Slave of Falsehood, Pride and Pain (Open!)

[Chris]

The Soldier couldn’t help it, his expression was stuck on an ugly mix of dubious and incredulous. Even as he leaned in to match Fen’s body language, he had a hard time believing what he was hearing.

The last thing he wanted to be accused of was being a Whitecloak or a Whitecloak sympathiser, that was for sure, and at least Fen wasn’t likening himself to one of those people. There were many things said about the Children of the Light, none of them good. There was a fine line between defending the Light and causing as much damage as Darkfriends in being overzealous. Did Murdock still think Fen might be one of those overkeen, paranoid men who saw darkness where there was none? It was still a possibility, but for now the man had other stuff to worry about. Such as, what on earth was sniffing when it was at home? He’d heard of foretelling, he’d heard rumours of such-and-such a lady being able to tell the future in such a complex way that it sounded nothing like what was actually going to happen – it could never be simple, could it? – but sniffing was beyond him. And the ability to sense Darkfriends was not exactly out of the question to the relatively new to channelling Murdock, so he couldn’t simply dismiss it straight away.

He couldn’t let on that he had no idea what sniffing was either. Fen expected him to know what it was and he didn’t want to come across as stupid in front of the Dedicated. It galled enough that he was new and had to follow orders from men half his age, looking like a fool who doesn’t know a thing about anything was even worse. Sadly, had he been here fifteen years ago, he wouldn’t have minded as much, he was sure of it. There was a naive innocence that came with youth, making asking questions such as “what’s sniffing?” much easier and less of a blow to one’s pride.

It was clear to Murdock that he did not know the world well enough to dismiss Fen’s claim straight away, so he was going to have to do his homework. Had he missed some sort of Grey Tower class on these odd talents people were cropping up with now the Last Battle was upon them? Maybe he had. “Are you saying,” he spoke with an equally low voice, “that you can sense when a Darkfriend is nearby?” It sounded so absurd as he said it, but then what did he know? “And you sense it on them?” By the Light, to be able to simply sense when the Shadow’s minions were nearby had to be a very useful talent, if utilised properly. Walk into a palace or an inn, and simply pick out the bad people. Was that how it worked? It pained Murdock to have to clarify what Fen was suggesting, discovering the minutae detail could wait for another moment. One of the Asha’man would no doubt be able to tell him more.

[Prew]

“I apologize, Murdock, I forget that you are relatively new to the Tower. There are classes that discuss the various talents and abilities, some latent others learned. To be honest, I paid little attention myself,” realizing his assumptions about others were so often wrong, he hurriedly continued, “Sniffing has something to do with the ability to sense violence, I’m not exactly sure of the specifics. It seems to be a rare ability some have, just as is Dreamwalking or Pattern Reading. I know of no one who has any of these abilities myself, but I suppose they exist; at least according to the Aes Sedai who taught the class. As for me, perhaps it is not an ability, per se, but just keen observation of others.” Best to change the subject before the man led the conversation into areas that might expose Fen’s duplicity.

“Shadow and Light; black and white! So many see the world as being just that, but think, a man such as yourself, mature, intelligent, you must surely see that it is all simply a multitude of grey,” Fen looked warily to his left and right before continuing, “Take the Black Tower, for example. Does it serve the Light? You were taken, and I barely escaped the same fate. Is that anyway for those in the Light to act? And you would know better than I what goes on there. I have but rumors to shape my opinion, but you actually experienced it, as did others I know. The fact that you left it for here tells me much. Or take the Aes Sedai of the White Tower; it is said they do not believe the taint has been removed, that they still seek to gentle men who can channel. Is that serving the Light? Yet they do not serve the Shadow, do you think?” Oh, he was warming to the topic now. For the first time it was all beginning to coalesce for Fen as he put his previously disjointed thoughts to words.

“Think about it, Murdock. The Grey Tower, grey! But I wager there are many here who still believe in the black and white of it all. That Dedicated that brought you into the city; what was his name? Odds are he does, so many do, even here.”

Fen lifted his glass only to find that he had somehow drained its contents. He signaled to the serving girl to bring two more, not caring whether the Soldier was done or not, before returning to his subject.

“The Pattern, Murdock, the Pattern. Have you given much thought to it?”

[Chris]

Murdock, try as he might, was not very good at being a model student. Being taught by younger folk, regardless of their rank, tended to rub him the wrong way no matter how much he tried to hide it and regardless of how useful the lessons were. Murdock craved for the day he wasn’t in this position, being taught by boys. He would be the one doing the teaching. For now though, he had to sit and nod and learn what he could, as quickly as he could, for the sake of his progression in the Tower.

He wasn’t all that sure he could get behind these abilities until he met people who possessed them, and Murdock silently resolved to do just that. He was actually a little disappointed when what he thought was initially some sort of Talent or ability, was downplayed as what was essentially glorified people watching. Anyone could watch someone else, Light knew he’d done his fair share of observing as a city guard, but Murdock was the disciple here, and he had to learn. “By the Light Fen, tone it down some. You’re attracting attention,” was his muttered suggestion, but Fen was clearly sinking his teeth into the subject and admittedly, Murdock was as well. “The Black Tower didn’t take me – I chose to go,” he began to say, but there was very little doubt in his mind that had he not opted to leave, they would have taken him anyway. And after what happened with Giselle, it was very easy to downplay how noble and great the Black Tower was. It was because of them that he lost the bond he shared with his wife, and was separated from his children. Some good they were. Of course Fen had no clue, only an inkling that Murdock left for some reason.

“Dedicated Crisson is a self-serving idiot.” Murdock spoke in a low, bemused voice as he took a more hearty drink of his ale and conveniently forgot about his dank surroundings. “Serving yourself is almost as bad as serving the Shadow. I daresay there’s plenty here who aren’t your usual fare of Lightsworn, and I wager a few Darkfriends who you wouldn’t expect to be.” Because if you did, then they would be very easy to catch, wouldn’t they? “I don’t see what that has to do with the Pattern though. I don’t think about the Pattern overmuch, to be honest; there’s only two ways it can go.” Another drink of ale and the older Soldier continued, “the Pattern has either predetermined what pigswill we come across in our lives, threading us into drudgery and heartache, or it has no flaming say and what chunder we fall into is all our own doing. I don’t think I could say which is right, and I don’t think I want to know either. So you know what I think? I don’t. I get on with it because that’s the only thing there is to do.” He looked up and fell quiet as their next order of ale arrived, and he supposed that if he had consumed half of his current mug, he ought to finish it off in order to start on the next one. So Murdock tipped his head back to finish the drink and he handed the mug over to the serving girl, who took their empties away with traces of world-weariness when she thought her back was turned fully.

[Prew]

The Pattern was something Fen had thought long and hard about. The question of free will nagged at him in the quiet moments before sleep overtook him. If ‘the Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills, and we are only the thread of the Pattern’ could humans truly be held accountable for their choices? If not, then weren’t Darkfriends woven into the Pattern; was he not actually responsible for the choices he had made? Oh, for it to be so; to be absolved of responsibility. And yet he did not believe in predetermination. Perhaps that meant he did not believe in the Pattern either. But this was not a topic his companion seemed interested. Let it go, Fen he counseled himself.

“You seem a man who is either very trusting, a good judge of my character,” Fen spoke over the lip of his mug, “or else one who thumbs his ear at Tower protocol. To speak of Dedicated Crisson in such a manner could find you before the Master of Soldiers, should I choose to report it.” Pausing to take a drink, his eyes seemed to sparkle as he took in the Soldier’s reaction. “However, it appears that in our brief time together you have taken my measure and are confident I am not that sort of man. And I daresay your confidence is well placed.” Leaning forward conspiratorially he added, “I think you and I share a distaste for some of what the Tower is about. They treat us like women in some ways, like Novices and Accepted. Classes, Raising tests… phaw! You were at the Black Tower, is it not true that men there can earn their pins solely on their strengths or their actions, and not through some ritualistic procedure?”

[Chris]

There wasn’t much Murdock could say to Fen’s assessment. In Far Madding, he knew the sort of fellow he was. Outside of that, thrown into this world of channelling, he was someone different, but he wasn’t sure who that person was. Rolling with the punches thrown his way, the man knew he lacked the patience for much of the custom and culture thrown his way, as shown by his detachment from the group of Soldiers he had been with. He hadn’t done anything to Dedicated Crissom directly and the last he knew, people weren’t flogged for having opinions, but that was another thing he didn’t care for. Fen seemed to know and appreciate this, and although he wouldn’t lie awake at night worrying if he was being reported to the Master of Soldiers, it was good to know he was not going to have to waste time with that line of punishment. More dreary drudgery detracting him from his reason for being at the Tower in the first place.

He didn’t claim to be a good judge of character. He had a bit of a loose tongue but given their previous discussion and where they were, it was no surprise to Murdock that this man did not necessarily see eye to eye with the rules. Maybe they had more in common than the man first thought, and he took up his new ale with a somewhat amused look for the glint in Fen’s eye. “I would not see being treated like a woman as the issue, Fen.” Murdock knew a great many women who were powerful and commanded respect, and as such were treated properly. Why, he made sure to treat his own family like the princesses they were. Being held to the same standards as a woman was fine by him. “The problem is not the gender but the focus on tradition itself.” Murdock continued on his stint of frankness and honesty, but in his defence he would offer the same opinions to an Asha’man were they to ask.

Thinking about it, it was true that men didn’t need to pass any specific test in order to become Dedicated. “I, er, that’s right,” he said. “I don’t know anything about the test here, only that it’s meant to be tough, but it can’t be that bad surely?” Though saying that, Fen would know, having been through it himself. “You’re not allowed to tell me what it’s about, are you?” Of course not, and his curiosity was going to make that a bugbear for some time, he could be sure of it. “I have no choice in being at the Grey Tower but if you are not so fond of it, why do you stay?” he had to ask. No, Murdock may not love the Grey Tower necessarily, but the focus on ritual and habit didn’t mean he was against their ideals or their overall plan. He had no idea what those even were, how could he be against them? And without the Grey Tower, he was well and truly stuck with no way to learn to channel properly.

[Prew]

Murdock’s question had an easy answer, but it was one Fen could not admit… to anyone. He was here because his Mistress had commanded it, and would remain at the Tower for as long as she deemed it necessary. Instead, he presented his stock answer, one that held a glimmer of truth at that.

“Oh, I stay because I have nowhere else to go,” he explained in a voice now dripping with sincerity. “When men such as yourself, and there are several I’ve met, leave the Black Tower behind for here that tells me much about what goes on there. I doubt I would last long under their, er, training. Besides, I’ve been told that only one in four who can channel survive without training, so here I remain.” And indeed, where else would he go? Certainly not back to Mosra and the bad memories there; Ebou Dar? He had heard rumors of strange goings on there and he had not heard from his mother since he left his village. Besides, where could he hide from his dreams? The Mistress would find him wherever he got himself off to and Fen had no doubt her displeasure would be more than he could bear.

“So, here we remain, eh, my friend; for want of a better place,” as the door to the inn opened to admit a burly looking fellow Fen noticed that the light outside was waning.

“Perhaps we should be getting back, no?” he suggested, draining the last of his ale, “Do you wish to find your companions or would you prefer returning to the Tower with me? I would be happy to explain to Dedicated Crissom that I took you away from the group to assist me.” He raised an eyebrow in question and prepared to stand, reaching into his pocket for a few coppers.

[Chris]

One in four channellers who sparked survived the process with a block. The other three died a horrible, painful death, or so Murdock was told. This figure was bandied about a lot for his benefit, in his lessons where they attempted to break the block he had given himself. The Far Madding man was glad to have been able to gain a rudimentary control over his power but the question was, what had he done with his channelling? There were few times of “great need” that he knew of, but outside of Far Madding where he could channel, he had only enjoyed his time with Giselle. He had no idea what he’d done.

“There are worse places to be,” the man supposed as he set his ale down, holding the mug in both of his hands now. The Black Tower was rather savage compared to the Grey, he could see that. “Once you have control they can’t keep you here forever. They might well kick you out eventually, then you’d be free to go where you please.” If that happened to him, then he wouldn’t be all that disappointed. He’d have enough control to not hurt his family and he could take them... somewhere. Away from Far Madding. He could earn a somewhat honest trade elsewhere, doing a Wise Woman’s job and taking care of the sick in some village somewhere. He thought he might be able to do that with Saidin, if he brushed up on his herb knowledge.

At Fen’s suggestion that they head back, Murdock reluctantly drank the rest of his ale. So much for a look around the city, but a couple of drinks was better than a birching or whatever other punishment one could expect. “Alright, let’s head back. I’ll return with you.” That would annoy Dedicated Crissom to no end, which was one of the reasons he did it. Hah. “Less of that, I said I would pay.” He had some coin of his own which he placed on the table – it ought to be enough. The Soldier straightened his coat and cleared his throat as the burly newcomer plodded on past. Now there was a man who looked like a Darkfriend ought to, brutish and dull, but he kept that to himself as he wasn’t looking to start a bar brawl with a man twice his weight (but not height; Murdock was slightly taller than the heavyset fellow). “Let’s head back before I’m late for curfew.” There was no denying the slight exasperation in his tone, but a grown man being given a curfew was ludicrous at the best of times and lunacy at the worst. He would just have to get used to it.

“I don’t know much but I can do a bit of Healing now. If you ever need anything then just ask. It’s the least I can do.” Murdock held a hand out for Fen to shake – he may not be a fan of Crissom but he could do a favour for a man like Fen in return for his generosity this afternoon. It didn’t hurt to have some Dedicated on your side.

[Prew]

His mother had once told him the polite thing to do was offer twice to pay and then allow the other person to do so if they continued to insist. As if any in Mosra had ever deemed to even share a drink with him, let alone offer to pick up the tab! So when the Soldier insisted on paying, Fen scooped up his own coin and pocketed them. A Dedicated’s allowance wasn’t so great that he could afford to throw his coppers around willy-nilly. Not like Aes Sedai or Asha’man, who seemed to have a limitless supply of coin.

“Obliged, Murdock,” Fen thanked him as he noticed the look Murdock gave the newcomer. Perhaps I have him thinking about things, he hoped he might have planted a small seed of suspicion.

Fen took the man’s hand and shook, an odd custom not found in Altara. “Healing, eh? I’m no good at that myself. My strength lies in Air and Fire. If you would like for me to show you some battle weaves sometime, I would be more than happy to do so.”

As they left the inn and began making their way through the city, the streets considerably less crowded as the sun was sinking near the horizon, Fen thought about what Murdock had said about leaving. Would they just let a channeler walk away? Somehow he doubted that. Once they had you they would keep you and, if they couldn’t do that, then gentling was probably the answer. He shuddered at the thought. To be separated from saidin, to know it is there but be unable to touch it, no wonder those who were gentled usually died a short while later.

As they approached the gates to the Tower grounds he turned to his companion:

“Again, my offer to teach you what weaves I know stands. And, if not that, perhaps we can enjoy some ale together again. I found our conversation mentally… stimulating.”