The first time Jaryd heard Torianin speak after her return -thankfully not to him- he ducked down a side corridor and hid as fast as he could, curled hands pressed against his ears, until the rushing dizziness passed and he could breathe again.
Jaryd had not seen the other Red since before--or maybe just after, the details were blurry--the Seanchan put a collar around his throat and taught him to grovel. He knew the Aes Sedai was no threat; he had selected her, groomed her, and raised her himself after all. He knew he could trust her...and yet he could not ignore the quaking quagmire of fear in his gut at the mere thought of hearing her voice.
That night he couldn’t explain what happened to Jaren, could barely find the words to beg his lover for something to help him sleep. I thought I was over this, he thought as he stared at the ceiling long after Jaren had drifted off. It happened so flaming long ago.
---
Thankfully Torianin seemed less than inclined to socialization, at least at first. She kept to herself and spent most of her time with her daughter, which suited Jaryd just fine. Eventually Abby donned novice white, however, leaving Torianin free to devote time to her Ajah once more. Two nights later, Darkfriends torched a village in eastern Ghealdan and anointed the one remaining wall with Dark Prophecy written in their victims’ blood.
The Shadow had no patience for Jaryd’s problems, it seemed, while the Light had given him an available hand to deal with the chaos if he had the strength to take it. If he cursed the Light a few times for its way of showing grace, who could blame him?
Thus it was that the Altaran forced himself, step by slow step, to the Gardens where he knew Torianin liked to spend her days. When he arrived she was there, sitting in dappled sunlight with a book in her hand. Torianin looked up as he approached, green eyes wary, and abruptly Jaryd remembered a very important fact: she was collared, too.
It didn’t make everything better, but it was a start. Had she been sul’dam, he wasn’t sure he could force himself to speak at all. As it was, Jaryd made it to a reasonably comfortable speaking distance before he sat without ceremony, crossing his legs as he faced the Seanchan woman. “I’m sorry for not speaking with you sooner,” he said. “Especially since this isn’t just a social call. The Red Ajah never sleeps, it seems.” He gave her a wry smile. “Business can wait a moment, however. How have you been settling in?”
OOC: Please feel free to completely ignore his state of mind and leave it as simple storytelling flavor if you want. I realized halfway through an entirely different approach to this post that Torianin is freaking Seanchan. Her accent alone would send him over the edge. That doesn’t mean his freak out has to be the center of the story though, ya know? Been there, done that. Jaryd had not seen the other Red since before--or maybe just after, the details were blurry--the Seanchan put a collar around his throat and taught him to grovel. He knew the Aes Sedai was no threat; he had selected her, groomed her, and raised her himself after all. He knew he could trust her...and yet he could not ignore the quaking quagmire of fear in his gut at the mere thought of hearing her voice.
That night he couldn’t explain what happened to Jaren, could barely find the words to beg his lover for something to help him sleep. I thought I was over this, he thought as he stared at the ceiling long after Jaren had drifted off. It happened so flaming long ago.
---
Thankfully Torianin seemed less than inclined to socialization, at least at first. She kept to herself and spent most of her time with her daughter, which suited Jaryd just fine. Eventually Abby donned novice white, however, leaving Torianin free to devote time to her Ajah once more. Two nights later, Darkfriends torched a village in eastern Ghealdan and anointed the one remaining wall with Dark Prophecy written in their victims’ blood.
The Shadow had no patience for Jaryd’s problems, it seemed, while the Light had given him an available hand to deal with the chaos if he had the strength to take it. If he cursed the Light a few times for its way of showing grace, who could blame him?
Thus it was that the Altaran forced himself, step by slow step, to the Gardens where he knew Torianin liked to spend her days. When he arrived she was there, sitting in dappled sunlight with a book in her hand. Torianin looked up as he approached, green eyes wary, and abruptly Jaryd remembered a very important fact: she was collared, too.
It didn’t make everything better, but it was a start. Had she been sul’dam, he wasn’t sure he could force himself to speak at all. As it was, Jaryd made it to a reasonably comfortable speaking distance before he sat without ceremony, crossing his legs as he faced the Seanchan woman. “I’m sorry for not speaking with you sooner,” he said. “Especially since this isn’t just a social call. The Red Ajah never sleeps, it seems.” He gave her a wry smile. “Business can wait a moment, however. How have you been settling in?”