Unexpected Encounters (Micajah/Zamira)

[Deleted]

[Bandar Eban]
[2 Years Prior]

Micajah could feel a lot of things right now - the rough grain of wooden planks under the palms of his hands, the stickiness of old ale and Light alone knew what else that was soaked permanently into them...he could hear coarse laughter and a few shouts, the scrape of chair legs against that same floor.  All of this assaulted his senses, but what he felt the most was the pounding in his head.  He had been drinking for most of the night (and the early afternoon that preceded it), but in all his years of experience, he had yet to encounter a hangover that started before the next day.  So...that could only mean one thing - he'd been poisoned.

Damned fool, he thought, pushing himself off the alehouse's floor and looking around the room, his eyes like a volcanic hazel ready to explode.  There was rage, but it was a calm one, for he was angry mostly at himself for letting his guard down so much.  If he died, right here and now, poisoned in a who-cares dive in the middle of Bandar Eban, there would be nobody to blame but Micajah alone.

Oddly enough, though, nobody was making a move.  A few faces watched him stand up, but for the most part everyone went back to their drinks or gambling or attempting to take someone home for the night.  What was one more pathetic drunk to them?  His warrior's instincts were already on alert, though.  If nobody was attacking him now, it meant that they would be waiting.  He didn't like waiting, though.  If there was a trap, he might as well spring it.  Mica dug into the pockets of his loose-legged trousers, tossing a few marks onto the countertop.  It was likely more than he needed to pay, but he was drunk and probably was going to die anyway.  

The night breeze was cool, coming off the Aryth, carrying with it a sharp tang of salt that reminded him of a home that was lost forever to him.  I am going to die with the sea in my senses.  Appropriate.  Just like one of those gear-driven clocks they were making in Cairhien, Micajah heard the sound of footpads on the docking.  They tried to be sneaky, but simply weren't good enough.  Perhaps whoever had paid to have him dead figured that even cheap murderers were good enough to finish off a poisoned man.  They were likely right.  

His sword left his side in one smooth motion - the sinuously-curved blade rising just in time to deflect another.  One, two men...not terrible odds for a drunk.  He knew that under normal circumstances, the pair of them wouldn't have been a problem.  However, he might just come out of this alive --

Two more slipped out of an alleyway.  Four on one.  Ah, well.  He had made the best of the life that he'd chosen to lead here on the land, and it was as good a time as any to see what was after it.

[Zamira Dagaron]

The mingling scents of sweat, booze, roasted meats, and even piss permeated within the tavern's main room. The packed space was hot, sticky, and full of moving patrons and staff. Chairs scraped across wooden planks as laughter, shuffling bodies, clinking glasses, and overlapping conversations all mixed together. Thud. Scrap. Clink. Belch. Shuffle. Chuckle.

“Calyom, bring us another round my good man!” announced a rotund burly man as he gestured to the thin, older gentleman behind the bar.

“No, I do not jest, the lass had breasts as big as melons,” raved a youthful lad to his friends as he used his hands to demonstrate the size.

“Did ye 'ear 'bout the trolloc that got trampled by a cow?” chortled a drunk at the bar, “He was out beefed!”

“Slip this into his drink and when he leaves, we'll pursue. I want his corpse laid at my feet before the dawn rises.”

Most patrons within the tavern were far too caught up within their own conversations to overhear anyone else's but there was one set of ears which differed from the rest. A set of ears which belonged to a slender figure in the back. She was mindful of all that was being said when a devious grin lit across her face after catching the murderous plot.

‘At last, a bit of fun to be had.’

Although she had no concerns for whomever this group of four men wanted dead; it did pique her interest to learn what sort of individual merited being poisoned while outnumbered in an ambush. Idly she sat by, sipping her red wine, as she observed one of the men poison a drink on a barmaid's tray while distracting her with his flirtations. Afterward, the girl delivered the ale to a young, fit, well-muscled, dark-skinned boy who couldn't be older than 20 by the looks of him. Her interest was now piqued even more. She'd lost her last Warder a few years ago in a battle with trollocs but this youth could very well be a suitable replacement.

As if an audience member at a play, Zamira watched as the boy stumbled about after knocking back the poisoned beverage. He was clearly drunk, yet despite tumbling to the floor, still managed to pull himself upright again. He glanced about the room for a moment before heading out into the street. Two of the men involved followed after while the other two exited through the back. So they intended to surround him, did they?! Perhaps it was the boredom she felt that drove her to her feet or the thrill of a good fight, but regardless of the reason, Zamira slipped out the back door and into the alleyway. She was far too stealthy and well trained to be heard until she was behind the four men.

“My oh my, this boy must be quite the threat to induce four of you to attack him but only after poisoning him...” Zamira clicked her tongue in a disapproving manner as she pushed back the hood of her cloak; a devious grin spread across her face. “I hope you won't mind if I even the odds a bit.”

[Deleted]

Although the footpads weren't good at being sneaky, this newcomer apparently was.  Micajah felt a jolt of surprise shoot through him as she spoke, seeming to appear out of the night alley's shadows.  If he was caught off-guard, the murderers definitely were, which was as good as an eternity for him to plot out his moves, drunk and poisoned as he was.  

The first one, a narrow-faced man that had been the most surprised...he went down quickly, Micajah's curved blade taking him close to the throat at the widest point near the tip, the blade shape giving it extra chopping power that did swift and brutal work.  The Atha'an Miere felt a superheated spray of crimson shoot across his own neck, all of it rapidly cooling in the night air.  He didn't have time to be distracted by it, though, as there were still three more and the element of surprise was no longer an ally.  

Blade met blade as the other killers recovered, everything happening in a swiftness that would have been a blur even on a good night, let alone a poisoned one.  The sharp ring of weaponry meeting seemed like a hammer blow in his ears, echoing somehow in a head that felt stuffed with wool.  Micajah felt a smaller blade skate along his ribs as someone stabbed him, causing him to strike back with an instinctive riposte that sank his sword deeply into a man's chest.  The dying man falling backward managed to yank the sword from Micajah's hands, his fingers growing numb from the poison.  Two down, but two more still alive...and he with no sword.  He instead opted to pull the long dagger that he carried on his belt.  It was better than nothing.

"If you're planning to help, now is the time," he said, the voice that came from his mouth sounding distant and strange as he looked to the mystery woman.  "If you're here to kill me, too, you'll have to wait in line."  With that, he went to one knee, dizzy and ready to sick up on the stone paving setts.

[Zamira Dagaron]

A glint of satisfaction sparkled within her eyes as she observed the poisoned youth dive immediately into action as his foes were still distracted by her entrance. She could easily lay waste to all four of his attackers by calling upon the Source... But Zamira desired to witness what this boy was made of before lending him any aid. A deadly spray of crimson from the throat of the first occurred impressively fast. Yet it would be the duel which erupted next that provided her far better insight into the boy's potential. Despite being drunk and poisoned, this delicious male specimen possessed fluid, precise, and calculated movements. With further training, accompanied with her guidance, of course, he might even become a Blademaster one day. But first, he'd have to live through this if she planned on using him. After all, she was rather particular about her Warders, and so far, he fit her requirements: Young, gorgeous, talented, and soon to be indebted to her.

Disarmed of his sword after finishing off his second man, the poisoned youth went next for his dagger, but Zamira could tell the poison was moving swiftly through his system... This fight was over, for him at least. If she did nothing, he'd soon be worm food. Most likely realizing the same thing, he remarked that either she needed to help him now or to wait in line if she wanted him dead. A remark to which Zamira gave a chilling reply.

“If I wanted to kill you, dear, you're bloodcurdling screams would have already drowned this entire area in fear of being next.”

Though saving lives was something she rarely did, the dark-skinned beauty decided that in this particular instance, doing such would be quite beneficial to her. With her decision made, she unsheathed the daggers strapped to her boots and hurled them at the two remaining men. Precision, earned from many years of consistent practice, guided the small blades straight through both of their skulls. They were dead on impact. As their corpses dropped to the ground, Zamira moved across the alley to recollect her daggers before coming to the boy's side. He was currently on one knee and appeared to be on the verge of upchucking everything in his stomach. She needed to act fast.

Healing was not her strongest suit but as the Captain-General, Zamira had enough instruction in the skill that she felt confident she could heal his wound and remove the poison. She placed her hands upon his temples, closed her eyes, and called upon the Source. A surge of power flowed from her hands straight into his body, washing away the poison, and healing the wound along his ribs. It would still pain him and would leave a scar, but the deed was enough to serve its purpose. Her face was now slightly pale with exhaustion but the fatigue seemed a small price to play in the grand scheme of things.

“I have saved your life, you now owe me a debt. Come, let me buy you a proper drink, we have much to discuss.”

[Deleted]

Well, his comment to the woman had, in a roundabout way, been more of a 'who in the flaming pit are you' more than a legitimate challenge for her to get involved...but Micajah was glad that she did.  Even if he hadn't been focusing on the street stones and the cold sweat pouring into his eyes, he still likely wouldn't have been able to follow the speed with which she whipped out her knives and send them flying, burying deeply into the skulls of the final two assailants.  Instead of watching, he was readying himself for death, images of his past life floating across his dimming consciousness.  The pride in his father's eyes, the first time he'd tied a masthead knot.  His own pride, knowing that he had been elected Cargomaster.  The heat in Kairis' eyes as she told him that she loved and wanted him, despite the fact that she had a husband.  The shame...

Just let me die already!

Death did not come, though, as much as he was (as the Northmen said) ready to embrace it.  What he felt instead was a warm touch on his head, a heat that rapidly cooled as he felt the surge of healing coarse through his body, fighting off the wounds and the poison that would have done him in in a few more short minutes.  Micajah felt his knife-gash reverse itself, closing shut and stopping the bleeding.  He knew that if he touched his side, he would feel only warm, whole, dark skin where a bleeding wound had been seconds before.  This was the work of the One Power.  What else it meant...was yet to be seen.

Micajah rested on his knees, looking up into the eyes of his rescuer, seeing her in a different light now that he knew she could command the Power.  An Aes Sedai, he assumed, but not necessarily so...the Power was known to more women than resided in the White Tower, despite the monolithic face they put on for the world.  Standing, the slim warrior turned his attention to one of the corpses, removing his blade from the man's chest after wiping it clean.  "There will be many questions, soon...it will be wise for us to be away from here."  He nodded at her.  "I am Micajah.  Thank...you...for your help."  He supposed that he owed her that drink, after all.  And it would be good to get something better to eat, he suddenly felt famished.  His voice still felt like wood, his limbs like lead.  "I have a lot of questions.  I hope you have some answers..."

[Zamira Dagaron]

As the youth knelt upon the ground recollecting himself after all he'd been through, Zamira drank in the full sight of him. Such a strong, well-muscled frame he possessed as well as several other pleasing features. And despite his age, there was a gleam in his eyes that said he knew how to make love to a woman. She rather enjoyed an experienced colt between her legs, although Zamira wagered she could still teach him quite a few tricks. But that would have to wait though, first, they needed to abandon this dank alleyway for a far more suitable location for two people to become acquainted in.

“Don't worry about that, I have the perfect place in mind.” She waited for him to recollect his dagger before taking his arm into hers. “You're welcome Micajah, though it is only fair to warn you that my help does not come for free. And I shall do my best to answer your questions, my dear, but you may find to not like the answers.”

Similarly to two lovers enjoying a midnight stroll, did the pair walk the darkened streets of Bandar Eban within a leisurely pace. No words need to be exchanged, or at least not yet. Instead, Zamira decided she'd let this, Micajah, boy stew with questions as he most likely tried to make sense of her. As to how much she relinquished about herself or kept hidden hardly mattered. For a determination to make him hers had now been set into place. And Zamira Dagaron rarely did not receive what she desired.

After what amounted to about roughly an hour, they rounded a corner that gave sight to a large and grand inn. The grounds alone could fit the tavern they were previously in at least twice. Constructed out of stone and surrounded by lush gardens, it was clear that such an establishment was only accessible to those with deep pockets. If she puzzled him before, no doubt he found himself with even more questions. Why would a woman who could afford to stay in such a place even consider setting foot inside the tavern from before?! A smirk spread across her lips. She was anything but an easy read.

The main entrance to the inn gave way to a large dining area to the right and a rather busy, large kitchen to the left. Many patrons and workers alike smiled whilst nodding to her as they went about their business. She, in turn, smiled and nodded back. She led Micajah to a table near the fireplace as the innkeeper called out to her.

“Lady Raven, welcome back. Will it be your usual tonight? And do you require another room besides?” inquired a tall, plump elderly man from behind the bar.

“Thank you Binorn, that would be lovely and there will be no need for a second room. Also, please fetch anything this young man orders and as always, it is on me.”

Zamira removed her cloak before draping it upon the back of her chair. She gestured for Micajah to join her while making herself comfortable. By now, his questions were no doubt plentiful but for now, she'd address the inquiries that most likely plagued him the most.

“My name is Zamira Dagaron. As you've undoubtedly already pondered, I am an Aes Sedai of the Green Ajah. Now, as I recall, there are questions you wanted to ask of me, so by all means, ask away.”

[Deleted]

He was really starting to wonder just where they were going as Micajah and his mystery rescuer continued on through the streets of Bandar Eban.  Mica was a little bit glad for the exercise, though, since it was seeming to help shake off the lethargy he felt after she'd used her healing touch on him.  He had a sinking feeling what that usage of the One Power meant.  Ever since becoming shorebound, he'd found that there were many sects of Power-users beyond the Windfinders that he'd known in his past life.  Just like the Windfinders, though, Mica knew that he probably didn't want anything to do with their affairs.

Affairs have a way of finding someone, though.  

Finally she lighted on a rather nice-looking inn, a far cry from the dingy, ale-soaked floorboards where he nearly met his death tonight.  Micajah followed her to a table, noting the name the innkeep called her.  Likely an alias, though anyone bold enough to call herself 'Lady Raven' either had to be comfortable enough in that boldness, or just too aloof to care.  If she was what he thought she was, it seemed that 'both' was somewhere close to the mark.  He raised a slight brow as she told the man not to bother with a room for him.  That could be taken a few ways, either her largess didn't extend to covering his nightly housing, or she didn't plan on him needing his own bed.  Interesting.


As Lady Raven, actually Zamira, made her introductions, Mica felt a little bit of his heart sink like a loose anchor.  She was Aes Sedai, and it seemed like her hook was already lodged in his gills.  Even on the boats, the rumors of Aes Sedai scheming were known.  Ah, well.  Perhaps nothing would come of it.  She was a beautiful woman, at least...quite enough to satisfy the eye for such that he'd always had.  There were worse people to spend your time with.  Mica ordered a glass of Andoran red and sat back in his chair, giving the dusky beauty a considering look.  "Alright," the Atha'an Miere began.  "We'll start with the obvious - twice now, you've mentioned the debt I now owe you.  As any man would, I'm not beholden to the idea of owing anyone, so tell me...Lady Raven...what is it you will have of me?"  He paused as the wine arrived, taking up the glass and drawing a slow sip as he watched Zamira.  "Do you need me to do something bloody?" 

[Zamira Dagaron]

“Alright, we'll start with the obvious - twice now, you've mentioned the debt I now owe you. As any man would, I'm not beholden to the idea of owing anyone, so tell me...Lady Raven...what is it you will have of me?”

Zamira smirked, “And for a moment I thought I’d have to wait for that particular subject to be brought forward, how refreshingly forthright.”

As the Captain-General of the Green Ajah basked in the warmth of the fireplace, she took in the full measure of her companion. Young, strong, handsome, blunt, and without purpose: She couldn’t have asked for a finer piece of clay to mold. Yet, she’d require a touch of craft and patience to manipulate him into becoming one of her pawns. So as she contemplated her answer, Binorn returned with a glass of Andoran red, a glass of Syrah from the region, and a charcuterie plate.

“Do you need me to do something bloody?”

“My, aren't we grim.” Zamira responded. She took a sip of her glass of red Syrah wine before continuing, “What I desire of you Micajah is quite simple. I have risked my mission by saving your life. I only ask that my act of compassion is not wasted. Correct me if I am mistaken, but you are a man with nothing to live for, yes?! You’re a shriveled leaf being blown about on the wind when you could be a strong, proud, and mighty oak tree. The White Tower would benefit from a youth such as yourself as a Warder.”

She paused for a short spell to allow him time to process her words but also so that she could enjoy a few pieces of the meats and cheeses upon the charcuterie plate.

“Return with me to Tar Valon Micajah, become a Gaidin Trainee, see if you can find a purpose for your life that is meaningful, and then when you are ready, become my Warder. That is the debt I ask of you. Unless you'd rather I grant you the oblivion you so desire?! But I promise you, my dear, that death is not the answer.”

It was up to Micajah now whether he'd travel with her back to Tar Valon or not. Though for the boy's sake, it was best to do as she asked, otherwise the ‘oblivion’ she’d bestow upon him would be a life as a compulsion induced slave and not the death he sorely sought. A fate in which many believed to be far worse than death.

[Jenaroni]

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