“Are you here to be tested for the Spark, lass?”
A thick accent jarred Muireen from her thoughts; her eyes flew from the gargantuan structure of the Tower to settle on the grizzled features of an aging stablehand. At least, she thought he was a stablehand. He wore Tower livery - At least, that looks like the Aes Sedai symbol… - and had been halfway through leading a horse across her path when he stopped to question her. Muireen craned her neck, confirming that the horse he lead was a mare, and then carefully considered her answer.
“I don’t think so.” She shook her head fiercely, and her curls bounced jovially. “I don’t want to be Aes Sedai.”
“Do you need to see a Healer, then?”
“No, I think I’m alright. I am hungry, though,” she said, forgetting herself. There was a long pause. Her cheeks colored, and she settled between meeting his stare and looking at the ground by focusing her gaze on his chin. He cleared his throat.
“....I’m afraid I can’t do much for you in terms of a hot meal - you don’t look malnourished enough to justify letting you eat with the initiates. You’re smaller than most, to be sure, but your color’s -”
“I- I want to learn to fight.”
He laughed, wheezing loudly, and spoke breathlessly. “I don’t think they’ll want you, girl. Warders are made of tougher stuff than porcelain. Why, you look as if you’d shatter if you tripped!”
I wouldn’t! She protested silently, and struggled to put her defiance to words. He only laughed harder as she struggled to find her words. “Well - I can’t just not try!- Oh, take me to whoever can decided that for themselves!”
“Very well, but should you be refused, you can’t say I didn’t warn you.” She nodded stoutly, and wished that her embarrassment would fade; this was no way to make a first impression. The man handed off the horse to someone else in identical uniform, and led her away from the Tower. As they made their way from the intimidating structure, dresses became more and more scarce. Murieen became conscious of her clothing: though it was wool, it was very fine wool, and though it was travel-worn, the blue made her feel like a fifth teat on an udder.
They walked parallel to several wide, long arenas, fenced with rope and thin posts, where young men and women clad in grey were busy training. It did not escape her notice that they were all quite a bit heftier than she was - she could wrap her wrist with her thumb and pinky finger, and some of these people looked as if she couldn’t fit her hand around their wrists at all! - but she did not allow herself to be deterred. Even if she was told they wouldn’t let her be a full Warder, perhaps they’d still let her learn?
At any rate, the servant left her at the door of some manor-like building with a smirk. She didn’t bother to thank him. She let herself in, and followed brass plates for directions. Muireen supposed that she wanted to meet with the Mistress of Training, but after climbing a flight of stairs and staring apprehensively at her door for more than a minute, she found that it was locked. She glanced nervously down the hall after rattling the doorknob, and frowned.
Well, what am I supposed to do now?
A thick accent jarred Muireen from her thoughts; her eyes flew from the gargantuan structure of the Tower to settle on the grizzled features of an aging stablehand. At least, she thought he was a stablehand. He wore Tower livery - At least, that looks like the Aes Sedai symbol… - and had been halfway through leading a horse across her path when he stopped to question her. Muireen craned her neck, confirming that the horse he lead was a mare, and then carefully considered her answer.
“I don’t think so.” She shook her head fiercely, and her curls bounced jovially. “I don’t want to be Aes Sedai.”
“Do you need to see a Healer, then?”
“No, I think I’m alright. I am hungry, though,” she said, forgetting herself. There was a long pause. Her cheeks colored, and she settled between meeting his stare and looking at the ground by focusing her gaze on his chin. He cleared his throat.
“....I’m afraid I can’t do much for you in terms of a hot meal - you don’t look malnourished enough to justify letting you eat with the initiates. You’re smaller than most, to be sure, but your color’s -”
“I- I want to learn to fight.”
He laughed, wheezing loudly, and spoke breathlessly. “I don’t think they’ll want you, girl. Warders are made of tougher stuff than porcelain. Why, you look as if you’d shatter if you tripped!”
I wouldn’t! She protested silently, and struggled to put her defiance to words. He only laughed harder as she struggled to find her words. “Well - I can’t just not try!- Oh, take me to whoever can decided that for themselves!”
“Very well, but should you be refused, you can’t say I didn’t warn you.” She nodded stoutly, and wished that her embarrassment would fade; this was no way to make a first impression. The man handed off the horse to someone else in identical uniform, and led her away from the Tower. As they made their way from the intimidating structure, dresses became more and more scarce. Murieen became conscious of her clothing: though it was wool, it was very fine wool, and though it was travel-worn, the blue made her feel like a fifth teat on an udder.
They walked parallel to several wide, long arenas, fenced with rope and thin posts, where young men and women clad in grey were busy training. It did not escape her notice that they were all quite a bit heftier than she was - she could wrap her wrist with her thumb and pinky finger, and some of these people looked as if she couldn’t fit her hand around their wrists at all! - but she did not allow herself to be deterred. Even if she was told they wouldn’t let her be a full Warder, perhaps they’d still let her learn?
At any rate, the servant left her at the door of some manor-like building with a smirk. She didn’t bother to thank him. She let herself in, and followed brass plates for directions. Muireen supposed that she wanted to meet with the Mistress of Training, but after climbing a flight of stairs and staring apprehensively at her door for more than a minute, she found that it was locked. She glanced nervously down the hall after rattling the doorknob, and frowned.
Well, what am I supposed to do now?
