Fanfic:Through the Eyes of a Cat

From Grey Tower Library
Jump to: navigation, search
Through the Eyes of a Cat
Author(s)
  • Jessie Vernham
Character(s)
Harp-icon.png This is a piece of fanfiction.
Only the original author(s) or Librarian(s) should make content changes to this page.




The folded blanket was a comfortable enough bed, although it had nothing on the crumpled pile of linen skirts he had once called home.

With a stretch of truly epic proportion, he rose smoothly to his feet, an embodiment of the grace that belonged only to his kind. He jumped lightly to the floor, and not being terribly fond of the cold tile floor beneath his feet, hurried to the square carpet by the desk. There was little to do here, not like in his last home; a few moments of tearing at the rug fringe did little to cure his ennui

He wasn't hungry - the fish stew he had enjoyed that morning was quite filling. He wasn't thirsty either - he could drink from the wash pitcher easily enough if he wanted to.

Perhaps he needed some social interaction? With that in mind he trotted smartly to the desk and rubbed against the black-clad ankles there, leaving short grey hair on the unmarred expanse.

A moment later, pale, fine boned hands lifted him from the floor, and cold, dark eyes stared into his own yellow ones. He wondered exactly what the man wanted from him; and voiced his question.

"Ma'darath, nosane ninto domorakoshi, cainde ye."

Those sounds were nonsense to him, but the tone was almost apologetic, so he did not protest his capture. Instead, he gazed intently into those dark eyes; despite their myriad differences, in those depths he could sense... something. Perhaps even the same something he felt now.


He had really, truly meant to try to find Zuri the night of the last meeting. He had, honestly. Somehow, though, he had ended up staying awake late into the night, even forsaking his commitment to show up after Dark, when his schedule was officially ended. The Council of Youth was demanding; his proposals needed to be extraordinarily precise if he was to have any chance of then passing muster.

He really had meant to see if she was at home the next day; in fact, when he had been dismissed from the Keeper's study for the day he had planned to go see her as soon as he had a chance to wash the ink off his face and hands. The business with the M'Hael had sort of soured the rest of the day.

Finally, today, he found himself moving swiftly through the Yellow Ajah halls. He didn't really like being around the Yellows; it reminded him too much of that time he had been infected with the plague. Regardless of his dislike, though, he made his way without incident to the outer rim where the Accepted and Dedicated of the Ajah lived.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

He rapped smartly on the yellow-framed door, but there was no answer. Five more knocks yielded no further success. Lembirt had never put his knuckles to any use other than knocking upon a door, and they tended to protest even this light usage.

"Accepted Zuri," he called out after a moment, "If you are present I need to speak with you."

Again, there was no answer, at least from Zuri's door.

"She isn't here, Soldier. Perhaps I can help you instead?"

The voice from behind startled Lembirt, but he turned about without showing his surprise. "Actually, Accepted, I am Dedicated, not a Soldier. And what do you mean, she is not here?"

His tone was perhaps a little more curt than it should have been, but he really did need to speak with Zuri. Their fight had been... a mistake. As much as it pained Lembirt to admit it, he had been more than slightly wrong in his single-minded objective to keep the girl away. Perhaps he did need to watch his back more, but that was no reason to drive her away entirely. What was the matter with him? Most of his ‘friends' from home would have sold him to the hangman as soon as say "Hello." Why did it bother him so much that things were the same here?

"I mean, Dedicated, that she is not here. She is not in the Tower. She is gone. See it for yourself, if you do not believe me."

The pale-haired girl reached past him and pushed open the heavy, wooden door.

Inside, there was nothing to indicate that anyone lived there at all - the bed was stripped of linen, the open wardrobe stood empty, and the desk was bare.

"Where - where did she go?" asked Lembirt hesitantly, knowing that he was losing control of his voice, but not really caring.

But the other Accepted didn't know; she said no one did, that Zuri had left without a trace. The only thing she had left behind was the grey-striped cat she had once rescued from the stables, which Zuri's former neighbour was only too happy to foist off on the Cairhienin Dedicated.


Sitting at his desk, his pen gliding smoothly across the creamy surface of his homework papers, Lembirt's mind was besieged with thoughts of everything but his Old Tongue class assignment.

Why did this bother him so much? It should not have come as any surprise that the girl would betray him; that was a part of life was it not? Trust led to betrayal as surely as eggs led to chickens, so why had it affected him so?

Because you thought she was different. Because you thought you could trust her.

The voice of reason in the back reaches of Lembirt's mind tried to appeal to him, but as usual Lembirt ignored it. No, he didn't miss her, it was good that she was gone. She had been exposed as a dangerous she-viper, and the only thing to do had been to force her away. He had done so quite efficiently, hadn't he? It was what he wanted to do, it was his only choice in the matter anyway.

Yes, things had worked out exactly as the Cairhienin planned. Except perhaps for the constant reminder she had left him in the form of a cat...

The cat in question chose that moment to rub itself against his clean black trousers, no doubt covering them with its infernal hair. He picked the animal smoothly up, after returning his pen to the inkwell, and looked it in the eyes.

Me-urrp? The animal seemed to be asking him a question.

"I don't understand you, little monster," said Lembirt, speaking in the language he had been studying now, and had in fact spoken fluently since adolescence.

As he looked into those feral, gold-coloured eyes, he thought he saw... something.