Historical Event: Hunting Wilders (109 FA)

[Cirus]

"Please, don't run,"

The words were gentle, soft, the kind of tone that he would often hear young mothers using with their children when they would get injured playing on the street. Who were they directed at? Who could be walking down this alley this early? Cirus wiped away the tears from his eyes, whoever they were, they didn’t want to deal with a crying street rat.

Looking up from his sobbing Cirus realized who was talking, it was one of the figures who he had run from after being yelled at. Looking at them now he could see that they were not what he had heard from his Mother. These were not the stern-faced women who came in the night to steal away boys who could channel, never to be seen again. These two looked to be about the same age as the women who used to come by his home, offering him a new cloak or sweets when he lived with his mother, kind faces that he’d always looked forward to seeing.

He caught his tears in his throat as the woman spoke. He looked up at her and into her eyes. They were full of concern, not fear. For a moment the world seemed to dull around him, the sharpness of the light against the walls dimmed, the smell of the air became less noticeable, and remarkably, his headache began to subside, even if it was only slightly.

"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?”

It was all that and more, the pain had become unbearable, the fear of being taken away in the night, the hunger that gnawed at him. It was too much to bear. For a moment he nearly broke down crying again, he had to fight back the tears to keep from showing just how much her words hit home.

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."

He didn’t have to be alone, how long had it been since anyone had told him that. How long had it been since anyone had truly meant those words? He couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard them, he could scarcely remember ever hearing them. For so long he’d been convinced he would have to fight, to struggle just to survive on his own.

Those were the words that finally broke the damn, he started crying again, this time not out of pain or exhaustion, but out of relief.

“I… I don’t want to hurt anyone… I never wanted to hurt anyone.”

[Gareth Trakand]

Faster and faster did Gareth's heart race as his mind imagined countless worst case scenarios which might have transpired in his absence. He was wound like a ten-day clock as his steady breathing altered into panicked gasps. Why hadn't he insisted that they remained clear of this mission and allowed the Asha'man to perform their duty?! How was it that Ishara always persuaded him to play co-conspirator in her dangerous follies?! Twas not his duty to always blindly follow or obey his sister's wishes without questioning her judgment. He needed to stand his ground more often to ensure that his opinion wasn't ignored or disregarded. Gareth then realized that his self-criticism and over-exaggerated worrying was not doing him a lick of good.

So as Adela slipped her hand out of his, Gareth stopped dead in his tracks. All of his lessons received within the White Tower yard began to seep back into him. His eyes closed, his breathing steadied, and he washed away the noise of the world around him. What equaled out to be less than a few seconds to everyone else felt akin to hours for him as he reset his focus. And as his eyes opened again, the 1st Prince of the Sword remembered his purpose. He needed to find the male channeler but also to protect Ishara, Elaira, and even Adela. And as he was about to dismiss himself from Adela's side in order to perform his duties, she voiced her opinion of the trios escapade. Her words cut him deep and burrowed right into his very core. The shame he felt, especially as he'd come upon the same conclusions himself only a moment ago. She had always been far wiser, less reckless than the rest of them, and the proof of such had just spilled from her lips.

“Forgive me Milady. As ever, your wisdom and heart have availed me. As you have rightfully directed to my attention, my actions this day have been that of a foolish, ignorant boy. I do hope that you shall not regard me with ill will for my recklessness. I must also apologize with sincerity for applying such force when dragging you through the streets. There is much still that I must learn. I should have taken more care, as we all should have, and humbly beg leave of you.” Gareth placed his hands upon her shoulder with gentle care before he leaned in and kissed her upon the cheek. “Return home Adela, I could not abide to put another soul, in which I care for, in unnecessary danger.”

One last turn around a corner brought the Prince face to face with his obligations and in truth where he should have been the entire time.

“I… I don’t want to hurt anyone… I never wanted to hurt anyone.”

Once again, Gareth's heart was pierced by the words of another. Twice now was he made aware of how childish and ignorant his behavior had been. His gaze fell upon the boy who now huddled like a lost child that missed their parents and only wanted to go home. And though the sun now rose within the sky, the air remained chilly. With what hardly counted as clothes clinging to this boy's shivering frame, water dripping from the roof into the puddle at his feet, and no meat upon his bones; Gareth felt even greater shame that they had approached him so poorly earlier.

“We are well aware of as much and must apologize for instilling you with fright as we did,” remarked Gareth as he entered into the alley.

He kept his pace slow with his arms spread out away from his sword in the hope that he'd not frighten the boy again. He endeavored to be as unimposing as he was able as he drew nearer to the trio.

“In the name of the light, may you forgive us our rash behavior and accept these small gifts of friendship.”

Out from the inside pocket of his cloak, Gareth produced a roll of bread he'd snatched from the kitchen before they'd started on their venture. With a calm, friendly smile, the Prince placed the small morsel of food into the boy's hand. Next, he unfastened the button upon his cloak before removing it from his back and wrapping it about the boy's shoulders.

“I'd wager that you are in greater need of these than I young sir.”

[Ishara Trakand]

Ishara felt Elaira’s hand quiver within hers and squeezed it, willing reassurance through their joined palms. She met eyes with her friend, saw the fire of resolute courage within, and smiled.

“I’ll try.”

Ishara followed in lock step with the other woman, taking cues from her slow, cautious body language. Elaira’s voice was soft and kind, soothing as balm on the burns caused by Ishara’s rash tongue and impulsive behavior.

"We want to help...you don't have to be alone."

If Ishara’s pride was wounded at how she had bungled this entire ordeal, it swelled to bursting now for her friend. Elaira was natural in this role. This was the thing she had been made for. The boy, looking weak and skittish as a new colt, peered up at Elaira in the gloom of the alley, tears making runnels in the dirt and grime plastered to his face.

The look he gave them, especially Elaira with her slow, easy warmth and reassuring words, was so pitiful and desperate that Ishara’s heart lurched into her throat and tears bit at the corners of her own eyes. And then he crumpled. The last bit of fear and defiance whisked away and all that remained was a dirty, tired, sad and terrified child, for all that he was likely not much younger than the pair of them. Fresh tears poured out. The sort that all children held for when they were well and truly safe once more in a loved one’s arms. The ones that washed them clean from all that they had survived and made the world and themselves new again.

A familiar voice tugged at Ishara’s ear back towards the street Adela? Yes, she could not mistake hearing someone she had been with for the better part of her childhood. True, she and Adela had never been close, though she bore no ill-will to the taller dark-haired girl. She was just so… serious! But the sudden tongue lashing she gave Gareth struck a chord deep down inside Ishara in a way that her tutors, her mother, even the Sisters at the Tower, had never quite managed. Adela excused her lack of propriety and Gareth eloquently begged her pardon and excused himself. Ishara rose as he stepped toward them, grasping his forearm in assurance, both she and Elaira were well, but her eyes were set on Adela. For once in her life, Ishara was every inch the serene Aes Sedai and Queen she was destined to be, her face smoothed of emotion, an air of authority hanging about her like a cloak.

“Adela, thank you.” The stately illusion faltered a moment, as she fought the urge to squirm like the child she had been acting. “You are right. The blame for this escapade lays on me. I imagined adventure and a hero’s tale at the end of the day and never paused to consider the danger I brought to my kin, my friend, and even to my subjects here in Caemlyn. True, we have studied much at the White Tower, but you, of all people, have made me realize something no other could. So, again, thank you.” Ishara paused, letting her head cock to one side and a single finger tapped at the edge of her mouth. “I would talk to you again when I return next to Andor. Light willing, it will be as a full Sister and not the still-childish Accepted you see today.”

“I… I don’t want to hurt anyone… I never wanted to hurt anyone.”

The boy’s voice drew her back to the task at hand.

“If you will pardon me, I need to finish what I have started. Please, for your own safety, do as my brother has asked and return to the palace ahead of us.”

She smiled then and turned back down the alley. Gareth was kneeling in front of the boy, offering food and his cloak. Ishara smiled down at her older brother. His heart was as large and generous as Elaira’s. It struck her how similar they were in dealing with this situation, and how different and ineffective she had been. A good thing for a Queen, to have those who would balance her flaws with their own virtues nearby. A difficult and frustrating life for those virtuous ones though, if their Queen never listened to the advice they offered. That was not a fate she wished to doom her best-beloved brother and friend too. Today would mark a change long overdue in her, that much she swore.

Closing the rest of the space between her and the trio hunched down on the alley’s cobblestones, Ishara smiled with as much warmth as she could and placed a hand on Gareth and Elaira’s shoulders. “We should go,” was all she said, not wanting to frighten the boy over again with talk of the “Palace” or the “Black Tower.” She trusted that Elaira and Gareth to coax the frightened, broken bird out of the bush.

[Adela Traemane]

The bright-eyed boy who had left Caemlyn had always been his sister's most ardent protector and fiercest ally, so Adela was taken aback when, instead of reprimanding her lack of decorum and respect for her future Queen, Gareth agreed.

“There is much still that I must learn,” he said sincerely.

Perhaps she had judged them wrongly, or at least him. The headstrong Prince she had known as a child would have never admitted so readily that his sister, and by association, he himself, was in the wrong. She smiled at him almost tenderly, but that feeling turned quickly as he closed the distance between them and touched his lips to her cheek. Immediately, her guard was back up. She stood up ramrod straight and crossed her arms beneath her breasts, clearly displaying her displeasure if he cared to notice.

He did not care to notice. He dismissed her in an almost insultingly off-hand way. But really he just wants me to be safe, surely? She dismissed her inner voice and trailed after him down the alley and rounded the corner just as he swooped in on a boy huddled near a wall. She tilted her head thoughtfully as she watched him remove his own cloak and wrap it around the half-starved boy, then shot a glance at Elaira and Ishara. Elaira, it seemed, was as of yet unaware of her, but Ishara had turned at their approach and Adela could feel her eyes boring into her. This ought to be good, Adela thought as she turned her attention to the Daughter-Heir.

“Adela, thank you.” Ishara said regally.

Do I know these people at all anymore? This was the second time today a Trakand had surprised Adela with their quick about-face and it made her uneasy that she could not accurately predict them anymore. Perhaps they had matured more in their time away than she had given them credit for. She listened intently enough to Ishara’s explanation of the day's events; the thought process behind this plan gone awry at least seemed like the Ishara she knew. One eyebrow cocked up at the Daughter-Heir’s request to speak to her when next she was in Caemlyn.

In the next instant, Adela nearly clicked her tongue in vexation as, for the second time in only a few minutes, she was dismissed. They had been gone a long time, so she tried to forgive them for their lack of understanding of her place in society these days. True, she had always been destined to be the High Seat of her house, but as children, it had seemed a long way off and it had been easy enough for them to forget that she would be one of the most powerful people in Andor in her own right one day. They were likely unaware that her father was planning his retirement sooner rather than later and as such she had been stepping into his place more and more. She was not used to being dismissed these days.

Instead of doing as she was bid, Adela planted her feet and raised her chin slightly. The Trakands could go on about the danger of the situation until they were blue in the face, but it was apparent to Adela that little, timid Elaira Taravin had the situation well in hand. That was the true surprise of the day, but a most welcome one. Adela’s heart swelled with pride at the younger woman’s command of the situation. She had always had a good head on her shoulders even though she had been too shy to put herself into a position of authority. It was clear that the White Tower had done her some good. Admittedly, Ishara and Gareth also seemed better for their time away.

Adela absently removed the pink ribbon that Gareth had taken the liberty of tying in her hair. She wrapped it around her hand then tilted her head to look at Elaira. Her friend had always been fond of pretty, frilly, girly things; perhaps the two silver was not a waste after all. If the pink ribbon could bring a smile to her friend’s face, she would count it money well spent.

[Elaira Taravin]

The air alley's air nearly crackled with saidin, a violent and unpleasant sensation for Elaira. It left her mind leery and stomach roiling. But slowly, oh so slowly, as Elaira closed with the boy and murmured gently to him, the static faded from the air. In time it was but a memory and Elaira knelt beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder with the utmost care.

“I… I don’t want to hurt anyone… I never wanted to hurt anyone.”

Her heart broke at those words and tears pricked at her eyes. How awful, to be so alone, to be so afraid of others and of yourself. This boy was stronger than he knew; he had survived, so far, and Elaira wanted to keep it that way. She barely registered it as Ishara backed out of the alley for a moment.

"You won't have to." She took a gentle tone, but it had the weight of a promise. "You'll see."

Sounds behind her in the alley finally caught her attention and Elaira turned, shielding the boy from view until she realized it was Gareth. The First Prince was approaching with the utmost care and Elaira's eyes widened in surprise.

“We are well aware of as much and must apologize for instilling you with fright as we did. In the name of the light, may you forgive us our rash behavior and accept these small gifts of friendship.”

Gareth joined her at the boy's side, giving him some bread and his cloak, and Elaira nearly beamed with joy. This was right. No matter what her reservations had been about Ishara's plan, they were doing. Ishara approached as well, and Elaira looked up at her and nodded.

"Yes. Can you stand?"

The question was directed at the boy, a smile on her face.

"I know it's frightening, but please, trust us. We'll get you somewhere safe."

Elaira looked back over her shoulder again, then the smile faded and her eyes widened. Was that...it was! Adela Traemane! She'd changed over the years, as had they all, but there was no mistaking their old playmate. Elaira hadn't seen the older girl in years, but her heart swelled at the sight of her old friend. Adela had always been a dear friend no matter how strained the Traemane's relationship had been with Ishara, and the smile that broke out on her face was broad and genuine. Leaving Adela behind had been as challenging as leaving her family, and Elaira wasn't shocked at her instinctive response to Adela's presence She wanted to run over and greet her! Unfortunately, the boy was still in a fragile place. She tried to coax the boy to stand, doing so as well.

"You see? You're not alone at all."

[Cirus]

"You won't have to. You'll see."

The tone, soft and comforting, brought some measure of peace to Cirus as another of the trio that had chased him down here. This one, a man, looked every bit as intimidating at first glance as the men who used to chase Cirus off from their doorsteps when he was younger. At first Cirus froze a little in fear, the man wore a blade and had run after him after all. Yet as he approached Cirus with a calm voice and slow movements the street urchin became calmer. His motions were those of a concerned man, like those who had helped Cirus when he was young.

As the bread was placed in his hand he started to nibble on it without a word, and when the cloak was placed around him he looked up at the man. No words would come as Cirus was choking on his own tears, overwhelmed by the gratitude he felt for these people. He tried to mouth thank you to the man, but he couldn’t force the words from his mouth. Instead, he returned to nibbling on the piece of bread, more than he’d had to eat all week. He nibbled on it quietly as somewhere in the distance another figure spoke to those who had brought

”Can you stand?"

Cirus didn’t answer, but got up slowly as he felt the woman guide him up. He only then noticed another presence in the alley. This one didn’t look threatening, or at least not to him. She was dressed in mostly black, and clearly more upset with the people who had chased after him than him. He didn’t even know if they had noticed him yet. Still, he tried to shrink in on himself, to cover himself in a cloak that was too big for him. He did his best to hide behind the bigger man, to make himself invisible.

[Gareth Trakand]

“Yes. Can you stand? I know it's frightening, but please, trust us. We'll get you somewhere safe.”

The depth of goodness which resided inside Elaira's heart shone across her face illuminating every feature with such light that he felt blinded by it. Beholding her light created an even greater sting within his chest for how poorly he'd approached this whole situation. How right Adela was concerning their initial actions of tracking down this young channeler as if it were a game. He was nothing more than a scared kid who didn't understand what was happening to him. If only they'd seen as much sooner. Because of their foolishness, lives were placed in jeopardy. Yet despite their careless approach, Elaira managed to prove once more that she was the best of them. Her compassion radiated as brilliantly as the sun which sparked forth and consoled the boy. Gareth basked in her warmth, allowing it to fill within himself. His face lighted with a grateful smile as he helped her to gather the young channeler to his feet.

“You see? You're not alone at all.”

“Indeed, you are not alone. We're going to escort you to the palace where I shall provide you with proper clothes. After which, transportation will be arranged for the Black Tower.”

Gareth's gaze fell once more upon Adela with her feet stubbornly planted where they had previously stood in the street. It was clear that she had no intention of taking any orders from either Ishara or himself, a fact which brought a smile to his face. He had wronged her earlier with all of his unwanted intimate caressings. His mind saw that now in a manner which he foolishly had been unable to see before... Earning him another cut to his heart. As he supported the young boy's weight under his arm, Gareth moved towards Adela. And as he strolled past her, while being ever so careful as not to touch her, the Prince whispered in her direction.

“I...” A single tear trickled down his cheek before he was quick to brush it away in order to offer a light, if not pained smile in its stead. “I'm so sorry Adela.”

Onward did the small ensemble press through the streets of the New City which were now bursting with activity. The sun had risen and so to had the people. Even with hoods up did they attract the attention of more onlookers than Gareth would have liked. Their murmurings and laughter were deafening then again his guilt likely caused him to believe as much. The gossip of the Daughter-Heir, 1st Prince of the Sword, Adela Traemane, and Elaira Taravin escorting a teenage boy whilst wearing disguises, well most of them anyways, would spread like wildfire. He sighed. This little not so secret adventure of theirs most certainly meant punishment from his mother was forthcoming. Still, as Gareth's gaze fell individually on each member of their party, he felt satisfied. For not only had he learned a great deal from this, he believed the others had as well.

He realized that he couldn't keep blindly following his sister, that he should not touch women unless they are reciprocal of as much, and that many situations should be handled with care. He also realized that Elaira and Adela both were no longer girls but proud, upstanding women that he needed to treat as such. Now if they could just get this boy back to the palace without any more hiccups perhaps he could finally unravel what his feelings were pertaining to the both of them.

“Everything will be fine now young sir, I can see the edge of the garden, we're almost there.” Suddenly another realization clicked in Gareth's mind before he added, “Also, my apologies for not asking sooner but what is your name?”

[Rhian al'Mathin]

The morning started with a chill in the air, a hint of winter to come. It was a welcome reprieve from the unseasonably warm week that held Caralain in its grip. Even those who were accustomed to ignoring the elements remarked on the heat, so late into the fall. This morning, however, was cool and damp; a heavy fog hung in the air as the first rays of the sun cast Dragonmount’s shadow across the Black Tower. Mist rose from the River Luan and was blown by a western wind into the city of Caralain where it laid heavy on the streets and fogged the windows. Tendrils reached skyward, caressed chimneys and treetops, and clawed at the heights of the black wall surrounding the hulking black fortress within. For a moment, the world was rendered in greyscale, except for the orange glow that spilled from the doors of the Black Tower’s smithy.

To anyone passing by the open doors, the two men inside were silhouettes against the light from the forge. They moved at a singular purpose, one pumping the bellows as the other added coal to the raging fire. A third man, dressed all in black with two pins on opposite sides of his collar, approached the glowing doorway as the sky began to lighten.

“Al’Mathin,” he said as he stepped inside the smithy and both men looked up.

“Yes, sir?” The boy named al’Mathin asked, still pumping the bellows at a slow, steady pace.

“It’s time,” the Asha’man said gruffly. “Meet me in the stableyard.”

With that, the third man turned on his heel and disappeared back into the already dissipating fog. Without stopping his work at the bellows, Rhian al’Mathin raised his eyebrows questioningly at the older man who now leaned on the shovel he had been using to feed coal into the flames. Farran Trahaearn harrumphed through his beard and shrugged.

“Best get going then, boy,” his voice was just as gruff as the other man’s had been, but without the underlying anger that always seemed to radiate from the other Asha’man. “You don’t want to start off on the wrong foot with Sikawa.”

When Rhian still hesitated, Farran rested a calloused, thick-fingered hand on his shoulder. “Go on.”

The young man released his grip on the handle of the bellows. He rolled his shoulders to loosen their muscles. “Alright, Pops,” he said as he started for the door.

“Try not to screw this up, al’Mathin.”

With one foot outside the smithy, Rhian turned back to his mentor, a wide grin on his face. “Pops, that hurts! I thought you knew me better than that!” He jumped quickly out of the doorway as a lump of coal sailed through it.

Suppressing the urge to run to catch up to the perpetually irritated Rin Sikawa, Rhian made his way at a hurried pace to the Tower stableyard. He didn’t think he had delayed very long, but the fiery Fire Legion Asha’man was already holding the reins of two horses, one a buckskin mare and the other a sorrel gelding that stood nearly two hands taller. Sikawa handed Rhian the reins of the mare and they mounted the horses, turning them toward the north road out of the Tower grounds.

As they made their way to the traveling grounds outside the city limits, the last remnants of the morning’s fog swirling around the horses’ ankles, Sikawa got Rhian up to speed on the current situation in Caemlyn with as few words as possible. The Shienaran was not much for talking and thwarted multiple attempts at small talk before he turned in his saddle to glare at his companion.

“Shut up, Dedicated.”

So Rhian shut up. He fought the urge to hum to himself, well aware that it would probably be the last straw if he did. Instead, he tapped the tune of “Old Jak’s Up a Tree” on the pommel of his saddle. The mare cast a long-suffering glance up at him and snorted.

The ride to the traveling grounds was not a long one and was even quicker for the lack of people about so early in the morning. They dismounted once inside the barrier that warned others to stay out of the area lest they be sliced in half by an opening gateway. Sikawa took hold of saidin and a slash formed in the air, widening into a gateway through which the city of Caemlyn was visible in the distance. The broad-faced Sikawa led his gelding through and Rhian followed. The gateway winked out of existence as soon as Rhian’s horse was through.

The ride into Caemlyn was much the same as the ride out of Caralain had been. The two men rode in silence through mostly deserted streets. Rhian had little experience with the city of Caemlyn though and his head swiveled from side to side, trying to take in everything. By the time they reached the Queen’s Plaza near the city center, Caemlyn was shaking off the last remnants of sleep. The sounds of life began to fill the street as they passed through a gate into the Palace grounds. Two stablehands ran up to take their horses as they dismounted. Sikawa barked instructions at them before striding off toward the Palace without a word to Rhian. There was no need to say anything though; there was never any question that Rhian would do anything other than follow.

Rhian tried not to seem a country bumpkin ogling at the Palace, but the crenellations, friezes, arches, and spires were so different from the utilitarian architecture of the Black Tower that it was hard not to stare. In Deven Ride the buildings had been built for practicality. There was a certain beauty about them, but they were not beautiful. The Black Tower was, first and foremost, a fortress. It was built to inspire fear and respect and its hard angles and hulking silhouette did just that. This building, though, was clearly built to inspire awe, and it did its job well by Rhian’s estimation. He shut his mouth with a click, his cheeks burning slightly, as Sikawa and the servant they had been following stopped in front of an archway that led into a large audience chamber. The Asha’man directed him to wait there; Rhian offered a “yes, sir,” and turned to stand at attention beside the archway.

As his superior passed through into the room beyond, Rhian took notice of the servant who had led them through the Palace for the first time. She was older than he, perhaps by as much as a decade, and quite pretty. Her servants' attire was not made to show off her figure, but it was still obvious that she was rounded in all the right places. He gave her his most endearing smile, but she sniffed and walked away. He was still watching her ruefully when Rin Sikawa rejoined him in the hall.

“It would appear,” the Asha’man said, “that the Daughter-Heir and the First Prince are missing from the Palace this morning. No one can be sure of where they went, but Queen Talana is convinced they have gone off in search of this wilder.”

That drew Rhian’s attention. He blinked at the other man, then smiled. The Daughter-Heir was said to be a beauty, but he hadn’t expected to get the opportunity to find out. Sikawa gave him a flat look.

“You will behave yourself, al’Mathin,” Sikawa said as he started back the way they had come from.

“Of course, sir.” Rhian fell in step a few paces behind, but his mind was going over everything he had ever heard about Andor’s Daughter-Heir. Sikawa would have backhanded him if he had seen the grin that spread across his face.

Back in the stableyard, they remounted their horses and booted them to a trot through the gate that let out onto the Queen’s Plaza. They turned east toward a broad avenue with a row of carefully tended trees going to orange and red down the center, when Rhian noticed a ragtag group scuttling toward a side gate in the wall around the Palace. They had hoods drawn and were trying, but failing, not to attract attention. They had, however, managed to escape Asha’man Sikawa’s notice. Rhian halted his horse as he called out to the other man, who turned his slanted gaze in the direction Rhian pointed. Sikawa stood in his saddle, shielding his eyes against the rising sun, and gave a grunt. Rhian was unsure if he was pleased or annoyed.

Grudgingly, the Asha’man said, “Good job, Dedicated,” and turned his gelding toward the group approaching the Palace. Rhian fell in behind. It was not a long distance and they covered the ground quickly; Sikawa dismounted to approach the group on foot and Rhian followed his lead.

“My lady,” Sikawa brought a clenched fist to his chest as he bent stiffly at the waist. He straightened then bent again, “My lord.”

Rhian had never been in the presence of royalty; he had no idea of the proper protocol, so he awkwardly followed suit.

“We are here under the direction of your lady mother, Queen Talana,” the Asha’man said in a voice as stiff as his bow had been. “She requests your presence in her audience chamber, if you would follow me.”

Rhian had never heard the man speak so respectfully to anyone, and the strain of not barking orders at the Daughter-Heir and First Prince was clear in his tone. He eyed Sikawa sideways without turning his head, then turned his gaze back to the group in front of them. There were more of them than he expected, three women, a man, and a boy. The women and men were all clearly nobility though he could tell that at least two of the women and the man were trying to hide the fact. The boy, disheveled and the worse for wear, matched the description of the wilder they were after and he looked like he had been on the run for a while now.

Without giving anyone a chance to respond, Rin Sikawa turned on his heel and led his horse back the direction they had come. He clearly expected them to follow. Rhian did not know this group of nobles, but expecting them to follow commands from someone they didn’t know seemed quite presumptuous. All three of the women in the group were quite pretty from what he could see of their faces, half obscured in the shadows of their hoods, and he didn’t want them annoyed with him.

He smiled and offered a half bow. “Sorry, my ladies, my lord, he’s…” He turned his palms up in a helpless shrug. “It’s probably easiest just to do as he says.”

[Ishara Trakand]

They made their way back out of the alley and Ishara noted Adela still standing stubbornly where she had been before. Yes, I think I know just what to do with her... . Their rag-tag group gathered no little amount of attention as they swept as quickly as possible through the New City and into the Old. Ishara muttered under her breath about gossip spreading faster than a wildfire in a windstorm, but they were nearly at their journey's end. She could see the smooth white stone of the Palace's wall curving around the hills like frosting on a fantastical cake. She had grown up within these walls, witnessed the beauty and splendor of the Ogier Masons' work daily. Yet, still, it was enough to steal your breath. Perhaps it was the time they had been away in Tar Valon. Perhaps the realization of the folly her little exploit had been, and the weight of that knowledge and-dare she say it-maturity settling upon her shoulders, but the sight of those golden domes and lacework balconies inspired a feeling of home this morning. A home that she must be prepared to nurture and protect when the time came.

The side gate was only a few yards away, when the pair in black coats were suddenly between them and it. Ishara's emotions jumped from surprise, to rampant curiosity about the mysterious Asha'men, to fear at the utterance of the Queen's name, to righteous indignation at the offensive brusqueness with which she had just been addressed. It thought about wavering back towards the fear, Talana was undoubtedly displeased with her children and she carried the triple threat of being an Aes Sedai, the Queen of Andor, and their mother. Ishara had no doubt which of those faces was the most terrifying. Firmly stomping down that particular train of thought, she settled on the indignation. Her spine straightened and chin lifted, making use of every bit of her less than average height. Curse that particular gene not passing down to her! The Shienaran Asha'man was already several paces ahead, but his companion, Dedicated by the sole sword pin on his collar, was still present.

"Sorry, my ladies, my lord, he's... It's probably easiest just to do as he says."

Easiest, indeed! Did they teach no decorum or diplomacy at the Black Tower?! The Black Tower may have gained a high standing in the world since Tarmon Gai'don, but they were yet guests in Andor, by the Grace of the Queen, and she was still Daughter Heir. If this was how they treated- Her mental tirade faded as she took full stock of the man in front of her. At first glance he seemed fairly ordinary, even if the black coat added a certain level of authority and intrigue, but the smile he offered as he bowed, it was...disarming. And somehow it helped to still the tongue-lashing she had been about to release.

Afterall, she thought I did just promise Adela, and myself, that I would act the spoiled child no more. I will be Aes Sedai, with their serene faces and calm voices. The Power to shake the earth and the wisdom to know how much to use and when. She very nearly sighed, but managed to just motion the Dedicated ahead. This was going to be much more difficult than she had supposed.

The journey to the Queen's receiving chamber was not a long one, but it had all the feel of an execution march. The red tapestries and tiles adorned with Andor's White Lion only made her think her backside would be the same shade, if not by Talana's orders, then by Avyana's hand once they returned to the Tower.  Still, she kept her head held high.  She would face her sentence with as much pride and decorum as would the Amyrlin herself.  

[Adela Traemane]

Adela, always the observer, stood back and let Ishara lead the charge. The other two women fussed around the young man, making sure he was alright and ready to come with them. When everything was in order, Ishara lifted the hood of her cloak and drew it as far forward as it would go so that her face was hidden in shadow. It was not a very good disguise, but Adela supposed it would do. Elaira pulled her hood up as well, so Adela followed suit. Gareth had given his cloak to the boy and so had nothing with which to even attempt to hide.

It didn’t matter anyway. They kept their heads down and moved quickly through the New City, but they still stood out in this particular area. True, the Trakands and Elaira were dressed in a more subdued manner than they would be normally, but the cut and cloth were still obviously high quality. A ripple of excitement followed them all the way through the New City and right on into the Old, though their presence should have caused much less of a stir there.

By the time they had almost reached the Queen’s Plaza, they were scuttling along quickly, just hoping to reach the Palace walls before someone shouted one of their names. Adela tucked her hands into hidden pockets in her skirt to place the ribbon there for safekeeping just as Ishara drew up short and the entire group halted. In front of them stood a man not much taller than the Daughter-Heir. He radiated impatience and annoyance even as he tried to be respectful.

Adela’s eyes widen when the Asha’man turned on his heel and strode away, expecting them to follow. Did he know who he was speaking to? she wondered as she turned her gaze to Ishara. For all her training at the White Tower, Ishara was still not very good at hiding her emotions from those who knew her, and though they had never been very close, Adela knew her. She knew the signs of an oncoming tantrum when she saw them, but the young man, Dedicated she thought by the lone pin decorating his collar, interrupted before the Daughter-Heir had decided if she should reprimand his superior or not.

"Sorry, my ladies, my lord, he's... It's probably easiest just to do as he says."

To Adela’s even greater surprise, Ishara’s anger was not redirected at this young Asha’man. Instead, she motioned him to lead and fell in step behind him.

The walk through the Palace was the least eventful part of the morning, as far as Adela was concerned. She kicked herself the entire way for letting her curiosity get the better of her; she was wrapped up in this mess now and would likely take any punishment the rest received. It was just like their childhood all over again. She very nearly sighed.

They reached the audience chamber as she was screwing up her courage to do something she was certain was reckless and stupid, but also the right thing to do. Ishara, and Elaira and Gareth as well, had concocted an idiotic hare-brained idea that could have hurt or even killed them or others, but they had also demonstrated more maturity and thoughtfulness than she had expected. True, Adela herself had had to point out the danger of what they had done, but Ishara Trakand had done an about-face that Adela never saw coming. It should count for something, she decided.

The young, blond Asha’man stopped behind his older, stern-faced companion and the rest of the party stopped behind him, except Adela. She removed her hands from her pockets, wiped the sweat off her palms on her skirt, and stepped in front of both men from the Black Tower. She could feel the eyes of the angry one boring into her as she spoke.

“Your Majesty,” Adela dropped a deep curtsy to Queen Talana, much deeper than was strictly necessary from someone of her rank, and held there, head down and eyes on the floor in a display of obeisance. “Please excuse me for interrupting, but I thought you would like to know how the Daughter-Heir and First Prince have conducted themselves this morning.”

There was a shuffling from behind her, likely Ishara shifting to glare daggers at her. “You may continue,” the Queen said after a brief pause.

Adela straightened and did just that, quickly explaining the situation. She left out the embarrassing encounter with Gareth, though her cheeks still flushed as she glossed over it.

She drew a deep breath to steady her nerves. This was the important part and also the most uncertain. Adela had built a reputation as a reliable, honest woman, with a good head on her shoulders. She put all her eggs in that basket and plunged ahead.

“I know that the events of this morning were reckless and irresponsible, but as soon as Ishara was made aware of that, she corrected herself. This morning could have gone better, of course, if a little more patience and restraint had been shown, but the Daughter-Heir’s heart was in the right place. She only wanted to help and as soon as she realized she was not doing that, she did what she could to fix the situation. I know that penance must be given to us all for not considering the consequences beforehand, but I thought you would like to know that the training these three have received so far at the White Tower is not for nothing.”

Adela kept her eyes steady on Queen Talana’s face as she clasped her hands in front of her. She wanted to squirm, or better yet to be anywhere but here, but the time for that had passed. Instead, she squared her shoulders and awaited the Queen’s pronouncement.

[Talana Trakand]

The heavy tapestries that flanked the Lion Throne seemed to yawn down from above at the miscreants who stood in front of her, waiting to be judged. There was not even a whisper of wind as the doors slammed shut behind them with an echoing finality about them as Talana sat, straight-backed, imposing and frosty as her mother during winter's heart, she who had been named the Ice Lion during her days of rule, for it was said that Moranna ruled without emotion, compassion even. Talana knew the last to be false, but few could see it and the conflict that raged under her predecessor's skin and through her blood over the long years of her rule, and had thanked the Light many times that she had yet to make decisions as hard as her mother had had to make over the decades of her rule.

She had picked up a few things then, and it showed now, where the air seemed cold enough to freeze all four miscreants on the spot.

Don't laugh. Talana warned, as Calyas's amusement rolled down through their double bond. Her consort (never King, for what Andoran would accept a man as their ruler) rolled his eyes at her through the bond, and one fingernail came down sharply upon the armrest on the throne with a sharp click, cutting off Adela even as she finished what was meant to be a poorly worded excuse of sorts to mitigate Ishara's actions. The girl's mouth closed with a snap, and Calyas let out a cleverly disguised cough, and though his face was as impassive as any Aes Sedai she knew it was all he could do to keep from bursting out in laughter. She firmly quashed down the temptation to laugh as well, and felt Calyas make an effort to maintain control over his emotions despite the gravity of the situation. And only when she was certain that the two of them were in control did she speak again.

"It would of course, be good to hear that the training took effect from the very beginning, for that is the entire purpose of what it means to be Aes Sedai, is it not, Ishara?" Talana replied smoothly, her voice dripping honey almost as golden as her hair - always a danger sign. One might almost be tempted to think that she was discussing the very weather outside, as if to offset the chill that rolled off the Lion Throne in waves. "Of course, despite the training, you still needed to be made aware of the fact that you have been trained. Which of course, means that you have learned nothing more than the newest girl who has just put on white in the Tower today. Perhaps I should recommend to the Mistress of Novices that you spend the next few years covering the lessons that you spent in novice white before progressing further in your studies as an Accepted."

Her smile was as bright as the day outside was gloomy, more dangerous (or so it appeared at that moment) than any sword in the room, as she turned to Elaira.

"The same applies to you, Elaira. The White Tower teaches independence of thought, yet it seems that you and my daughter are one in mind and action, if not in body." She tapped her finger as though in almost whimsical thought. "Ah, I see, perhaps I should recommend that the two of you be bonded together as the Great Uniter and the Archer were during the days of the Last Battle. If the Tower cannot separate you, then perhaps the two of you should be together at all times, in spirit and with Spirit." There was a splutter, seemingly of outrage, from Calyas behind her, though Talana knew it to be a barely contained outburst of laughter. Beside her, Kailan Sedai readjusted her Grey Shawl as though a breeze had disturbed it, but that was enough for Talana to register the amusement of her advisor. The very idea of it was so outrageous that it might actually seem possible - and the White Tower had performed more spectacular feats over its history, that was to be sure.

[Elaira Taravin]

The return journey to the Palace felt strangely dreamlike to Elaira. Adela, Gareth, and Ishara were around her as though not a day had passed since they'd left for the White Tower. At her side was the boy, hiding behind Gareth. With her hood up and hair concealed, she did her best to cast him a smile every now and then as Gareth and Ishara led the way back. Her mind was wandering, now, and worrying. The initial danger had passed, and they'd found the boy as Ishara and wanted, but.... They'd made quite the stir in the markets, and if Adela had found them, well. Elaira had been part of this tale more than once. There would be punishment ahead, probably more than one set. Her eyes wandered down to the boy, and her jaw set. It was worth it. Light only knew how he would have responded to being hunted down by the Black Tower or the guard.

And, as if the thought had summoned him, a black-coated man approached as they neared the side gate. He sounded as though he'd been chewing gravel, and was angry about it besides, as he issued orders. Of course, they didn't sound like orders, but Elaira knew them for what they were, and so did the rest of the party. She put a hand on the boy's shoulder in an attempt to comfort him, and perhaps a bit protectively. If he decided to bolt now, what would an Asha'man do? It didn't bear thinking about.

The younger man by the Asha'man's side was much more pleasant. His awkwardly large smirk was endearing enough that, despite the seriousness of the situation, Elaira couldn't help but smile as well. It appeared that Accepted were not the only students with harsh taskmasters in the world.

The trip into the Queen's audience chamber felt familiar. Ishara stood composed and proud. She wasn't openly defiant, of course; she was simply who and what she must be. The Daughter-Heir of Andor would cower before no man or woman, not even the Queen. Elaira tried to take a small bit of comfort in her friend's composure.

Before the reprimand could begin, however, Adela spoke up, on Ishara's behalf! Elaira watched her friend open-mouthed as she jumped to their defense. Mostly, anyway; there was an arrow or two mixed in with the kind words, but considering that Ishara and Adela had never really gotten along it was astonishing.

The Queen did not seem swayed.

Queen Talana was kind. She was just. She was compassionate and strong. In many ways, she was like her daughter, but where Ishara was fiery Talana was deathly cold. As she began to speak, Elaira suppressed a sudden urge to shiver. It was harder when Elaira finally placed the honey-sweet tone for what it was. Oh, Light.

When the Queen's attention landed on Elaira, she hurried to curtsy and lower her eyes. She blanched at the suggestion. The Queen wasn't serious, was she? Of course not...or was she? Elaira couldn't pretend to understand everything that went through the Queen's mind at the best of times. Elaira froze when Queen Talana finished. Should she respond? Or retreat back into the group and hope that her icy gaze found a new target? After a moment, eyes still down, Elaira cleared her throat.

"I apologize for my thoughtlessness, Queen Talana."

Her voice sounded small to her own hears, but she kept going.

"You are correct, I should have acted independently, as I was concerned about this course of action at first."

Her eyes, still down, sought out Ishara and then the boy they'd rescued. She squinted them shut and spoke faster, forcing the words out with the effort.

"Though now I believe it was the right decision, if only for the outcome. Much good came out of our mistakes this morning, though mistakes they were."

She paused, taking a deep breath. Light, how did I manage to say something like that to the bloody Queen?

"That said, I do not think a bond is necessary. I follow Lady Ishara wheen she asks for my help because she is my friend, bond or no."

Then she took a step toward the back of the party, hoping fervently that her time in the spotlight was finished.

[Gareth Trakand]

Escaping an audience with their mother may have been but a fleeting hope for the Prince at first, but any such delusions of actually accomplishing as much vanished the moment they were approached by the Asha'man and Dedicated. Resigned to their fates, the small entourage entered into the royal courtroom to face the music. For as kind, loving, and compassionate Talana was as a mother, Gareth knew that their actions would be judged by her as their Queen. And despite her exclusion of him from her initial tongue lashing, the Prince still felt dread. He knew better than to believe he was safe from her disappointed gaze as a scolding of his actions would, no doubt, be forthcoming.

From the day Ishara was born, Gareth received instruction to obey his sister and to give her council whenever she was in need of it. He would never be her equal in power, nor as important to the nation of Andor, yet such was the way of things since ages long passed. It was his duty to protect and guide her, for one day she would be his Queen and him, her servant. And though Gareth had always done his best to uphold the responsibilities of his role, Ishara never made him feel as if he were beneath her. She was his sister first, loving and cherishing him as deeply as he did her. They were two peas in a pod that was stronger together than they were apart. It was because of their bond and unquestionable love for each other that Gareth never questioned his role or felt resentment towards her. It was an honor to serve and protect her. He would follow her anywhere... Even give his very life for her if he needed to!

Although this morning's events could have transpired much smoother, they had located the male channeler and brought him safely back to the palace. And he'd do it all again if Ishara asked him to! Despite his usual reluctance when concerning her follies, Gareth always lent Ishara his aid in the end. For if he could not talk her out of her adventures, at least he would always be by her side to protect her. Yet he knew their mother, knew that Ishara would not receive praise for her actions or for realizing the errors of her ways. Even Adela standing up for her and applauding his sister's acceptance of her missteps to their mother did little to ease the sharpness of Talana's tongue. Still, he had watched her grow even further into the ruler the people deserved this day. He also could not abide by the notion of Ishara and Elaira being bonded. If anything, sweet, beautiful, kind Elaira deserved the most praise for her actions today. She was the light that guided those lost in darkness. A diamond gleaming amongst the rocks and pebbles. Therefore, Gareth deemed it was his duty to attempt to save both of them from further reprimands if possible.

The 1st Prince of the Sword stepped forward, giving his mother a formal bow as an acknowledgment of her being his sovereign. He hardly knew if anything he had to say would lessen the punishment his sister would receive or if it might increase his own, but Gareth would stand silent no further.

“My Queen, and mother, I beseech you to show kindness upon our actions today, especially Ishara's. She's driven by her love and concern for her people's safety. Although her course may have been poorly set, the mistake was one any could make. As I recall, you once jeopardized your own safety in order to lend assistance to those in need. After all, nobody is perfect, for we all must grow and learn as we go.”

Gareth approached closer to his mother's throne, his posture tall with pride as there wasn't even a single glimmer of fear in his eyes or tremble in his voice as he continued.

“Today I learned that there are still so many souls in this world which need a helping hand. And how important it is to read the body language of others.” His glance shifted towards Adela for a moment before he went on, “I bore witness to hope being restored in this young man. How he has found salvation as well as friendship, rewards that I'd argue far outweigh our errors.”

This time his gaze fell to Cirus, a youth who'd braved the streets alone and survived with hardly anything to eat or very little clothing on his back. How much strength and courage it must have required to stay alive this long whilst channeling the Source without guidance. But his attention shifted once more to his sister and her actions.

“I looked onward with pride as Ishara proved how she is shaping into the Queen I will one day be honored to serve.” There was a swelling of pride in his words as he flashed his sister a loving smile before providing his last thoughts on the matter. “I know that we acted rashly, even endangered those we're meant to protect, but all I ask is that you consider what we came away with. That we sometimes must fall in order to face the storms to come.”

[Ishara Trakand]

Ishara stood statue still as, one by one, each of her willing cohorts (or unwilling in Adela’s case) gave their defensive testimonies despite the mantle of stone faced judge Talana had donned. Each word said for her warmed Ishara’s hear, even if the barbs of guilt stung her in equal measure. She rode her emotions, surprise at Adela’s defense, pride at Elaira’s bravery, love for Gareth’s unwavering devotion, anger at Talana’s goading about the Bonding, as calm as a clear morning. She knew exactly what it was she needed to do. Lightning crackled in fierce green eyes as they met cool blue.

“My Queen, I would kindly like to thank everyone for their aid, and their defense. It humbles me to have their loyalty. As such, I would be honored to share a Bond with Elaira, she is as dear to me as a sister. However, after today’s events, I believe she has been sent down a path that...discourages… Bonding, and the Tower would certainly frown upon such a Bond made against either party’s will.”

Her skin pebbled in gooseflesh at calling Talana on her bluff, but it was worth any additional rebuke to have reassured Elaira.

“It is a Novice’s job to obey without question. It is an Accepted’s duty to question, to further their knowledge, to test boundaries and their own strength, before obeying. And you know as well as I that Andor and our people must come before even the White Tower when acting as Daughter Heir, or as Queen.” The slightest edge of challenge colored her words. “Andor has stood with Tar Valon and the Tower since before this Age, yet it is the Queen who rules Andor, not the Amyrlin.

“Today I acted brashly, but I did so as a protector of our people. The war with Caralain, the Mad M’Hael, is still a fresh brand in Andoran minds. Asha’man stalking through Caemlyn streets with their black cloaks and harsh eyes could have caused widespread fear, not to mention the loss of the very boy they sought. No. Far better for the three of us, born and bred to the city, to covertly seek where strangers would not think to do so.

“Plans so rarely go as you expect them to, however, and I will admit I was quickly swept up in the excitement and did not exercise the caution I perhaps should have, risking myself and those following me. For that, I am truly repentant. I will go willingly to whatever sentence you deem worthy. If that means I will return my Great Serpent ring and don Novice white, so be it.” Her chin rose slightly in defiance. “Every moment added before I am allowed to test for the shawl will be worth the toil, for I will not apologize for doing what was best for this young man. The right path is rarely the safest one. You taught us that.”

Ishara’s heart felt like a miniature sun in her chest, pulsing heat out into her limbs with each beat. She felt defiant, alive, a lioness roaring across the landscape. She was terrified but exhilarated. Each of them had made their case, now all that remained was for judgement to be passed...

[Jenaroni]

With the statements from Adela, Elaira, Gareth, and Ishara to deliberate upon and what actions to take about the events of earlier; Queen Talana dismisses the group into the hall. Whilst the party await their fates to be decided upon: Rhian al'Mathin makes a move on the Daughter Heir, kissing her like the playful, rapscallion he is. Outraged by the man's forwardness with his sister, Gareth Trakand punches Rhian square in the nose. A flash of fire that nearly burns the Dedicated's face, as he falls flat on his back from the punch, proves to be the result of the 1st Prince channeling the Source. Gifted with Sense Saidin, Elaira Taravin reveals that it was indeed Gareth and not the young Wilder Cirus that had performed the deed. The party is brought forth once more before Queen Talana. They receive the following punishments: A flogging of 10 lashes for Ishara and 10 hours of service in the Palace kitchens for Gareth and Elaira. No punishment befalls Adela or Cirus. Afterward, Gareth is sent along with Cirus to the Black Tower. They're escorted by Rhian and Sikawa.

If it is uncertain as to why this Thread is being concluded in this fashion it is for the sake of a couple of the players involved. If a thread is desired of the events mentioned above, that is an option if all the players involved so choose. This is merely an easy wrap up to lessen our workload and free characters up for new plots.

This Thread is now closed.