Golden hair lay in clumps on a stone set floor, gentle locks falling like leaves in the early autumn. Soft metallic sounds, the shears as they clipped, echoed in the otherwise dead hall. Eldrene stared in the mirror, watching as her handmaiden snipped away, as the curls for which she was so well known fell away from her face, leaving behind a short style, cropped to the level of her chin. She maintained a cool and calm expression, her eyes following the movements of the scissors. She wore her undergarments, an untied corset, while her skirt hung over the back of her chair. Her headscarf laid across her lap, a brown silky cloth, with little flowers embroidered across its expanse. She played with the cloth, pinching it between her fingers, more out of habit than nervousness. Feet fixed in a wide set position, as though she was about to stand, the woman seemed quite distracted. Her mind wandered off.

The handmaiden finished her job soon enough, and cleaned her scissors with a little cup of water. Silent, wearing an apron and a frown, she kept casting glances towards her mistress, who stared at the mirror on her vanity still. Eldrene did not appear to notice, too preoccupied in her thoughts, whatever those were. A minute or so passed before the handmaiden cleared her throat, and spoke.

"My lady, can you?"

"Oh, yes, yes, of course."

Eldrene stood, towering over the girl, and shed her remaining clothes. The underclothes and corset fell to the ground, and Eldrene stepped out of the pile of cloth and metal. It was only then that she took note of her appearance, and that of the hair on the ground. Half of the hair and clothes were drenched in brown and blackened blood, the white cloth marred by dirt and grime and human remains, her own skin covered in marks and bruises, in some places, her own blood mixing with that of both enemies and friends. The handmaiden averted her eyes, not from Eldrene, but from the blood. Despite the fact that she had seen so much of it before, she cringed, nauseated at its implications. The girl gathered up the clothes, and as much hair as she could fit into the pile, and, pinching her nose, left the room. Another girl soon entered.

Drawing a bath, pouring buckets of water into the tub, this handmaiden stared downward. She whistled something under her breath, a song whose words discussed the beauty of a never ending sea. Eldrene smiled, and closed her eyes, picturing such a sight. Water that lasted as far as the expanse of the Aiel Waste, even greater than the Aryth Ocean. Calm, unaffected by the storms and the moon, empty of life and ships and interference. Something entirely impossible, yet so easy to visualize. Simple. Like a breath of air.

In the bath, Eldrene pondered further. She could run away, out to the sea. Manetheren was not too far from the coastlines, and there were vast continents that were likely unaffected by this war. Even if they were all overtaken by the Shadow, the entire sea could never be conquered. She could happily live on a little boat, the rest of her days in the solitude of nature. But Aemon would never leave. And neither could she, not when her happiness came from this place, these people she had sworn to protect. Her children had all grown, and left for their own endeavors, devoting their lives to the nation in one way or another. She could not abandon them.

The handmaiden scrubbed at the marks on Eldrene's skin. Surprisingly little actually came from her own wounds; most had been healed by a sister of the Yellow Ajah, though a few scratches and bruises remained. Gradually, the tub filled with little pieces of flesh, and bits of dried blood and wet dirt, turning a nasty brown. Taking a break, to keep herself from getting sick, the handmaiden watched in disbelief as Eldrene maintained a smile. After she was entirely cleaned, Eldrene stood, stepped out of the tub, and reached out her arms to her sides. The handmaiden placed a blanket over her mistress, soaking up the water and remaining mess. She poured one last pail of water over Eldrene, gently cleaning her face and hair, before drying her off completely. Wrapped in a bundle, Eldrene sat alone, as the handmaiden left.

The first girl returned, carrying fresh clothes. Eldrene gladly accepted the girl's help in dressing, letting her mind wander once more. She now wore something of a professional outfit, with ribbons of gold and silver adorning an otherwise simple white outfit. Her headscarf, white and lined with embroidered vines, was the last touch, wrapped tightly around her newly trimmed golden hair. Walking through the palace, oddly empty for this time of morning, she avoided the main halls, lest she run into someone who aimed to discuss the events of the previous several hours.

She soon found herself in the stables, having walked there out of habit, brushing out the dirt from her favorite horse's mane and tail. Its fur was dark and grey, where it should have been white. It stood still, staring at the wall, letting its rider cherish it as she always did after a hearty battle. Quiet and alone, Eldrene did not notice as the dirt began to stain the hems of her skirt and sleeves.

"I promise, you can rest now, Heishain."



A circle of Myrddraal stood around a table, despite the chairs. All cowered, heads lowered despite their hooded robes, before the man who stood at the head.

His hair drifted upwards, swaying in a nonexistent wind, almost like smoke. Those dark eyes held the same quality, as though a fire had gone out in his skull. He wore dark robes, which seemed to flow in the same way, his entire figure constantly moving despite the fact that he stood perfectly still, like the leaves on a strong tree. The man bore an expression akin to that of a disappointed father, his nose upturned, and his lips fixed in a pointed grimace, and his eyes narrowed, staring at no one in particular. When he spoke, his voice boomed in such a way that could not possibly be natural.

"A foul mistake." He hissed, his voice echoing through the empty streets. None responded, or even moved.

"Three days, you floundered at the edge of a river, and in three days, more troops fled than fought, more creatures died than killed. An embarrassment to the name- yes, they are not intelligent creatures... But surely you, with your slight abilities in critical thinking, might develop a sense of strategy. Or at least, the sense to organize a proper advance, or withdraw at the proper moment."

A myrddraal raised his head as though to speak, but its empty face met those piercing eyes, and it quickly resigned to a quiet nod. Ba'alzamon's lips twisted into a sort of smile, though his nose and eyes maintained that despicable glare, as he met the gazes of each of the eyeless creatures. None dared to speak, all petrified by fear and shame alike. Fear both for the man who held power over them, and for the place in which they stood. The man then moved, walking behind the creatures, his hands clasped behind his back. His breath the only sound that could be heard, he examined each Myrddraal with careful attention, noting every twitch, every tension.

Reaching the head of the table once more, Ba'alzamon sat. The wind echoed like moans through the spaces between desecrated buildings. The atmosphere reeked of dread, an air of depression settling around the entire city, yet it did not touch this man. He stared forward at his underlings, unblinking. That fake smile disappeared, as he considered his options. Finally, Ba'alzamon spoke again.

"Is anyone useful lurking about?"



Tetsuan sat in the library, poring over some ancient text in some ancient tongue she did not want to admit she could not read. Eyes squinted and mouth fixed in a tight scowl, she ran her finger over the glyphs, sounding out approximations in her mind. The silence of the room itched at her mind, and she bounced her leg, crossed over the other, trying to get comfortable without making any noise. The sun had yet to come up above the horizon. Few were awake at this hour, even in the Tower. Her sitter slept peacefully upstairs, a well deserved rest after several tumultuous days of strategizing and training. The attacks were becoming less frequent, though none had been as major as the first; a sure sign that a greater advance was coming.

She wore something akin to a burlap sack, what with her dress's simplicity and rough texture. Neglecting shoes, she had still taken the time to pin her hair into a tight knot at the nape of her neck. Priorities were evidently important, though misplaced.

Waiting for something, she kept her attention on the book, though her mind wished to be anywhere else.

The newly crowned King of Manetheren strode through his halls imperiously, his brown eyes filled with purpose as they often were. A crown sat atop his kingly mane of Golden hair, matching his equally powerful beard. Red cape swaying behind him, he marched toward the center courtyard of his palace, still halls away from reaching his destination. He knew the top duelists of the Kingdom would be practicing, and he felt he needed to join them.

"Olorin!" he cried, his voice echoing down the hall when he saw his military advisor. The man Olorin snapped to, standing erect and ready to be addressed. King Aemon smiled and gave him a wave of his hand, letting him be at ease and inviting him to walk with him. "What is it sire?" Olorin asked.

"Are the troops assembled?"
"Yes, and our last battle brought us over five hundred and sixty eight more casualties, but if we keep them far north of us and use the land to our advantage, that should not increase." Olorin said. He was a good man, nearing his mid thirties with short cropped sandy hair and a lithe form. He was a fine strategist though. Often he and Aemon would discuss tactics for hours when the King had time and it suited his interest. And it suited his interests very much so as of late.

"Indeed," Aemon said, pondering. They passed the next curve of the hall, a large painting of his new wife Ellisande was hanging upon the wall, just next to a Heron marked blade from one of Aemon's ancestors. "Are the troops supplied? Halberds are what we need. And powerful longbows."

"They're being outfitted now, and a thousand more Halberds and Longbows are in production from what Alistar has told me," Olorin replied.
"Make it three thousand," he said, knowing they needed all of the weapons they could get. The Trolloc Horde was not unstoppable, but blood and ashes, did they have the numbers. Suddenly, a thought hit him. "Where is my wife?"

"I do not know sire." Olorin said, confused at the question. "Perhaps she could be near the-" King Aemon interrupted with an upraised hand. "Stables. That is all Olorin, make sure you speak to Alistar about that equipment." With that, the King's next destination was the Stables. He did not know if she was there, but it was one of her favorite spots. His as well, if he had to be honest with himself.

Kisathera awoke in a cold sweat, her shift sticking to her skin. It took her a moment to realize she had. She often had nightmares, but it was rare for them to leave....after effects. They were partially due to her trials. She thought about them freqeuntly and they often made her mind wander to what they could've been even when she slept, it seemed. Sometimes, they were simply shadowspawn nightmares, but they also often involved her family or the few friends she did have at the Tower. Not that she had enemies persay, although she was sure that some were jealous of her Strength. They wouldn't do anything to hurt her though....right?

She stretched as she got out of bed, only to wince from a pain in her neck, she must have slept on it wrong as well. She looked out the window to check the time, and tried stretching again to try to work it out, "What a terrible dream...maybe a bath will help..." she sighed, and went about prepping her own bath. Kisa knew most of the Tower was still asleep, especially after how trying the past week had been. It wasn't a big deal anyway.

She soaked in her rose scented bath for awhile, mainly because it was her favorite. It helped soothe her body and mind and made her smell nice. What wasn't there to like? But eventually the water grew cold, and she decided to get out. She couldn't soak in a bath all day....well, she could technically, by just warming the water up, but that'd be silly. Kisa had things she wanted to do.

She brushed her hair, applied the small bit of makeup she usually wore, some fresh undergarments, and slipped into one of her yellow dresses. Making sure she looked satisfactory, Kisa headed towards the library. With all the attacks recently, she decided now was a good a time as any to learn more about the more complex battle weaves. She enjoyed Healing, but if she could prevent someone from being hurt in the first place all the better. Many Aes Sedai found it a waste that she didn't know more, considering her Strength. Luckily, it was only knowlegde and experience she lacked, and she could fix that in time.

After awhile of quietly walking the mostly empty halls, Kisa came to the library. She technically could've just walked in, as an Aes Sedai it was open to her, but decided to knock quietly on it first. She knocked three times, the first two were one after the other, and the last with a pause before it. She had a very unique knock; An odd habit of hers that she used back home. Kisa wondered if many people knew it by now.

Shadar Logoth used to be a work of art, biological things strewn across the ground… many in pieces, some whole, but as a whole they told a story. A story of a thirst of survival hard fought, but perished. Now… it’s just dull. Not dreary, but… just boring. Fear would be the breakfast one would wake to at dawn. Despair would be the afternoon meal that lines the plates. And suspense would be the dinner that filled your belly. And cowardice would be the desert before slumber. None of which sated Ardath, and all had left her hungering for something more in her short week long stay away from her own blood bath of a campaign. Her own beloved collection of troops had diffused among the city, commanded to live a bit and do things… that trollocs tend to do. Be it cowering, fighting, procreating, or eating one another.

And before Ardath could say that her stay is finally complete, she must of course pay her respects to her beloved lord. Ah… yes, not a day goes by had she regretted this decision. Among the voices in her head attempting to waylay her path, and a few being the voice of reason, she remained very… very loyal. And he has yet to prove unfair. By her standards at least.

She practically pranced down the derelict streets. Waving to the shadows that were holes in her grasp of reality, and to those that were very real. A right down a boulevard, and she snatched up someone… she wasn’t sure who… nor did she care. And waltz with the stranger. The voices in her head all sang their tune. But soon she let go of her partner, throwing him through a doorway as she plucked up an object of some sort and continued on.

But eventually her dance came to an end as she quietly stepped through the doors of her lord. Or at least she believed there were doors. It was quite possible she was only touching air, but could feel the grain of wood biting at her fingers.

She watched the man chide his faithful creatures with a smile. And when he asked one final question… she stepped forward with a raise of hand.

“Ah, I do so believe that I could be of service –mi’lord~” She began. Her voice nearly singing as she strolled around the table. One hand was raised with her fingers gingerly brushing over the hoods of the Myrddraal.

“Sit my children, sit~” She sang softly to each one of them as she passed by. When they were all seated she giggled softly and clasped her hands together. “For Polito will happily teach you something very important!”

She turned to face her lord with a look of endearing respect.

“These little darlings are no fools my lords, and are more than capable of critical thought.” She held a small smirk. “I enjoy asking questions of those working with me… and they endure for the most part. Real interesting answers too.”

“But… they are young despite their appearances. Not in years but as a race. They have yet to develop the things that makes humans… well humans. And as appalling as that sound….” She giggled to herself… fondly remembering the sights she has seen… “humans are the greatest monsters you will ever see. Not by strength… or the fear they can bestow. But by sheer creativity. Weeee are -very- creative.”

She soon sat in the lap of one of the creatures, her hand running along it’s chin. A crooked and broad grin appeared on her lips. “When we wish to kill, we make tools. When we wish to conquer, we make ladders. And when we wish to cross rivers… we make bridges.”

She leans in close to get a closer look at the creatures face. Her smile now gone as her tone utterly change. “But what are these! Those words… are just words... only words... words with meaning... sometimes different meaning in languages. Symbols for concepts. And concepts… are vague. A duck can be a corpse, or it can be a little amphibious bird. A bridge can be constructed of wood or of ice. But I would not trust our cute little creatures with a hammer and nail. But corralling bodies? Most certainly”

She soon turned to look to the lord.

“I’ve always wondered… when facing the gates of death, what a sheep would be willing to do to save his life or his family’s. If they are willing to endure slavery for a lottery ticket for life? Would they be willing to build portable bridges and face arrow fire as their own kind tries to shoot them down before they can push them across the river?”

Her smile soon returns, “If that does not please you my lord. Then we can simply have the trollocs rip apart the villages, villagers, animals, trees, and dreams... and throw them into the river for a bridge. We can then walk on their corpses backs as the campaign continues.”

The first rays of light crept in past the curtains, lighting up the off-white pages of the book in Sena’s hand. The candle on the table beside her had become obsolete with the coming of morning. Her red hair was a mess; the knots tumbled around her shoulders from the tossing and turning she had done the previous night. With first light, Sena slipped a piece of paper into the book to mark her page and set it aside. She had read the history book before, but found it easier to practice by re-reading texts she had seen before. The woman still found herself needing to practice in order to keep her literacy. Not only did she learn to read later in life, but when she did, she found it exceedingly difficult to decipher.

In the short time since she had arrived at Manetheren, there had been no attacks. She found herself ridden with insomnia even though she felt confident in her battle spells. The Aes Sedai had rarely fought anyone except in practice, and had never experienced anything akin to a full battle. Trollocs, she had seen before, but for some reason, she found herself plagued by fear at the idea of her first battle.

She removed her cotton nightgown and hung it over the board on her bed. Her room was modest and private due to her status, but she had denied being waited on by any servants. She was used to keeping care of herself and disliked it when someone else took over. It was nothing new to her, after being raised on a farm. One of the things she enjoyed most since having become Aes Sedai was the ability to dress well. She took out a gray-blue silky dress which wasn’t very form-fitting and draped it over herself before sitting down in front of her mirror to tackle the knots in her hair.

After that endeavor was finished, it was mid-morning. She donned her jewellery and blue stockings in honor of her Ajah in preparation of heading out of her room. She piled together the trash and tray she had eaten her breakfast from and placed it on a small table beside her door for a servant to pick up, and added her nightdress to be washed. She didn’t like having people, even servants, snoop too deeply into her things, so she made it easier on them to not have to look around very much.
Sena considered briefly heading to the library to continue her practice reading, or perhaps read something new on battle weaves, but decided she had done enough reading for one morning. Instead, she sought to alleviate her misgivings about the likely impending attack and find somewhere to get practical exercise with her weaving.

Halfway down the stone corridor, already unsure of where she was going to do such a thing, she realized that it would be unadvisable to wear herself out, as there always seemed to be a threat of Trollocs in this place. Instead, she turned for the main hall, intending to perhaps catch a second breakfast before they stopped serving it. She would consider the benefits of practicing her weaves on a small scale while she ate, the Aes Sedai decided. It wouldn’t be fitting if she were to do something unwise which may reflect badly on her, or the Blue Ajah, after all.

In the southern reaches of Aridhol, only several leagues from the river border of Manetheren, a large camp lay sprawled across the landscape. Several hundred tents lay clustered near each other, but cooking fires and activity ranged far beyond that group of tents. Trollocs milled about, fighting amongst each other, sleeping, or taunting the groups of humans that would scurry by in packs, the people eyeing their larger comrades warily. Being careless amongst Trollocs could easily see one dead, and it was not uncommon for at least a couple of people to disappear in any given week. One particular party of twenty rode on horses, clearing a path through the rabble as they trotted to the center of the encampment, a small manor fashioned of wood and stone that showed signs of damage, chunks torn clean in various places.

As they passed out of the fields and woods and into the clusters of tents, the Trollocs and their Myrddraal handlers all but disappeared in terms of presence. Much as in cities, the closer one got to the center, the more sumptuous the surroundings became. As many as four people would crowd into the ragged canvas shelters in the outer ring of tents, making do with what space and supplies they could get. Close to the manor, tents were individual more often than not, kept in fairly good condition in comparison to the ones at the outside of the human sector.

Dismounting, the party of humans advanced into the manor, passing by the guards who reluctantly allowed them inside. Several minutes passed before the sound of a loud crash came from inside the building. The guards dropped their weapons and began to run at full speed away from the building, prompting others to join them in fleeing. Yells and screams filled the air as many tried to figure out what was going on while others streamed towards the edge of the encampment. For a moment, it seemed as if all sound had gone to those still near the manor. Then the blast wave hit them, carrying enough shrapnel to begin shredding their bodies. Where once there had been a manor, now only rubble and a crater remained. Much of the surrounding area had not fared much better. Only two people remained visible in the dust, one held in the air by unseen bonds, the other on the ground.

"They brought you to kill me, admit it, you bloody dog!" screamed the man on the ground, waving his single arm violently. Baggy cloth rippled through the air, the tears in his garment all the more visible as he moved. Dressed almost as a poor peasant in contrast to the fine-armor of the man in the air, it was undoubtedly he who controlled the situation. "You and all of those other flaming bastards who thought that they might usurp me. Where did they go? They came in with you, where did they go?!"

"I-I have no wish to harm you, Lord Kethel. I o-only bring information about your sister Emira. Never did I-" his sobbed replies cut off as he fell to the ground, smashing against a still-intact chunk of wood. Groaning, he pushed himself up to his knees and glanced warily at the man in rags. Kethel stood there as if in a trance, face wiped clean of emotion and body swaying from side to side. In the background, people began to emerge from the tents, grabbing anything of value from the remains of the explosion before another could claim it. Rising to his feet, the man said, "She is travelling with-"

A ball of flame replaced his head for a brief moment before disappearing. The headless body fell to the ground. Clothing that had been exposed was on fire, and the armor at the neck drooped slightly from before, the intense heat of the ball having assaulted the steel's integrity. Kethel began walking north without ever looking at the body, blank stare replaced by one of anger, a grimace sketched across his face.

"Someone get his armor off him, he has no need of it anymore," Kethel commanded, voice loud yet raspy. Gone was the nervous, fretting figure from the blast. A pair of Darkfriends jumped up and hurried over the burning body, patting out the flames with dirt and cloth. Walking at a brisk pace, Kethel was joined on his way by a Myrddraal and several other Darkfriends, these equipped much more finely than the other humans in the camp, boasting pieces of plate armor and masterfully worked swords or axes.

"Gather the host and prepare to move southward," Kethel stated, long strides forcing the others to hurry to keep pace. "Leral, Aneth, you will accompany me to Shadar Logoth. The same with you, Myrddraal." This last sentence was emphasized by Kethel's pointed stare at the creature. It reacted naught, but it noticed the weave of air brushing up around its body. Death held no appeal for the Fade. The north end of the camp was in a relative state of calm in comparison to the manor area, but some barked orders set all into motion. Within ten minutes, Kethel had received the suit of armor from the body and stored the piece in his saddlebags. Jumping onto his horse, he whipped the steed into action, forcing his two lieutenants to take off after him. There was business to take care of in that city of shadows.

Eldrene, alone with her horse for near an hour, relaxed, thinking of nothing. Her calm was interrupted too soon. A young girl, no more than sixteen years of age, ran into the stables with a manic shout. Wearing a simple brown dress, with her hair tied up, one would not suspect the girl's purpose as a scout. She blended into her surroundings with ease, a small figure that darted to and fro like a gnat. Out of breath and sporting a grin, she collapsed in front of Eldrene. The Queen waited a good minute before the girl was able to catch her breath, and speak in an impatient and rushed tone.

"Your Majesty, I... I ran a very long, long, long while... there's good news, and there's better news."

Eldrene looked down at the girl, waiting for a response. Intimidated by the queen, and her ambivalent expression, free of lines, with eyebrows raised in anticipation, the girl seemed to shrink. The scout lowered her gaze, eyes widening, and she waited for permission to speak. Realizing her menacing gaze, Eldrene offered a sympathetic smile, breaking that Aes Sedai calm.

"Speak, child."

"Right, yes-"

She took in a deep breath, leaning over slightly to facilitate that action. The girl then began to speak quickly, rattling off an impressively detailed account of her activities over the past several days, during and after the battle. She only paused to occasionally inhale.

"...and I followed the hooded men, for several hours. They came to what I think was a waygate? Or something else, it was rather dark. Anyways, they shuttled the Trollocs and those other, uh, things, through. And they disappeared. I waited for a while, but not too long, I didn't want to risk- anyways, they've gone. They're gone. At least, for now. A retreat. A retreat!"

The girl finally paused, and Eldrene waited.

"So can I get a week or so off? My little brother is celebrating his third name day in a few, and I don't want to miss it."

The Queen pondered for a moment, then, nodded. The girl's smile spread into an immense grin, and she let out a laugh of thanks. Giddy, she sprinted out of the stables, no doubt heading home to share her news. Eldrene watched the girl leave, and her little smile melted away, into a meditative expression, thoughtful, concentrating. Thoughts of strategy flitted through her mind, but she dismissed them, instead considering the situation in its immediate circumstance.

Eldrene unwrapped her headscarf, folding it into a small square, slipping it into a pocket in her skirt. Running her fingers through the short, crisp curls, she closed her eyes. Her horse laid down, staring up at her for a little while, before the animal's eyes fluttered shut, and it fell to sleep. Eldrene watched the horse as it slept, peaceful, now mostly clean. A smile crept onto her face, and she knelt next to him, brushing his mane with her fingers. She leaned against Heishain, and closed her eyes.

A few minutes, or maybe an hour, passed before she opened them again. A sound had woken her from that brief nap, the soft footsteps of her approaching husband. Brushing her hair back behind her ears, noticing that the curls had begun to frizz since drying, she sat up. Turning towards the doorway, she suppressed a yawn. They had been married over a century now, and she could recognize the father of her children's footsteps anywhere. She did not wait for him to appear in the doorway before speaking. A tired smile spread across her face, and she talked in a low voice.

"Are you here as my husband, or as my king?"

Eldrene swept over the floor with one hand, and looked at the dirt on her fingertips. Pressing her hand against the ground for support, she stood, and looked at Aemon. They were near the same height, even without heeled shoes.

"I already know the answer."

With a resigned sigh, she pulled the headscarf from her pocket. Unfolding the delicate cloth, she tied it over her hair, tucking the golden curls underneath the plainly colored cloth. Twisting the stray pieces around her face and slipping them into the wrap, her soft smile disappeared. She spoke while setting the scarf in place.

"That last battle really took a toll on your men, and the Aes Sedai who have elected to support the state need a few days at least to rest before they can return safely to the White Tower, to report the incidence in detail. Before you ask, I will not allow the army to make any advances into the Shadow forces. We maintain an advantage so long as we remain on the defense."

She cleared her throat.

"According to my scouts, the Shadowspawn have retreated for now. The report was verified just now, several others have told the same story. We have a breath before their next attack. We must take advantage of it. You should announce a relief to your officers, I suppose they must be gathered in the main hall by now?"

Eldrene walked out of the stables, expecting her husband to follow. She held her head high, walking at a brisk pace.



"Ardath. Do not address those who actually attempted to contribute to our last advance as inferiors. And for the love of our Lord, do not speak like a child. You are an adult. Act like it."

Ba'alzamon stepped towards the woman, towering over her. His eyes seemed to be filled with fire, suddenly, as he glared at her. Disgust filled his face, and after a good long while, he turned away.

"Is this really what our forces have come to? From a knitted group of powerful people committed to the prospect of freedom, to the scattered meandering children who can't speak in complete sentences without attempting some childish, pretentious, riddle filled nonsense?"

A few of the Myrddraal's mouths twitched, as though turning to smiles. However, the depressive aura of the city aided them in maintaining their rigid composure. Ba'alzamon raised a hand, as though to begin a speech, opening his mouth. He paused, though, and let his hand fall to his side, shutting his mouth. After a moment, he broke that stare, and cast his gaze downwards, in a huff.

"A dam of any kind would not work in a river whose current is stronger than most channellers. A bridge must be engineered, crafted by human hands. And the people of Manetheren are the most stubborn alive, and will not betray their country to aid us even if we burned it to the ground. They are resilient, and they are idiots. And we do not have substantial enough human forces to overwhelm and build an adequate bridge, let alone willing numbers."

Ba'alzamon waved a dismissive hand.

"Unless you have a useful suggestion, leave. You are belittling those who are your equals at best, your superiors in actuality. And your ideas are clouded in useless chatter, wasting my precious time."

He paused for a moment, expecting a response.



Naia awoke far too early from far too little sleep. She had not had any dreams- a friend had given her something to keep them away. Exhausted, she wrapped herself in a smooth white robe of almost translucent material, and looked in the mirror. Her hair was a mess, but she could not be bothered to fix it, so she left her room. Wandering the halls, she debated breakfast, contemplating the crowd and the food, but decided against it. The loud noises might hurt her head, as she had drunk one too many glasses of wine in the morning. Massaging her temples, she headed toward the library.

As she turned a corner, Naia saw the young Yellow approach the library, and her eyes widened. Knowing that the Amyrlin was likely to be resting within its cozy walls, poring over some noxious text, she knew that any interruption would no doubt promote petty sanctions. She paused, weighing the situation. If she allowed the Yellow to annoy the Amyrlin, hilarity may ensue, much needed entertainment. However, if she prevented her from entering the library, she might have to deal with a hotheaded, entitled Yellow, whose grumpiness would ruin such a pleasant morning.

She chose the latter, despite the clear disadvantages, for the sake of a pocketed favor. Just after the Yellow knocked, Naia ran towards her. Not stopping, she grabbed the woman's arm, and forcefully pulled her around the corner. She whispered-

"The Amyrlin's probably in there, studying- are you trying to piss her off?"

Once around the corner, Naia let go of the Yellow, and looked her up and down. Tall and dark with her shocking white hair, Naia relished in her intimidating appearance and scandalous outfits. This girl, this child, bore the look of an innocent whose eyes had never seen the world. Naia liked children, for the most part, but adults with the relative mindset of a child got on her nerves in the same way cobwebs would bother a servant and burned eggs would bother a chef. Her knuckles turned pale as she clenched her hands into fists, irrationally angry. It was too early for her to be awake, and she knew she was about to take it out on this girl. She took a breath, and relaxed, though her forearms remained tense, and her fists were still tight.

"Sorry to snap. I do not want to see the Amyrlin disturbed. If you are going to use the library, just walk in- any noise is a nuisance, and defeats the point of its existence."

The Amyrlin had apparently stood up from her desk, to come to the door. Naia peered around the corner, to glimpse the nasty expression marring Tetsuan's tired face. Tetsuan did not appear to see the pair, and turned back into the library with a grumble of frustration and annoyance. Naia then turned back to Kisathera with a breath of relief. Raising her eyebrows in expectation, a smug smile appeared on her face. The smile quickly turned into a confused look, complete with an upturned nose.

"Why were you going to the library anyways?"

The woman…. Smiled softly as the respective commander had chided her for her behavior. In fact, she seemed to have expected such a reaction. Even practically baiting it out.Of course, she was a scholar and part of her duties was simply arguing facts, theories, and what have you.

She soon rose out of the lap of the creature she had sat in and walked around the room. Her tone taking a sudden shift as her smile seemed to fade. Her eyes twinkled a bit, but remained fixed in space as if she was drawing into herself. She was nearly a different person as she began to speak.

“Some eras ago, where war was prominent in this very world… a General waged a tactic in a land where chasms scarred the earth, that bore deep enough that light could not escape and could even turn a man to liquid if he were to fall. Naturally, these lands were prime area’s of defenses as you can funnel an army into one front, thus sending him into a gauntlet of arrows and boulders that’s a Grimm fable with a bitter end.”

She soon turned to face the man. Her face was practically like stone as “polito” continued the tale.

“This… particular General thought of something more unique. Instead of traversing the usual paths. He constructed mobile bridges. The labor he had origionally consisted only of slaves and camp followers… which is fine… as quality is not needed as a typical soldier’s life is as expendable as a drop of water in a lake.”

“He needed quantity to get an army across and to limit the disaster when one bridge fails. But to manufacture as many bridges as he needed with what he had was improbable. Annnd... it's not like loyalty wasn't running as high as it is now. When your liege tells you to die for him, you did it. So… he gave civilians a choice after conquering their towns and cities. Give labor with a chance of some sort of life, or suffer such cruelty that was not bound by possibility, but the limits of the imagination of man. He didn’t kill them. Not immediately at least, oh did he draw it out. It wasn’t torture, many would prefer that. It was as close to the heart of a demon as anyone could get. He starts with the family, and got real creative. Ripping their children apart piece by piece. Burning wives at the stake after sending them around the army like a shared mount. Making people walk through the cold uncovered until they stopped begging for their lives, but for blankets. You think it, he’s done it.”

“And he gave people only one chance. After a few public examples, if they did not have the courage to take both their family and their own lives…. Well he was at their mercy. Many, were quick to throw out loyalties as I am sure they are now.”
 

Ardath looked Ba’alzamon firmly in the eyes, with a fire in her reaching a feverish pitch. There was no games being played. No dancing around the fire. No beating the bush. Just the very personality of Ardath that sought results through her crusade. The very efforts that seemed to have gone unnoticed.

“Sir… I’ve studied the human mind long enough. And I know, that without a doubt that it’s possible for a man’s heart to not be swayed. But their hands can certainly be forced against all the whims of laws, loyalties, beliefs, and morals that they believe in when they are face to face with a fate far worse than the pains of death… and are still too cowardly to discover the final mystery.”

“Give me your go ahead. Give me a target. Give me a time frame. And I will be serving you your breakfast within their walls.”

Kisathera let out a gasp as she was abruptly pulled around a corner, once the other woman let go of her, she straightened her dress and her hair, and dusted herself off even though there probably wasn't any to be found. She clasped her hands in front of her waist and smiled a little at her and spoke quietly, "I-I'm sorry. Is she? I figured even she would probably still be asleep. If she was busy in there I would've just left, though.... Anyway, I was having a bad dream and having trouble falling back asleep, so I figured I may as well just get the morning started...."

She looked down and sighed before looking back up at Naia, the Sitter was a great deal taller than her, not to mention kind of scary, "I was hoping I could find a book on the more advanced battle weaves. I know they're probably my weakest point as an Aes Sedai and I need to get better with them, especially in times likes these. Healing is great and will always be my passion, but it doesn't prevent the pain and would be better to not need it in the first place, right?" she asked, with a little nod to herself.

"....And....a lot of ladies mock me for not knowing much about them anyway. So I'd....like to shut them up myself, you know?" her smile faded a little as she thought about it, then blinked as she realized who she was talking to, "Oh, sorry, I probably shouldn't have said anything about that. I didn't intend to tattle....it just doesn't feel good to be made fun of....especially since it's more because I wasn't all that interested in them than ability...."

Ba'alzamon was quiet for a moment, waiting for the woman to finish her seemingly endless rant. Once she finished, he waited a moment for the dust to settle. He pondered for a little while, looking at his servants, all poised in equal parts respect and terror, though not betraying any fear in their eyeless faces, blank and rigid. They did not argue, they did not fight, they were obedient, and yet, they thought for themselves, in a way. His face lost any expression, and breathed deeply. When he spoke, his voice was quiet and oddly sweet, reminiscent of the manner with which one might address a small child.

"The Light have libraries, and libraries have books. Books contain history, a history studied by every soldier who attains a rank of commanding officer, every woman raised as an Aes Sedai, every child who becomes monarch. And they learn from the mistakes of the past."

He sighed, dramatically. Raising a hand to his temples, he massaged them with his fingertips. A few of the Myrddraal leaned back, a few leaned forward, almost imperceptibly.

"The battle you speak of occurred far before the creation of Manetheren as a nation. Far before the grand notion of nationalism swept their people, which developed into an incredible stubbornness. It is something foolhardy, yet something to be admired. Their people are strong in a way that you clearly cannot understand. Given your clear lack of respect towards authority, you cannot comprehend their deference towards their monarchs, towards their fellows, towards their land. Your example is flawed, your idea is laughable, and your confidence is ignominious. Do not speak to me as though you are an authority on history, when you have lived for less than a blink of the Dark One's eyes."

Pausing for a moment, he let out a short, dry chuckle, though it closely resembled a cough. He began to pace, before continuing, his lips twisted into something like a smile.

"You are right about one thing. Just one."

Ba'alzamon stopped in his tracks, at the center of the head of the table, and glanced at the ground, placing his fingertips atop the table. He created a weave of earth, drawing from the source with a gentle hand, pulling the stone from the ground beneath his feet. In a moment, a chair had formed behind him, and he took a seat. Stretching out, to rest his legs and arms alike, he lounged, all the while maintaining his calm.

"You serve me."

He pointed down the decrepit road.

"Act like it."



"You can go in the library, kid, you just don't want to make a fuss about it, okay? For future reference, Tetsuan's a bitch."

Naia listened to the girl's suggestion, and furrowed her brow. Personally, her research tended to focus on the more philosophical questions of life, the meaning of things, mathematics, theory of the One Power- all thoughts which related to the art of war, not the immediate mechanics of it. She did not know weaves except to facilitate her research, and expound upon it, and those few every Aes Sedai must know to keep herself from dying. The latter were important, but relatively basic, in comparison with the amazing talents of the women of the Green- not that she would ever betray her respect for that Ajah. That could never happen.

"You're a Healer. Your purpose is to heal those who would otherwise be killed, not to get yourself killed. If you find yourself fighting, you'll end up on the front lines, and you'll end up with your head on a spike or in a stomach."

Realizing the harshness of her words a moment too late, Naia bit her lip, and raised a hand to her forehead.

"Oh, kid, I don't mean that. If anyone mocks you for focusing on Healing, then they're colorblind. When battle comes, just refuse to heal them until they've apologized. Though, if you're really still concerned, find yourself a Green, they're used to teaching that stuff. And they're generally friendly. Annoyingly so."

She offered a thin smile to the girl, though the exhaustion in her eyes remained.

"Anything else?"

Kisa titled her head to the side, "I'm not sure I was making a fuss, though, was I? Worst case scenario is that she would shoo me off. And that'd be fine. Even if she yells at me, it'd probably be a good thing to let off some steam. I can't even imagine the stress she's under... I can come back another time." Admittedly, she didn't know the Amyrlin all that well, but surely it wouldn't have been that big of a deal? Even if she sent her off to do some chores Kisa wouldn't mind. It would give her something to do to take her mind off her worries and she actually enjoyed cleaning and cooking since she was a child. Speaking of, Kisa didn't really like being called 'kid'. She supposed it was just Naia's way, but she wasn't THAT much older was she?

She shook her head, her eyes widening, "O-Oh, I don't mean I'd be on the front lines, just because I'd have the knowledge doesn't mean I'd be there, right? Just ya know....ya never know what could happen. It's best to be ready for it. What if an enemy flanks our rear and strikes down our healers because they can barely defend themselves? Especially, if they don't have Warders to protect them. Besides, I've gone about as far as I can in Healing, not that I'd stop practicing it, but wouldn't it be better to expand my horizons than be a one trick pony?....Although, I do like ponies..."

Kisathera let out a gasp, and brought a delicate hand up to her mouth, "Oh, no, I couldn't do that. That seems pretty petty and makes me no better than they are, don't you think? It'd go against everything I stand for as a person AND as a Yellow Aes Sedai. Asking a Green might be a good idea, though. I kind of thought they might scoff at giving a Yellow lessons or something." she shrugged, "I guess it couldn't hurt to ask regardless. Again, worst case they decline, right?"

She blushed a bit and smiled at Naia, "Sorry, I'm rambling. Thank you for listening and your wisdom. It was nice to get a bit off my chest. I'll stop bothering you now. Good day to you." she said, giving the woman a curtsy before hurrying off, or at least hurried as much as she could. Kisa didn't want to be too loud. She headed away from the library and back to her room. Going in now would just be more embarrasing. It's not like it was a particularly urgent matter, anyway. She thought about going to get something to eat, but decided against it for now. By now, it was probably starting to fill up and she didn't like large crowds. As much as she liked people, she didn't like noise. Kisathera had some snacks in her room anyway.

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age long past, a wind rose amidst the tall grass and vast landscapes of Manetheren. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.

Daylight's warm embrace already waned as the seeking wind reached the dozen riders who rode the well-worn road to the Kingdom's capital, the soft heat of the day fading into the prickling chill of evening's shadow. Though none of the riders showed any outward sign of their fatigue they nonetheless felt it, and though few would admit they favored the falling of the sun they would not deny that the breeze felt good after a long day's travel.

At the head of this band of hard-pressed soldiers rode Prince Rennet Kyne, his long hair tangling itself in the breeze even as he fought to keep his eyes open against it. Upon his saddle was fixed a blade fit for masters and upon his hand a signet ring that marked his royal blood; his bearing was regal … imperious … but even the least astute observer could see the way he wavered in the saddle, and the way sweat slicked the clothes that sucked and pulled at him as he pressed his stoic band ever onward.

Scattered glances passed amongst the riders behind him, knowing looks and frustrated grimaces – nothing they would ever display to their young commander's face, but that needed to be aired amongst them to relieve some measure of the tension. Most of these pointed expressions settled in full upon the whip-thin soldier who rode mere paces back from the commander, a bodyguard who had followed his charge loyally into military service and who, when able, served as the mouthpiece of soldiers too wary of their Prince to speak their minds directly to him.

Eridin, the bodyguard in question, accepted their weary frustration with a sympathetic smile even as he shrugged. Speaking truth to power is a risky endeavour, he seemed to say. Even for a lifelong friend. And so the soldiers rolled their eyes and reigned in their tempers, and the ride pressed onward, and their prince remained – for the moment – oblivious.

It was not until the sun began its final descent over the edge of the world that their long ride began to slow. Beneath the blazing shadow of the dying sun, pressed out across either side of the road there against the horizon, every man amongst them could make out the shapes of people and wagons and the first glimmering sparks of cookfires dotting the assembled masses. Though the wind did not favor them, the riders could almost smell charring meat upon the breeze, a rumbling of hunger rising in answer.

As the Prince and his retinue drew closer, a handful of figures detached themselves from the roadside camp and stalked towards them. A pair of soldiers rode up to flank their Prince with weapons near the ready, and Eridin joined them with a bow in his hands, an arrow not far from the notch.

Distance closed between the two groups, and before a full half of the sun had perished they found themselves close enough to assess one another. Leading the band of motley travelers was a slip of a woman more handsome than pretty, and at her back a dozen men and women of varying ages. Each wore only the threadbare clothes on their backs, and only a scattered few carried anything resembling a weapon. Tarnished swords and splintered spears comprised their armament.

It was as sorry a defensive force as Rennet had ever seen. He waved his soldiers to slow their advance as they came closer to the travelers, he himself trying his best to reign his horse in the way he'd been taught. Unlike the show horses he'd grown accustomed to, these damnable warhorses always proved tougher to control and more headstrong than responsive, yet still he managed to bring it down into a languid trot.

As if his master's shadow, Eridin slid in full beside him, an easy smirk on his pale lips. “What say you, Highness? A dangerous band of highwaymen? I could fell their fearsome warrior queen with an arrow twixt the eyes and save us all a pitched battle on the plain.” He gestured softly with the bow in his hand. “She makes for a difficult target, sure enough, but I'd wager even in this light I'd not miss.”

Rennet grimaced. “Somehow I doubt these people present that great a threat,” he answered, shooing his bodyguard back. “And aren't you usually the one cautioning diplomacy over violence?”

To which his bodyguard only laughed. “A day's hard ride and half a day yet to the capital, Highness … I'm itching for distraction, no matter the shape of it.”

The Prince shook his head and once more waved his companion back, slowing his ride to a standstill a stone's throw from the travelers who awaited them. The rest of his soldiers did likewise, taking up position behind and to either side of their headstrong charge. One of them, his standard bearer, raised the flag of Aelgar quickly as if to ward off needless questions before they could form.

Without showing much in the way of fear, the woman at the head of the group stepped in to close the gap between herself and the Prince, her empty hands held before her in a show of peace.

“I do not recognize your standard,” she said, voice husky and much stronger than Rennet expected from so small a frame. “But I know it for a royal sigil or military mark, and so I entreat you to consider us friends.”

Rennet echoed the woman's lack of caution and trotted his horse a little closer as well. “It is the banner of Aelgar, and we are its loyal soldiers. If friendship if offered, then friendship will be answered.” He slid from his mount and found his feet on solid earth, taking a moment to regain his balance before turning to face the woman once more. “Whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?”

“Miranna, a merchant by trade. As are most of those I speak for.” Her thick brows furrowed slightly. “You're a long way from home. I'd guess you're here to reinforce the front, but it looks like you didn't think to bring an army with you. I hate to break it to you, but a dozen soldiers probably aren't going to tip the balance.”

“Just the vanguard, I assure you. The rest of the army is well on its way. We're pursuing something of a … political errand. A quick stopover in the capital before rejoining the main.”

A sharp indrawn breath from Eridin cautioned him to watch his words, but Rennet saw little point in doing so. It wasn't like this was a mission of utmost importance, after all – I've been sent to mingle with the royals and their court to keep me away from real fighting, at least until Captain-General Kumana is content that there'll be a couple of armies between me and real danger. Or more likely he just wants me out from underfoot and found a way to do it whilst appeasing my father's ego. The hoary old bastard.

The merchant – Miranna – paused thoughtfully, then signaled for her fellows to relinquish their arms. Most lowered them, but few let go entirely. Not that Rennet really blamed them. A time of war fed the desire to remain armed, especially amongst those one did not know. A very human impulse, that.

When faced with implacable Shadow one does well to carry a Light of one's own. Scholar Remmond Valdar's words, one of those old masters of the metaphorical who found solace in florid prose but had little to say that others hadn’t already beaten him to decades earlier. Valdar'd been alluding to the necessity of maintaining arms should the need for civil resistance against tyranny arise. But then … in times like these, pithy metaphors tend to take on a more literal interpretation, don't they?

The Prince of Aelgar grimaced and pushed the thought away, even as Miranna cast a glance back at his soldiers. “Well met, then, Captain … ?”

“Kyne,” Rennet answered, reflexively. Another hiss from his bodyguard, the worrywort.

She proffered a hand and Rennet took it, shaking. “Well met, Captain Kyne.”

“Well met, Miranna.”

The tension fell away from Miranna, and the rest of her group began to disperse, making their way back towards the wagons and cookfires that awaited them. Rennet felt a momentary pang for the embrace of a sanctuary of his own, suddenly aware that it might well be time to call it a night. It must have showed in his expression for Miranna grinned and followed his gaze over, then back.

One callused hand gestured absently as the other fell to her hip. “We don't have much, Captain, and I fear supplies will become increasingly scarce as the damnable Trollocs and the Shadow's other horrors continue pressing in … but it wouldn't hurt us much to offer you and yours a well-cooked meal and our company for the night, should you wish it. And I think it would do us some moral good to support the people fighting to save our lives, too.”

Rennet hesitated, the day's fatigue slowing his thoughts a bit. Part of him wanted to keep pressing onwards, to make another few miles to shorten the following day's travel … but another part of him was suddenly aware of the prickling feel of daggers at his back from the men he led, who might well mutiny if he kept them on the road for even a minute longer. Should they share a camp or keep separate? Should they put distance between themselves and the merchants, then wander off the road to be safe?

A quick glance to Eridan bought him nothing; the bodyguard's expression was studiously blank.

What would Galen do, here? Or Aric? Blood and ashes. Why did it always have to be difficult to weigh outcomes? Why couldn't the choice just be easy for once?

He sighed. “We'd be glad to share the road with you and yours tonight, Miranna. We'll camp beside you and offer you our protection for the evening in exchange for that meal you mentioned. It's the least we can do.”

Miranna clapped her hands together and grinned. “We have an accord, then. Come on then, Captain. Follow me and we'll clear you a space for your tents.”

She turned and began her walk back towards her people. Eridin dismounted and came to stand beside his Prince, saying nothing, neither affirming nor criticizing his commander's decision. It irked Rennet, that distance and silence. Until he caught the way his bodyguard's eyes followed Miranna as she led them towards the camp, anyway.

A deep smirk wormed its way across his lips as he shot a knowing look to his companion. “No matter the shape of it, eh?”

Eridin blushed, but continued to say nothing.

The Prince, thus emboldened with sudden humor, turned to his soldiers and boomed out a command he hoped they were waiting to hear.

“Well c'mon men, you heard the woman! Get yourselves dismounted – we're calling it a night.”

Aemon could feel his wife's will, as hot as a bonfire and as cool and calm as an untouched pond. He had indeed approached her as her King, but he could not help but smile at this wondrous woman he had been fortunate enough to marry. His golden mane swayed lightly in the breeze as he watched her and listened, his heart lifted at the sight of her having relaxed before they began to speak of less pleasant things.

"You're right, my Queen." he replied as they walked. By the light, she was beautiful. It was a query of the poets that such women could be so formidable as well. "A defensive campaign is what we should generally pour our resources and tactics on, as we initially agreed. However if the Shadow is pushed back, will it not come again? What is better, to frighten the Lion with fire and scare it off for the night, or finish it with your spear so the threat is ended for good?" Aemon spoke with a strength to his voice, one he often used when speaking during Court. He knew his wife understood it was how he needed to be when speaking of strategies, publicly at least.

"My Officers are not tiring. They have fought day and night, but would much rather rid this land of the taint than take a respite from it. But..." The King sighed, and slipped his hand upon his wife's slender shoulder. "I say we send out scouts to report if they are gaining reinforcements soon. If reinforcements do indeed approach, we fight defensively. If not..."

He let it hand in the air, and squeezed her shoulder to gain her attention. "I shall send the men on leave for a few days as we wait, let them visit their children and be with their lovers. Such a privilege should not be taken lightly." His smile to her was very much a husband's smile, and he guided her further into the Palace as they walked.

It looks like your efforts are going under appreciated, dear...
A voice. It was a voice that whispered in her ear. A sweet one. Nearly motherly. It’d be consoling in its own way if she wasn’t being demeaned by the very creature she dedicated her work to for the past years of her life.
She made not a single gesture that would show that such a thing was speaking to her now. Not a twitch of the eye, or a change of her face. Instead she kept her face stern. Her eyes looked to the hand with her anger’s cauldron over-boiling.

Yet… she kept her composure. Even as the voice started to speak to her again…
What a shame… a shame it is. It’s no wonder such a creature is imprisoned. He just broods, but can never make a solution for himself.

Ardath gave a small nod to the lord. “Very well then,” She said simply. She clicked her heels and spun on them. Then began the walk down the road.

Her skin started to grow clammy as she rounded a bend taking her out of sight. Her teeth clinched together. Her hands trembling. Her pupils began to dilate. Her breath grew shorter, as the light only grew brighter.

Her steps no longer graceful, they were clumsy. Clumsy and worsened by a blinding… wild rage.
It was all a mistake love, your talents are better suited else where…

“quiet you…” Ardath growled quietly to no one. One hand, then the other moved to rest on her head. The fingers curled digging the nails into her scalp. The voices only grew louder. She was stepping through various shadows of tall structures.

Now… things began to appear. Dancing at the very edge of her vision… but she could never catch them. They were always gone… but she could feel their touch.