yet; I have need of you. There is a supply caravan that requires a damane for protection. It is a simple and safe mission. I would like you to go.”
The mission had not been safe. And now, Anelle was dead. Seonin began to cry, her body shaking with sobs. It was all her fault. She had been so focused on the white stag that she had failed to tell Anelle of the tower in the distance, the same tower that stood right outside her window. The same tower that she had seen in her Dream
It must have been a terrible omen. Anelle would have known what it meant. Perhaps, if Seonin had not failed, Anelle would still be alive.
She rocked back and forth, hugging herself. She had never been so miserable in her life. Not when the collar had been first closed around her neck. Not when she had seen the cold look in her mother’s eyes as she realized that her daughter was to be taken away. Why had this happened to her? Seonin had always tried to be a good damane whose only desire was to please her trainers.
Suddenly, she heard the door open. Out of deeply ingrained habit, Seonin leapt out of bed and bowed. The smell of food reached her nostrils and her belly grumbled.
“You must be starved. Here, eat.”
A woman stood in the doorway holding a tray with a bowl of soup, bread, and an apple. Seonin took the tray, sat back down on her bed, and obediently began to eat.
“My name is Aria Seladrin. I am an Aes Sedai of the Yellow Ajah, and you may call me Aria Sedai. May I sit?”
Seonin stared down into her soup and did not reply. She had never been asked for permission. Damane were like furniture, or tools. Nobody asked a chair for permission before sitting on it. Why, it was crazy. Were all people on this side of the ocean insane?
After a moment, the woman took a seat in the rickety chair. “What is your name?” she asked.
“I am called Seonin,” she answered, quietly. She felt the marath’damane watching her every move.
“Very well, Seonin. Do you know where you are?”
The former damane shook her head. Aria Sedai began to talk, telling her about the Grey Tower and its location in Hama Valon. Seonin ate as she listened, although very little made sense to her. She did not recognize any of the countries or towns that Aria Sedai spoke of; and the woman’s rapid accent made her difficult to understand.
Every so often, Seonin snuck a curious glance at the woman. Although Aria Sedai had seemed young at first glance, the light played tricks on her face. Sometimes, she looked to be a mature, but handsome woman; other times, like a fresh, young maiden. It was impossible to place an age on the marath’damane.
When she finished eating, Aria Sedai began to ask her questions. This was familiar territory to Seonin, who was eager to please. She answered to the best of her ability. When she was asked a question that she could not answer, she threw herself to the ground to apologize. But Aria Sedai would only pull her up and try to soothe her.
The interrogation was draining, and her throat, damaged from her screams, began to hurt. But Seonin forced herself to continue speaking until her words came out in a hoarse whisper.
When the woman finally left, Seonin stood to stretch her legs and paced the room, wondering what they wanted to do with her. When the Seanchan captured marath’damane, they were leashed and trained. Her skin prickled with cold sweat. Would they do the same with her? Would they force her to live as a marath’damane? Surely not, she thought, horrified. Then an idea came to mind. Perhaps, if she showed them what a good damane she was, then they would allow her to wear the collar.
She woke in Tel’aran’rhoid. In the past, she had simply slipped back into true sleep and waited for Dreams of omens to appear. But recently, she had taken to sitting at the edge her bed in silence.
Tel’aran’rhoid, or the World of Dreams, was a reflection of the real world. The moonlight gleamed through the pale curtains of the window. The rickety chair, the tablestand, her chipped washbasin, the soft yellow of the walls – it was all the same.
But there were a few differences. She looked across the room, into the mirror propped up above the washbasin. There it was, the familiar silver collar clasped around her neck, exactly where it belonged. And with some effort, she could see Anelle standing behind her, tall and proud, in her dress embroidered with the silver lightning bolts of the sul’dam. It was a false image, of course, simply a figment of Seonin’s imagination, but she held it there as long as she could.
Seonin felt tired. Oh, so tired. She had tried, every day for the past six months, to make the marath’damane see how much she deserved to be leashed. She was the model of a perfect damane, never complaining and always obedient. No matter how much Aria Sedai argued and strived to break down her walls, Seonin would quietly insist that the marath’damane were wrong, and that all channelers needed to be leashed, for their own good and for the sake of the world.
But it wore on her. Would this ever end? She looked into the mirror, into Anelle’s beautiful, dark eyes. And finally, for the first time in six months, she spoke from her heart.
“I wish you were here,” she whispered into the silence. “I wish you were here, to tell me what to do.”
The reflection was still. Why am I even trying, she thought. Then she shook her head. No! I cannot give up. I must not give up. Anelle… oh, Anelle! How I wish you were here!
The reflection blinked. Seonin’s breath caught. Was that her imagination? Had Anelle…?
The reflection moved. Anelle’s hand came up to gently cup Seonin’s cheek. Seonin leaned into her touch, tears streaming down her face. “Oh, Anelle,” she sobbed. “I am so sorry. I’ve missed you so much. Please come back, Anelle. I don’t want to let you go. I don’t -”
Anelle’s expression became stern, and she raised a finger to her lips. Seonin immediately quieted and bowed her head in apology. She closed her eyes.
Click.
Seonin gasped and her eyes flew open. She looked up, into the mirror. Anelle stood there, smiling, with Seonin’s collar unlatched in her hand. Seonin leapt up from the bed with a cry.
“Anelle! What are you doing? What does this mean?”
And then suddenly the image transformed. The woman’s skin paled and she shrank in height. Her eyes became cold and grey; her hair lengthened to a curly, dark mane. The strange woman stepped forward, and Seonin’s collar transformed into a coiled silver whip. Her thin lips curved in cruel smile.
Seonin fled in horror.
Soft hands brushed her hair. Seonin stirred, hardly daring to believe.
“Anelle?”
“Seonin? Oh, thank the Light you’re awake! I tried to rouse you and you wouldn’t wake for the longest time. Are you alright, child?”
It was not Anelle. The accent was wrong, the hands were wrong, everything was wrong. Aria Sedai touched her forehead and wove a weave for Delving. Seonin shivered as the weave worked within her. That dream… or was it a Dream? What did it mean? If only Anelle was here, to help her interpret her Dream…
No. Anelle would never come back. Suddenly, Seonin felt a rush of responsibility. If Anelle were not here, then perhaps she should be the one who learned to interpret her Dreams.
“I had a Dream, Aria Sedai,” she said. The Yellow sister looked down at her, startled that Seonin had finally spoken without being asked. In her six months in the infirmary, Seonin had never volunteered information, never seemed to express her opinions or thoughts. It was not what good damane did.
But Seonin was no longer a damane. She began to speak.
Countless days passed, fading into months. Some mornings were better than others. There were days when she grieved for the life she had lost, refused to leave bed, and spent the day crying for Anelle and High Lord Eban. There were days when she insisted on serving on her knees and threw herself to the ground at any perceived failure. There were days when she laughed merrily with Aria Sedai, enjoying the Yellow sister’s company and helping her with tasks around the infirmary.
And gradually, Seonin learned to live without the leash. Aria Sedai was a Healer and often busy in the infirmary, but she took a special interest in the Seanchan girl.
Eventually, like all good things, her time in the infirmary came to an end.
Three quick raps sounded on the door. Seonin looked up from the blanket she was crocheting and hesitated. Despite the year she had spent here at the infirmary, she still found it disconcerting that people respected her privacy. Finally, she summoned the courage to speak.
“Come in,” she called out.
A strange woman opened the door. She had wild, curly black hair that fell attractively over her shoulders. Her face was smooth and ageless. The woman seemed somehow familiar, but Seonin could not recall her name. She hid her confusion and rose to her feet and curtsied, as she had been taught.
“Aes Sedai,” she murmured.
“Good morning, Seonin.” The stranger spoke quickly, with a clipped and precise accent. Seonin could barely follow along. “My name is Mirin Sedai. I would say that it is a pleasure to meet you, but unfortunately I bring bad news. Aria Sedai passed away last night in her sleep. May the Creator shelter her soul.”
Seonin fainted.
Moonlight, half-obscured by stormy grey clouds, filtered weakly through the bare branches of a dying tree. Lightning flashed overhead, but the skies produced no rain.
Somewhere in Seonin’s sleeping consciousness, she recalled Anelle’s voice: “Tread very lightly and be careful what you speak.”
But there was more.
Ravens gathered in a swirling flock, flying overhead, their wings outlined by the lightning. And in the distance, a tower of stone and glass stood, its silhouette against the sky defying the storm. Suddenly, lightning struck, and the tower crumbled.
Caught up in the Dream, Seonin cried out – But then the tower seemed to rebuild itself, taller and stronger than it had ever been.
There were voices.
“I can’t understand your interest in the girl. She is weak-willed and pliable and overeager to please - a broken woman. She would never be able to stand up to the rigors of being an Aes Sedai.”
“Aria said that it took nearly six months to stop this girl from trying to – how did she put it – ‘prove that she was a good damane.’ And listen, Shaya, you know how persuasive Aria can be. I think six months of resistance shows extraordinary willpower.” This voice spoke with a clipped, precise tone.
Shaya scoffed. “Or that she was broken beyond even Aria’s repair. If only she was more like that other Seanchan woman. The orange-haired one. I liked her. That one has spirit.”
“Torianin was in a different situation, Shaya. She was treated poorly, and turned on her captors as soon as she was able. Seonin, however… no matter how sick we think it is, she loved her sul’dam.”
“Then that makes her a security hazard, Mirin! I cannot recommend taking her in. What if she runs off and spills our secrets to the Seanchan?!”
“Shaya, you’re underestimating the power of kindness. Let me talk to her. I think you’ll find that she is stronger than you think.”
Seonin dozed in and out of sleep. She did not want to get up out of bed. First Anelle, and then Aria. Two strong, beautiful women whom she had loved and looked up to, who had died sudden, tragic deaths. It was too much for her to take. She wanted to die in her grief, to just quietly wither away like a plant deprived of water. However, her instinct to survive was stronger. She did not know how long she spent in bed, but finally, driven by hunger, she shuffled across the room and cracked open the door.
The dark-haired woman was there, sitting by the door with a book in her hand. She was wearing a blue shawl. Briefly, Seonin wondered what a Blue sister was doing in the infirmary. It took her a few seconds to remember the woman’s name.
“Mirin Sedai?”
Her voice quavered. Her body felt weaker than she had realized.
The Aes Sedai looked up at her calmly. “Good afternoon, Seonin. I trust you slept well?”
“Y-yes I did, Mirin Sedai.”
The woman nodded and seemed to return to her book.
Seonin chewed at her lip. She stood there silently for a long while, until she gave in and said, meekly, “Mirin Sedai, I am hungry.”
“I thought you might be, child.” And then the Blue sister brought out a cloth bundle from under her chair. It smelled of bread and cheese. Seonin thanked the Aes Sedai and greedily unwrapped the bundle. She sat on the floor to eat. When she was done, she looked up at Mirin for permission to leave, but the woman was, again, buried in her book.
Seonin took a deep breath. It seemed that Mirin Sedai would not give her any notice until she asked for it. She felt a twinge of annoyance. A good sul’dam tended to the needs of her damane. Aria Sedai, too, had paid attention to her, carefully guiding her as she adjusted to life outside of her leash. But this woman did not seem to care at all.
I must care for myself, she suddenly realized. With Aria gone, there was no one else. She blinked back tears, and decided to distract herself with questions.
“How long have I been asleep?”
“Three days,” said Mirin. She turned a page in her book. Seonin fought the urge to snatch the blasted thing out of the Aes Sedai’s hands.
“How did Aria Sedai die?”
“I explained this to you a few days prior, child. Arianne Seladrin Sedai passed away in her sleep.”
Seonin frowned. Despite her ageless face, Aria Sedai had not seemed very old or frail. As far as she knew, the Yellow sister had been in good health. She voiced her thoughts, hoping that Mirin Sedai could shed some light on this problem.
“It happened as I said. Aes Sedai cannot lie.” Seonin glanced up at the Aes Sedai, startled. Something had changed in Mirin’s voice. Mirin returned her gaze with glittering grey eyes.
Seonin pulled back, suddenly frightened. “I hope that I did not offend. I apologize for my presumption,” she said. She bent forward and touched her forehead to the ground.
“You did not offend, but your apology is accepted.”
They sat there for a moment longer, and then Seonin asked, “Why are you here, Mirin Sedai?”
Mirin’s smile did not reach her eyes. “I am here for you, child.”
“For me?”
“I serve as the Mistress of Novices, and I would like to invite you to be a novice in the Grey Tower.”
Seonin knew a little of what that meant. Aria Sedai had explained some of it to her.
“I already know how to channel, Mirin Sedai.”
“As a novice you will learn much more than just of the One Power. There are lessons in languages and mathematics, logic and persuasion. You will learn how to be an Aes Sedai.”
Seonin’s mouth dropped open. “Me? An Aes Sedai?”
“Aria spoke with me a few months ago. She told me about you, Seonin. She asked if I would accept you as a novice of the Tower. We planned to wait until you were… hm, how should I put it? Until you were a little more stable. Unfortunately, that hasn’t worked out as well as we hoped and here we are. If you desire so, I will take you to the Tower and write your name in the Novice Book. You will be assigned a room and given a schedule of classes and chores. And you will learn. What do you think?”
“Aria thought that I could- ”
Mirin interrupted. “This is not about Aria, child! This is about you. What do you want to do with your life? Make your choice, Seonin, and choose carefully. Your time in the infirmary is drawing to a close. You have spent nearly a year here now, and it is time for you to leave your past and look to the future. Choose!”
This was happening too quickly. “I think that – oh Light help me! I will become a novice, Mirin Sedai.”
“And why do you wish to be a novice, Seonin?” demanded the Blue sister.
The question took Seonin off guard, and she answered without thinking. “Because I want to become an Aes Sedai.”
This time, Mirin’s smile was genuine. “Very good. Come with me, child. It is time that you joined the Tower.”
Although she had spent nearly a year living in the infirmary, Seonin had never been inside the Tower proper. She looked about in wonder as Mirin Sedai led her through the stone halls of the Tower. Soon, they were in Mirin’s office, where Seonin took a pen in her hand and wrote her name in the Novice Book.
When she was finished, the Mistress of Novices took back the ledger. As she turned and placed it back in its place on the shelf, she paused and stared at the new entry.
“Seonin, what is this? Seonin Namendar… Seladrin?”
Her voice broke on the last word. There was a white ribbon in Mirin’s hair. White, the color for mourning. Silently, the two women looked at each other. Then Seonin dropped her eyes.
“That is my name,” she whispered.
Mirin Sedai cleared her throat.
“Very well, Seonin. Welcome home, child.”
