Sought by the Seeker [Jerid!]

[Stasia]

Illyria Malkom

The Aes Sedai had not corresponded very much with the First Seeker during his tenure; she did not venture from the Tower and her work and progress was directly beneath his nose, all observable and traceable. She worked primarily with research in Talents, the function and form of saidar, and training Novices in their blossoming skills. She had an admirable amount of control over Tel'aran'rhoid, but was not as gifted with objects of the Power as many of the others in the Indigo ranks - most of the categorization in the Vaults was left up to Elia, now that Jhanic was the Master of Soldiers, but Illyria could not help what Talents she possessed and which ones she did not.

Jerid Walker did not seem to mind her solitary nature, either: her work was completed in a timely fashion and she sent reports every so often about anything new or interesting she found. She liked that he respected her enough to not breathe down her neck about her contributions to her Ajah and the world at large - not all First Seekers had been the same. In fact, she wondered if she had seen enough of the wiry man. She hardly knew him, despite their shared home, and had not spent more than five minutes in his company before.

Perhaps, she thought idly as she finished pinning her Oathsworn brooch to her dress, perhaps the First Seeker is not fond of Seanchan. He had near single-handedly defended Hama Valon in both sieges; one had been before she was born and in the second, she had been preoccupied in the World of Dreams with a Dreadlord. She pricked her finger on the back of the pin as she thought of Amadie Laine, here yet not, alive yet dead. She could not quite view the Blue as a clinical curiosity, trapped forever in Tel'aran'rhoid in the flesh, but it was a remarkable phenomenon nonetheless. "Burn me," she said softly, the small injury drawing forth a rare swear. She sucked a bead of blood away from her forefinger. "Burn the Pattern, too."

She glanced at her reflection in the vanity; though she left her hair free, she was dressed in a shade of violet, and the lilac fringe of her formal shawl draped down her back. Her shawl usually sat at the bottom of a heavy chest filled with cloaks and dresses - it was not often that occasion demanded that she wear it, not since she had relinquished all formal positions. But it was not very often that the First Seeker asked anyone to attend him, either. Embroidered with flowers and vines were stitched across the fabric with a painstaking attention to detail, and it was a shame that her shawl did not make an appearance more often. It was a beautiful garment, after all, and she liked what it stood for: she wore an ageless face in a sea of channelers who had cast away their sworn Oaths at the first opportunity.

It was difficult not to wonder what would happen as the Tower continued to heal from its fractures - Illyria did not think that she imagined that the Ajahs seemed more isolated and insulated, but she was willing to admit that her perspective was fallible: she had spent the better part of a year in mourning. And now, I'm summoned to my Ajah Head. It was likely no coincidence that the letter arrived shortly after she began teaching again and crept back into polite society. It had been kind of the man to wait, but she doubted that he would have any praise for her.

Deal with that as it comes, she reminded herself, and shrouded herself in serenity as she swept from the room. Jerid's rooms were not far from hers, and she would know what the man wanted soon enough.

[Jack]

Jerid Walker Asha'man Jerid’s gold-green eyes studied one of several wooden scene panels hanging on the walls of his massive office. It was the Battle of the Lights, the last great siege the White Cloaks attempted on the Grey Tower and a still-building city of Hama Valon. It portrayed the two sides, the Grey Tower and the Whitecloaks engaged on the field of battle.

The Indigo remembered the battle well. As a Dedicated, he had been on the front lines, and had been with Miahala Sedai when she ended the life of its mastermind, a Dreadlord bearing the family name that belonged to her husband at the time. The battle that followed, the true war where Shadowspawn and Dreadlords invaded Hama Valon and the first Fiery Serpent was about to execute his own personal plan, was the true war.

And it keeps on churning, he thought as his mind focused on the extensive detail. Other panels were of different scenes: of Camden Correlle, House Walker’s estate in the Mountains of Mists, of other battles, or of nature. All of them were Jerid’s handiwork, a blessing of hard work rather than the One Power. The latter only preserved the work from rot or age.

The rest of the office was packed up in crates on the floor of the main study. His personal office, just behind another door, was all but barren. The bookshelves were empty, the tables and massive desk in the current room free of trinkets, ter’anreal and unnecessary paperwork.

Servants were in the background, busying themselves with removing the crates. One crate of books would go to Elia Sedai, volumes of research on items of the One Power: a few books would go to Jhanic Asha’man. Many more would go to the Library. The rest — the bulk — was his own research bound for other parts.

I’m finally doing this, he thought to himself. The decision was made a month ago, during a quiet night with his wife and Warder Lysira. She only looked up at him and signed quietly, Are you sure you want this. The silent Gaidin seemed pleased with his answer.

Now here he stood, contemplating if he made the right selection. Five letters sat on his desk: one each to the M’Hael, Rodric Amadeo, and the Amyrlin Seat, addressed as Miahala Sha’hal Sedai, a third to the Mistress of Arms, a fourth to the Ji Natlya for when she returned from her pilgrimage to Mayene.

A fifth letter was addressed to the person whom he was to meet shortly.

Hence the occasion he was dressed for, albeit not a departure from what he wore every day.

Dressed in Asha’man black, he cut quite the figure. Lean, tall, his chestnut hair long since cut shorter, to his neck now than the much longer look of his younger years. The lapels of his coat bore the gold dragon and silver sword pins of his rank, the Indigo cord around his shoulder. The long knife at his side was not ceremonial. By his very stance he knew how to use it. Perhaps not so surprising was the lack of a pin of an Oathsworn channeler; most were not surprised that he wouldn’t hold to the oaths especially after he supported the old M’Hael’s call to allow people to vote.

Few knew the truth about the youthful-looking Asha’man, that he had been free of the Oaths for much longer than the vote of the Hall. If they did, no one mentioned it, and Jerid found it very effective in the war against the Shadow. If he could ever bring himself to lie, that was.

Despite the youthful look, it was obvious in the gold-flecked green eyes that he was growing tired ... perhaps not of life, but of waiting. While he was First Seeker, he was not the most effective one. Most demanded advances, constant updates, and kept some of their more passionate members on a leash. The latter he did should it threaten the Tower or his Ajah, but the truth was that Jerid Walker was a soldier more than anything else. Three wars and several engagements had since earned him the nickname “The Battling Indigo” because he was one of the Tower’s most powerful and skilled combat channelers.

This last war, the second Seanchan Siege, was the last straw.

As the servants left, Jerid’s aide at the present, a young Dedicated by the name of Derrick, came rushing in. He wasn’t as adaptable as his old aide, Soldier Morgan Cade, but he was the best he could find at the moment.

“Yes Dedicated,” Jerid murmured without looking up.

“Illyria Aes Sedai is here for a meeting, Asha’man,” the Dedicated said. Jerid inclined his head and murmured, “Please show her in.”

Jerid had never paid much outward attention to Illyria over the years. She kept to herself, kept her reports coming regularly but otherwise stayed out of the limelight. She had been Mistress of Novices at one time, and that earned her a certain level of respect in Jerid’s eyes, he himself Master of Soldiers at one time.

He knew she was Seanchan, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t hate so indiscriminately to lump all Seanchan together, especially after a powerful noble family married into House Walker after they released all damane they held at their command.

On paper, she seemed the perfect candidate to take over. Her speciality lay in Talents, she knew more about the interests and perhaps ambitions of their Ajah than he, and if she had her own agendas, they were very upfront.

Illyria was shown in, just perhaps as the last group of workers was leaving for the moment with a crate of objects bound for the Traveling area. Jerid looked sideways, his gold-green eyes immediately sizing her up. It was an initial judgement, and would bear refinement, but the Indigo thought he made a good decision.

“Sorry for the clutter, Aes Sedai,” Jerid murmured, paying almost no heed that most of the crates were gone in the otherwise barren suite of offices. He motioned to the wooden panel of Camden Corelle, as it was seen from a high view: a lightly forested vale with streams running through it, at its heart a keep and a large town. Despite its status as a mining outpost, it maintained a strict balance to nature.

“This one,” he murmured before indicating to a side table, prepped with cups, a small platter of food and two pots. One was simple tea and the other one by its simple and (to him) offensive odor, kaf.

He simply sat, expecting Illyria to join him. “I trust you are well,” he murmured, as he poured her drink of choice. “I’d ask how your research is going, but your reports speak highly of that, so I’ll not dally on social niceties.”

He again gestured to the wooden panels on the walls. “Only one of these will stay behind, and only the one that the next occupant of this office selects. “The rest will return to Camden Corelle,” he murmured. “So Illyria, which one will it be for you?”

[Stasia]

Illyria Malkom

The petite Aes Sedai was surprised to see that the First Seeker had nearly cleaned out his office; heavy crates were carted out by Dedicated that were covered in sweat, somewhere towards the exit of the Tower. The man had enough material for an entire exodus, but she supposed that as an Asha'man, he had plenty of time to gather the items that filled the crates. Jerid Walker had been Asha'man when she had first come to the Tower decades ago. She wove her way through the maze of boxes and piles of books carefully, making sure not to disturb any of the First Seeker's things, and the Dedicated that showed her through the parlor seemed very eager to be gone.

Illyria appraised the young man with a surreptitious gaze; he seemed eager to please, but acted as though he was on glass. Just what kind of man is Jerid Walker? What surprised her more was that she had never bothered to ask that question before this moment - surely, that should have been of greater importance before she was formally called to attend him. It didn't matter before this, she realized, thinking of Silas and little Emila, one vanished and one tucked away in the Borderlands, it wasn't relevant before. It seemed that she would soon find out.

She was shown into his personal office and the nervous Dedicated was quick to duck back out the doorway and to heave up another crate of belongings; she watched the young man as he went and idly wondered if he was an Aspirant or merely someone unfortunate enough to be on the receiving end of Jhanic's honorable tongue. Illyria stood silently, her hands clasped together and her ceremonial shawl draped over her shoulders, and watched her Ajah Head until he addressed her. Jerid Walker was not intimidating in the traditional sense of the word: he was not particularly menacing or broad-shouldered or gruff, but there was an air about him - a very predatory and capable air - that informed her that he was not a man to be trifled with.

Silas had much the same aura in public places - he had only been soft with her. Illyria assumed that Jerid had a similar arrangement with his wife. The glittering, deadly knife that hung at his hip only served to support her first impression of him; she had a little skill with daggers, but preferred the use of the One Power when her life was in danger. The absence of an Oathsworn pin informed her that Jerid was comfortable with divergence - all things considered, perhaps she was the divergent one - and when he finally glanced up from a stack of letters to address her, the expression held in his hazel eyes informed her that they were in similar straits.

Jerid Walker looked bone-weary and restless.

"Sorry for the clutter, Aes Sedai." It was a murmured apology; Illyria did not think that it warranted a response, as it seemed like he was half-apologizing to himself as he lead her towards one of the few pieces of furniture that remained. She dipped her head wordlessly, acknowledging and accepting his concession. It was curiosity that drove her more than anything else, as it was clear that Jerid Asha'man was leaving the Tower and not merely relocating to smaller apartments on the other side of the Tower, and she trailed dutifully behind him towards the little table that remained.

"This one," he said, his voice still quiet - and gestured to the table. It seemed that he, or perhaps the nervous Dedicated, had prepared a small luncheon. There were small sandwiches and two pots of steaming liquid; Illyria recognized the acidic sent of kaf immediately, as Silas had enjoyed the abhorrent, scorching stuff in the early mornings. It was then that it occurred to her that Jerid Walker could be testing her. She seated herself with grace, kept her features schooled to serenity, but silently contemplated their tight quarters. What is the meaning of this? Pale eyes slid from pot to pot, then finally settled on Jerid's unreadable features. Illyria had not had kaf since leaving Seanchan. She had, in fact, avoided it purposefully since then. But he would not know that - perhaps he wouldn't even care. Even if she chose the tea, would he assume that it was for show? Would he be so petty? Or is it pettiness at all? The First Seeker made her feel as though selecting the correct drink was more a trial than a triviality: they stared at another for a moment that could not have been longer than a few heartbeats, both wearing unreadable serene expressions, deadlocked in silence.

"Tea please," she said softly, not tearing her gaze away from his as he poured the steaming drink; during her time as Mistress of Novices, she had kept tea stocked from every nation as a last taste of home before stuffing girls into their white dresses, and by the scent of this tea, it was Andoran, bitter and strong. It's been too long, she thought, Far, far too long since I've played Stones. The life of an Aes Sedai was political in nature and absence from interactions like these made her paranoid. Or, knowing the reputation that preceded him, perhaps it was not paranoia after all.

“I trust you are well,” he said in an equally quiet voice as he finished pouring her drink, “I’d ask how your research is going, but your reports speak highly of that, so I’ll not dally on social niceties.” Illyria cleared her throat as she added milk and a few lumps of sugar to her tea; the Andoran tea was not any good without assistance. Why am I here, then? The First Seeker gestured back to one of the gargantuan paintings that hung on the dark-paneled walls. "Only one of these will stay behind, and only the one that the next occupant of this office selects. The rest will return to Camden Corelle." It was a cryptic statement, in that same soft voice: the Aes Sedai wondered if the walking legend was characteristically quiet or if he was toying with her. She sipped her tea without comment and waited for him to continue. Elia would likely prefer one of the nature scenes - why was he telling her this?

"So Illyria," he continued, turning back to face her with that same, unreadable expression, "Which one will it be for you?" Despite herself, she blinked in surprise. It was a small gesture, but it betrayed her shock nonetheless. Her teacup hovered at her lips, stopped halfway between a sip.

"I'll not take any of your battle portraits, Asha'man," she said dryly, slowly replacing her teacup on the saucer. "I was only present for one of them and spent the duration of it in Tel'aran'rhoid, as you know." She was suddenly more aware of the soft slur that clung to the syllables of the Old Tongue than she had been in years: though she saw an offer when it was presented, she could not help but feel that it was still a probationary measure. "I'll keep one of your pastoral ones, if you can bear to part with it." She passed the mantle of Ajah Head to him shortly before Emila was born, and now it seemed that he saw fit to give it back. Though, why he had chosen her and not Elia remained to be seen.

"I assume that you will return to Camden Corelle with your portraits?"

Spoiler: show

Sorry for the delay, I've had a hellish week in school.

[Jack]

Jerid nearly smiled as he lifted his cup to his mouth. It was good to see that the Seanchan Aes still held some measure of savvy and intuition despite her years toiling away in her research and her family life.

Of course, the now barren offices of the First Seeker was a key indication that he too would be gone before the week was gone.

“Aye, I can part with one, and it would be in good hands I imagine,” Jerid said as he set his tea down. The First Seeker was not normally known for niceties like this, except at the close of one chapter.

“And you assume correctly, Illyria Sedai,” he said quietly as he looked at painted wooden landscape. The one of Camden Corelle stuck out most of all because there was a sense of serenity about it. For a town that was built on mining, it looked serene enough, with trees and streams and at its heart the town itself, and the keep that defended it. “I intend to leave for Camden Corelle in a day or so and properly assume my role as its lord.”

He looked around the empty office, as was evidence of his decision and continued, his eyes on the Seanchan woman.

“I cannot very well rule in Camden Corelle and effectively run my Ajah at the same time, and truth be told, I think they would see it as a chance to force my hand in selecting a replacement of their choosing,” Jerid said. “There was one I would have selected in the past, but she is dead because my Warder killed her. Zae Rowe would have made a fine First Seeker if she didn’t try to have me killed or she was Black Ajah.”

It was no secret that Jerid had been close to the Andoran Aes Sedai, more so than any save his Warder. And when Bryn, his daughter, was killed by Black Ajah in this very Tower, it was no secret he had withdrawn in on himself to seek the puppeteer and let Zae lead day-to-day operations.

Those were days gone by now, however, and the Asha’man had become more unapproachable, especially following the Second Seanchan Siege.

“You handed me the reigns of the Ajah years ago, Illyria, without measure beyond knowing I was capable of at least keeping things from sinking,” Jerid said, leaning forward. His gold-green eyes were like augers, digging for the truth. But he already knew before she had stepped through the door. “Ideally, I would name one of my Sitters to the post, but Dorin is still too new to his status as the Second Sitter. Jhanic would be the ideal selection, but I know from being in his position once that the Master of Soldiers requires all his concentration.” He left another option unnamed, one that perhaps was on the tip of Illyria's tongue in the form of a question.

He named Elia to the rank of First Sitter because someone was needed in the Hall and because Zae was dead, and she should naturally be his first choice. He had other reasons that informed his decision today.

“Did they tell you, Illyria, what awaited you, the day they sent you to these lands for your training, what you would face?” he asked. The gold-green eyes were still as the youthful-looking Asha’man studied the other Indigo. “The Seanchan here were already well aware enough to know not to dismiss the stories as legend.” He of course was talking about himself, much to his distaste. How many generations had been raised on the story of Siea cain daemen, the golden-eyed demon, how many would fear that name had he continued on.

“Two dozen Seekers for Truth lay buried or turned to ash because they tried to attack me or those I love, and armies are but tatters because they dared come up against me,” he murmured. “Then this last war ...”

His eyes grew distant before snapping back to Illyria.

“You are to lead this Ajah, Illyria Malkom, but first you must discern why. You have three attempts and three questions you may ask,” he said. Most would assume the Indigo, being an Asha’man, was playing games. Anyone who knew him, however, and knew his record in the Hall of Sitters for cutting to the heart of the matter understood differently.