Fanfic:The Lucky One
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A mirage of memories passed through Fiona's head as she stared across the room at the top of the Tower, eyes fixed on the door there. Beyond that entry lay what Velanya had called the "Great Stair," and beyond that...the small Andoran rubbed at the gold ring that rested on her third finger. Aes Sedai. This was what she had come to the Tower to do. This was what she had spent six years believing she could never accomplish. And yet here, despite all odds, she stood ready.
Fiona gathered her skirts and walked forward. As she approached the door she slowed, then stopped to glance over her shoulder at the row of Aes Sedai who stood witness to her testing, searching their faces for- something. What, exactly, she wasn't certain, but all she found was silence and calm serenity. After a moment the golden-haired woman took a deep breath, turned forward, and stepped.
Remember what must be remembered.
Famine. Disease. Poverty. Battles, destruction, chaos. Death. Shadowspawn. The Dragon Reborn.
Fiona shuffled through the correspondences that had arrived while she slept, important words and phrases jumping out at her as she scanned each. One thing was clear: Caemlyn might be doing well, but Andor as a whole was suffering beneath the looming precipice of war. As the blue-eyed woman finished the last letter she pushed them away from her with a sigh that sounded much like a sob. A moment later she dropped her face into her hands, shoulders shaking as she struggled to control the helpless grief that poured through her. How can this be happening?
She sensed movement a moment before gentle, but insistent, hands pressed against her shoulders and pulled her away from the desk. She let them, her body slumping back to rest against a familiar warm body. Her head tipped upward, golden curls catching on the tears on her face. "They are my people, Alrim," she said brokenly, waving to the pile of papers. "Were all the risks for nothing? What kind of ruler lets her people die while she sits safe in a palace?"
The Arafellin shifted to swing one leg over the bench, then slid his arms about slender shoulders as he sat. "I would say most rulers in the history of ruling," he said candidly as he drew her against his chest. "And most with considerably less guilt than you feel." He tapped his forehead and she winced sympathetically.
"Did I keep you up again?" She shifted to look up at him as she spoke, remorse evident in tone, posture, and mind.
"A Warder doesn't need much sleep and I knew what I was signing up for," he said cheerfully, one hand brushing the damp locks away from her cheek. "Don't add that worry to the others, just-Fiona, it's not yours to carry." The simple reminder of their first conversation what felt like an Age and more before brought fresh tears to the Andoran's eyes and she pressed her face against his chest, sobbing until her chest ached.
Eventually she collected herself enough to straighten and return to her work. Alrim departed shortly after; when he returned, he brought a tray with food. It was plain fare to be sure, but as they ate and talked she felt her spirits begin to rise. Nothing could be done to address most of the issues brought to her attention, but there were a few...just a few...where she could provide assistance.
Someone pounded on the door a few minutes later, the intruder pushing it open without waiting for her to grant entry. "Avram?" Fiona asked, half-rising from her seat. His urgency was unmistakable- by his manner of entry, if nothing else. She hadn't seen him in weeks, their mutually beneficial business carrying him far afield, and had not expected him to return for many more. "What-"
"Caemlyn is under attack," he said, as if speaking of crops or the weather. "My contacts should have heard of such a force weeks ago, but I received nary a whisper. It is as if they took form over night," the man added as he closed the door. He sounded perplexed and displeased- as well he would with that kind of surprise.
"Traveling..." Fiona suggested faintly, but inside her mind she remembered a time, decades before, when a massive force had materialized from the ether to attack Hama Valon. No one had ever determine how that had happened, either.
"There is no sign that any of them can channel." The golden-haired woman smiled ruefully in response to her friend's sardonic smile. If Avram said there were no channelers, she believed him.
Her hand lifted to brush over the simple golden rose that nestled at the base of her throat. That was a ter'angreal, one few knew existed, but upon which her entire reign depended. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, Fiona Trakand had lost her ability to channel in a tragic accident nearly ten years before. The ruse had worked; the White Tower believed her estranged from Hama Valon and supported her claim to the throne when the old Queen died without an heir. Without Tar Valon's aid Andor would have fallen to a brutal Succession War...a fact her advisor never let her forget. Somehow Avram had known the truth and sought her out.
"I assure you I have the utmost faith in your contacts," she said, her placating tone far calmer than she felt on the inside. "How many?"
"Should they act quickly, or if they have additional aid within the city that I have not yet located, they could take Caemlyn by nightfall."
That is inconceivable. She started to voice her objection, paused, then turned on her heel and strode to her window. She hoped to see serene green gardens, plumes of chimney smoke, and perhaps a bird or two against a cloudy spring time sky; that was how a normal morning should look. Outside the palace the lurid sun shone through a mantle of murky smoke that billowed far into the sky. Her garden was still peaceful and lovely, but spring flowers and greenery was muted by the haze. She could hear nothing through the thick glass, but the visual evidence more than supported what her friend and spymaster had reported.
"How can it possibly be that you are the first to alert me? They are burning something out there, the entire city must know we are under attack!" The small woman scowled as she turned away from the window and strode to her armoire. Where were her guards? Where was the Captain-General? Bernaud surely should have reported to his Queen long before an outside spy, even if he knew he held his position in name only. Where were her servants, for that matter? She disappeared behind the folding privacy screen and twisted her arms up behind her to begin undoing tiny buttons.
"I ran like a Darkhound snapped at my heels as soon as they began to gather, but Caemlyn is quite large," Avram explained, "And…" Fiona gave up on the buttons and yanked on both sides of her bodice, popping the closures apart with the distinct sound of ripping silk. "Treachery, Fiona. Lord Candraed has been accepting payments from Amadicia for months. He fled Caemlyn and took Lyria Taravin and Benis Northan with him."
The Aes Sedai's curse was muffled by the shirt she had pulled over her head; once she detangled herself from the linen, she repeated herself vehemently. "That lily-livered misbegotten son of a Trolloc and a flea-ridden goat-!" She had chosen Bernaud Candraed as her Captain-General to appease rivaling Houses, going against the advice of everyone she trusted. She had expected lies and intrigue, but outright treachery had never occurred to her.
The others surprised and dismayed her as well; Taravin had been a staunch ally for many years and a Northan lass had just wed a Trakand only the month before. She could not fathom what purpose they would have in negotiating with Dragonsworn.
Fiona continued to pepper her companions with questions and livid commentary as she dressed. By the time she had pulled her hair into a tight braid and retrieved her bow from the chest at the foot of her bed, she thought she had a better idea of what had happened.
The Arafellin detained her with gentle, though implacable, force when she made to leave, however. "You gambled your life and your country when you staged that accident; why show your hand now?" Worried eyes swept from the ivory bracelet she wore on her wrist, to the green-edged flame on her lapel, to the weapon she held in her hand.
"My city is surrounded by forces sworn to serve a man we both know is capable of reducing this palace to rubble with a flick of his fingers. My people are or will be dying and three of my ruling council have betrayed me." The small woman's fingers tightened on her bow and she took a deep breath, then a second. After the third, she continued in a calmer tone, "I never intended to carry on forever, Alrim. Soon enough they would have noticed I remain young while those around me do not," she reached up, fingers brushing the pale silver that graced her lover's temples. She smiled up at him, her expression earnest. "I took the gamble of a lifetime to save my country ten years ago- and it worked. It's time to roll the dice once more, my love, and hope lady luck still finds me entertaining."
Alrim looked as if he wanted to say something, but after a moment he simply took her hand in his to press her knuckles to his lips, then strode ahead of her to open the door. She watched him for a moment, bemused, then gestured for Avram to join her as she followed suit.
Fiona found the remainder of her council gathered just inside the doors of the palace. Predictably they were less than pleased with her attire, although she took little interest in their opinions. A gown would trip her up, and she could shoot better than anyone in the Queen's Guard. The rest of what she could do...well...that would be revealed in time, she was all but certain.
The orders to strip Bernaud of his title went smoothly enough. Even transferring his authority to Alrim was met with little more than a soft mutter. Perhaps they had finally learned to accept the Gaidin's presence? No. More likely that the group of pandering fools knew they had no choice. Trouble would start afresh once the immediate threat was gone.
Through it all a pair of pale ageless eyes fixed on the emblem on her coat. Those eyes belonged to her Tar Valon advisor: Elarian Teramaile of the Gray Ajah. The Aes Sedai said nothing, however, not even when Fiona insisted on accompanying the Queen's Guard to the wall to observe the attacking forces with her own eyes. Perhaps the woman's twisted brain simply couldn't wrap around the abrupt change in her toy Queen's behavior. Or perhaps she is putting the puzzle together.
In truth it didn't matter; at the moment anything done to Fiona would likely result in Andor falling to Dragonsworn. That was a risk only a fool would take. Or so I hope, she thought cynically as she climbed the steps to the wall surrounding the New City.
When at last she peered through the gap and saw the sea of people who surrounded her city, she felt her breath leave her chest all at once. "Light, so many," she murmured. She settled with her back against the stone, carefully out of sight of the army below. While golden hair did not necessarily mean nobility, it was best not to tempt fate. "What forces do we have in the city?"
The Lieutenant's report was crisp and factual; her mind translated the figures given to something a bit simpler: not enough. She gnawed on her lip, going over each of her options. Really there were only two, and of those, dying was an option only by default.
"Lord Norwelyn," she said, raising her voice to be heard over the noise. "How many soldiers could you levy by nightfall if you were on your lands?"
"Perhaps five thousand. More, if the weather is good." Fredric gave her a curious look. "If I were on my lands, of course."
"And you, Lord Baryn. What of your forces?"
"Not as much as we once commanded, but easily several thousand, Your Majesty." The familiar arrogant smile reminded her, as so many things did, of times long past.
Down the list she went. With just the ten Houses in her presence she could fill the city by the time the sun set, and there were six others she could contact within the palace. The nobles gathered in a knot a little distance away, watching her with hopeless faces. They all believe we will die.
She sensed Alrim approaching, and turned to smile up at him. "I hope you're ready- it's time to tip my hand," she murmured with a laugh. Better to face impossible odds with a smile; he had taught her that, among many other useful things.
"You are insane," he murmured. Worry poured over the bond, but his smile was genuine.
"It runs in the family- or so I'm told." Fiona responded cheerfully, eyes twinkling. "Brace yourself for trouble, lover."
For the first time in many years, she closed her eyes and embraced saidar. Elarian's gasp of outraged shock was utterly satisfying, despite the danger they all faced. "What is the meaning of this? How-?"
"The White Tower does not hold a monopoly on intrigue or mystery," Fiona said, her voice as serene as any Amyrlin's. "And I am not hampered by ridiculous Oaths." She floated in a sea of blissful, beautiful calm as the One Power swelled within her, magnified by the angreal on her arm. Even the ash on the wind tasted sweet as she bathed in the glory of the True Source, and the city spread before her had never been so rich in color or sound.
"I am going to teach you something that the Grey Tower has kept from Tar Valon for many years," Fiona murmured a moment later. "This, Sister, is called Skimming. With your assistance our Lords and Ladies will be able to fetch the troops we need to survive this day." Ignoring the gaping Aes Sedai, Fiona reached for the five Powers and began to weave.
As the flows began to come together the Green saw something forming just off the edge of the walkway, a semi-translucent disk of light that grew steadily larger and brighter with each passing moment.
Remember what must be remembered.
What was she supposed to be remembering? Caemlyn desperately needed support. Surely it was acceptable to teach Elarian how to Travel in order to save Andor from falling? She had been without guidance from the Amyrlin for so long, she no longer trusted herself to know what was right. Certainty dawned. No...Traveling was not the issue.
Fair brows drew together and she allowed the weave to unravel, turning toward the disk. It was itself a gateway of sorts, though certainly not a sort she had ever seen. The Green thought she could see the eight colors of the Grey Tower Ajahs swirling in the milky light. What did it mean?
"Fiona, is something wrong?"
"I...have to go," she told her Warder, her voice sounding distant even to her own ears. "It's important." What could possibly be more important than bringing troops to salvage her countrymen? Something had to be, or she would not feel this overpowering pressure.
Remember what must be remembered.
"The Queen requires assistance," Elarian said, her voice deceptively mild. Fiona felt the Gray embrace the Source. "She is a danger to herself and oth-"
"Oh, do shut up," Fiona snapped, flows of Air slapping across the older woman's face and cutting her off mid-word. The disk was spinning faster now, beckoning insistently. The blonde woman took a step toward it, then another, excitement battling with horror. Caemlyn needs me- what am I doing?
"Fiona, please."
Golden curls lifted in the wind as the Aes Sedai turned to look at Alrim, studying his face for several long moments. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I have to go."
A moment later she threw herself at the strange portal, praying to the Light and the Creator for salvation and forgiveness as she fell.
Fiona dropped to her knees as she passed through the door and into a room so brilliantly lit that she threw her arm up to protect her eyes from assault. Velanya faced her, along with the same eight women she had seen moments -and yet a lifetime- before.
"It is done," the Yellow pronounced, her palms slapping together sharply. Fiona was barely aware of what else the Mistress of Novices said. I abandoned Caemlyn. Alrim. Avram. My family, my home, my people, years of work and sacrifice. I abandoned everything, and I didn't even know why! She wanted to be sick.
"Who comes here?"
That cool voice cut through her panicked thoughts like a hot wire through wax. "Fiona Trakand," the young woman responded, more faintly than she would have liked. I have no right to that name. Nausea returned; she bit the inside of her lip so hard she tasted blood.
"For what reason do you come?"
"To claim the shawl of an Aes Sedai," Fiona responded dully. Light, it was really happening. She felt tears burn down her cheeks.
"By what right do you claim this burden?"
"By right of having made the passage, submitting myself to the will of the Grey Tower." More than submitting. I sacrificed everything. For years. Including the Tower! She nearly laughed; instead, more tears flowed to drip off her chin in an unseemly stream.
The Andoran barely heard the rest of what the Amyrlin said, retaining just enough wit to indicate she did not wish to swear the Oaths. She did not miss the thinning of Ninya's lips at that choice, but neither did she allow the woman's displeasure to modify her decision. It is my right!
The Amyrlin spoke the words and Fiona repeated them, feeling both hot tingles and chilled shivers racing up and down her body. "Under the Light and by my hope of salvation and rebirth, I swear that I will endeavor to uphold the values of the Grey Tower. Under the Light and by my hope of salvation and rebirth, I swear that I will endeavor to use my Talents and my abilities in such a way that they will reflect positively on the Grey Tower."
"It is done. You are bound to the Grey Tower," Ninya said as she moved the golden ring from one hand to another. Fiona looked down at her hands; the great serpent felt alien on that finger; she would move it soon enough. "Rise now, Aes Sedai; choose your Ajah and take your place among us."
Fiona glanced from face to face. Astoria, with her perpetual scowl. Christianne, who still looked hopeful despite knowing Fiona had pursued a different path. Leala, serene and pale. Sarla, with her brown-fringed shawl looped over her elbows, and Bora, who stood taller than nearly everyone else. Sorine, whom she knew only by name, and Elia with her damaged hand carefully hidden within the folds of her shawl. And finally, gray-touched auburn hair tied back from her face and Saldaean eyes impassive above a face too young for her years, stood Miahala Sha'hal.
"I choose Green," the new Aes Sedai said, meeting the older woman's gaze steadily. "If it pleases you to have me." That broke the ceremony. She didn't care.
