Historical Event: Hunting Wilders (109 FA)

[Cirus]

Cirus woke up sore, scrunched into his sleeping position in a doorway. There was a mist in the air from the rain last night, a cold mist that clung to the rags that he called clothes.  Fortunately for him, it was unusually warm for this late in the fall, so the usual cold that he would suffer from sleeping outside was not present in his bones, a rare blessing indeed. Yet it was the only blessing he would get that morning, as he awoke with another of his cursed headaches. This one was worse than normal, making his head feel like it was about to split open. Not the ideal start to a day where he lacked food and warmth.

He hated that he couldn't control himself anymore, the headaches were getting worse, and with them the strange events that seemed to follow him where he went. There was no way that he could hide where he was it seemed. All it would take was one snarky comment from a passerby, one dirty look from anyone who he knew or didn't and some strange event would occur. He was finding it harder and harder to find places to sleep or stay without the guards coming around to ask questions about him. Those questions could quickly lead to his death he knew, the children of light would come for him. They would see him executed if the White or Black Tower didn't catch him to kill him for channeling illegally. 

Stretching in the early morning, he looked around for his rusty knife. He found it lying down right where he'd left it, picking it up he felt slightly reassured. It was the one thing he had to keep him from being completely unable to sleep, the rusty, cold iron a small comfort to his side at night, a reminder that he was still in control of his fate. A reminder that he was still alive. 

First things first, he had to find some breakfast, he hadn't eaten in nearly a week and he was starting to feel even weaker than normal, maybe if he could snag something he could push his headache back a ways.

[Ishara Trakand]

It was still the pale light of false dawn as Ishara's booted feet thudded against the cobblestones of the New City in Caemlyn. Early enough that only the earliest risers were stirring inside their homes and shops. The smells of fresh baked bread wafting about on the cool, mist heavy air, caused a rumble in her belly that made her regret not grabbing breakfast before sneaking out on their little adventure. Still, there had been no time. Had they waited even a few minutes longer, the Royal Palace would have been buzzing like a beehive with the morning activity. Ishara looked to either side, grinning from the deep cowl of her heavy woolen cloak. On her right, Gareth, as always, scanning the streets for potential disasters, and on her left, Elaira, looking less excited than she was herself. Ignoring their lack of enthusiasm, Ishara strode on down the street, a little bounce to her step.

She'd overheard her mother discussing the reports of a possible man channeling in the New City and of her intent to send for the Fire Legion of the Black Tower to come collect him. All very well and good, but Ishara could not ignore the opportunity to go looking for this man herself! Per usual, she had conscripted the aid and company of her blonde cohorts. They had all dressed in simple attire, suitable for average merchants in this part of Caemlyn, and snuck out before the guards, or worse their old nursemaid, Calla, could stop them.

The reports had been thorough in their descriptions of the lad, and the general area he seemed to keep to, so all that remained was to spot him and talk him into the good sense of going to the Black Tower. The reports also said that he was a street urchin and a beggar. Ishara's mouth tightened at that. No one should need beg in Caemlyn, the Queen's Bounty was set to put food before anyone in need, but she was afraid that too often pride kept those who needed it most from asking. She only hoped that a life offered in Caralain, how ever hard the training, would be an improvement for even one of her subjects.

Blue eyes swept across the square they'd entered and Ishara paused, motioning her partners in crime a bit closer. "This is where the report I read on Mother's desk said he frequented most. Remember, tall, young, blonde and likely looks a beggar. He-"

Her whisper cut off abruptly as she saw someone shuffle out of the mouth of an alleyway. The young man was indeed tall and blonde, but even knowing they were looking for an unfortunate hadn't prepared Ishara for the state of him. His clothes were all but rags, his skin pale and gaunt, stretching too thin over protruding bones. Deep, fiery anger burned up inside Ishara over the injustice, and in her city!

"You!" she called out, raising a hand toward him. "We want to talk to you!"

[Gareth Trakand]

Pale silver light hung over the New City in Caemlyn as the dawn had yet to illuminate the sky in brilliant colors. Life within the city was scarce starting to stir which left the usual bustle of the streets to linger in an eerie stillness. Yet his eyes remained ever vigilant, scanning in every direction for perspective danger. Though he much would have preferred being asleep within his bed as opposed to sneaking about in the streets. Gareth had voiced his objections to his sister, Ishara, about her plans to seek out the young male channeler, but as ever she disregarded them. She'd overheard reports pertaining to the boy and decided to take matters into her own hands. He had attempted to inform her of how there was Asha'man capable of handling such a task but once his sister set her mind to something there was no undoing it. Instead, he'd have to accompany Ishara, as he always did, to both protect her and counteract any problems that may come their way. But he wouldn't be the only one she'd roped into her scheme, Elaira Taravin was also convinced to tag along.

Elaira Taravin was a young Andoran noble which he and Ishara had grown up with. Her somewhat timid nature was almost refreshing compared to his sister's spirited attitude. Yet Gareth could see her potential to possess great confidence. And he hoped that he'd bear witness to that confidence blossoming forth from Elaira one day as he held a fondness for her. A fact that no doubt would have his parents almost drooling over... If they had any inkling of it that is. As they often nudged him to spend much of his free time in her company as well as with another Andoran noble named Adela Traemane. His fondness for Adela was in equal to that of Elaira and Gareth found them both to be enchanting. But he was unsure if he held feelings for either of them or if he even dared to. They were both close friends of his sister and once Ishara accepts the shawl, he's meant to bond with her. A fact, that in his mind, complicated any potential relationships he might have. Especially with anyone they knew.

But the task at hand reminded him of where his focus needed to be as thoughts of love and a life bonded to Ishara faded to the back of his mind. At least they had slipped out early enough to go unnoticed by the guards and their simple attire allowed them to pass as merchants. Yet Gareth felt troubled. He doubted that even if everything went well, they'd still suffer the consequences when they returned home. Still, it was far too late to turn back now.

As Ishara described the young man they sought, Gareth's bright blue eyes fell upon the target in question about the same time as his sisters did. The youth appeared to be pale and quite boney thin which tugged at the Prince's heartstrings. He'd always believed their people were well taken care of and provided plenty of food. This poor kid needed a meal or a bed or both. But as Gareth was about to suggest a formulation of a plan, his sister straight up yells at the boy. Therefore it was hardly any wonder why this same kid started to dart in the opposite direction. An exasperated sigh escaped Gareth's lips.

"Why must these missions always be so challenging?!"

[Elaira Taravin]

Elaira had never seen Caemlyn's streets in this light.  The New City looked strange in the false dawn, a foreign place filled with uncertain shadows and uncomfortable silhouettes.  It had taken Elaira months to adapt to life in the White Tower; she'd never expected to have to make the same adjustments back home, but walking a half step behind her friends Elaira could feel a similar sense of unease.  She was clad in a merchant's dress and felt, frankly, smothered in it.  It was loose in some places and tighter in others, a cheaply made piece designed for someone taller and leaner.  The heavy cloak she wore would be too much for the late fall's heat after sunrise, and Elaira knew later in the day she'd have to be rid of it, even if it meant revealing herself.   She was frowning worriedly, lips pressed together tightly.  Our first time out of Accepted's dress and this is what we're wearing.  Why are we doing this, again?

She knew why.  Ishara wanted to find the wilder before the Fire Asha'man were called in to the city.  At the time it had made sense, and Elaira had admitted it would be safer for everyone involved if they could convince whoever it was to go before the Asha'man arrived.  Not that she ever was much of a check for Ishara's schemes.  The Daughter-Heir on her right was unmistakable; Elaira had no idea how anyone could be fooled by their disguises.  The way Ishara moved exuded confidence and poise.  Perhaps it was just the sight of her in something other than Novice white or the banded dress of an Accepted, but Ishara looked as fiery as Elaira had ever seen her.  A small smile slowly replaced her frown.  She'd follow Ishara anywhere, after all.  That helped steady her, somewhat, and Elaira moved a bit closer and picked up her pace to pull even with the group. 

And a group it was, because as always Ishara was accompanied by their protector.  Well, Ishara's protector, but....  She resisted the urge to shake her head, but Elaira did peek up over Ishara at Gareth Trakand, the First Sword.  Almost a foot taller than the both of them, his face shadowed by the predawn light and his hood, Elaira could still pick out the curve of his jaw and the slight fringe of blonde hair that fell past the edge of the hood.  She looked away but felt even more at ease.  Elaira had seen Gareth fight in the training yards; no one could match him with a blade aside from the full Warders.

So, somehow, following after Ishara on yet another spontaneous expedition, Elaira felt as though all was right in the world.

Elaira stopped when Ishara motioned them closer, scooting in to listen to her whisper.

"This is where the report I read on Mother's desk said he frequented most. Remember, tall, young, blonde and likely looks a beggar. He-"

The abrupt pause shook Elaira's attention, and her head snapped up and followed Ishara's gaze.  There at the entrance of an alley was a young man, a boy really, gaunt and dirty and clad in rags.  Elaira's heart broke at the sight of him.  How could such poverty exist in Caemlyn?  Why would the Queen tolerate it, or her parents for that matter?  House Taravin could surely have helped this boy...couldn't it?  She didn't register Ishara raising a hand, but she jumped somewhat when the Daughter-Heir shouted.

"'Shara,you scared him."

Elaira observed, strangely curious.  She watched the boy vanish back down the alley, then glanced over at Gareth.  A smile quirked her lips at his exasperation, but it froze as she realized something awful.

"He's going to hurt himself if we don't do something."

The words were nearly a whisper, but they were the truth.  The boy hadn't looked well and was obviously panicking.  And there was a hint of...something else.  What was it?  And what would channeling in a state like that do to him?

[Adela Traemane]

The faintest hint of dawn had just appeared on the horizon when Adela rolled onto her back in bed. She stretched languidly, yawning. The stars still twinkled in the mostly darkened sky and for a moment she laid still, watching the sky through her window. But there was much to do that day, as there was much to do every day, so she swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood. Just as her feet hit the floor, the bedroom door opened silently to admit a young woman in servants’ attire.

"Oh, my lady!" the newcomer squeaked in surprise, "I wasn't expecting you up quite this early!"

Adela smiled as the younger woman came farther into the room. "That's alright, Yulietta, it's a little earlier than usual today." Yulietta returned the smile, ducked her head, and moved toward the fireplace to stoke the fire.

Humming to herself, Adela poured water in her basin and rinsed her hands and face, then twisted her hair behind her head and slipped two pins in to hold it in place. She kept her mind carefully blank as she readied for the day, as had been her habit recently. Carefully, purposefully blank due to the flights of fancy it had been insisting on since Adela first learned that Ishara and Gareth Trakand and Elaira Taravin would be returning from the White Tower for a time. She was excited to see Elaira, of course, and Ishara was not wholly unwelcome, but Gareth... No. We are not doing that.

She schooled her mind to silence again as she slipped into a dress such a dark shade of navy that it was almost black. The fabric was simple wool, but high quality, the cut impeccable. Tying her black boots, she straightened, glanced quickly in the mirror that stood next to her wash stand, then strode out of the room. She made her way down the back stairs, coming out near the kitchens that were already bustling for the day.

Having the benefit of Yulietta’s warning that the lady was up a bit earlier than usual, the cook had a basket of honeyed buns waiting, still steaming from the oven. Adela took one, juggling the hot bun back and forth so as not to burn her hands, and thanked the cook as she slipped out the side door into the yard.

Her father was already about his day, of course. Adela did not think of herself as a lay about, but she had never met anyone who functioned so well on so little sleep as did her father. He could make the Queen herself look lazy!

Adela’s feet knew the path to the Palace from their home on the outskirts of the Old City without her brain giving any input, so she let her mind wander as her feet navigated of their own accord. She thought mostly of the day ahead, the tasks she needed to complete, the people she was likely to see. Her mind moved in concentric circles around the return of her former playmates, tightening in on its target with every turn. She hadn’t seen them in years now and there was a strange tightening in her chest when she thought about them.

Just as her mind finally broached the subject it most wanted to address, the one that Adela adamantly refused to examine any closer, she noticed three oddly familiar backs receding down the street, away from the Palace. She stopped, squinted, shielding her eyes against the sun that wouldn’t fully escape the horizon for another hour.

Is that…? She took a few steps towards the three quickly disappearing people, two women and a man. The man towered over the women, one slender and the other roundly feminine. It is! What could they possibly be doing out here at this hour?

The sky was still mostly dark, but her father would be expecting her before too long. She glanced over her shoulder at the Palace that could be seen over the surrounding buildings, then turned back toward her peers. A quick but fierce battle raged in her, but in the end her desire to know what they were up to was too strong to override.

Adela turned and followed the furtive trio out of the Old City into the narrower streets of the New City. The streets were nearly deserted now, so she kept her distance, staying near the shop fronts to keep from drawing attention to herself.

She was just about to give up and turn back when Ishara pulled up short, her two shadows stopping beside her. Gareth bent his head toward Ishara in a way that Adela immediately recognized. The three of them together, attention on Ishara, was so familiar yet something she hadn’t seen in years. She could tell Ishara was speaking, but she couldn’t make out the words until suddenly Ishara raised her voice.

“You!” The Daughter-Heir shouted in a commanding tone. “We want to talk to you!”

For a moment Adela was confused. She saw no one to whom Ishara could be speaking. Then suddenly, like a deer startled from the underbrush, a scrawny young man burst from a doorway at a full run. The glance Gareth threw at his sister, shoulders slumped, head tilted was so characteristic of his general exasperation with Ishara’s wildness that Adela bit her lip to stifle a laugh. Well, I see things haven’t changed that much.

[Cirus]

The cold morning air had kept most of the people of Caemlyn off the streets, perhaps for the best. As early as it was it would not be an easy thing to find a good breakfast, but he would find a way to get some food, he always did. The good thing about waking up so early, perhaps the only good thing about waking up this early, was that the streets were so quiet. There were maybe six or seven, mostly going on about their own business. They were mostly merchants and shopkeepers who were preparing their day, maybe one of them could get him something to eat. There were a few shop keepers who were at least somewhat friendly and would trade a breakfast in exchange for some simple manual labor. Mistress Krile was one such kind soul, a woman who took a strange pity on the creatures like him, even those old enough to start making a way for themselves.

Cirus was about to head over toward Mistress Krile’s inn to see if maybe she needed some wood stacked or cut in exchange for a meal when he noticed the group of three who were hanging out in the street. They looked enough like simple merchant class folk but something about them was off, their clothes looked simple enough, but the way they carried themselves seemed to be too great for mere merchants. Mayhaps it was the early hours and his headache was making him paranoid, but he couldn’t shake that these three didn’t belong. Were they here because of him? Agents of the Children of Light or the White Tower who were here to kill him for what he was? No, he was probably being paranoid. They, like him, were probably just going about their daily business and had decided to get an early start.

"You! We want to talk to you!"

For a brief moment Cirus mind froze, fear gripped at his heart as his mind took a second to register who she was addressing. He took only a moment to check to see if there was anyone else around. Sure enough, he was the only other person on the street here. There was no mistaking who the woman meant needing to talk to, and Cirus didn’t stick around to hear anything else.

He ducked around the corner into the alley, rushing past three more buildings and into another alley, this one far darker than the one he’d just been in. there were no torches nearby, and the nearest light could only be seen from either end of the alley. It was far from an ideal place to be, but at least he knew where he was, and he knew that no one around here would call for the guards because he was trying to hide here. Everyone who lived or worked in this alley knew of him and knew that he wouldn’t cause any trouble here.

At the very least he could try to hide here while he thought of a plan. There had to be a safe place he could run to… a place where they wouldn’t think to look. As he tried to think of a place his headache only got worse, he could feel himself start to sweat. He shook his head as best as he could, trying to force the headache back so he could try to think. He had to get away… he had to run before they caught and executed him for channeling.

The thought of what they might do to him only made the headache seem to get worse, whether it was from stress or just concern over what they might do he couldn’t say. What he did know was that it was getting to the point of being nearly unbearable, he could barely see straight for a minute. Placing his hand against the stone seemed to help, even if the stone went from feeling ice cold to unusually hot. He was able to finally think again once he’d spent a few minutes running his hand over the cold stones.

Cirus wasn’t sure how, but he knew that he had to get away.

[Ishara Trakand]

Their query started at the sound of her voice, it had been much louder than she’d intended in the stillness of the morning, and bolted like a rabbit scared up from the brush by hounds. Ishara clucked her tongue at herself as Gareth muttered under his breath and Elaira spoke.

“Shara, you scared him.”

Too rash, Ishara, always too rash. How will you ever become Aes Sedai, let alone a Queen to your people, if you can not learn to hold your tongue and practice restraint once in awhile? Her lips pressed into a thin line while she mentally chided herself.

“He’s going to hurt himself if we don’t do something.”

Elaira’s voice cut through her internal tirade. Her friend was right, they had to do something! Momentary chagrin faded as her feet began running the direction the young man had disappeared. The burst of movement flung the hood of her cloak back, revealing a cascade of flame-hued curls. A few wisps caught in a breeze and fluttered across to tickle her nose lightly as she looked back over her shoulder to her accomplices, calling back to them:

“Hurry, let’s split up and find him before he’s lost completely!”

Despite her missteps in frightening him, Ishara could not fight back the smile that spread across her face as she ran faster, the cloak now streaming out behind her like a banner. The excitement of the chase had her fully in its grasp now. There was something Ishara could just not resist when adventure called. It started like an itch behind her ear. Just a little tickle that played across her mind, whispering words of temptation. Fight it as she might, the temptation would fan to flames that coursed through her veins; lightning in a bottle that demanded to be released lest it explode. And time after time she succumbed to its call, the consequences forgotten in the rush of excitement and anticipation.

Gareth at least understood her desire for adventure, even if he rarely approved of her methods. Elaira’s willingness to come along made Ishara believe that beneath her friend’s meek demeanor, she too possessed a heart of fire, if she’d only look within. The two of them understood her in a way that no one else seemed to be able to, and for that she was grateful.

That old familiar fire filled her. The wind of her movement tugging at her hair and flushing her cheeks as her limbs pumped in time the to the drumming of her heart. Oh, yes, the game was on.

[Gareth Trakand]

Once again Gareth’s mind raced to formulate a plan to obtain the male channeler in a safe manner so they could hand him over to the Fire Asha’man. Surely there had to be a far better way to accomplish as much then chasing the lad up and down New City. Especially now that life had started to stir, filling the streets with more bodies to move through. Most of his concern rested with his people. If the young man became scared enough, he could accidentally hurt others through his untrained abilities. Gareth longed to prevent such a troubling deed from occurring. And as his mind contemplated a solution to their problem, the young prince missed the whispered comments which escaped Elaira.

And as swift as the wind can blow, so to had his sister Ishara started to race after the boy. Considering he’d spent his entire life participating in her many adventures, he should have seen this act coming from a mile away. Yet Gareth found himself taken by surprise. He watched in momentary disbelief as her fiery red hair bounced on the breeze behind her.

“Hurry, let’s split up and find him before he’s lost completely!” she called back as her feet flew across the street.

“Ishara!!!” But his beckoning fell upon deaf ears as both she and Elaira disappeared around the corner. “Blood and bloody ashes.”

He loathed the idea of the pair going off without him and after a scared, starved, untrained, channeler at that! Still, as much as he hated the idea, splitting up wasn’t a terrible idea. By going down separate paths they could cut the boy off and surround him. So with determination in his heart, Gareth turned on his heel to make way down the secondary exit of the street only to find himself halted in his path. There, before him, was a face he hadn’t seen in two years. Her curls of black were pinned back as usual while a dark navy dress of wool clung to her curves. And as ever her blue-grey eyes stood out brilliantly against her beautiful pale skin.

“Adela?! My word,” remarked Gareth in astonishment as he pushed back the hood on his cloak while he approached her, “You’re looking as lovely as ever in this morning light.”

Immediately after the words escaped the man’s mouth did his face flush in embarrassment. Did he really just say that out loud?! And as he fumbled for a smooth recovery, a lump caught in his throat.

“…Uh…”

His heart raced faster than it ever had before. He had hoped to be less flustered upon their reunion, often thinking upon how the interaction would play out and now he found himself completely out of sorts. Still, there was no time to amend his fumble, there was a male channeler that he needed to track as well as his sister and Elaira to catch up with.

“What are you doing here?! Actually, belay that. Would you come with me Milady? There is a male channeling dashing about the city and I can hardly leave you here unprotected.”

[Elaira Taravin]

"Ishara! Oh, Light!

Elaira was off like an arrow after Ishara. She had no time to even think about leaving Gareth behind, the Daughter-Heir was already across the square. She was faster, too, leaving Elaira to hurry, clumsy in the too-long merchants' dress. Ishara turned into alley, and Elaira willed herself to hurry. She lifted her skirts with both hands and berated herself for the uncomfortable disguise. There was time for one quick look over her shoulder as she turned the corner into the alley Ishara had darted down. She'd hoped to spot the First Prince, presumably off on his own

That was a mistake; she almost bowled into a much too tall man stepping out of that same alley. He'd been looking at Ishara, dasing past, Elaira been peeking back at Gareth, and the near collision left her stumbling along past the bewildered merchant. She didn't stop or slow, though; she could hear her blood rushing in her ears, and a million memories of chases instigated by Ishara ran through her head.

"I'm so sorry!"

Elaira shouted back but didn't stop or turn, keeping her focus on Ishara ahead of her. There was almost laughter in her voice, but Light, how she hated running! She was vaguely aware that her own hood had fallen, leaving her hair to spark golden in the dawn rays that drifted down into the alleys of the New City. It was more unfamiliar territory, and unnervingly mazelike now that they'd left the main roads. Where had the boy gone? If he were a woman, they'd have found him soon enough. Saidar's glow, or the distant warmth of channeling, would have been direction enough. But detecting saidin was an impossibility. Elaira looked down, trying to keep everything in place as she rushed...and then she stopped. There was something there. Her head snapped up toward Ishara. There was no glow of saidar around the other girl. And it wasn't warmth...it felt like a storm.

To her right, somewhere...Ishara was passing an alley, dark and protected from the morning light by the buildings on either side. Could it really be?

"Ishara!"

Elaira called out, then bit her tongue, too late. Why would she shout to the whole of Caemlyn that the Daughter-Heir was rushing through the streets of the New City? Still, she waved a hand and approached the Daughter-Heir at a slower pace. She let her too-long skirts fall back into place and moved, steadying her breathing. Light, it had been a long time since Ishara had them running like that!

"I think...I think he's in there."

She was quieter now and gestured toward the alley. It was dark and forboding now that she was closer, and the stormy sensation was stronger. Was she actually sensing the boy channeling saidin? She wrapped her arms around herself and suppressed a small shudder. Elaira had never heard of anything like that. She sent Ishara a worried look, but tried to paper over it with a fragile smile.

"What should we do?"

[Adela Traemane]

Adela stood, transfixed, watching her three peers. She raised a hand and pressed a bent knuckle to her lips. What are they up to? In all the years she had known Ishara, she had never known her to harass strangers, but the boy she had spoken to was clearly not pleased with the situation. She couldn’t see Ishara’s face from her vantage point, but she had no trouble picturing the furrowed brow and slight frown that usually graced the Daughter-Heir’s face when she was deep in thought.

It did not take Ishara long to make a decision. It rarely did. She was too rash by half if you asked Adela. One moment the Daughter-Heir was staring off after the boy she had frightened and the next she was off like an arrow loosed from a bow. She always had been fast; she had to be to get away from her brother long enough to do half the things that earned her penance as a child. A second later Elaira was off after Ishara as well. Typical.

"Hurry, let’s split up and find him before he’s lost completely!" the Daughter-Heir threw over her shoulder, no doubt meant mostly for her brother.

Elaira was a willing cohort, Gareth a voice of caution; it seemed Ishara always wanted out from under his eye if possible. The First Prince yelled after his sister, swore, then turned resignedly. Adela’s eyes darted back the way she had come, there was no hiding, but there were, thank the Light, a few shopkeepers setting up for the day so she wasn’t the only other person about. Perhaps she could try to look inconspicuous at one of the stalls? It would have to do.

She took three quick strides in the direction she had come from and turned to a table laid out with buttons, hooks, ribbons, and other notions. The shopkeeper glanced up at her and offered a greeting, her broom never stopping as it whisk-whisked over the cobbles. Adela smiled at her then jumped as a man spoke behind her.

"Adela?! My word, you’re looking as lovely as ever in this morning light." Andor’s First Prince of the Sword said matter-of-factly, but when Adela turned to look at him, his face looked flushed. He cleared his throat. "Uh…”

"Oh! Gareth!"

She feigned surprise, covering for him, but she felt her own cheeks heat in response. She would have found any reason at all to assume the compliment was just niceties among friends, but the way he was looking at her told her he never meant to call her lovely out loud. She stared at him a moment, reconciling this man with the boy she had known. He looked the same, but more angular, harder. Taller, he is definitely taller. She half turned back to the table to avoid having to watch him struggle to regain his composure.

"What are you doing here?!" Gareth still hadn’t fully regained himself, but he was slipping back into his princely demeanor.

"I was just looking at the wares!" She piped, too enthusiastically. Too shrill. What in the name of the Light is wrong with you?

"Actually, belay that." The sound of her own breathing was too loud in her head. She kept right on over top of him to drown it out.

"Aha!" Adela grabbed the nearest thing to hand and waved it in the air between them. "Here it is! I've found myself with a desperate need for, uh," her eyes darted down to the object she held. You idiot. "Uh, for pink ribbon. And here it is, the perfect one, wouldn't you say so?"

"Would you come with me Milady? There is a male channeler dashing about the city and I can hardly leave you here unprotected."

The shopkeeper watched the exchange, a crooked smile on her face. "That one is most beautiful," the grandmotherly woman chimed in. "And for you, my Lady, only two silver!"

Only two silver indeed, that is highway robbery! Seeing little choice, Adela dug the coins out of her purse; the shopkeeper's eyes twinkled with amusement.

"Right, of course," Adela said through gritted teeth, "and worth every bit of it, I'm sure." Was the woman actually shaking with restrained laughter?

And then the sounds, words, sentences that had come out of Gareth's mouth clicked together in her mind and she shot a look up at him.

"A channeler? What’s the harm in that?"

[Cirus]

Cirus could hear voices now, some of them he could identify, others he could at least recognize. He wasn’t sure if the three strangers were still following him, but he was also too terrified to even try to look out to see if he was being followed. His breathing was ragged as he tried to think, where could he run that was safe? The Guard? Unlikely, the Queens of Andor had ties running back ages to the people who killed channelers, they would probably just hand him over to the three people chasing him, if they didn’t kill him themselves.

Cirus just wanted to curl up, to disappear in on himself and hide until the people chasing him went away and his headache subsided. He wanted to go back to his little hovel… more than that he just wanted to go home. His thoughts drifted back to his old home, and for once it wasn’t the memories of his mother screaming at him, or of having to huddle near the cookfire during the winter just to try to stay warm. It was a fond memory he found himself in, or if not a fond memory, at least a fond recollection of a happier time.

For the first time in nine years, Cirus thought of his home, truly thought about it instead of just remembering it. He thought of the mother who had let him walk out without so much as a word to him. For the first time in nine years, he wished he was back, wished that he had a bed he could just run and hide under until everyone left him alone. That he could come home and just see her, even if she wouldn’t touch him or talk to him, just to see her again before he died.

He curled up into a ball against the wall and started crying, a soft thing at first. A small sniffle that quickly turned into his whole body shaking as the frustration, the fear, the hunger all washed over him now that the adrenaline was gone. Thankfully he was alone here, lost as he was in alleys he knew well where no one would come to look for him. No one would notice him here.

No one would notice him, no one would care. That was the thought that finally broke him. In a whiny, almost childish voice he cried out to no one in particular.

“I want to go home..."

[Gareth Trakand]

"Oh! Gareth!"

Light how his heart did skip a beat at the dulcet tones of her voice as his name departed from her lips. She had grown in grace as well as beauty since their last interlude and now here she was again. A lady had blossomed forth from the youthful child he once knew. And she dazzled now, more than ever, in the early morning light almost akin to that of a beacon. Yet as he drank in the sight of her, Gareth could not help but dwell upon Elaira. For she filled him with the same array of emotions as he felt now in Adela's presence... How was it that two women who were so different from one another were able to perplex his heart so?!

Yet when Adela explained her presence within the streets, the man felt quite foolish. 'Flaming idiot. Of course, she's here to purchase wares! As if a lady such as she or Elaira would wander aimlessly through the streets on the off chance they'll run into you. No doubt neither of them ever even notice you.' chided Gareth to himself. How did he come to be so betwixt between the pair?! And how glad he was that Ishara had yet bonded him. The humility of her being aware of his nonsense emotions would be more than he could bear.

As the 1st Prince of the Sword wondered what was wrong with him, he didn't even notice Adela's own fumbling or awkwardness around him. The pink ribbon she'd grasped hardly matched her outfit yet what was he to know of women or the items they fancied. Perhaps she intended it to accompany a different gown. Not that he was in the position, or equipped with the knowledge, to question her tastes. As far as he knew, Adela could love pink and blue together.

"It's..." Gareth's perplexed gaze fell upon the ribbon. As he struggled for the right words, the prince recalled a conversation he once had with his mother. She insisted that women enjoyed hearing compliments about their looks, attire, and trinkets. So though he did not see the appeal of the ribbon, Gareth thought best to go with her advice for once. "It is quite fetching Milady."

The cost of the ribbon seemed quite high in his opinion but Adela believed otherwise. So instead of opening his mouth to risk further embarrassment, he flashed her a warm smile. The Prince then plucked the ribbon from Adela's grasp.

"Allow me." He insisted. Gareth's calloused hands were gentle as he tied the ribbon into Adela's raven locks. Crystal blue eyes fixated upon hers when her inquiry about the male channeler snapped his focus back into place.

"Ishara and Elaira!"

Gareth snatched Adela's hand into his before leading her down the cobbled stones without haste. He chastised himself for being led off course by his boyish emotions. His sister and Elaira were counting on him yet there he was tripping all over himself with Adela. Once again his heart raced, this time from fear of what may have come of two people he cared deeply for. How had he been so stupid?! He'd never be able to forgive himself if anything happened to either of them! So while the Prince led Adela through the ever-growing crowd, he figured that he needed to fill her in with what was happening.

"He's a young boy who's scared, half-starved, and untrained in the One Power. Ishara wishes to turn him over to the Fire Asha'man for his own safety but also for the safety of our people."

What in the name of the light was he doing?! Why did he think leading Adela straight towards the danger was a good plan?! Yet Gareth seemed unable to release her hand despite all the awkwardness which no doubt awaited him once they caught up with Ishara and Elaira.

"We must hurry Milady, it is imperative that we head him off."

[Ishara Trakand]

“Ishara!”

Gareth’s voice reached her ears on the morning breeze, the frustration in it plain, but she did not slow her feet. As her sworn First Prince of the Sword, and her eventual Warder if she had anything to say about it, he counseled her and obeyed her. Fortunately, he could not do the former, so was left with the later, whether he was pleased with that choice or not. Less fortunate was the effect her name being shouted across the square had on the few shopkeepers setting out their wares. More than one stared at her, mouth agape, no doubt shocked to their toenails to see a young woman who so closely resembled the Daughter Heir’s description and bore her name as well. One without the other, possibly, could be coincidence, but the both together? No, it would not be long before rumors began flying across Caemlyn that the Daughter Heir had run away from the White Tower and Palace both… She rolled her eyes skyward with a muttered curse, drawing an even sharper look from a gnarled old baker woman. And he says I do not think things through beforehand!

Ishara rounded the last corner she had seen the wilder take, blue eyes scanning for possible routes. Dimly, she registered the sound of boots thumping in an awkward gait behind her. Elaira. Conscious of her friend, and remembering the awkward fit of the clothing they’d squirreled away for their disguises, Ishara slowed her feet some to allow the distance between them to close. As she was passing an alleyway she heard Elaira call out her name as well, and stopped to shoot her friend a look. Both of them! At least here no one was close enough to place name and face together. Ishara pulled the hood of her cloak back up anyway, suddenly self-conscious of her bright hair, while Elaira caught her up.

"I think...I think he's in there…What should we do?"

Ishara looked questioningly at the blonde, one coppery brow arching upward. What did she mean? Elaira couldn’t possibly have seen where he’d gone any better than Ishara had, and as far as she knew the girl didn’t know much about tracking. She opened her mouth to ask those questions, when a soft sob wafted out of the darkness and a small, frightened voice whispered to itself,

“I want to go home…”

Ishara’s eyes flew wide with surprise, her mouth still hanging open, for once silent. If her heart had been broken by the sight of the boy before, now it shattered into thousands of pieces.

“Oh, Laira!” She whispered, just barely loud enough for the other to hear her. “We have to help him! He’s terrified and alone and…”

Ishara shook her head, trailing off. She couldn’t imagine the sort of life he’d had to lead him here. She pushed the hood back off her head, motioning for Elaira to do the same. She softened her face, trying to look as unthreatening as possible, though she had no idea if she was even moderately successful. She took two steps towards the alley and stopped, halting herself. Too bold again, Ishara! Learn from your mistakes! Her gaze swung back to Elaira. Sweet, mild, kind Elaira.

“I have already made a mess of this by frightening him half to death. You should talk to him, Laira. Your heart is made of kindness. If anyone can comfort and calm him, it is you.” She grinned encouragingly at her friend, motioning her forward. “And I am right here beside you!”

[Elaira Taravin]

Elaira moved closer to Ishara as the Daughter-Heir slowed and pulled her hood back into place.  Elaira copied the motion, fragile smile still in place.  Ishara was confused but no more than Elaira herself.  Women could not sense saidin.  The two halves of the Power worked together but they were invariably separate things.  So what was she feeling?  Ishara didn't feel anything if the expression on her face was anything to go by.  Was Elaira going mad?

“I want to go home…”

Elaira took a half step toward Ishara out of instinct before the words even penetrated.  When they did her jaw dropped and heart broke.  She was still staring at the alley when Ishara began whispering to her, but she turned to face the Daughter-Heir, a hand going to her mouth.  They had to do something for that poor boy, Ishara would find the way.

“I have already made a mess of this by frightening him half to death. You should talk to him, Laira. Your heart is made of kindness. If anyone can comfort and calm him, it is you.”

Oh.  Elaira wanted to shrink into herself, to wake up back in the Tower, or at home, or at the Palace.  The adventure had become much too real for her, much too quickly.  But...she looked back at the alley, hand still curled at her mouth in concern.  They couldn't leave him here.  He was half dead already by the quick look they'd had of him.  Channeling unwillingly.  Lost, distraught, hopeless, and without anyone to guide him to control those emotions or those powers.  To be Aes Sedai was to help people, right?  This was what the Tower was training her to do.

“And I am right here beside you!”

That was enough.  Elaira slowly lowered her hand and grabbed Ishara's, a gentle smile forming on her face.  Ishara's encouragement was always enough to push back her doubts.  She lowered her hood with her other hand and took a deep breath.

"I'll try," she promised in a whisper.  And she would.  Slowly, carefully, Elaira stepped into the alley, hand still linked with Ishara's a step behind.

"Please, don't run,"  Elaira spoke up, her voice gentle, soothing.  The tone her own mother would use when she'd had a nightmare, with almost a rhythm behind it.  She took another step, and then another, leaving the faint dawn light of the New City behind.  The sensation was stronger now.  There was no gleam of light present, but Elaira was sure the boy held saidin.  That thought troubled her, but she put it out of her mind.  He was in that alley, against one wall.  She knew it without the light of the sun or the One Power.

"We want to help.  We know you're scared.  Everything has been going wrong?  You find that things break when you're angry, or sad, or scared?  I swear to you, it can be controlled.  We're not here to hurt you.  My name is Elaira.  Elaira Taravin.  You don't have to be alone."

[Adela Traemane]

Don’t.

Adela’s already stiff posture stiffened farther when the First Prince took the ribbon from her hands and reached for her hair. The sound of her own blood pumping through her veins rushed in her ears, drowning out his words. She stared at his mouth, moving, speaking. To her. But she couldn’t focus on anything other than the feeling of Gareth’s fingers in her hair. She should like it, she thought, but the tightening she felt in her chest now was altogether different than the one she felt when she thought about him. It felt restrictive, suffocating. It took all of her willpower to stand still and let him finish. She desperately wanted to pull away from him or to push him away from her.

Stop it! What is wrong with you?
You know it bothers you.
No. It doesn’t. I like him. I think.

She shook her head imperceptibly when Gareth pulled his hands away. His face suddenly looked stricken and for a moment Adela wondered if she had said or done something without meaning to. She didn’t have long to contemplate.

”Ishara and Elaira!” Gareth’s eyes went round, his brow rising.

They had gone running off somewhere in an awful hurry, how could she have possibly forgotten? Adela had no idea what was going on, but it did seem to be a pressing matter when she actually thought about it. Before she had time to say or do anything though, Gareth grabbed her hand and dragged her toward a nearby alley.

He was squeezing so hard she felt the bones of her hand grinding together. He’s hurting you. But was he? Adela was almost certain the sensation of pain was solely in her head. Still, she stretched her fingers wide to loosen his grip and pulled her hand free anyway. She stayed with him though; she was a part of this now whether she wanted to be or not.

They turned into the alley as Gareth explained quietly what they were up to. This time Adela’s eyes widened and she pressed the backs of her bent fingers to her mouth as she stopped in her tracks. She had no idea what it felt like to channel, of course, and had heard it said that it was much different for men than women anyway, but she knew what it felt like to be scared and alone and the poor boy had looked like a desperate, cornered animal when he fled from the Daughter-Heir. Adela tried to keep a tight rein on her emotions because she knew that feeling all too well.

“Surely there are people better equipped to handle this than your sister and Elaira Taravin?” There was an edge of irritation to her voice. “What were you all thinking, Gareth? Someone could be hurt. Killed. The three of you go away to be trained in Tar Valon and come home to act like this?”

Suddenly she realized who she was speaking to. Who did she think she was? But then...who did they think they were? There would come a day of reckoning if Ishara bloody Trakand continued to think that there were no consequences to her actions. The Light save Andor if she doesn’t learn to control herself before she takes the throne. Still, Adela had no right to speak to the First Prince of the Sword in such a manner. She dropped her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she mumbled, “I spoke out of turn. But the three of you...someone’s going to end up getting hurt one of these times, Gareth. We’re not kids anymore and this isn’t a harmless prank.”