A Tyrant Spell Has Bound Me [[Fiona]]

[Chris]

Murdock Mather It was early, earlier than Murdock liked to be awake, but there was work to be done and he had to oversee events at the Saldaean outpost.

There were several reasons for this, some more altruistic than others. Firstly, Murdock had it on good authority that some of his extended Saldaean family were out in the Blightborder, a small contingency of fellows and their wives doing their part to protect the country from the trollocs. He felt a strange sense of closeness by being at the northernmost camp, makeshift and temporary but necessary as a last burst of support before the Blight proper.

Secondly, he needed to get out of the Tower for a while. He’d been working relentlessly to find out what had happened to his daughters, and the lack of progress was absolutely maddening. He’d gone to the Infirmary, as if Healing others would fill the gap in his heart and ease his suffering, but it didn’t. Murdock wanted to tear limbs apart until he got what he wanted; he wanted to make people scream, verbalise the cries in his chest that he couldn’t let out himself. He gained little satisfaction from making people better any more. I am no Healer, he thought as he cast an eye over the small camp, and yet here I am like some Yellow. Still, it was that or go mad staring at the wall of his office, prodding at the gaping hole where Giselle used to be.

The third reason was entirely selfish… and not unplanned. Murdock knew that the Grey Tower would be sending a small group of students out to various camps around the Blightborder to assist in the efforts without expending resources that were too valuable. Under the watch of an Aes Sedai or Asha’man, a handful of kids could help scout, or Heal, or just keep the place tidy. Murdock may have volunteered his services, and he may or may not have put down a certain Novice’s name to make sure she came along as well.

How was he supposed to make her love him if he never saw her?

But thoughts of Emmond’s suggestion came to mind even as he had written her name down. One of the things on his list was someone innocent, and oh wouldn’t it be appropriate to pluck the ripest of cherries from the tree in offering to the Great Lord? If it brought Giselle back, what did it matter if he lost Fiona? There was no need for her if he had Giselle after all. The more he thought about it, the more fitting it was. A pure, innocent doppelganger in exchange for his soulmate. Giselle would probably laugh about it afterwards, and so would he.

The early morning was warm this close to the Blight, and Murdock kept himself cool through sheer force of will as he sat there. Lately his leg had been giving him a bit of a rough time, as if it throbbed in time with his despair, and just standing was a challenge some days. In the Hall he was supposed to stay on his feet but, not caring about showing weakness, he had ended up taking a seat. It might not have been traditional, but it was necessary, and the Grey Tower had no bloody room to tell him what was and wasn’t correct by the book. The warm air actually did better for his aching limb, and the overly tall Keeper leaned on his stick with a contentment he hadn’t felt in some time. But that could well be because he was watching Fiona at work, rather than some sort of holiday related remedy for his ailment.

There were no soldiers or scouts in need of Healing at the moment, so the small makeshift infirmary was empty apart from Murdock, Fiona, and a couple of Soldiers who were about to go out scouting with some of the Saldaeans. They were all set to go and Murdock gave them both some lazy but strict words of warning before they were let loose. He wasn’t too concerned about them, he couldn’t help it, but then why would he care two figs when Fiona was there, smoothing down beds with those lovely hands of her, moving her hair back every so often, delicate and ladylike? Murdock watched her remove wrinkles from sheets and he wished he was lying on that bed, letting her smooth out all his wrinkles and pains with those healing hands of hers.

His dark eyes were a little brighter than usual as he limped down the narrow walkway that comprised the centre of the infirmary. Thin tent sheets did nothing to hide the noise from outside, the sound of people preparing to leave heavy in the air. “Fiona,” he said in his quiet voice, “I believe we are all set before any potential casualties arrive. In our bags there should be some supplies, and some rations – if you can shelve the former, then we will eat the latter together.” There was a small makeshift set of shelves ready for more bandages, poultices and whatever else Healers use that Matty can’t think of right now. Murdock could have done it himself but instead he wanted to watch Fiona bending down to take out the contents, then reaching up to stack the shelves. He had to do something to pass the time, and he couldn’t think of anything better. Well, he could, but nothing appropriate. He was going to have to be patient, and take the small victories where he could.

[Sunny]

Fiona the Frigid, the first of her name Fiona's eyes strayed frequently to the bow that stood propped against the crossbeam of the large tent that served as an informal hospital. Shienar was cold, colder than anything she had ever experienced before. So cold she worried the weapon might crack if drawn...assuming her own numb fingers did not fumble the brace or draw. Despite that, her bow provided comfort that even saidar could not. If the Shadowspawn came, she would not be entirely helpless.

Then again, they would have to kill their way through a great many Borderlanders to get to her, enshrined as she was within the confines of the camp. As she moved about straightening the simply woolen coverlets one ach narrow cot, she found herself amused by the irony. The Tower had deemed her fit to be Ji’val, and as such she would have been expected to fight alongside the very soldiers she would now be treating. Thanks be to a spark of light connected to her thread in the Pattern, however, now she was wrapped in the military equivalent of woolen batting lest she come anywhere near harm. Creator save them all, I am the same person! Did learning to channel suddenly render me incapable of rational thought?

Laughing seemed inappropriate, yet the Andoran couldn’t stop a small snort of amusement as she moved to the shelves where herbs and bandages would be kept. She scanned the list she carried quickly, comparing it to the spaces before her. There should be enough room; it was simply a matter of unpacking what she and Murdock had brought from the Grey Tower. Hopefully they had brought enough; she could only trust that the Grey Tower knew its business.

She turned away from the shelf to find Murdock moving toward her along the aisle between the beds. He spoke, indicating she should unpack. Somewhere in the back of her mind a small voice murmured an indistinct concern, but she shoved it away. The Asha’man had gone out of his way to ensure her safety and recovery after her injury, and since then he had been the epitome of respectful courtesy. She had seen him about the Infirmary from time to time, and there had been nothing to indicate anything out of place. She had misunderstood something in her fear and exhaustion, that was all.

Thus firmly reprimanded, the quiet murmur ceased and Fiona smiled, nodding her head in acknowledgement of his suggestion. “Yes of course,” she said. “Sit down and rest a while, Asha’man Murdock, you’ve been all over today and that leg needs a rest.” She took his arm and tugged him to one of the beds, then settled him there with a pat on the shoulder. “I’ll be done soon.”

Quietly pleased that she had a way to help the Healer who had saved her life, she grabbed one of the bags, hoisted it up to a bed and began to rummage through. A moment later she realized the error in her plan and returned to his side, writing board and pen in hand. “Could you mark things off when I name them?”

“Wouldn’t it be simpler to check them off immediately?” He asked, but he took the board, and she smiled relief.

“I’m having trouble holding the pen,” she admitted sheepishly, blowing on her fingers. The tiny bit of warmth did little to alleviate the chill that had crept into her bones. “I'll be fine!” she added hastily. She didn’t want the Asha’man to think her a complainer.

She returned to the bag. “Comfrey," she said, holding the small jar up, "and lavender." Then she finally dared ask the question weighing on her. "Is it likely to be...bad?” she asked. “The battle, I mean.” Clumsy hands made it difficult to arrange small objects on the shelves; she had to bend frequently to retrieve dropped items. “I helped in the Infirmary after the Seanchan siege and I’d never seen so many people hurting before….nor since, really.” Most of the injured learning ranks had been seen to by the time she left Murdock’s study, after all. "Will it be like that?"

[Chris]

Oh yes, Fiona was indeed helping the Healer who had saved her life, though not quite in the way she thought… the man leaned back in his new seat and appreciated the circumstances, as unusual as they were. He enjoyed the way she thought of his leg and ushered him to one of the beds, letting her take charge as a proper Far Madding woman should. He settled with his injured leg lying along the bed and his good foot on the floor, and he looked up at Fiona as she patted his shoulder, dark eyes amused. His leg did ache, yes, but a Novice wasn’t supposed to be so forthright with an Asha’man. If it was anyone else Murdock might well have had some sharp words for them, but Fiona could get away with much more than anyone else of her rank.

This is also the reason he was content to take the writing board and pen, holding the writing instrument in his left hand and regarding the list with his sharp eyes. The perks of being a Healer himself meant that he knew what these various ingredients and supplies were for, and it was good to look over the list himself in case he needed to make use of any.

What Murdock really wanted to do was sit back, tick off the list, and enjoy the view. But that one little comment alluding to her cold hands, it tugged at him and made any appreciation he might have of her bending over, bitter more than sweet. He saw how clumsy she was and the Brown clicked his tongue a the situation. Even if he wanted to be a quiet admirer she was now asking him serious questions he didn’t overly feel like answering, but this was an opportunity of sorts. Murdock just had to use it in the correct way.

Seizing Saidin briefly, Murdock cast a weak weave of Fire and Air, tying it off with Spirit interlaced. He was always better with a weave when it included Spirit, though the warm, glowing ball he created didn’t look like it was up to anything much. The Brown nodded to the bed next to his as he let go of the Power. “Sit down Fiona.” When she did so he tossed the ball her way. “This is something to keep your hands warm. If you squeeze it together it is warmer, though it may also pop. If it does I will make you another.” The ball was small enough to go into her pocket as well. As for her other question, Murdock felt like it was the right time to give her an honest answer, something that he could have given as she worked but it was more personal this way. More intimate.

“This battle? I doubt it will be anything like what happened at the Grey Tower, Fiona. We are not in the warzone here, we are at the fringes. We will only see the remnants, alive and dead, when they return. The destruction will be elsewhere, and we will be safe here.” He gave a small smile he wanted to be reassuring, but he never was much good at that sort of behaviour. He went through the motions in the Infirmary but it was never quite enough to reach his brown eyes. “I suspect the only time it will be worse than the Seanchan attack, is when we face the Last Battle. But that is not for some time, so do not worry yourself over it. How are your hands?”

“Warmer, Asha’man, thank you.” Fiona sounded grateful, and those words warmed his heart more than his little ball of Fire and Spirit ever could.

“Good. This place will get much warmer soon, this close to the Blight it’s inevitable. And when the bodies roll in, I won’t be able to lounge on this bed either. Let’s get back to work.”

The weave of his did seem to help Fiona some, and they worked through the list in short order. Murdock took pleasure in the simple act of ticking things off, responding to Fiona’s words and doing as instructed even if it wasn’t presented quite in that teller/tellee manner. He liked being told what to do, he couldn’t help himself. At one point he shifted to make himself more comfortable and there was just a brief look his way at the movement, the beginnings of instruction to remain where he was. Murdock didn’t need telling, he was only wriggling a bit, but the potential for it was most enjoyable as well.

The camp around them grew quiet as the men and women fighting the good fight set out. It was almost eerie, and the silence of the tent made Murdock feel even more like his whole world was encapsulated in this one space, thin fabric keeping the pair of them in a cloth bubble of their own. “Tell me Fiona, have you ever been this close to the Blight?” He was aware of her training in the Warder programme but he wasn’t sure how liberal they were with sending beautiful young women to the Blight when they barely knew how to hold a weapon.

“Ah yes, it looks like we have everything on the list. If you would be so kind as to bring the food over, we might not get much time to rest later. Oh, and bring a jar.” He would put another weave of Fire and Spirit in the jar, to keep them both a little warmer as they ate. It wasn’t much, but he didn’t want Fiona to be uncomfortable if he could help it.

[Sunny]

Fiona Fiona worked quickly, her fingers busy and her demeanor business-like, but her thoughts flickering frequently to the little globe of warmth she had tucked into her purse for ease of access if the cold got to her. The Brown had made it for her, and he had done his best to soothe her fears. If not for the training she received at her mother’s elbow, the novice might not have noticed the effort Murdock put into his reassurance. He wanted her to feel safe and be comfortable, the same as he had in his chamber when she was hurt, and even before then, when they first met.

Why?

As she worked she sneaked curious glances at the tall Asha’man. He seemed perfectly at ease, perfectly proper, perfectly distant as an Asha’man should be. Nothing there to indicate why he showed such interest in a novice of no great stature or status. A ghost of a memory of panic crossed her mind, but she brushed it aside. Her fear made no sense in the face of the kindness the man had shown her. She finished up and went to fetch the food. Then she watched, fascinated, as he filled the empty jar with another glowing ball of heat. “Thank you,” she said sincerely, holding her hands to either side of it for a moment.

Either the Kitchens knew Murdock quite well, or the Pattern had a curious sense of humor. In addition to the standard bread, meat, cheese, and fruit, the cooks had provided a toffee cake very much like the one they had eaten together what felt like an eternity before. No milk to be found, but the cake was enough of a treat to elicit a smile and an excited exclamation.

Finally settled next to him on the bed with their meal spread on a tray in front of them, she returned to something he had asked prior. “I have never been further north than Hama Valon until now,” she said. “I was supposed to go to the Citadel for a time as Ji’val, but before it could be organized it was discovered I could channel. I was rolled away to the novice quarters faster than you can say ‘white dress.’” A bittersweet blessing that had turned out to be. She ate a piece of cheese to hide how confused the topic made her.

“It is strange up here,” she said finally, picking at her food. “Not that I have seen much, but it’s...like nothing I’ve ever seen before.” She shivered, though not from the cold. “It’s one thing to read about the Blight in a book, and quite another to know you are a stone’s throw away. The- the mere thought of Shadowspawn frightens me. I spent my childhood believing they were nothing more than a Gleeman’s tale, but now...” She could not keep her voice from shaking. The smallest Trollocs were easily twice her height, and Myrddraal could best even Blademasters in a one on one fight. How had she ever hoped to be Gaidin?

“I do not understand how anyone could choose to ally themselves with a force that produced such...monstrosities,” she said, breaking a piece of toffee cake off. “Let alone enough people to cause an Age-long war. How any intelligent person could choose to serve the Father of Lies is a mystery.” The Andoran popped the bit of cake in her mouth and swallowed, then looked at him curiously. “What do you think?” She thought she could hear noise growing outside that might have been people and might have been the wind...and then again, perhaps it was simply the distant rolling of dice within her skull.

---

OOC: Your post was amazing and mine does not feel up to par (but I might just be tired). Rawrface.

[Chris]

Oh, there was a small toffee cake, how delightful. Murdock hadn’t requested it specifically but he did so like a slice, and perhaps there were a couple of cooks in the kitchens who felt for the quiet man who couldn’t walk properly. Murdock did so like toffee cakes but only when they made Giselle happy. Seeing Fiona’s positive reaction stirred those same sensations in his chest, and the Far Madding man smiled a little despite himself. There was never any reason to be sad about toffee cake.

“The Tower does treat its Warder aspirants differently to Novices. But as I am sure you are aware, learning to use the Power is dangerous, and a different way of learning. Mistakes in the yards can be Healed. Mistakes in channelling….” Not so much. Murdock thought Fiona suited dresses more, personally. Though the sight of her in his shirt was a pleasant one, and he still had that same shirt, unwashed. It held her scent well.

Fiona posed some interesting thoughts, at least they were interesting in that naïve, innocent way Murdock expected from her or any other Novice who had not stared into the abyss of nothing like he had when his bond to his wife broke upon her death. Fiona, whose hardships came from the rigours of training, had no real handle on the motivations behind people turning to the Great Lord in their time of need, and honestly this was something it would be a shame to try and explain to her. Let her keep that innocence, that light that kept the good good, and the bad bad.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he said after he had eaten, though he didn’t take much, “the Shadowspawn frighten most people. I suspect even the loudest of Greens who are at the front of the battle lines, still feel fear in the face of these creatures. But it isn’t about not being afraid, it’s about doing our duty in spite of it. I know that were we to be overrun now, I couldn’t run away, and my offensive weaves would not keep us safe for long. But here I am anyway.” He wasn’t sure if that was reassuring or not.

“As for what makes people turn to the Shadow… I’m afraid that is a more complicated question than it first appears.” Murdock figured that if he was being asked for his opinion, he may as well use the opportunity to tweak Fiona’s nose, get her thinking in less extreme terms. “I am sure a White could explain this better than I, but everything comes down to balance. Saidin and Saidar, the Creator and the Dark One, day and night, life and death. Can you have one without the other? No. Is one inherently better than the other? You might say why yes Murdock, life, day, the Creator, it is all good and right and proper. But it is not about “good” and “bad”. It is about balance. The two sides keep one another in check, and the wheel continues to turn, but there are no morals attached on a grand scale. The Creator is Life, and the Dark One is Destruction, but this theory suggests that the two are detached from a human, baser concept of what is right and wrong. When you look closer, there are animals that eat one another, plants that use animal bodies as parasites, insects that thrive on carcasses. The Dark One’s own power creates life of its own. The two are not as separate as you first think they are. Is one any more evil than the other?”

“Though if you ask me,” Murdock lowered his voice, giving Fiona a conspiratorial smile, “I think you can take a look at a trolloc and decide whether the Dark One is evil or not.” Whites did so like to detach themselves from what was going on and look at things in a removed way, but that didn’t actually get anything done.

“People are much the same, Fiona. It isn’t always about good and evil. People want power, knowledge, riches, love, security, happiness. The Dark One makes a lot of promises Fiona, and people fall for those lies. Perfectly good people, who ought to know better, but are desperate or lazy. On the other hand, people who swear they walk in the Light cause all sorts of destruction. All you need to do is look at the Children of the Light, or read up on some of the more ruthless leaders of the nations, to see this. Of course, how anyone could choose to associate with the likes of trollocs and the eyeless is quite mind boggling, but… I suppose that when it comes down to it, free will allows people to make the most questionable choices, and rational thought doesn’t come into it.”

Murdock liked to tell himself his situation was completely different. The Light had let him down time and time again, and the Great Lord of the Dark facilitated his studying of Rending. He had a lot to be grateful for, and in doing his work it helped to bridge that void where he felt Giselle should be. Some days, he almost felt normal. Sitting and eating toffee cake with Fiona was a good example.

Fiona looked like she might have more to say, and Murdock would have happily indulged her, but it was starting to get noticeably noisier outside and Murdock was pretty sure that their scouts weren’t due to be back for some time, never mind the main body of forces out on patrol. With a frown he got to his feet, waving Fiona off as she stood as well. “Stay here,” he said, “put this food away. It sounds like we are going to be busy soon.” He leaned on his stick and made his way over to the far side of the tent, poking his head out at the world outside and trying not to grumble at the fact his private time with Fiona was ruined. He was just getting into a discussion with her that he might have quite enjoyed. Breaking that innocent outlook down, making her see things more critically, it may as well come from him. If he let her live, she might be open to being turned, if there was something she wanted badly enough that could be used as a hook.

Though there were other ways to turn someone, ways Murdock had read. Perhaps if Fiona was given a chance to blossom, she could become an ally rather than a sacrifice. Either way, I will use her.

Outside, the situation was not so great, and Murdock made a face instantly at the sight of it. The sky hung low and ominous, lower than Murdock thought it should even this close to the Blight. There was a small group of men running closer, shouting something and waving their arms, but more importantly than that there was an odd… light?... streaking across the sky, heading in their direction as far as the eye could see (which was not all that far, as clouds hung so low and angry outside this odd phenomenon). Murdock seized Saidin, and he could only just make out the noises coming from the running men: “Get down!”

“Fiona, get on the floor!” Murdock growled, as the effects of this light became apparently. It was sweeping across the camp in a quick arc, at a height somewhere around Murdock’s hairline, slicing anything it came into contact with. The tops of tents, horses, rocks, everything was cut clean like it was being hit by a giant blade. A bubble of evil. The Great Lord’s touch on the world, proving just how unimportant Murdock was in the grand scheme of things.

Murdock was not a quick mover, but at times like this one had to be, so he unceremoniously dropped to the side, landing roughly on his arm and his bad leg but not letting out more than a grunt of annoyance. The tent above them was cut straight through, the roof being sliced away completely and falling down around them. This in itself wasn’t a problem, but the thick beams holding the fabric up were cut as well, and were those things to land on someone, they were going to hurt.

[Sunny]

Fiona “Get down!” The growing noise had already alerted Fiona to trouble; bow in hand, she stood quite near to the Asha’man. “Fiona, get on the floor!” Murdock threw himself down with a grunt, and she saw a strange white line approaching them, the camp collapsing in its wake.

Reality shifted, almost seeming to splinter as she stared at that light. For a moment, the Andoran floated above them both, dice rolling and thundering about her as she surveyed the interior of the tent. Rows of empty beds, a shelf of neatly arranged supplies. The remnants of a meal stacked on a tray. Near the door, a girl in white stood silently next to a man in dark clothing who lay on the floor. Her attention focused not on the dress, but on the bow in the girl’s hand. That weapon had been with her far longer than the One Power had, the training that came with it jumping more immediately to mind. Protect. Honor. Serve.

Cold air and noise and fear broke over the Andoran like an ocean wave as she dropped back into herself. Forgotten were her days in white; Fiona Trakand, Ji’val of the Grey Tower let her bow clatter to the ground unheeded as she threw herself forward, sprawling over Murdock to protect his body with hers as a Warder should. That strange light swept over them a moment later, blinding her with its brilliance. Through the dancing sparks she watched as it cut right through the tent and swept on. She had no time for shock to translate to thought before wood and canvas began to fall.

Fiona buried her face against Murdock’s body and prayed, her teeth chattering and her body shaking. “Creator shelter us from evil…” The Light and the Creator felt very far away as the thick fabric enveloped them. Something heavy fell across the opening that had offered her a moment of hope, and she bit her lip to keep from bursting into tears. Instead, the tiny woman struggled frantically, pushing up against the canvas with all her strength. To her horror the canvas fought back, grasping at her as if it possessed a life of its own. Eventually she simply curled her arms around her face and Murdock’s to protect their ability to breath, and cowered in silence beneath the cavorting fabric.

An Age or more passed before it abruptly went still, its unnatural life drained away as if it had never existed. She lay quiet for some time, but as the air grew musty, her panic heightened. Murdock had not moved or made a sound; why?

She needed to see, but imagining a rose, let alone allowing it to bloom, was an impossibility with the way her heart pounded. Her belt knife was sitting on the bed with their meal, and a more controlled exploration of the confining fabric told her she had no hope of moving whatever blocked the exit. “I mean no disrespect,” she told the Asha’man, uncertain if he could hear her. Then her hands crept down his body, searching by touch for the knife she had seen at his side earlier. Where was it? He did not usually carry one, she thought, and thanked the Light for the odd change. Perhaps it was simply because they were near the Blight.

Hot-cheeked and grateful her companion could not see her embarrassment, Fiona eventually found his dagger, small fingers tugging it free with care. Then she brought her arm carefully back up, and lifted the blade. A sharp poke, and a small beam of light and frigid air poured in. She peered through, but could see nothing but gray. Up the blade went again, cautiously slicing a rift big enough for sight.

Nothing. No sound save for the distant rattle in her head that she had begun to grow used to. No movement, no light beyond what came from the sky. She remained still for what felt like an eternity, watching and waiting for any sign of further attack, before finally cutting the canvas enough for her to push herself upward. Chaos greeted her searching eyes. If anything lived in the camp, it had been trapped the same as she. She would go look for survivors soon enough, but for now...

Swallowing the lump in her throat, the novice looked back at the tall man beneath her. Murdock was quiet and still, eyes closed and head turned slightly to the side. His chest still rose and fell, however, and she released a breath she had not known she held. “What was that?” she asked him, knowing he would not answer. Even as she spoke, she was moving, tugging the tent away from him and pulling his limbs straight as best she could. “You don’t look terribly injured. You must have just hit your head,” she told him. Her reassuring tone was as much for herself as for her unexpected patient. She smoothed his hair back, fear lending affection to the gesture. “I need to get a few things to help. I’ll be right back.” At least they had been in the infirmary. Blankets, powdered willow bark, and bandages would be easy enough to find.

[Chris]

Being unconscious is great for many things, from hiding the fear of dying, to making it possible to ignore great amounts of pain, to… er… okay so it wasn’t great for lots of things, and writing a post is one of them.

So let’s skip to the part where Murdock came to, lying on his back with his head gently propped up on a thick wad of cold fabric and a certain Novice wrapping bandages around his head. Well. This meant he was alive, and the throbbing in the back of his head was a sure indicator of such as well. Oh lucky me, he thought to himself, blinking a few times and waiting for his brain to register the surroundings. I suppose the Great Lord of the Dark isn’t ready for me just yet. He’d be mighty disappointed, so Murdock didn’t exactly look forward to that day.

Murdock tried to sit up with a grunt, but a small strong hand on his shoulder was all it took to keep him in place. “You took a blow to the head Asha’man,” said the Novice, and Murdock belatedly remembered her. Ah Giselle, what was she wearing Novice whites for? He lay back with a complacent smile. “You should let the willow bark take effect and let the bleeding stop first.”

“Of course,” Murdock replied, his voice low and smooth. Anything Giselle wanted, he was but a babe in her arms. If she’d instead told him to hit his head again, he would have done that without question. Oh Giselle, the Light of his life, the core of his soul imprinted in human flesh…

There was something a bit off about this scenario but it didn’t occur to Murdock at this time.

They were outside, and it was cold, quiet, still. It was supposed to be warm this close to the Blight but instead, Murdock felt the chill. That could have been his head and the fact he was unconscious, who knows? He knew he couldn’t fall asleep again, having sustained a head injury. If only he could Heal himself.

As Giselle administered aid onto him, Murdock lay there looking upwards at the sky. It was a strange grey, as if someone had sucked all the colour out of the world. With a bemused noise Murdock put his hand up to his face, managing to miss and simply slap himself in an effort to observe his own limb. “Ouch.” Then he tried again and was able to hold his hand up to get a proper look, so he could see his pale skin- oh. That was grey as well.

Not one to let such things as colourblindness bother him, Murdock looked to Giselle once more. Her lovely blonde hair was still present, but it was as grey as, well, everything around her, a monochrome monument to her beauty. The Keeper squinted, and tilted his head a little, but the effect was no different. “Hrmm. It would seem that blow to the head was more serious than I first thought. I’ll need a Yellow to Heal this properly so this colour blindness does not become permanent.” He exhaled more in irritation than true despair, being quite practical about such matters, “it’s rather a shame I can’t see your hair in its natural shade.”

Apparently Giselle was not in the mood for a compliment as she finished tying his bandages off. Oh well, these were serious times and she had a lot to process, such as looking after him. “You’re handling yourself very well. You’ll make a great Aes Sedai. I knew this as soon as we came to the Grey Tower… it was inevitable really…” though there was something not quite right with this scenario as well, and the tall man was trying to work it out. “We need to find any other survivors. I can’t channel in my current state, and will need someone to help us Travel back to the Grey Tower. Giselle, can you look around and see who else survived?”

[Sunny]

Fiona had found Murdock’s head injury when she returned from her scavenging. His fall had taken its toll on the back of his skull. For a moment she contemplated Healing. She had seen it done many times before; surely she could get the flows right? Christianne’s voice floated through her memory, however. One tiny thread astray and you could kill your patient as easily as Heal him. Given that the Asha’man was the only person she knew in the entire chaotic world she now sat in, risking his death to assuage her ego seemed more than a little unwise.

Thus she heated water with a small flow of Fire, measured out a healthy handful of willow bark into the liquid, and while it steeped, carefully cleaned the wound. Then she began to dribble the tepid tea between the older man’s lips at intervals as she wound cloth about his head.

Eventually he stirred. Either she was stronger than she thought, or he was much weaker than she dared believe; either way, she held him down when he would sit. After a moment he relaxed, his acquiescence low and oddly warm as he met her eyes. Something in the hawk-faced man’s gaze, weary and pained as it was in that moment, reminded her of Zeen. So he had looked at her in the Infirmary that strange day. Why? Despite being firmly planted on the ground, the Andoran felt oddly unsteady. She closed her eyes and took a breath. Just a reaction to the events of the last hour. It had to be.

The Keeper soon insisted on moving again, though he did remain prone with his head in her lap. His comment about his sight concerned her. Once again her fingers twitched, saidar calling to her. She knew the flows as well as she knew her bow, nevermind that she had never performed them. It would turn out okay; the dice in her head danced and clicked together in agreement, and she almost reached for the One Power.

“It’s rather a shame I can’t see your hair in its natural shade.” The novice blinked, Murdock’s mutters once again claiming her attention. Her fingers rose to her hair of their own volition, combing through matted golden curls self-consciously. Heat rose in her cheeks, and only the knowledge that another blow to his head might actually addle the Brown’s brains kept her from hastily pulling away. Instead, she focused on tying off the bandage that would hopefully hold his brain in place. His tone, the look in his eyes....puzzle pieces clicked together, and she didn’t know what to make of the picture they revealed to her.

“....I can’t channel in my current state, and will need someone to help us Travel back to the Grey Tower. Giselle, can you look around and see who else survived?”

His words distracted her from a hasty review of their brief history together. He couldn’t channel...she didn’t need him to tell her that. If he couldn’t see properly, he certainly should not be using the One Power. However, it hadn’t occurred to her that until he could, they would be stuck there. Blue eyes swept over the chaos that surrounded them and Fiona felt her stomach cramp with worry, only to roll over entirely at his last question.

Giselle. An unfamiliar name, but Murdock spoke it as if he truly believed it belonged to her. Was the man feverish? The young girl pressed her palm against his forehead, but found nothing abnormal. Her brows drew together in thought as she studied his face, her fingers once again smoothing his hair away with unconscious care. His cheek turned to press into her palm as if it were the most natural thing in the world and she immediately yanked her hand away as if she had touched fire.

After a moment of indecision, she carefully extracted herself from beneath him. “My name is Fiona, Asha’man Murdock,” she corrected him gently as she eased his head to the ground. “We will get home safely. I promise. Hold still!” He gave her another of those odd smiles and fell still at the command, though he wrapped one hand around hers as a child might cling to its mother. Or a man to his lover, one part of her mind murmured. She didn’t have time to contemplate such nonsense.

The Andoran pushed herself up to a crouch, looking around her with a critical eye. She had not been given much chance to see the layout of the camp before being delivered to the infirmary tent. She had no idea which way to go to find life; it had been mostly abandoned prior to the strange light, after all. “What happened to the scouts?” she murmured aloud, wetting her lips. Some -all?- would have been riding for speed. The thought of their likely fate sent a chill down her back.

"They likely died," Murdock said, in unwanted confirmation of her thoughts. She grimaced as she rubbed at her abdomen, willing the contents of her belly to remain where it belonged.

The urge to act began to press on the blonde woman, the sense of luck that had gotten her through scrape after odd scrape driving her forward inexorably. Fiona gave the camp one more sweeping glance, then looked down at the Keeper. “I can’t leave you here,” she told him. “What if that light thing comes back?” She shuddered. “Or worse.” It took her full strength to get the much taller man to his feet, and then she had no choice but to act as impromptu walking aide. With her bow in one hand and the other around the Asha’man’s waist to keep him upright, she began to pick their way out of the rubble to the clear path between tents.

Some time passed as they stumbled slowly about. They found no humans, but she did find arrows to replace those destroyed when the infirmary tent collapsed. As they moved about, she realized it was getting noticeably warmer, and worry began to combat her impulsive need to keep moving.

As they passed between two tents that looked as if they might have belonged to camp leaders, she felt something...dark...tingle across her senses. It flicked away, then returned, stronger this time. She felt Murdock stiffen in the same instant that her head turned to the north. “What...was that….?” She asked, even as her fingers dropped to the pouch where she kept her bowstring in its waxed envelope.

[Chris]

Alas, Murdock was not in the position to enjoy the position he was in with Giselle. (She called herself Fiona, but this sort of roleplaying was best left in another time and place. There was trouble afoot.) “I would much rather you didn’t leave me here,” he said lightly, though his tone was unconcerned. With Giselle everything was far more manageable, and he had never been a victim of spurious displays of emotion even without. “Alright, let’s go together, it’ll be an adventure.”

So she helped him to his feet and he happily leaned against her, enjoying the arm around his waist. He didn’t need it, but Murdock took full advantage and ignored the fact that without it he would probably flop to the side and just keep going until he was on the floor again. Being upright, his head rang in a low but insistent tone, and turning his head too quickly felt rather odd. The willow bark was still taking effect it would seem.

There was nobody to find here, as if they were the only people left in the camp. No survivors ought to have been disheartening but the only person important to Murdock was by his side, and so the man walked along with a rather sedate expression. He was familiar with death.

There was a sick ripple of wrongness that made the tall man’s spine tingle, and Murdock made a face momentarily that overrode his calm expression. “Oh, that felt like the Shadow’s influence on the world. Probably trollocs, though I can’t smell them.” Murdock made an amused noise before realising that this was perhaps not all that funny. “Ahh. Hrmm. Those who can channel, are susceptible to the Dark One’s minions. If they are nearby you can feel them on your skin… I suppose this is your first time?” Murdock gave Giselle a wan smile, “you’ll never get used to it. Oh,” he made a mildly surprised noise as he felt it once more, again to the north.

Giselle was doing something that didn’t involve her hands around his waist and Murdock gave her a bemused look before realising she was preparing her bow. What an excellent idea. When did Gselle learn to use the bow? It didn’t bother Murdock, Giselle always could take care of herself and using a weapon was actually pretty darn attractive (that had to be his Saldaean side at play, they always stabbed and shouted at one another didn’t they?). Murdock’s hand went to his waist, finding that he hadn’t bothered with his sword. Oh of course he hadn’t, how could a broken man use a flaming sword? All Murdock had was his stick, and his stick… was not a sword.

Well.

Murdock was looking down at his stick inquisitively when he heard the tune. It was a gentle lull, like dipping a loved child into a warm bath of scented soaps. The warm crooning was unfamiliar to Murdock but as soon as he heard it his heart lurched and then soothed itself. He looked up to see a tall man with no eyes and wings, accepting this new information with no argument as a part of his addled mind retched and murmured, “Draghkar!”. That part was not currently dominant, and it faded quickly as Murdock smiled blankly up at the eyeless creature. Funny really, we’re supposed to be buddies, Murdock thought to himself as he limped closer, not using his stick and letting out nothing more than a grimace and a grunt. Oh well!

“Asha’man!” Giselle called from just behind. A hand gripped at his wrist and Murdock shrugged her off on his quest to meet the Draghkar.

“Shhhhhh Giselle, I’m busy,” Murdock murmured. He was enraptured by the song, how was Giselle not hearing what he was?

The melody gave way to a sudden screech as the Draghkarmade acquaintance with an arrow puncturing its chest. Murdock jolted up and very nearly did fall over this time, but he righted himself with a strategically placed barrel and leaned heavily upon it. A Draghkar. Oh blood and ashes, Murdock should have known better than that. Really, he was a bit miffed that he’d done all this work for the Shadow and this was how he was repaid, but that was something he could grumble about later. The Asha’man sought the void, tried to shove everything into the small flame, but he couldn’t quite make it work. He wanted to, he had to protect Giselle, but it simply wasn’t happening. “Burn me,” he growled. “Giselle, be careful!”

[Sunny]

Fiona

The skin-crawling feeling increased, and Fiona released the Brown to string her bow, stumbling and fumbling as long sleeves and skirts got in the way, muscles unused to such exercise screaming as she tugged the longbow down. With arrow to string, Fiona looked around cautiously. She had read a great deal about Trollocs, though she had a hard time truly imagining the monstrosities described in books. Would an arrow even hurt one? She thought uneasily of her meager ability to channel and Murdock’s addled mind, and her teeth began to chatter in truth.

The clicking noise interrupted the sweet croon that filled the air. The novice turned toward the odd sound, and found Murdock limping toward the strangest creature Fiona had ever seen. Tall and inhumanly pale, it seemed to be wrapped in a leather cloak, one skeletal hand extended to the Keeper. Its eyes caught her true attention, however, gigantic and black, glittering malevolently as it sang. Fiona tried to pull Murdock back, but he shook her off.

She had no memory of such a creature at all, but as the Asha’man stepped further away, she realized that the slimy feeling on her skin had increased to such a degree that she wanted to empty her stomach. The cramp in her stomach called the Andoran back to reality; she snatched an arrow from her quiver, nocked, drew, and released. She already had another arrow to the string, but the melody cut off with a garbled shriek as the impact from the first shoved the creature back.

“Burn me. Giselle, be careful!” Giselle. She bit back the immediate question, instead watching him with concern. Something was definitely wrong with the tall man, and there were other Shadowspawn nearby. What if the next...thing...targeted her? What if I never make it home? Her stomach churned, and she hastily bit down on her tongue, the burst of pain distracting her from nausea.

“I am afraid,” she told him without preamble. “Utterly terrified.” Fiona carefully took his arm and led him out of the open, until they could settle next to the ruins of one of the tents. “I don’t know what to do.”

There was still one thing she could do, the small girl realized. Her fear and the feeling of the Shadow drawing near distracted her from the place of quiet peace that she needed to access saidar, but she reached for it anyway, desperation fueling her resolve. Again and again light blossomed only to vanish as she grasped for it, and she could feel her palms begin to sweat from anxiety. I will NOT die here! She had survived too much already to die in a strange land with a man who couldn’t remember her proper name!

Fiona thought she could hear hoof beats. She listened, and the sound gradually grew louder and clearer, transforming from pounding hooves in the distance to the distinct click of ivory dice in a cup. The novice closed her eyes and took a deep breath. One. Two. Three. The Source blossomed and the Andoran drank in the One Power. Sensations grew sharper, and her fear faded.

It’s time to roll the dice.

This time when her blue eyes opened, Fiona’s manner was quite business-like. She put her hand on Murdock’s forehead. “I have to break the rules or we’re both going to die here,” she told him in a matter of fact tone. “Hold still.” At least he did not seem averse to following her orders.

First she Delved him. She winced as she found the bruising in the Brown’s brain; no wonder he seemed so strange! The knotted mess in his damaged leg also drew her attention, but it was old, less pressing. The part that needed attention was in his mind.

Drawing a shaky breath, the novice began the flows for Healing, Spirit and Air and Water pouring from her hands to wrap around and through the older man in the familiar weave Christianne had shown her. Without completely understanding why, she began to add Fire and Earth, thin threads of each that arced through the bruised areas and revitalized them. Layer upon layer of fine flows built as she worked, instinct -different from luck, she thought dazedly- telling her what to do to fix her companion.

Fiona tied off the last few flows and sat back, exhaustion the likes of which she had never experienced creeping through her bones as she stared at the Asha’man. “Do you know who I am, Murdock?” she asked. The feeling of Shadow slime had increased while she worked. Fiona reached for her bow and prayed. Please, Light, please…