The Grey Tower

Hama Valon unfolded itself before them, its wide streets teeming with busy, important people, its shops and markets just opening their doors for the day's first customers, and its chimneys and vents billowing steam into the cool winter sky from grand and modest buildings alike. There was a tangible sense of purpose to this city, a feeling of industry and meaning; different from that of a northern sentinel such as Shol Arbela, but there just the same. For Oen Harida, that first majestic impression was eclipsed by a cloud of dread and uncertainty. While his companions chattered excitedly about this vendor or that spectacle - was that an Ogier? - Oen could not keep his mind from centering on the macabre, especially once his eyes fell on a figure unnoticed underfoot by likely every other person on High Street this day. The thing had a sleek, grey body, beady black eyes and tiny, human-like hands that clutched a large crumb of bread it hurriedly ate between glances for danger, predators or, as Oen believed, its intended target for the day's spying.

"Rats are spies for the Dark One," a feminine voice spoke from his left, cutting through the din as it addressed his very thoughts, "but not every rat." Drianna Sedai was beautiful, in a terrifying way, with her hands folded serenely at her waist and her slanted amber eyes locked on the subject of Oen's attention. He felt a shudder as he looked from the small but powerful woman to the rat huddled over its gutterside breakfast. As he watched, a silver blur struck the beast square in the forehead, spitting up a tiny spray of blood, and it fell, eyes agog, flat to the ground. Dead.

Oen mimicked the creature briefly, but caught himself and closed his mouth as he turned to the Aes Sedai. Much shorter than he, Drianna Mosley, a Cairhienin he believed, was casually fishing a few coins from a purse looped to her riding belt. She was a picture of patient generosity as she placed one in each upturned hand from the flock of children Oen had not even noticed gathered around them.

"Still," she continued, "best not to take any chances." There was an edge to her saintly facade. The street waifs paid it no matter, happily bustling off to spend their winnings on their own scraps of bread. Drianna continued walking, and Oen could only fall in step beside her, or be trampled by his brother and their mob of travel companions still obliviously swan-necking behind them. Opposite the Aes Sedai, and apparently the cause of that blur, was her Warder, Moss. The man was death cloaked in flesh, rolling a handful of pebbles in one hand, the other resting on the hilt of a heavy-looking broadsword sheathed in an even heavier-looking hilt. If Moss could kill with a pebble, Oen would not care to see what he could do with that blade.

It would seem the crowds agreed, and they gave Drianna, Moss, and their younglings a respectably wide berth. Men and women of every station made way for their group, bowing or curtsying to their respective degrees, including one or two that appeared to be wearing serpent rings and dragon pins of their own. Oen felt their eyes on him on occasion as well, and attempted not to wilt in Drianna's shadow. He kept his head up, but bowed it as appropriate, and even dared a smile. He knew this would be the last day he would enjoy any such niceties for some time to come, if Drianna's description of Tower life was to be believed.

"You will need to work on that," again Driaana caught him unawares - this time frowning at thoughts of cleaning privies and scraping about for the Asha'man.

"Yes, Aes Sedai," Oen said plainly, relaxing his face.

"The Master of Soldiers does not tolerate fools," Drianna said this somewhat louder, to gain the attention of the youths behind them. When they looked, she added, "and neither does the Mistress of Training."

A silence rolled over the group then and there, save for a low, somewhat ominous hum emanating from Moss Gaidin. It reminded Oen of a death march he'd heard at the one occasion he'd found himself at a gallows back home-for the hanging of a deranged man responsible for the deaths of three fellow villagers. Light, Oen was glad he would not be training with that man.

"Speaking of," Drianna slowed to a stop and turned to face her flock, "the Tower is just over the next hill." They looked, and indeed they could see the tops of its grand parapets, gleaming brightly as only new construction could. Not for the first time, Oen felt both humbled in its presence, and somehow upset that such fine detail, such massive effort was spent here, in the middle of these mountains few would otherwise bother with, when it was so desperately needed along the Blight border. Yet another display of southern pride. If anyone should position themselves on the forward lines against the Shadow, should it not be the Aes Sedai and the Asha'man?

Oen realized he'd missed part of Drianna's next statement in his distraction. "... to decide if you truly wish to train with the Tower. Oen Harida," he blinked at being called out, "Clair Ferenic," she was a short, plump girl in the back of the pack, who'd only spoken with the only other girl with them, Miniva from his own village. Clair looked as queasy as he felt. "You both must continue on. We must determine whether you in you the potential to one day be called Asha'man and Aes Sedai, or whether you will be turned away, considered no longer a threat to yourself, or to those around you.

Oen held his stance, having had at least some training by his father and the scouts in Kiva, but he could feel the sweat beading on his brow and above his lip. That, however, barely registered next to the daggers in the back of his head he knew to be coming from Miniva and his younger brother, Daigo. They had traveled leagues to get here, spent over two weeks on the road together, had come to the very Grey Tower's door itself, and through it all, Oen had not had the chance ... no, the courage, to tell them about his ... abilities.

"Moss here will find an Accepted or Dedicated to take you to your appropriate office," Drianna said in a tone that felt all too final, looking at him and Clair-the forsaken among them-before addressing the others, "then he we will take rest of you directly to the Mistress of Training. This is where I will leave you now, however be aware that I will be monitoring your progress, and you behavior. Do not make me regret bringing you here." She allowed her words to do their job as the weight of the moment settled in cozily on the shoulders of each of them assembled there. "Take a moment to make your decision, those of you who have one to make," another barb for Clair and himself, no doubt, "and say your goodbyes." He started, but she explained, "You may not see one another often, or at all, for quite some time in your early months here." She placed a hand on Oen's shoulder, and a rare and beautiful smile greeted him when he looked down at her. "Light favor you," she slipped her hand off, "and all of you."

And, with that, the group was on their own. Drianna Sedai swayed off into a nearby seamstress shop, and Moss Gaidin was already pulling aside a young woman in what must be the dress of an Accepted, to take Clair to her next destination. Soon he would find one for Oen as well. But, before that, Oen had some explaining to do.

He turned to find Miniva and Daigo glowering balefully at him, while the other boys stared with surprise, or disgust, at finding someone who could channel in the body of what they had assumed to be a fellow trainee.

Oen's mouth felt dry. His hands were sweating. He finally wiped his mouth and brow, and met his brother's burning gaze. "I am sorry."

"You're sorry," Daigo repeated, his young, slim face quickly darkening, "You're sorry?!" He lunged forward, teeth bared, but was ensnared by the surprisingly strong arms of Miniva and a small boy they'd only just met today, on the roared to Hama Valon. That boy's eyes were wide, and staring past Oen to where Moss could just be seen down the road, speaking with another slim man in black. Min, however, was glaring straight at Oen.

"Leave him," she managed between clenched teeth as Daigo wriggled in her arms. "It's not worth it! You'll only get in trouble with the gaidin."

Daigo vented out a loud growl, one that made Oen cringe - Light, people were beginning to stare - but sagged slightly, and waited to be released. "Bloody bark, Oen!You could've told me sooner than the bloody gates to the flaming Grey Tower! You don--"

"Would that have made a difference?" Oen asked, his own face reddened with emotion. He realized he'd fallen into a wrestling stance, hands up to catch his oncoming assailant, and slowly eased out of it.

"I would've had a chance to knock some sense into you..."

"And that would've help--"

"You knew!" Daigo shouted, even louder than before. He swallowed some foam and started against Miniva and the other boy all over again. "You knew in Kiva and that's why you came with us!" He shot a look at Min, who looked shocked but unmoved in her hold. "I knew you never wanted to train with the Warders. This was your plan all along!"

Oen hesitated, looking from his brother to Min, who looked disappointed, and back, "I had to be certain. That Asha'man in Shol--"

"Bloody coward! You could've told me th--"

"That Asha'man told me," Oen raised his voice, "that I might never be an Asha'man, but that I must come to at least be tested." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, beads clacking quietly at the ends of their braids. "I might still have a chance to train with you." He looked to include Min, "Both."

She didn't seem interested in the gesture. "Don't be a fool, Oen. He only said that to get you here. When have you ever heard of any of the Towers turning away fresh fodder?" She slowly pulled her arms away from Daigo in order to fold them under her own flat chest. "They'll kill you before they let you wander off with that inside you."

"I assure you," a deep, cutting tone announced - Moss, returning with an Asha'man, "they would not." He stood, shorter than Oen and half the other boys, but infinitely more confident, and waited for Daigo and the others to fall into a more organized line. He had a look in his eye that said he might be the one to kill them all himself, though Oen knew it to be a tactic, and an effective one. The man was a Warder, bound to an Aes Sedai, trained in the Grey Tower; he wasn't about to make a scene in the streets of Hama Valon. Or so Oen hoped. "This," he motioned to the man in black beside him, "is Dedicated Boril. He will escort Oen to the Master of Soldiers." He looked directly at Oen then, and Oen felt his hopes slipping away, "You will be respectful and follow the Dedicated's orders. He will likely one day save your life."

Oen slowly looked at the Dedicated - Boril - and carefully bowed his head in greeting. Boril seemed kinder of face, even pleasant, next to the stone that was Moss. Boril even smiled slightly when he spoke, "Greetings, Oen," he nodded, then to the others, "Light favor you all. Don't worry, we'll take good care of your friend."

There was a slight murmur at that, but these youth were borderlanders, too well-trained to come right out and disagree with the man. Still, Daigo looked ready to lunge again, no matter who was standing there. Luckily for him, and Oen, he did not.

"Quick then," Moss snapped, his words more ominous in this moment than he likely intended, "say farewell."

The troop bid him well, and Daigo and Min eventually each stepped forward to offer an embrace to their departing kin. Oen was pleased, and relieved, squeezing them tightly and breathing in their scents one last time. Min seemed mostly concerned for his safety, but Daigo had moved over to disappointment. He no longer seemed angry for being left in the dark, so much as sad that they would not be training together, truly brothers in arms.

"It upsets me as well," Oen sighed as he hugged his brother, "but you always were the most disciplined with your training. I'd likely be sent home after a week anyway..." He stepped back and smiled, but wavered at the sight of tears at the corners of Daigo's eyes. He quickly put his hand on the younger boy's shoulder, "Listen, you and Min will have plenty of fun and adventures without me."

Daigo sniffed back his pride and shrugged off Oen's hand, "Just stay alive, alright?" He stepped back with the others and frowned at his older brother, "And write mother and father. Or I will."

Oen did smile at that; leave it to Daigo to find a reason to tell him what he should do, how he should act. It was a classic little brother tactic, but Oen let him win this one. He nodded, as good as a promise between them, and echoed Daigo's words, "Stay alive. Both of you." He shared a lingering look with Min - keep him alive - then turned and walked off with Dedicated Boril at his side.

They walked for a bit in silence, Boril thankfully leaving him to his thoughts, and Oen finally had a moment to take in the Tower looming above them as they gained ever closer. It was every bit as gleaming and glorious as the tales he'd heard tell. His arms suddenly went to goose flesh, and his mouth felt the need to open as he stared ever upward at this wondrous thing that was to be his home for however long the Asha'man would have him. He hadn't lied to his brother; if the M'Hael sent him away, Oen did not think he could stomach training with the Warders. No, he would return home, likely disgraced, but happy to take up work with his father and his fellow loggers.

"That was your brother?"

Oen blinked, surprised to find the Dedicated still with him for some reason, "Yes, sir. His name is Daigo., and he means no disrespect..."

"Boril is fine," Boril said with a benevolent smile. "And I've no doubt." Oen wondered if all Dedicated were quite as pleasant as this one, and immediately discounted the thought as an impossibility.

Oen nodded, and the bells in his braids jingled musically, a reminder a home. "The girl is from our village as well; Miniva. Do you know Kiva? In Arafel." Boril shook his head, and Oen nodded, unsurprised, "It is very small. Not far from Shol Arbela."

Oen quieted as they came upon a grand outer gate, bowing his head to a pair of guards but too dumb-struck to speak, had they any interest at all. They didn't seem to, but acknowledged Boril as someone they recognized, and respected, and waved them through. Oen stared at the massive structure as they passed under and in, recognizing the shapes through the murder holes and arrow slits as more guards, many in armor, all in grey. He envied those men and their seemingly uncomplicated lives. Serve and protect - and not worry about the Dark One creeping inside your mind as you take over the bodies of His devoted minions...

"--you will not be staying in the Tower proper."

Oen's attention snapped back to Boril from the sinister-looking portcullis currently held high above their heads. "What do you mean?"

Boril's smile was disarming, "All Soldiers and Novices reside in opposing wings of the Great Serpent." Oen knew he must've gawped dumbly at that, for the Dedicated motioned ahead, and left, as they proceeded onto a wide road leading straight up to the magnificent Tower itself. The building to which Boril eluded was a carriage house by comparison, nay a shed, though in its own right it would have dwarfed any building in Kiva ten-fold. It was beautiful as well, all curves and stone and glass, and Oen realized they were heading there now. He tried to concentrate on the goal ahead - to convince this Master of Soldiers that he did not need his training - but finally standing at the foot of the Tower was proving to be too great a moment.

Oen allowed his feet to slow, eventually stopping to stare up - and up, and up - the breath quite literally taken from him. It must be true, that the One Power built this place. No mere man could create something as truly awesome as this. The sun shined bright on the glass, making it look a mirror with the blue sky and few white clouds lazily passing across their surfaces. Tiny specks of white birds circled the highest heights, and Oen felt his head lightening, his stomach fluttering.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

Oen sniffed and slowly nodded. His family would never understand this feeling, his siblings would awe as recanted the tale, but it may as well be that of a passing Gleeman, all words and images and fluff. They could not truly know. But Oen would not soon forget, when he first set eyes on the Grey Tower.