Life Goes On [fic]

The everyday life of the inhabitants of the Grey Tower. This board is for general daily roleplay around the Tower, in the corridors, rooms and halls that make up most of the building.
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Elan
"Lord of Chaos"
Posts: 450
Joined: December 6th, 2016, 10:29 am
PC: Jaren Marle, Asha'man
SC: Mael Akashi, Asha'man
TC: Delaine Taborwin, Novice
QC: Valentin Akashi, Soldier
Location: Finland
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Life Goes On [fic]

Post by Elan » January 4th, 2018, 8:49 pm

Jaren
Jaren did his rounds in the Infirmary lost in deep thought. Returning to the Tower only to find that an Accepted was dead and the Amyrlin was being tried for murder had been something of a shock even after everything that had happened in Tar Valon. No matter how the past years had shown that even Hama Valon was not beyond the Shadow’s reach, he’d still thought of the Grey Tower as fundamentally safe. Perhaps that was something he was going to have to re-evaluate.

He greeted some of his fellow Yellows warmly, spared a smile and a nod at a Dedicated walking past carrying a pile of folded blankets. Many though not all of the beds were occupied, and Jaren stopped to exchange a few words with some of the patients who were awake. All were expected to make full recovery, thank the Light… at least physically. Emotional scars were another matter entirely.

In the last bed at the far end of the Infirmary, seemingly asleep, Jaren found someone he’d not expected to see. Marten Emry had changed little in the years since he and Jaren had been roommates. He still had that boyish look that made him appear younger than his years in a way that had nothing to do with the slowing, and the unruly curls framing the fair face only accentuated the impression.

The bed next to Marten’s was unoccupied, and Jaren sat down, leaning his elbows on his knees and watching his former roommate with a slight frown. There was nothing to indicate that the younger man wasn’t just sleeping peacefully, but then, with Healing readily available, there wouldn’t be. How did you end up here? They’d not talked since the day of Marten’s Dedicated test, and that had been all kinds of awkward, at least in retrospect, and even while they’d been roommates, they hadn’t exactly been friends…

“Marle?” a faintly incredulous voice said suddenly. “What are you doing here?”

Jaren gave a start and looked at Marten, whose brown eyes were now open and staring right back at him. “I, uh. I work here?” He smiled and twitched his head slightly to the side, indicating towards the Yellow cord on his shoulder. “Yellow Ajah, remember?” There was a brief, awkward pause before he asked, “What about you? What… happened?”

Marten’s voice was completely flat as he replied, “I had a disagreement with a Darkfriend.” Something about the way he said it reminded Jaren of Jaryd, of all the people, and that was not a comparison he’d ever thought he’d make but there it was.

“I see,” Jaren said, after a pause that dragged on for a few seconds too long. He hadn’t known Marten had been involved in the confrontation with the Amyrlin Seat— with Ninya Evoneigh; she wasn’t exactly the Amyrlin Seat anymore. He’d heard about more learning ranks being involved than the dead Accepted, but he’d never have imagined Marten to be one of them. “Were you badly hurt?”

The Dedicated shook his head tiredly. “Nothing the Yellows couldn’t fix,” he muttered, sullen resignation replacing the steel that had briefly surfaced a moment earlier.

Jaren blinked. “You’re still here—?” But he didn’t finish the question; the look on the younger man’s face told him everything he needed to know.

“Nobody’s told me to get out,” Marten said, avoiding the Yellow’s eyes. “I don’t know what to…” He trailed off, a barely noticeable tremor to his voice, but he went on quickly, “So I’m still here, yes. No,” he added when Jaren shifted forward slightly, “don’t touch me, alright, just… don’t.” His eyes flickered to briefly meet Jaren’s before settling on the opposite wall again. “It’s not you, it’s just. I’m liable to start bawling and I’m not doing that again.”

“Alright,” Jaren said, because what else did you say to something like that. “Fair enough.” He sat back, settling his hands on his lap after a moment of awkward indecision. “Is there anything I can do?” he eventually asked, because he did want to help somehow, both because it was his job and because it was just who he was. There was a reason he’d been drawn to the Yellow Ajah in the first place.

A confused frown creased Marten’s brow. “I don’t know,” he said, fiddling with a corner of the blanket without seeming aware that he was doing so. “Probably not.” He hesitated for a bit, casting a sideways glance at Jaren, still not quite meeting his eyes. “Why would you want to? You can’t exactly like me, not after… all that.”

He didn’t, no, but neither did Jaren hate him, not for a long time anymore, if he ever had. He’d been just about ready to throw Marten out of the window many times over the course of the three years they’d been roommates, but it had been a long time ago, Jaren couldn’t be bothered with harbouring a grudge against someone so obviously unhappy, especially when his own life was very close to perfect. That wasn’t exactly something he could say out loud, though. So he just repeated, “Yellow Ajah, remember?”

“Of course,” Marten said. “Nothing personal, yeah?” The smile would have been quite disarming if it hadn’t been so obviously fake.

“Nothing personal,” Jaren agreed, returning the smile with his own, far more genuine if a little on the melancholy side. It was difficult to accept that there might not be anything he could do, though. “Have you talked to anybody? One of my brothers and sisters?”

Marten made a dismissive gesture. “The big guy has been trying to talk to me,” he said. He looked distinctly uncomfortable with the idea.

“Gareth?” Jaren asked. Marten gave a noncommittal shrug, but Gareth was the only Yellow Jaren could imagine anyone describing as ‘the big guy’. “You should let him, you know. He’s good at it.”

Another shrug. “If you say so,” Marten said, though it was obvious that he had no intention of following the advice. Jaren wondered if he could convince the senior Yellows to simply keep Marten in the Infirmary until he agreed to talk about what had happened, but quickly discarded the idea; it wasn’t how things worked, not with someone who wasn’t a danger to themselves or others. At a quick assessment, Marten wasn’t that.

“Or,” Jaren went on, “if you change your mind, you can always send for me. No, listen,” he added, raising his hands to silence any protests before the Dedicated could speak up, “I’ve already seen you at your worst. And what’s more, you’ve seen me at my worst, or close enough. What have you got to lose?”

Marten snorted softly. “What’s left of my dignity?” But that didn’t sound like a real argument anymore, and after a second he added, “I’ll think about it.”

Jaren smiled. “That’s all I ask,” he said, though inwardly he was wondering what the hell he’d just signed up for, and why. Though of course he knew the answer to that; it was what Healers did. He was just about to get up and take his leave — the conversation seemed to have reached its natural conclusion — when a change in Marten’s expression made him look over his shoulder. His smile widened as he did so. Jaryd was always a welcome sight, though his presence in the Infirmary was a little puzzling.

The Red smiled briefly back at him, but then his attention shifted to the Dedicated, his demeanour all business as he spoke one word, “Attend.”

Marten stared at the Red, and it was easy to see the exact moment the realisation dawned on him. “Fuck me,” he muttered faintly, seeming to somehow sink deeper into the pillows.

“I don’t think that’s on the agenda,” Jaren murmured, casting another glance at Jaryd. The Red stood completely blank-faced, not deviating from the ceremony, but Jaren could tell just how badly he wanted to break into a grin. “But good luck anyway.”
~*~ Later that evening, Jaren was lounging on the couch with a book, while Jaryd sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by piles of what seemed like letters and reports. After a while Jaren set his book down; he hadn’t turned a page in the past half an hour so he figured he may as well give up the pretense of reading if he’d much rather just watch his lover. The light from the fireplace gave Jaryd’s skin a warm glow, the dancing shadows accentuating the look of concentration on his face.

After a while longer, Jaryd spoke without looking up, “He chose the Red, you know.”

It took Jaren a second to figure out who he was talking about. “What, really?”

“Mmhm.” Then Jaryd glanced at him, eyebrows raised slightly. “Is that so surprising?”

“Maybe not,” Jaren conceded. Maybe it wasn’t, after what had happened with Ninya. “It’s just that he used to be terrified of you… once upon a time,” he added with a faint smile. “Once upon a time, not so long ago. And now he’d choose to work so closely with you.”

“He had to grow up eventually.” Though the words were mostly humorous, there was something deadly serious in the way he spoke them. It occurred to Jaren a little belatedly that as the Master of Soldiers, Jaryd would likely know Marten better than he did. Then the Red’s face melted into a smile and he shook his head. “No matter. Do you really want to keep talking about Marten?”

Jaren tilted his head as he returned the smile. “That depends,” he said, as though considering the question. “Do you really want to keep reading those reports until I’ve gone to sleep? Or could I persuade you to join me?”

“That depends,” Jaryd echoed his words, smile widening. “Is it just sleep you have in mind?”

“That…” Jaren stood up and, carefully avoiding the documents on the floor, crossed the distance between them. Jaryd stood as well, in a graceful motion, and met him halfway. “That’s negotiable,” Jaren murmured just before his lips met Jaryd’s, and the negotiation that followed required no words at all.

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