Sunday 113 FA

[The Dark One]

Sunday is a feastday and festival at midsummer, and is celebrated in many parts of the world. This is the summer solstice, the longest day of the year. Sunday is a day of feasting, dancing and wearing your best clothes. If a woman is interested in a man and wants him to know it, she might put flowers in his hair at Sunday, or she makes a point of asking him and no one else to dance.

As a part of our site wide celebration, feel free to make a stand-alone post from your character(s) point of view detailing how they spent the holidays!

This thread will be open from June 1st to August 31st!

[Cirus]

Sunday was different this year at the Black Tower. There was usually an air of merriment that accompanied the holiday, something that was otherwise lacking among the youngest recruits of the Black Tower. The games offered a distraction from duties and those with families always enjoyed their time together. It was also a time for young men to forget their duties, most chores were suspended for the day unless it was a crucial task such as tending to the crops. Even then most shifts were drastically reduced to only working on the bare essentials. There was usually a lot of talk over who would ask who to dance, and whether or not they would be the only one dancing with them. While Cirus didn’t understand the custom he did know that it brought a lot of merriment to chores and good-natured jokes between friends.

None of that seemed to be present this year. There was a decidedly more somber mood. Even though the games had all been set up for tests of strength or skill, with a few just for fun being set up in the outlying villages for those who held no affiliation with the city or the Tower. There was an air of fear that Cirus had never seen before, even when there were fears of rumblings of the shadow in the north or the Seanchan across the sea striking against them it hadn’t been like this. The fear was real, as was the concern that things would get worse before they got better. Soldiers traveled with a friend or family member when leaving the city proper, many of his fellow dedicated wore swords when leaving the city. Only the full Asha’man seemed unaffected by the rumblings that were going on, yet even they moved at a more regimented pace within the city.

Cirus himself found his mind wandering even as he tried to get back into something akin to a normal routine. His mornings were more in his own hands now, and that time proved useful to hone his skills with the fist and blade. Yet today he had forgone those activities in favor of a simple walk to the main square. Normally where there would be soldiers lining up for morning muster there was instead a big open field that was ringed by tents, some people were setting up games and a large part of the field was being cleared of any blemishes for later.

With a sigh, Cirus moved away from the field. He wasn’t quite sure how he wanted to spend today, normally it would be pitting himself against others in the games but he just didn’t feel like it today. The excursion to Caemlyn had been more draining than he thought, and he just didn’t feel like his old self. Maybe some time with friends would help him sort that out, or checking in on Sorin or Dena. While he doubted Sorin would call Cirus a friend, he liked to think they were at least on speaking terms. Besides which he knew what it was like to feel alone in the Tower. He hoped they were both getting on better, but a check-in wouldn’t go amiss. If he couldn't find them then there was probably no need to worry, and he could go on with his own day. Probably end up just checking the tents for what sort of games were going on.

[Leander Varned]

Leander sat at the blackwood desk in his study, wondering just how he'd managed to accumulate so much paperwork when he'd only been gone for two days. Arranged neatly in front of him were stacks of reports to be read, orders to pass on, and a few personal letters. In his hand, he held the report that had been on top of that pile, and like so many of the reports he'd received recently, it did not make for pleasant reading. One of his men in Andor had disappeared a few months ago and while Leander had sent a few Asha'men to search for him, this latest update from his Lieutenant in the country simply stated that none of them had learned anything new. He shook his head and put the report back where it had been.

Pushing the papers to the side of the desk, Leander bent his head, looking at the grain of the wood while he tried to come up with a response. The men he had investigating were men he trusted, but Leander couldn't shake the feeling that they should have found some sign of Asha'man Saned by now. That they had not, he felt, was somehow a failure on his part, not theirs. There had to be something else he could have them do, somewhere to search he had overlooked, but though he thought hard about it, nothing came to him. Frustrated, Leander propped his elbows on the desk and rested his forehead on his open hands.

He was still angry with himself a few minutes later when he picked his head up and reached for the orders he needed to sign. That task was one he did every week, requiring less of his attention than reviewing the reports. He had thought the mindlessness of it it would calm him down, but instead, as he scrawled his signature on page after page, memories from the past two days began to stir in his mind. Anger and frustration were slowly replaced by grief and pain. Leander closed his eyes against the image of Kendrick's still face. That was not how he wanted to remember his friend, but he couldn't seem to make it go away.

Abruptly, he stood, slapping the last of the pages he'd finished onto the top of the stack. It was clear to Leander that he wasn't going to accomplish anything further, and the last thing he wanted to do was sit and think about Kendrick's death. He knew very well that it was a natural part of life, but Leander could not get his mind around how an accomplished Asha'man like Kendrick had died from something as simple as a fall down some stairs. He could feel frustration rising again, mingling with the grief, and decided that remaining alone with it probably wasn't the best idea. It was Sunday, after all, and he didn't think it would be hard to find one or more of his friends. Leander didn't feel at all like celebrating, but he knew from experience that spending time with friends would help him handle his emotions far better than he could by himself. He strode towards the door, opened it, and left the room to find solace in the company of others.

[Zolyas Lamaera]

Zolyas walked slowly through the streets of Tar Valon. The city was simply breathtaking, and he found himself wanting to take in as much as possible. The grandest city he had seen thus far was Shol Arbela, and Tar Valon could put it to shame.

The buildings and stonework were incredible. Whether made by Ogier, the One Power, or human hands, everything looked amazing. One that particularly caught his eye was the Kandori Merchant’s Guild Hall. The building looked like horses running out of crashing waves. It was staggering. That has to be Ogier work. Zolyas had never seen Ogier stonework, but he had heard the stories. It seemed there were buildings like that all over the city, as well as more mundane buildings mixed in. It was clear that Tar Valon was everything the stories said and more.

As he came to a square, he saw that there was a large group dancing. It was Sunday, and celebrations were in full swing all across the city. Zolyas stayed back. He wasn’t dressed for Sunday, having not been able to bring much. He reached up and touched the sword over his right shoulder. Ramak’s Sword. Memories of last year’s Sunday flooded in.


Ramak and Zolyas had spent the day training. By this time they had already made their decision to leave in the winter. They knew they would most likely be behind the other trainees, so they were training almost every day to improve as much as possible. As they flowed back and forth, moving from form to form, a small crowd gathered. At first it was just a few soldiers discussing their technique, then more came. Ramak and Zolyas’ eyes met over their swords. Ramak was grinning, and Zolyas knew exactly what he was thinking. If they wanted a show, they would get one.

The boys spun as they separated, now being more showy than efficient. They weren’t trained in stunt fighting, so it wasn’t perfect, but they were good enough at improvising that they still held the crowd’s attention. They kept at it for a while, and when they were ready to finish, they posed in the center of the ring back to back. The crowd applauded and the two boys shared a satisfied look. It had been a good day of training, and they had enough time to get home and change to catch some of the evening’s festivities.


Zolyas snapped back and frowned. It was still hard to think about Ramak. He turned and kept walking. It had been months, and it still hadn’t gotten any easier. The one thing that did help was the resolve to keep going.

I’m going to make it Ramak. For Arafel. For my family. But most of all, for us.

As he looked up, the White Tower loomed over the city, visible from anywhere on the island. He squared his shoulders and marched on toward his destination, and his destiny

[Gareth Trakand]

How strange... Gareth found himself standing in a field of wildflowers that was overlooked by a hill. White puffy clouds drifted across a bright afternoon sky as a calming breeze flowed through the sea of colors at his feet, causing the flowers to sway in a gentle dance. Brushing his fingertips across the petals of a forget-me-not, the young royal let his eyes slowly close as his chest rose and fell in deep relaxed breaths. All of his shame, painful memories, and fears were washing away. Although there was no recollection of how he’d come to be here, Gareth felt a lightness and peace he hadn’t experienced in over a year. A smile, which had long been absent, lit upon his face as he opened his eyes once more, basking in the beauty and joy of this place. And then there, suddenly upon the hill, stood the figure of Elaira. Her rose-gold tresses cascaded around her porcelain shoulders. An off-the-shoulder, periwinkle summer dress hugged her sensual curves, stopping just above her knees as her toes wiggled between the blades of grass. A warm smile lit upon her face as she stretched her hand out towards him. Gareth’s own smile grew deeper in response as he began climbing the hill.

Yet the nearer Gareth drew towards Elaira, the darker the sky started to grow. And instead of the warm summer breeze he’d enjoyed previously, an almost unbearable chill now took its place. He watched his breath billow out with each exhale as the space betwixt him and Elaira infinitely grew. Her once bright, sparkling blue eyes had started to well up as the corners of her lips turned down simultaneously. She wrapped her arms about herself, clutching on tightly as she observed the scene from her towering perch. And that was when a cold, familiar voice called out from behind him.

“Gaaaaaaaaareth.”

The young prince froze where he stood. He could feel the hairs on the back of his neck prickle up, along with the goosebumps surfacing upon his skin. His once steady breath quickened, and as he swallowed the lump in his throat, Gareth slowly turned around.

A lone mirror stood at the center of the now barren field. There was a dense fog surrounding the base of its black wooden frame and blood dripping down the glassy surface. And within the reflective glass stood a male figure cloaked in black. He also wore a black covering over the bottom of his face, and yet, from beneath the hood, a pair of hateful blue eyes bore out.

“Did you really think that I would ever let you go back?” mocked the man as he dragged the point of his dagger across the glass. The scratching sound it produced caused Gareth to wrinkle his nose up and flinch, “That I would just set you free?!” Then, as if unable to control his feet, Gareth found himself striding slowly up to the mirror. “You’re nothing more than a naive, scared little boy Trakand. You can’t ever escape me.”

“You’re wrong,” gulped Gareth. His hands were shaking, and his palms were sweating as he drew ever closer to the glass, “You are merely a remnant of a nightmare.” There was an unmistakable crack in his voice as he spoke, “And after today, you’ll be nothing more than a memory buried deep within the abscesses of my mind.”

“Come now, Gareth; I think you and I know better than that.” The cloaked man pulled back his hood and removed his mask to reveal Gareth’s own face underneath. “Your little friends will never be able to gaze upon you again without reflecting back on my foul deeds.” His gloved hand shot forth from the mirror, grasping a hold of Gareth’s collar as he slowly emerged onto the field. “Nor shall they soon forget all the evil I intend to inflict upon the world once I am free of you.”

Leon Aldyr, the assassin version of himself, hurled Gareth to the ground and unsheathed his sword. Although terrified that he’d lose to his darker self once more, the young prince fumbled momentarily as he drew his own blade. A duel between the pair quickly ensued, but with every strike Gareth threw, Aldyr blocked. How was he meant to win a battle against himself?! Every move he knew, so too would Leon. Their blades met again and again until they both seized Saidin to up the ante. Fireballs, ice spears, and even shifts in the earth were all used in hopes of defeating the other.

Five minutes became fifteen, fifteen turned into thirty, and soon an entire hour had passed by. Sweat trickled down Gareth’s brow as his breath became more ragged and huffed as the confrontation carried on. But Leon looked utterly unaffected by the rigorous exchange. All the while, Gareth’s involuntary doubts started to consume him. He’d already succumbed to the shadow once before, so perhaps he would do so again... Soon, his fears and lack of confidence slipped the man up, and Leon utilized the opening to strike Gareth to the ground. All seemed lost. Once again, he would be answering the calls of Shai’tan.

“Get up Gareth!” shouted down Elaira from the top of the hill, “You are not a man who can be dark! On the contrary, you’re bright and kind and strong! So no matter what has happened to you, those things are at your core.”

Hearing Elaira’s empowering words of encouragement awoke an indescribable emotion in Gareth. He knew that he had to head her command. So, akin to the phoenix rising from the ashes, the 1st Prince of the Sword rose to his feet. Then, with a glint in his eye and a firm grip on the hilt of his heron-marked blade, Gareth went toe to toe once more with Leon.

This battle faired far differently from before, with Gareth now standing triumphantly over his former dark self and the tip of his blade inches from Leon’s throat.

“You can’t kill me, Trakand.” spat Leon in defiance, “I shall always live deep inside of you!”

Gareth thought for a moment upon the matter before withdrawing his blade and sheathing it.

“You’re right. You will always be a part of me, except not in a way that you’re going to enjoy. From here on out, you’ll be a reminder of what happens when I give into the darkness. You had hoped to weaken me, to cause me to fall once more. You believed that my time as you would destroy all the fight I had left inside of me.”

Gareth bent down and assisted Leon back onto his feet with a cocked grin. From the cracked earth beneath Leon’s feat rose a cage of black, saidin wrought, cuendillar stone. It was the same stone in which the Black Tower was constructed of. He had finally caged his darkness.

“But instead, you’ve strengthened me. Because of you, I have a new purpose in life. I must fight for my family, my friends, my people, and for both of the Towers. I have to do everything I possibly can do to prevent others from experiencing what I did. So that no one else will ever have to hear their own screams falling on unsympathetic ears within a cell of stone. Nobody deserves to feel as alone, helpless and scared as I did. Or to become enslaved to the will of evil.”

Even though his darker self was shouting various slurs and empty threats at him, Gareth felt a touch of that peace and lightness he felt earlier return to him.

“So thank you, Leon Aldyr. Thank you for teaching me that darkness can only succeed when people cave to their fears. And thank you for also teaching me how evil can never win when those same people dare to face the fire and walk through the flame.”

Gareth woke up to find himself in Tai’s late brother’s bed with new hope instilled in him. He couldn’t continue to be locked in this room, petrified that he will further hurt the people he loves. There were bridges he needed to mend. Not to mention he needed to come to terms with his traumatic experience. But his determination to reclaim his life, do better, be better, and right his wrongs to the best of his abilities was quite powerful.

The glimmering stream of light peaking in through the small gap between the curtains combined with the songs of larks told him that the day was still new. It was Sunday, after all, and the Rashai family had lavish festivities planned for the holiday. He couldn’t have asked for a finer day for starting his new life. He climbed out of bed, neatened up the sheets and blankets, and then washed in the tub. A few of the maids had undoubtedly brought in the bucket of water which sat beside it along with the clean clothes folded out upon the dresser while he was asleep. Now washed, dressed, and looking much more like his old self, Gareth proceeded downstairs to the main parts of the manor.

Every which way he turned, servants were darting about engaged in preparations for the festivities later on. Those that he passed practically stopped as they performed wide-eyed double-takes of the royal. He pulled at his collar with a bit of a nervous gulp as he continued on into the kitchen. The main cook of the Rashai manor was a short, round elderly woman with silver hair, rosy cheeks, and slanted brown eyes. She had an infectious laugh and a gentle disposition. Her eyes caught on him the minute he entered the space, but unlike the other servants he’d encountered, she beamed brightly at him.

“Oh, light blind me! How it does warm my heart to see your highnesses face up and about. How might I assist you, my dear?”

“Well, Mistress Velyan, I was wondering if I could help with any of the preparations,” inquired Gareth.

Rosela Velyan smiled and gestured for him to come over next to her as she responded in a light, warm tone, “But of course, my dear! Come saddle yourself next to me, and I will teach you how to make bread.”

At first, Gareth struggled to follow Rosela’s vigorous instructions, but eventually, he managed to get the hang of it. Soon, Gareth was kneading dough and flouring the wooden countertop without any assistance. Once it was ready to put the dough into the oven, he called Rosela over. She enjoyed a chortled chuckle at the amount of flour he’d managed to get on his face but approved of the job he’d done and instructed him to make another. Once again, the light, peaceful feeling he’d experienced standing in the wildflower field in his dream grew inside of him. And for the first time in a very long time, Gareth was smiling.

Elaira’s timing, at that moment, couldn’t have been any more perfect, for she entered the kitchen to catch that very smile. On the other hand, Gareth was unaware of her presence, but she soon moved in slowly beside him. She inquired if she too could help, to which he was only too happy to oblige. And there it was... In but a simple act of making bread with the woman he loved, Gareth Trakand was able to reclaim his happiness.

The rest of the holiday was spent with Elaira, Ishara, Taivin, and Taivin’s family. They celebrated with drinks, food, stories, laughter, and even dancing. So what began as an internal struggle with himself ended in one of the best days of his life.

[Avyanna Sarat]

Avyanna's head was throbbing to the beat of the drums she could hear in the distance. She rubbed at her temples vigorously and stifled a yawn. Neither action had much effect.

She reached one gloved hand towards the latch in front of her and a rustling of feathers filled her ears the moment it moved. She had already let them out much earlier in the morning, but the more complicated her life became, the more she craved the simplicity of her hawks. The most eager of them found her finger quickly and claimed it as its perch. She brought it out into the mid-morning light and let it catch its bearings as she removed the hood.

Then, with a thrust from her, it launched itself into the air, circling until she flicked her wrist and it sped away. Avyanna watched the bird and sought solace in the ritual. As it disappeared from her sight, her feeling of power and control grew. The headache faded and a determined light entered her eyes. She made her own omens.

Perhaps she and Moranna should go into the city and enjoy themselves today. Galvin could probably use a change of scenery as well, he rarely had much opportunity to leave the grounds. Zamira was busy of course. She was supervising their woman on the inside, Rosyanna. Her head was probably more fully invested in her Gareth project though. She claimed to be fine letting Zamon handle her little prince, but Avyanna knew her sister did love to be hands on. Moghedien knew as well, and seemed to be pleased with it.

One would think Moghedien would have appreciated the flattery of Avyanna's imitation of her subtlety. Lately though, it seemed to annoy the spider, who was more preoccupied with results. Her Dark Mother also reveled in Zamira's obsession with the Trakand men. The success of turning Moranna was old news and this thing with Gareth was shiny and new.

Recently, for her part, Avyanna had failed in everything. The assassination attempt had been a complete fiasco and while Zamon was at fault for that, it didn't stop Moghdien for assigning some of the blame to Avy anyway. She thought she had done well, sowing the seeds of doubt to as many sides as possible while keeping the truth hidden, but the blasted exchange program had gone through anyway.

The temporary M'hael, or whoever he was, had pushed for it, giving all sorts of assurances that he didn't believe the rumors and thought the death of his leader lay elsewhere. He had insisted on Brown sisters to chaperone though. That had seemed a bit odd at first. Though eventually she realized he was Spirit Legion, and from his perspective the Browns were the Ajah his Legion, and possibly the whole Black Tower, had the best relationship with. He had offered her Spirit Legion men in return and claimed it was important to keep the exchange academic, not diplomatic. She hoped it would stay academic. The Reds would be in an uproar if Browns started bonding Asha'man more than them. Just because the Reds didn't want to bond them themselves right now didn't mean anyone else was free to do so.

She twisted the small braid in her hair around her finger, cupping the bell in her hand. She missed Kit. She had lost a lot in that war. She had always done what Moghedien asked, no matter the cost. Now though, it wasn't enough and Zamira was the favorite. She was jealous of her sister.

Presently, her hawk returned, dropping an unlucky mouse at her feet. She smiled delightedly as she watched it tear the creature to shreds in front of her.