Why? [attn: Jenn/Affie]

[Locke]

Alric

The Lady of the Lake was probably a nicer place than most would choose to drink their sorrows, but Alric wanted somewhere he could drink without stumbling across anybody he knew. The newly raised Dedicated sat a lone at the far end of the bar with a rocks glass and a bottle of gin for company. The other patrons eyed his stormy countenance and gave him a wide berth. The sword at his waist did nothing to alleviate their unease. In fact Alric didn’t care one what they did one way or another. One of the more courageous barflys, a Domani woman with an easy smile, even tried to chat him up. All to no avail as he continued to determinedly drink.

He had decisions to make. By the end of the night, he knew he would have to take a walk. Walk back to the Tower, walk out of the city, or walk off the docks. Walking back to the Tower was sensible, but this day hadn’t been sensible. His time the Arches was giving him serious reason to question if he even deserved to be an Asha’man. Conversely, did he want to be one of them? The kinds of decisions he’d been forced to make in the Arches, was that the kind of man they wanted? It wasn’t the man he wanted to be. Shakily, he poured himself some more gin. He should just walk away from all of this. What would he do? He couldn’t go back to Mayene. He’d figure something something out. It was better than the third option. He laughed bitterly before knocking back his drink. The taste of juniper and botanicals rolled down his tongue to settle like a flame in his stomach.

“Too much of a coward to just end it,” he growled, wiping his mouth. Maybe he could just sit here and drink till it all ended. The room continued to tilt and spin around him. Except for the woman who pulled up a stool next to him. Her dress was the color of blood and she had a sad, tired smile. He waved at the bartender to get her a drink. The man just gave him an odd look, shook his head and went back to cleaning glasses.

Giving the bartender a look that could curdle milk, Alric refilled his glass and slid it to his guest. She didn’t take the cup, instead continuing to smile sadly at him. “What do you want? I’m sorry ok. I let you die again,” Alric said, drinking directly from the bottle. “What do you want me to say? I’m a coward. I can’t even get up the courage to end it.” Gesturing with his half empty bottle, Alric continued to rant to an empty bar stool.

[Jenn]

Affie

“Tomorrow, Drin,” the Accepted repeated, mouth moving in an exaggerated way that reminded Affie of a fish. “Don’t be late. The Mistress of Novices doesn’t abide tardiness.”

“Heard you the first time,” she muttered under her breath, causing the other clad in the blinding white dress to lean in with a barely contained look of irritation. Scarred hands clutched the letter to her chest. Couldn’t say why, but it was about Alric. It had to be. He hadn’t shown up for their reading session. No reason, nothing except a note with her name written on the outside of it from Katrie Sedai, waiting on the table that this pushy Accepted was keeping her from being able to read!

“I heard you the first time,” Affie said again, louder, dropping her head and hunching in her shoulders in some kind of bow. “Will be there at Elia Sedai’s office when I’m supposed to be.”

“It’s just a formality. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.” Smug. Kind of smug and superior. The Accepted spoke down to the Altaran as if the small Drin was slow and dimwitted. “With all that’s happened, I think it’s good that they’re going back to testing our new recruits.”

Not new. But Affie kept her mouth shut. She had arrived mere days before the Seanchan siege and then when she had finally felt safe enough to stop hiding, the Novice and Soldier’s quarters had exploded. Word was that Mirin Sedai had done it. Didn’t matter. Didn’t seem like a bad thing to stay invisible and hidden so that others forgot about her. Couldn’t get hurt if nobody remembered you. She hadn’t been forgotten though, like she’d hoped. Seemed like once things had finally calmed down and been sorted, it was her turn to finally face the Aes Sedai. But that was something else to think about after she found Alric.

“Not worried,” she answered instead, keeping her gaze fixed to the floor. Go away so I can read the note!

It was another Age before the Accepted finally deigned to leave, scarred fingers wasting no time as they tore open the seal. At any other time, the small Drin would have smiled a little. A fancy seal! Just for her! Dark eyes scanned over the shapes of the letters, her mouth moving silently along just to reassure herself that she was reading the words properly. The paper crumpled and Affie shoved it into one of her pockets. Without hesitating, she went to grab a lined cloak from her room before making her way out of the Tower and into Hama Valon, the grey uniform the only thing that kept her from fading away and melting along into the crowds.

---

How many inns and taverns and bars and... other places did Hama Valon have? Affie rubbed at her nose, a rosy pink beneath the surface of dark skin and numb from the cold. It was starting to run. Not so good. She sighed and tried not to wipe it on the cuff of her shirt. Sniffling a little, she pushed her way into some place with a lake and a lady. Someone from the Band of Brothers had said that someone looking like Alric might’ve been there.

She didn’t quite understand the rush of warm that rose up from her chest as she heard him before seeing him, the familiar voice rough and hoarse. Relief. Then... questions. Why was he here? What was he saying? Why was he talking to a bar stool??

The small Drin made her way tentatively to a distraught Alric, stopping just beyond arm’s reach just in case. “Don’t think there’s anyone there,” she told him quietly, glancing over at the two cups full of amber liquid. The bottle was more than half empty. Was this his first one? How much would it take to make someone yell at a chair?? “Why are you talking to a bar stool when there are people around for you to instead??”

[Locke]

Alric

The woman still refused to answer, nor would she take her drink. “What’s with the accusations?” Alric asked, voice slurring. The sound of a familiar voice nearby caused his heart to jump, at least for a moment. “Affie,” he said, wobbling violently as he turned to face her. He reached out to put his hand on her shoulder for balance but had to lean so far forward he had to put his feet down to stop himself from toppling.

With the deliberate movements of a man trying to hide the extent of his inebriation, Alric sat again. “Where are,” he paused, swaying slightly, “my manners? Pull up a stool,” he offered her his glass of gin and took another pull from the bottle.

The room continued to tilt and sway and he tried to focus on Affie’s face. “You’ve got one hundred and twenty-one freckles on your face,” he said, words occasionally jumbling together, “They’re nice.” Gesturing over his shoulder, he added, you’re also probably better company than her.”

Alric wanted to be left alone with his problems, but what could it hurt if Affie sat with him while he sat alone with his problems? He continued to watch the young woman from the corner of his eye while he drank. How prophetic were those Arches? Were they? He’d loved her in the Arches and she’d died.

Taking a deep breath, Alric looked at her, “Do me a favor kid, don’t fall in love with murderers ok? They don’t deserve it. Nor do deserters, hypocrites, or royal screw ups.” He was all of those and more. It hurt to say any of those things. He didn’t think she was in danger of falling in love with him. It did seem like an enjoyable outcome. He had no clue where he was going with this. It was the drink talking that was all. Besides, she deserved better than the likes of him.

[Jenn]

Affie

This was going to be a problem. Bad. Very bad. And not just a regular problem that she could solve quickly. Finding somewhere dry to sleep when it rained, bread she’d tucked away that had gone moldy, having to share space with pigeons and rats. Those were not so bad. Those, she learned how to adapt to and deal with. This was different. This was a PROBLEM spelled out all in those giant capital letters that Alric had said never to write an entire sentence with.

For a moment, Affie thought he was going to simply fall on her, his hand landing heavily onto her shoulder, his face coming so close she could count the small usually invisible pores on his skin. The small Drin braced herself to topple backwards but the sound of boots slamming onto the floor saved them both from tumbling.

He smelled like a distillery. Or what she imagined one to smell like, from the way he’d described them to her. Didn’t need to be this close to notice, but as she gingerly took the seat next to him, the pungent odor was impossible to miss. The black uniform he wore was rumpled. Had never been rumpled... she didn’t like it. Didn’t like it at all. In all the time they had spent together, she couldn’t remember seeing a single wrinkle on his clothes, a single hair on his head out of place. Alric looked messy, his eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed, and it... bothered her.

She fidgeted, looking blankly at the glass that he passed her, dark eyes narrowing slightly as he took a pull directly from the bottle. Princes, knights, didn’t do that... right? Not... not that she thought that Alric would go around kissing random sleeping women in forests - but she liked to think of him as the prince or the knight. Couldn’t say exactly why, but it suited him. At least, she thought so.

His comment about how many freckles she had caught her completely off guard. Most of the time she forgot she even had them. He’d... counted all of them? Affie mashed her bottom lip against her teeth for a moment. Didn’t think he liked looking at her for that long to tell...? And... better company than who? She looked around again. There was nobody here at the bar with them. Maybe he really had had too much to drink... Surreptitiously, she tried to sneak a peek behind the tall counter for any glimpse of a banana. Nate said that a banana was needed for Healing and... if Alric was speaking with people that weren’t there, maybe he needed some Healing too. Her fingers curled as her efforts yielded nothing.

He finally spoke again, Affie flushing hotly at his words. Her brows lowered, her entire face drawing down. Where was all this coming from? She shoved the glass away from her so quickly that some of the liquid sloshed out over the sides. Without warning, the Altaran snatched at the bottle and wrenched it out of his grasp. Not difficult. She slammed it down onto the counter on the opposite side of her, well out of his reach.

“You didn’t show for our reading session. Got this note instead, from Katrie Sedai. Said you were taking some kind of test. I was worried! Don’t think you get to tell me what to do either, Alric,” she informed him fiercely, her stare challenging. “Not a kid, either. I found you out here in Hama Valon, didn’t I?”

[Locke]

Alric

“In the Arches you did. You were my Warder,” Alric said, voice low. A shadow crossed his face and he reached for the cup she’d pushed aside. “You were still fighting as an old woman and you died in my service.” His voice was flat and bitter like a pale ale left out overnight. He didn’t know why he’d even said it. It was out in the open though. He wished he could blame it on the gin, but he knew himself better than that. He had wanted to lash out and she’d gotten caught in the crossfire.


Gin sloshed over his sleeve as he took the cup back and began to drink. “I’m sorry,” he said, head propped in his hands. “I did have a ‘Test’ of sorts today,” he continued in an exhausted voice. “Not supposed to talk about it, I’m just a failure who can’t do anything right.” He slammed the cup down with loud thud, splashing more gin. Rounding on her, he said “I passed the the test. I’m a Dedicated now. Do you want to know how I passed?”


The floodgates were open now. He fortified himself with another long drink before continuing. “I had to abandon my men during battle. I had to leave an Aes Sedai to be raped or killed. I had to abandon my own family. That’s the kind of bloody Dedicated they want.” His words weren’t quite as slurred as before, but he was nearly shouting by the end of it. After fumbling in his belt pouch, he slammed a small handful coins down on the bar. Probably far more than the gin had been worth, but even if Alric Aurella was a murderer, he was no poor tipper.


With no small amount of effort, Alric managed to stand without toppling over. The room spinning around him, he made a deliberate path to the door. Thanks to years of drill practice, he managed to make it to the door without stumbling. Outside, in the crisp, evening air, his head began to clear. Why was he acting like this? Lashing out at people who were only trying to help him? It all came back to those blasted Arches. They hadn’t just forced him to make decisions he wouldn’t normally make. They had forced him forced him to sit face to face with his many mistakes and failures. Any chance he’d had to put things right turned to dust in his hands, and he passed by doing the same thing he’d done his entire life. He’d run from his problems. Facing an enemy on the battlefield was easy compared to that. No more running, he thought, grimly. He tugged his uniform into a semblance of order, and performed a crisp aboutface. He owed Affie an apology.

[Jenn]

Affie

She went utterly still as Alric slammed the glass back onto the counter and rounded on her, not even daring to breathe as something in his face twisted and broke. Bonded... to him? Affie felt her stomach flip at that, though she couldn’t help but flinch away as he continued to shout. At her. I don’t understand. Not an old woman, she wanted to tell him, Not dead. but the small Drin couldn’t summon up the courage to speak.

Scarred fingers clawed desperately at the cuffs that hugged her wrists, her hands quickly slipping from view. The scrape of coins smashing onto the table made the fine hairs on the back of her neck rise, and she watched helplessly out after him as he left, his expression set in one that she had seen often. Didn’t want to be near her... could kind of read and write now... but would always be a street rat... The Altaran gasped for breath. Alric wouldn’t. But he had. May as well have. The frizzy mop of hair gathered at the top of her head trembled as she shook her head violently. Her vision blurred for a moment before she stood, yanking at the drab grey fabric gathered snugly at her wrists.

A faint sound made her jump, and she squeaked a little as she whipped around, dark eyes wide. It was the bartender.

“Take the bottle.” He looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, girl.”

“Not a kid,” she muttered unintelligibly, the clog of unshed tears distorting her words. She pressed her lips together. Affie grabbed the bottle and abandoned whatever dignity the Yards had given her. Hadn’t worked out well, had it? What use was dignity now? Who cared?

No one stopped her as she darted around tables and chairs, finding her way through a small side door. It was musty and dark... quiet... safe. Her eyes wouldn’t focus anymore and she scrubbed angrily at her face with her free hand. She found what looked to be a desk and quickly pushed her way under it. Back wedged against one side, knees drawn up to her chest and pressed against the other side. She sniffed at the bottle and took a huge gulp of it. The rush of fire that filled her mouth had her spluttering and choking, a fresh wave of tears that had nothing to do with the miserable ache in her chest running down her face. She wiped at her cheeks again, then glared down at the bottle defiantly. She took another toe-curling drink of it.

[Locke]

Alric

She wasn’t in the bar anymore. At least nowhere visible. His stomach sunk as he realized the implications. “Which way did she go?” he asked the bartender, already looking for small cubbies she might have crawled into.

“Why so you can make the little girl cry again, buddy?” the man asked, voice dripping with contempt.

Alric held the bartenders accusing stare with his long practiced death glare. Even drunk he managed to make the man back down. His skull already felt like it was full of wool and angry bees, he neither wanted or needed his failings pointed out to him by a stranger. “No,” Alric said with a sigh, “I want to apologize. Now which way did she go?"


Alric rushed off in the direction the bartender had pointed. The lurching room quickly reminding him that he should not attempt more than a determined walk in his current state. The side door lead to some sort of unused office. The light of a streetlamp shone through the window revealing a desk. It was a trademark Affie hole. Even through the haze of gin, Alric knew that if she had gone to hide somewhere like that he must have really upset her. Just one more thing to hate about himself. It could get in line.

Wiping a growing scowl from his face, he could hear sniffling. Alric doubted somebody else in this tavern would be crying under a table. Time to take the plunge then. He undid his sword belt and placed both belt and sword on top of the desk before going down on hands and knees to crawl under. After a few seconds of awkwards bumping and shifting, he managed to find a position with his back pressed against the opposite side. His shoulders were cramped and in order to not have to sit with his head bowed, he had to sit with his crossed legs practically under her feet.

The silence was only broken by occasional sniffles and the sounds of sloshing gin as Affie continued to drink. Alric sighed, and leaned his head back against the side with a muffled thump. What did he say? He’d done something he’d never intended to do. He’d never wanted to hurt Affie. In need of fortification, Alric took the bottle from her and took along pull before speaking and passing it back. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. Passing the bottle back he asked, “Are you ok?”

[Jenn]

Affie

Feet in Alric’s lap. Why?

Affie couldn’t figure it out. But it was important. Somehow. She squinted across the space that separated them. The world rippled and distorted oddly, like the ocean had suddenly filled her head and she was trying to look through it, but she hadn’t imagined it. He was here. Sitting with her in the nice safe quiet dark space. Stuffed together with her like pickles in a jar. Or something. A pickle wouldn’t be bad right now... pastry... or cheese. Her thoughts felt funny.

The bottle was pulled out of her hand and she made no move to stop it. The bemused Drin watched as the Soldier... no, no, he’d passed hit test! He’d yelled at her - Dedicated brought it up to his lips. Sharing spit, she wanted to tell him, the pain in her chest turning sharp. Street rat spit, but her tongue felt awkward and heavy. She merely stared at him instead, darker eyes glittering out from the dark, salt-stained face.

“I’m sorry.” Alric pressed the bottle back into her hands. His voice was low and... quiet. Rough and hoarse. “Are you ok?”

“No,” she shot back miserably and then promptly drained the rest of the bottle. Everything burned. Everything hurt. The floor was cold and it seeped through her breeches. “Not okay.”

She couldn’t tell if he was looking at her or not, and that inexplicably infuriated her. Affie threw the empty bottle at him as best she could, lunging forward. Her hands flew up and grasped onto his ears, using that as leverage to heave herself towards him. She reeled unsteadily as the world spun round and round, dizzying and sickening. Her feet slid forward and after banging elbows and knees into various places on the underside of the desk, she was somehow perched in his lap. She lowered her face until her forehead collided with his, the tip of her nose mashed flat against his.

“Look!” she commanded, giving Alric’s ears a pointed tug for good measure. “Not an old woman! Not dead! Not a kid either!” She sucked in her bottom lip, her stomach rebelling queasily for a moment at being full of burning liquid fire. The moment passed and she resumed her glaring. “I don’t understand! Not an old woman. Not dead. Not a kid either!” Affie repeated emphatically, swaying slightly from side to side. “And would be happy, if I saved your life.” She glowered sullenly at him, her cheek shifting over his. “Still don’t get to tell me what to do.”

[Locke]

Alric

“Wait, what, ow!” Alric squawked as the young woman grabbed hold of his ears and pulled herself toward him. After a few seconds of uncomfortable bumping around in the tight space, she managed to settle herself in his lap. HIs immediate response had been to throw his hands up to ward her off. For a moment he was back in the gardens, pinned by the mad Novice Cassie Majere. No, this is Affie, this is completely different, he had to remind himself, fighting down the unexpected panic. With a long exhale he allowed himself to relax, hands settling absently on her hips.

In the gloom, he could barely make out her expression. He could tell by her voice, and the painful grip she had on his ear lobes that she was furious. At least she was the one holding him down, not… No, stay in the present. She held his face jammed against her’s and he could feel her breath as she hissed out each word.

Despite the pain in his ears and Affie’s blatant anger, Alric knew he would a liar if he claimed not to enjoy sitting with her like this. He closed his eyes as she began to rub her cheek against his. “I know you’re not dead or an old woman. Not here. In my Test. They send you into a ter’angreal to face your ‘fears’. Past, present and future,” he began to explain, resting his forehead against her shoulder. “I’m not supposed to tell you this. Doesn’t matter, you won’t ever go through this. In the future. You were my warder. Well you were until you died.” His eyes snapped open, “Hold on, what did you mean you’d be ‘happy if you saved my life’?” There was no way she could know. Before she’d shown up, he’d been closer to ending his own life than he had been at any time since leaving Cairhien.

[Jenn]

Affie

“Meant... what I meant!” Affie slurred indignantly, the very tips of her fingers sneaking up to press into Alric’s hairline. “Thought that was clear.” She squinted harder at him, realizing belatedly that he’d put his head down against her shoulder. Dark, solemn eyes blinked. Was... really nice. She... liked it. Another wave of fire abruptly rolled up from her stomach and the small Drin squirmed a little as she felt his breath on her neck.

“In your test, said I was your Warder.” Her voice came out louder than normal, the alcohol and something breathless cutting her words off at odd intervals. She felt his head lift. Didn’t think she’d have to remind him... was his test, after all. “Said I died. But would be happy, if I saved your life.” She scowled at him again and gave his ears yet another determined pull.

She took a breath to say more, but the world chose at that exact moment to lurch and flutter unsteadily. “Ooohhh...” Affie let out a little squeak and squeezed her eyes shut. She swayed forward... her face encountering something warm. What...? Not her face. Her mouth. Her lips grazed against something... warm. Kind of soft, but firm too. Wasn’t supposed to be anything there. It took her thoughts some time to catch up and when they finally did, she reared back. The sound of the back of her head colliding with the underside of the desk was loud, but the impact scarcely registered.

“You... I didn’t... why... not supposed to move your mouth there!” The Altaran stared wildly at the spot where she could just barely make out the whites of Alric’s eyes. She shifted in his lap, flushing from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes. “Not sorry!” Affie blurted out, flustered, the question of what was wrong with her no more than a very distant, sloshing buzz.