Everything was gone. The searing pain, the sense of a thousand emotions at once. Even his own second thoughts.
Instead, Malcym found himself surrounded by a vibrant, life-filled forest. Sunlight filtered through the leafy canopy above him and the area was infused with a soft glow that came from everywhere and nowhere both.
His silver-blue eyes flashed as he saw a white wolf in front of him, golden eyes staring back at him. The wolf peered up at Malcym as if he was studying the young soldier.
Images flashed in his mind. Images of warmth and welcome and kinship ... and curiosity. More images, of moonlight set against the ocean waves crashing against a cliff.
“Mooncliff,” Mal whispered as if understanding the images in his mind. A name. One the wolf apparently nodded in understanding. More images ... a silver claw cutting through ... everything.
Mal touched his chest. “Silverclaw,” he murmured, referencing himself. More images ... hundreds more escalated into his mind ... ones of him running on an odd four-hoofed creature through familiar alpine forests ... enemies wearing helms eerily familiar to annoying insects ...
Pain shot through his body. A searing fire that hit him. He could not make out the surroundings, his eyes were too blurred. A crescendoing chorus of voices assaulted his ears like a flaming town crier had put a horn to his ear and shouted at the top his lungs.
“... poison is too strong to purge ... need a circle ... get the Captain-General ... Walker Asha’man ... any others ...”
His mind drifted ... the voices becoming too incoherent ... and then another jolt of pain, this one different as a hundred thousand threads flooded his body ...
...he was in the forest again, the wolf staring at him, surrounded by a number of bodies. Two-leged creatures, including one who reeked of such foulness ...
“I’m dying,” he whispered wistfully. A small smile touched his lips. Hundreds of leagues from home, alone and cut off from fellow Murandian soldiers.
You protected a brother, sisters. The voice came into his mind in the form of images, of different creatures, but ones he could identify without effort. Jerid. Lysira. Liana.
Odd that the word siblings and brother would be applied to the Asha’man and the two Warders. He barely knew two and the third least of all.
You protected your pack and killed those who sulk in shadow. More images rather than words, but Mal’s brain forced them into something he could understand. This is a good death ... but not your time to wake yet, brother. More roaming you must do ...
Again, he was thrust into a world of semi-consciousness, his mind floating between the waking and sleeping world. He heard multiple voices ... the pain replaced by aching drowsiness that seeped into his bones.
“... he needs to be questioned so that the Hall can make decisions,” one voice said, a male, grating, demanding. Amadician, by the sound of the accent.
“ ... is in too precarious of a state to speak and will not be seen, much less interrogated ...” another said, this one a woman whose origin Mal could not place.
A few other voices joined the chorus, all debating and demanding one thing or another ... something about Seanchan and threats to the Tower, concerns about war, more demands that Mal be spoken to, questioned ... clapped in irons was another phrase ...
And then a voice all too familiar ... all too protective of him.
“He will rest, he will heal, no one will speak to him,” the man said in a clear Ebou Dari accent. Mal could almost see gold-green eyes spark, like an old wolf ready to put down a young upstart without effort.
Other voices objected, demanding answers and threatening to bring in heavier fists, even the Master of Training and the Hall itself.
“Burn the bloody flaming Hall,” the Indigo Asha’man’s voice said. “I have the support of the Captain-General and if need be, I’ll appeal to the Gaidin Captain herself. She might hate my flaming guts, but she will listen, especially if two skilled Warders also speak about this boy’s need to rest and recover.”
There was silence followed by protest ... concerns of war ... concerns about preparing for war or launching a retaliatory strike ... the Asha’man’s mention of him personally returning for the drin.
“The Captain-General and others risked her life ... lost two Asha’man ... came back with the boy ...”
Light, but were these fools really considering such a move?
“... were after me, not assaulting the Tower,” the Asha’man said coldly. “There are nearly two centuries of bad blood between me and the Seanchan on this side of the Aryth. Because of them I can never go home. Because of me in some part, they have reason to ... fear channelers from this place. But there is no army coming, no Ever Victorious Army marching with raken or grolm or damane. It was a handful of Seanchan dreadlords and their minions.”
A brief silence and another utterance of words. “And for those Sitters who want war, point them in my direction or any others in this Tower who fought in previous ones. You pups are too young to remember any but the most recent ones. The First Seanchan Siege nearly brought this Tower to its knees. I fought in the Battle of Lights and the subsequent invasion of Shadowspan that followed it. I was on the front lines when the White Tower kidnapped our own and again when the second Seanchan attack occurred. I’ve fought the Shadow for this Tower for more years than I care to admit ... and lost count of the number of its people that war has killed. Wars are useless and the Hall would be foolish to consider another one.”
Silence ...
After Effects (Attn: Lysira Gaidin)
After Effects (Attn: Lysira Gaidin)
Jerid Walker Asha'man
"We all suffer. It's how we move past it that defines us."
"We all suffer. It's how we move past it that defines us."
Re: After Effects (Attn: Lysira Gaidin)
Malcym could hear voices as he opened his eyes ... voices that seemed engaged in a heated argument.
The sunlight from a top window forced him to close his eyes in brief pain. He winced silently as the voices continued.
A familiar male voice caused him to open his eyes again, and he endured the fierce light. Silver-blue eyes narrowed on four figures in front of him ... in pristine yellow-white chambers that could only be the flaming Infirmary. Light, but he hated this place.
And the man ... dressed in Asha’man black with a grey cord on his shoulder, young, dark blonde hair and brown eyes, a square jaw ... and Amadician accent.
“Nyoma Sedai, the Hall demands its answers and I will have them ...”
The other three people were a mixture of those he knew and those he did not know. One was a an Aes Sedai dressed in a yellow and teal dress, youthful-looking and gorgeous, as tall as he might be and very angry. The other two -- Lysira Gaidin and her aide, a trainee who served as her translator.
The latter two seemed somewhat set apart from the argument between the Asha’man and Aes Sedai, but still barricaded by the Aes Sedai all the same.
“And you can tell the Hall to stuff it,” the Aes Sedai, apparently Nyoma Sedai said firmly. “He will not be interrogated so long as he remains in this Infirmary and under my care. You bring the M’Hael and Amyrlin Seat here, things might change, but otherwise, the door is that way.”
Light, but the woman had a strong personality on her, especially when the wave of a shard flat hand dismissed the Asha’man without another word. A sharp protest only seemed to earn an icy glaze that caused the man to rapidly retreat.
And those same eyes seemed to settle on the Gaidin and her aide. Any other day, Mal would have placed winner of a battle of wills on Lysira Gaidin ... but this Aes Sedai might have proven her equal.
“You Gaidin, have an hour, and then I’m tossing you out. And only you. The boy stays outside.” Nyoma said sternly. Mal could observe the aide attempt to object. “Only her, trainee, or I’ll see to it you’re scrubbing bedpans and soaking sheets in this Infirmary until you earn your fancloak. Besides, now that he’s awake and in apparent need to eavesdrop, I believe the Gaidin will desire no witnesses in their conversation.”
Another attempt to interject and the Aes Sedai glared. “Boy, I’ve patched up her Asha’man more times than I care to admit with her present. I’ve learned a few things about hand language. She wants attention, she can ring the flaming bell by the door.”
And it was just that. Very soon, he was left alone with the diminutive Gaidin who loomed larger than the legends of old. He could feel those black eyes on her ... and smell ... the strange smell that flowed off her.
“Is the Asha’man well?” he croaked, his mouth dry. A second thought popped into his mind ... the Asha’man mentioned others returning for him. Two deaths ... the Captain-General ...
“I’m going to flaming kill him!” he growled. “He had no right!” Rage filled him as he pounded his fists against the mattress he lay in. Very weakly at that. “The Captain-General ... the others dying ... was worth more than mine.”
His silver-blue gaze went to the Gaidin, glowering. “How could you let that happen?”
The sunlight from a top window forced him to close his eyes in brief pain. He winced silently as the voices continued.
A familiar male voice caused him to open his eyes again, and he endured the fierce light. Silver-blue eyes narrowed on four figures in front of him ... in pristine yellow-white chambers that could only be the flaming Infirmary. Light, but he hated this place.
And the man ... dressed in Asha’man black with a grey cord on his shoulder, young, dark blonde hair and brown eyes, a square jaw ... and Amadician accent.
“Nyoma Sedai, the Hall demands its answers and I will have them ...”
The other three people were a mixture of those he knew and those he did not know. One was a an Aes Sedai dressed in a yellow and teal dress, youthful-looking and gorgeous, as tall as he might be and very angry. The other two -- Lysira Gaidin and her aide, a trainee who served as her translator.
The latter two seemed somewhat set apart from the argument between the Asha’man and Aes Sedai, but still barricaded by the Aes Sedai all the same.
“And you can tell the Hall to stuff it,” the Aes Sedai, apparently Nyoma Sedai said firmly. “He will not be interrogated so long as he remains in this Infirmary and under my care. You bring the M’Hael and Amyrlin Seat here, things might change, but otherwise, the door is that way.”
Light, but the woman had a strong personality on her, especially when the wave of a shard flat hand dismissed the Asha’man without another word. A sharp protest only seemed to earn an icy glaze that caused the man to rapidly retreat.
And those same eyes seemed to settle on the Gaidin and her aide. Any other day, Mal would have placed winner of a battle of wills on Lysira Gaidin ... but this Aes Sedai might have proven her equal.
“You Gaidin, have an hour, and then I’m tossing you out. And only you. The boy stays outside.” Nyoma said sternly. Mal could observe the aide attempt to object. “Only her, trainee, or I’ll see to it you’re scrubbing bedpans and soaking sheets in this Infirmary until you earn your fancloak. Besides, now that he’s awake and in apparent need to eavesdrop, I believe the Gaidin will desire no witnesses in their conversation.”
Another attempt to interject and the Aes Sedai glared. “Boy, I’ve patched up her Asha’man more times than I care to admit with her present. I’ve learned a few things about hand language. She wants attention, she can ring the flaming bell by the door.”
And it was just that. Very soon, he was left alone with the diminutive Gaidin who loomed larger than the legends of old. He could feel those black eyes on her ... and smell ... the strange smell that flowed off her.
“Is the Asha’man well?” he croaked, his mouth dry. A second thought popped into his mind ... the Asha’man mentioned others returning for him. Two deaths ... the Captain-General ...
“I’m going to flaming kill him!” he growled. “He had no right!” Rage filled him as he pounded his fists against the mattress he lay in. Very weakly at that. “The Captain-General ... the others dying ... was worth more than mine.”
His silver-blue gaze went to the Gaidin, glowering. “How could you let that happen?”
Jerid Walker Asha'man
"We all suffer. It's how we move past it that defines us."
"We all suffer. It's how we move past it that defines us."
- Bella
- Female Channeller Representative
- Posts: 5624
- Joined: April 14th, 2015, 11:28 pm
- PC: Miahala Darrow Sedai
- SC: Lysira Viathene Gaidin
- TC: Gareth Tomosan Asha'man
- QC: Natlya Cade Gaidin
- QC: Andraste Alhandra Sedai
- Location: New England
Re: After Effects (Attn: Lysira Gaidin)
Lysira Gaidin had watched, and she had waited. These were two things that she was superbly skilled at, traits and abilities that had been developed over decades of experience. If she really wanted to, she could stand in a crowded room, observe all and be observed by none...but she usually didn't need to work that hard.
Her small, slender form with its dark hair and dark eyes blended easily with the shadows and she leaned against the wall. She listened, and she took it all in.
They were all idiots, she had long ago decided. The ones who could not see past this or that down to the basic, pragmatic core of every issue the way she could. She would never disrespect an Aes Sedai or Asha'man aloud, of course. She was far too well trained, far too conditioned against that...but still. She had her own thoughts.
Soon, everyone left. It was just her and the mostly-conscious Drin laying on the bed.
"I’m going to flaming kill him! He had no right! The Captain-General ... the others dying ... was worth more than mine. How could you let that happen?”
Her dark brows shot up and something flashed through her dark eyes. She was at his bedside in an instant and her hand, small but inconceivably strong, had his face in her grip. Pressing on his jaw, his cheeks, his mouth--so he could not speak. Her upper lip twitched in what might be a snarl, and her dark eyes stared at him like he was...nothing.
After a moment, she let go. She was the blank shell again, although within, she felt the Darkness pull at her edges. She restrained it...for now.
'You will show respect in your words or I will rip out your tongue,' she signed without any apparent emotion. There was nothing to give any doubt about whether she'd do it or not. After all, he had just insulted--even threatened--her bond-mate. And beyond that, seemed to consider the woman was near to a mother to her outside of her own senses.
She would not tolerate either thought in him, or anyone else.
Her small, slender form with its dark hair and dark eyes blended easily with the shadows and she leaned against the wall. She listened, and she took it all in.
They were all idiots, she had long ago decided. The ones who could not see past this or that down to the basic, pragmatic core of every issue the way she could. She would never disrespect an Aes Sedai or Asha'man aloud, of course. She was far too well trained, far too conditioned against that...but still. She had her own thoughts.
Soon, everyone left. It was just her and the mostly-conscious Drin laying on the bed.
"I’m going to flaming kill him! He had no right! The Captain-General ... the others dying ... was worth more than mine. How could you let that happen?”
Her dark brows shot up and something flashed through her dark eyes. She was at his bedside in an instant and her hand, small but inconceivably strong, had his face in her grip. Pressing on his jaw, his cheeks, his mouth--so he could not speak. Her upper lip twitched in what might be a snarl, and her dark eyes stared at him like he was...nothing.
After a moment, she let go. She was the blank shell again, although within, she felt the Darkness pull at her edges. She restrained it...for now.
'You will show respect in your words or I will rip out your tongue,' she signed without any apparent emotion. There was nothing to give any doubt about whether she'd do it or not. After all, he had just insulted--even threatened--her bond-mate. And beyond that, seemed to consider the woman was near to a mother to her outside of her own senses.
She would not tolerate either thought in him, or anyone else.
Re: After Effects (Attn: Lysira Gaidin)
Malcym blinked, in part in surprise and in part in justified outrage. Well justified for him. Mal always knew he had a problem of opening his mouth before fulling thinking on his words.
Part of Malcym had a half a mind to bite the Gaidin’s hands. His silver-blue eyes flared with anger and for a brief moment, they flared with a hint of gold.
He would have pushed the Gaidin away if he could, but given his current physical state and the fact he couldn’t push away a kitchen mouse.
Of course, there was that ... killer instinct somewhere buried deep in her, emanating from her that filled his nostrils. He growled slightly, as if on instinct at something he could not fully comprehend.
Like a wolf snarling at the dark shadows that were more dangerous than fire.
“Fine, I’ll have some very strongly phrased choice words with him beyond the range of sharp or blunt weapons, Gaidin,” he said sharply. “And you can kill him.”
The Gaidin might have been strong-willed but Mal was just as stubborn and thick-headed.
“And don’t give that look as if want to bash my bloody skull in, Gaidin,” he muttered. “You’ll likely just break your hand and you’ll need that to fire your bow in defense of your Asha’man.”
Mal’s stomach rumbled and he realized the full impact of Healing had on his body ... and realized he had likely not eaten any solid food in days.
“As I said, there was no need to send people after me or after the Seanchan,” he said sharply. Why risk good people, or the Captain-General herself, on a drin who was already submitted to his fate to ensure an Asha’man and his Warder survive?”
His eyes sparked. “How is the Asha’man? Well?”
Part of Malcym had a half a mind to bite the Gaidin’s hands. His silver-blue eyes flared with anger and for a brief moment, they flared with a hint of gold.
He would have pushed the Gaidin away if he could, but given his current physical state and the fact he couldn’t push away a kitchen mouse.
Of course, there was that ... killer instinct somewhere buried deep in her, emanating from her that filled his nostrils. He growled slightly, as if on instinct at something he could not fully comprehend.
Like a wolf snarling at the dark shadows that were more dangerous than fire.
“Fine, I’ll have some very strongly phrased choice words with him beyond the range of sharp or blunt weapons, Gaidin,” he said sharply. “And you can kill him.”
The Gaidin might have been strong-willed but Mal was just as stubborn and thick-headed.
“And don’t give that look as if want to bash my bloody skull in, Gaidin,” he muttered. “You’ll likely just break your hand and you’ll need that to fire your bow in defense of your Asha’man.”
Mal’s stomach rumbled and he realized the full impact of Healing had on his body ... and realized he had likely not eaten any solid food in days.
“As I said, there was no need to send people after me or after the Seanchan,” he said sharply. Why risk good people, or the Captain-General herself, on a drin who was already submitted to his fate to ensure an Asha’man and his Warder survive?”
His eyes sparked. “How is the Asha’man? Well?”
Jerid Walker Asha'man
"We all suffer. It's how we move past it that defines us."
"We all suffer. It's how we move past it that defines us."
- Bella
- Female Channeller Representative
- Posts: 5624
- Joined: April 14th, 2015, 11:28 pm
- PC: Miahala Darrow Sedai
- SC: Lysira Viathene Gaidin
- TC: Gareth Tomosan Asha'man
- QC: Natlya Cade Gaidin
- QC: Andraste Alhandra Sedai
- Location: New England
Re: After Effects (Attn: Lysira Gaidin)
'He is better off than you are,' she signed back easily.
It wasn't that Lysira was not grateful for what the Drin had done. It had helped Lysira assure that her husband-bond was back to safety and away from those who would harm him, but she wasn't used to people being quite so outright disrespectful. Especially not to her face. No one who knew her would be.
If he had a proper leg to stand on, as the saying went, it would be one thing. Now, he just sounded like a petulant child who was upset that he couldn't control the grownups.
'I am sure he will be grateful that you've decided to not kill him,' she added, deadpan but for a slight lift to one brow.
It wasn't that Lysira was not grateful for what the Drin had done. It had helped Lysira assure that her husband-bond was back to safety and away from those who would harm him, but she wasn't used to people being quite so outright disrespectful. Especially not to her face. No one who knew her would be.
If he had a proper leg to stand on, as the saying went, it would be one thing. Now, he just sounded like a petulant child who was upset that he couldn't control the grownups.
'I am sure he will be grateful that you've decided to not kill him,' she added, deadpan but for a slight lift to one brow.
Re: After Effects (Attn: Lysira Gaidin)
Malcym was angry. Angier than he ever with the exception ... of a time he best left buried.
And the Gaidin’s silent jibes did not make his mood less volatile. In fact, he felt the desire to lunge at her, rip her slender throat out ...
Malcym had never been an officer, but he’d been given a rank suitable enough to lead men into battle. Men who lived ... and men he ordered into impossible situations because high lords and ladies thought it important enough to insist on the throne for their own vanity.
“I’m not sure how it is with Warders,” he murmured, “but when we soldiers were sent into battle, some of us chose to remain behind. I had to leave boys younger than myself behind so we could escape rescuing villagers kidnapped by brigands hoping to make a quick profit. The noble who we were ordered to report to gave us a pat on the back, told us those villagers were important to his lace-weaving profits and then gave no second thought to recovering the bodies of my men.”
Mal lifted his silver-blue eyes toward Lysira and murmured. “Had I hesitated, had I sent men back to rescue those who stayed behind, more of them would have been dead for that noble to shite on their memories.”
His gaze hardened. “I apologize if I offend you, Lysira Gaidin, and doubly so if I insult your Asha’man, but the life of one or a few is not worth more lives.”
He cocked his head as he struggled to sit up. His stomach growled, but he ignored it.
“How many lives could those Dedicated have changed? How much good could they have done? I’m one soldier, one trainee who rails at the world and mouths off,” he said. “Sending Miahala Sedai, other channelers and their Warders, learning ranks ... to rescue one person, when there could have been much worse odds waiting ... that reeks of an act a nobleman would employ in order to save face.”
His eyes flashed, not out of anger, but regret. “Your Asha’man escaped, the flaming Seanchan Darkfriends were shite out of luck and they would be bloody insane to attack city or Tower. Most of them were dead ...” His eyes hardened again. “And then my life was saved. And two men who will never know their mothers’ smiles again, never feel a lover’s touch or pride in earning the Cord and Dragon pin.”
He was silent but a moment. “Please know that I respect you, Gaidin, more than most officers I’ve had to serve under. But your Asha’man did a terrible injustice asking the Captain-General and others to go into harm’s way for one man already committed to death.
“I was his sworn shield, trainee or not, and I was willing to die to see three good people to safety.”
But why are you not wanting to live? a voice echoed in him. He ignored it.
“I was ordered by my captain to protect your Ward, an oath solidified on a promise to your son to see him safely until he ... until he died,” he said sharply.
Mal closed his eyes and muttered, “But all you’re hearing is blah blah blah, meh meh meh.”
And the Gaidin’s silent jibes did not make his mood less volatile. In fact, he felt the desire to lunge at her, rip her slender throat out ...
Malcym had never been an officer, but he’d been given a rank suitable enough to lead men into battle. Men who lived ... and men he ordered into impossible situations because high lords and ladies thought it important enough to insist on the throne for their own vanity.
“I’m not sure how it is with Warders,” he murmured, “but when we soldiers were sent into battle, some of us chose to remain behind. I had to leave boys younger than myself behind so we could escape rescuing villagers kidnapped by brigands hoping to make a quick profit. The noble who we were ordered to report to gave us a pat on the back, told us those villagers were important to his lace-weaving profits and then gave no second thought to recovering the bodies of my men.”
Mal lifted his silver-blue eyes toward Lysira and murmured. “Had I hesitated, had I sent men back to rescue those who stayed behind, more of them would have been dead for that noble to shite on their memories.”
His gaze hardened. “I apologize if I offend you, Lysira Gaidin, and doubly so if I insult your Asha’man, but the life of one or a few is not worth more lives.”
He cocked his head as he struggled to sit up. His stomach growled, but he ignored it.
“How many lives could those Dedicated have changed? How much good could they have done? I’m one soldier, one trainee who rails at the world and mouths off,” he said. “Sending Miahala Sedai, other channelers and their Warders, learning ranks ... to rescue one person, when there could have been much worse odds waiting ... that reeks of an act a nobleman would employ in order to save face.”
His eyes flashed, not out of anger, but regret. “Your Asha’man escaped, the flaming Seanchan Darkfriends were shite out of luck and they would be bloody insane to attack city or Tower. Most of them were dead ...” His eyes hardened again. “And then my life was saved. And two men who will never know their mothers’ smiles again, never feel a lover’s touch or pride in earning the Cord and Dragon pin.”
He was silent but a moment. “Please know that I respect you, Gaidin, more than most officers I’ve had to serve under. But your Asha’man did a terrible injustice asking the Captain-General and others to go into harm’s way for one man already committed to death.
“I was his sworn shield, trainee or not, and I was willing to die to see three good people to safety.”
But why are you not wanting to live? a voice echoed in him. He ignored it.
“I was ordered by my captain to protect your Ward, an oath solidified on a promise to your son to see him safely until he ... until he died,” he said sharply.
Mal closed his eyes and muttered, “But all you’re hearing is blah blah blah, meh meh meh.”
Jerid Walker Asha'man
"We all suffer. It's how we move past it that defines us."
"We all suffer. It's how we move past it that defines us."
- Bella
- Female Channeller Representative
- Posts: 5624
- Joined: April 14th, 2015, 11:28 pm
- PC: Miahala Darrow Sedai
- SC: Lysira Viathene Gaidin
- TC: Gareth Tomosan Asha'man
- QC: Natlya Cade Gaidin
- QC: Andraste Alhandra Sedai
- Location: New England
Re: After Effects (Attn: Lysira Gaidin)
Lysira's eyes grew darker.
How was this possibly when they were basically already black? That's a very good question. None of us can know how, but it happened and it was not a good sight. She listened to every single word that dropped from his suicidal mouth. She waited. She listened. She gave him his chance to take all the rope he wanted.
Stepping forward, she slapped him sharply across the face. This was not an angry woman's slap, but a commander who was tired of someone's shit...and who needed his eyes open to 'hear' her.
'Your martyrdom is disgusting, and it's offensive that you think you are allowed to control everyone around you,' she signed. Her hands moved as smoothly and easily as if she hadn't just left a red hand print on his cheek, and her impossibly dark eyes were set in a face that did not match them. So smooth and unaffected as it appeared.
'Persons in the Tower were rightly informed of the situation and--' She paused here, holding up her finger to make sure he was still listening to it. '--and this is the important part, so pay attention...the captain-general and those who went with her CHOSE--' This word was signed with deliberately slowness, like teaching the word to a child. '--to pursue the actions they did.
'You led men into battle. You had terrible things happen. But your pain is not a pass to shit upon others, as you so eloquently put it. These are powerful people who know more than you and they make their own decisions.' She made her way to the door, looking back at him with that same cold around her. 'Stuff your respect until you know what the word means and can value someone else above hearing the sound of your own voice.'
With that, she left. The door shut softly behind her, a quiet period at the end of her words.
How was this possibly when they were basically already black? That's a very good question. None of us can know how, but it happened and it was not a good sight. She listened to every single word that dropped from his suicidal mouth. She waited. She listened. She gave him his chance to take all the rope he wanted.
Stepping forward, she slapped him sharply across the face. This was not an angry woman's slap, but a commander who was tired of someone's shit...and who needed his eyes open to 'hear' her.
'Your martyrdom is disgusting, and it's offensive that you think you are allowed to control everyone around you,' she signed. Her hands moved as smoothly and easily as if she hadn't just left a red hand print on his cheek, and her impossibly dark eyes were set in a face that did not match them. So smooth and unaffected as it appeared.
'Persons in the Tower were rightly informed of the situation and--' She paused here, holding up her finger to make sure he was still listening to it. '--and this is the important part, so pay attention...the captain-general and those who went with her CHOSE--' This word was signed with deliberately slowness, like teaching the word to a child. '--to pursue the actions they did.
'You led men into battle. You had terrible things happen. But your pain is not a pass to shit upon others, as you so eloquently put it. These are powerful people who know more than you and they make their own decisions.' She made her way to the door, looking back at him with that same cold around her. 'Stuff your respect until you know what the word means and can value someone else above hearing the sound of your own voice.'
With that, she left. The door shut softly behind her, a quiet period at the end of her words.
Re: After Effects (Attn: Lysira Gaidin)
Malcym sat there in his bed, too shocked to speak. His ears were burning and the stinging still lingered long after he watched the small Gaidin depart the room in righteous fury.
Only it wasn’t the red mark left on his face left by her slap that stung, but her silent words.
The slap had shocked him, surely -- he’d received similar ones from officers in the past and only in the first months of his training -- but Gaidin’s silent assessment pierced deeper than any Seanchan crossbow bolt.
The first emotion to spark after the shock began to fade was anger -- a deep, seething rage aimed at a woman that by all rights he had come to respect. Or at least possibly identify with.
He was a fool to do so, now, apparently, given her disparaging remarks. Martyrdom? Him? He snorted at that accusation.
How dare that woman ever think he crapped on the reputation of others when it was the other way ...
It isn’t and you’re a flaming fool to think otherwise, his conscience told him. He growled, mostly at himself.
Every argument seemed to come back to the same internal response. That he didn’t seek to control other people despite the charge otherwise, that he enjoyed hearing the sound of his own voice ...
... but there had been a time when he hated speaking so. When did he stop putting duty and humility before hubris and a desire to be recognized?
When did he begin to start bragging about leading men into battle while tritely giving the fallen credit as heroes?
His silver-blue eyes hardened after a while. He had earned the right to speak as such! He’d gone through hell and been recognized for it -- and been discharged because some flaming noble held a grudge against him, and apparently against his own growing popularity.
... and now ... the Gaidin who had stormed out on him after he’d saved her hide and that of her Asha’man’s hated him ... and he could trace it back to one source. This had started with Miahala Sedai all those several days ago ...
Don’t go that route he warned himself. But his mind was already working contrary to his own internal advice.
He would have vengeance.
/fin
Only it wasn’t the red mark left on his face left by her slap that stung, but her silent words.
The slap had shocked him, surely -- he’d received similar ones from officers in the past and only in the first months of his training -- but Gaidin’s silent assessment pierced deeper than any Seanchan crossbow bolt.
The first emotion to spark after the shock began to fade was anger -- a deep, seething rage aimed at a woman that by all rights he had come to respect. Or at least possibly identify with.
He was a fool to do so, now, apparently, given her disparaging remarks. Martyrdom? Him? He snorted at that accusation.
How dare that woman ever think he crapped on the reputation of others when it was the other way ...
It isn’t and you’re a flaming fool to think otherwise, his conscience told him. He growled, mostly at himself.
Every argument seemed to come back to the same internal response. That he didn’t seek to control other people despite the charge otherwise, that he enjoyed hearing the sound of his own voice ...
... but there had been a time when he hated speaking so. When did he stop putting duty and humility before hubris and a desire to be recognized?
When did he begin to start bragging about leading men into battle while tritely giving the fallen credit as heroes?
His silver-blue eyes hardened after a while. He had earned the right to speak as such! He’d gone through hell and been recognized for it -- and been discharged because some flaming noble held a grudge against him, and apparently against his own growing popularity.
... and now ... the Gaidin who had stormed out on him after he’d saved her hide and that of her Asha’man’s hated him ... and he could trace it back to one source. This had started with Miahala Sedai all those several days ago ...
Don’t go that route he warned himself. But his mind was already working contrary to his own internal advice.
He would have vengeance.
/fin
Jerid Walker Asha'man
"We all suffer. It's how we move past it that defines us."
"We all suffer. It's how we move past it that defines us."
meble kuchenne na wymiar cennik
Who is online
Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 1 guest