The Grey Tower

Trae Elien (NPC) The room was much as he recalled it. A large room in the Grey Tower, fit perhaps for an honored guest.

All around were books, a few pieces of artwork and modest furniture. It was the room afforded him when he stayed at the Tower. Now it was lit with a light glow that came from everywhere and nowhere at once. The lit candles were only for show, and provided minimal illumination.

He appeared a man barely into his late thirties, a pair of emerald eyes peering from beneath silver-framed glasses. One hand gripped a cane of white ash, with a wolf's head carved into it; it had been a gift from a close friend.

He sat down, a small smile on his lips as two cups and a pot of tea appeared on a nearby table, one cup either side of a stones board, the pieces erratically patterned.

The man who had been Trae Elien in life was patient. It had been some time since he had actually waited for someone, and longer still since he was needed. The last time he had been aware of such things was shortly before bidding farewell to his liege lady.

Trae was well known in the Tower and in the Westlands as a diplomat who helped broker peace between Cairhienin Houses and the Aiel who crossed the Spine to follow the Dragon Reborn. But for all the status he had gained as a mediator, he still bore the demeanor and mannerisms of a modest man.

Before anything else, the man that had once been Trae Elien had been a blind man taken in by the Tower when he was a young man. He was offered safe haven and made good friends when it was apparent his blindness would not be cured. A love was born, and of it a child who was Tower-born.

Despite his blindness, he was a skilled diplomat who was summoned to and made his home in Cairhien. There sat a man whom both Aiel and Cairhien could trust, a man who walked both worlds with the knowledge that escaped most Westlanders.

He even regained his sight because of this place and its Healers.

When the Whitecloaks lay siege prior to the Battle of the Lights, it had been Amora en'Damier herself that summoned him back in a failed attempt to negotiate peace with a man who turned out to be a Dreadlord disguised as a Whitecloak commander, and he had not denied his liege lady or the Amyrlin Seat of the Tower.

In the end, it had been for this very Tower, and one man in particular, that he had come back to keep safe. And that had cost him his life in these very chambers.

It was that very man he now was worried for.

Most moved on from this existence, rewoven by the Wheel of Time to another life. Yet he remained. If he were still aware of the waking world, it would have been over three decades since his death.

The air stirred, or what might have passed for air in this place of suffused light and wonder. He lifted his eyes and looked at the newcomer.

She was a beautiful woman, ageless, yet apparently older than she appeared. Where most might sense a unnaturalness around her, Trae sensed a good heart encased in ice and fire. He knew her face more keenly. She was a creature of iron and velvet during the negotiations with the Whitecloaks so long ago, one who noted the Creator had not been kind of late.

He could not blame her then, nor now not with what he knew. Then the woman had been Captain-General of the Green Ajah, facing a man who bore the resemblance and voice of her own husband.

He doubted she remembered him. Perhaps his one saving grace was that he struck a cord with those who sought peace, or needed and welcomed counsel. All others could forget him if his role was successful.

“Welcome, Lady Miahala,” Trae murmured. He gestured to the other seat.

He smiled softly. “I fear that you might not recognize me beyond one time when we attempted to negotiate peace with the Children of the Light led by Maleljien Ives, the man who led hundreds of good men to their deaths.”

In life, Trae Elien had been no fool. He knew of the atrocities committed by the Whitecloaks as a whole, but did not condemn individuals who answered what they thought was a just calling. It had been his hope that some few could redeem the whole.

At that moment in his life as Trae Elien, he had been called by Amora en'Damier to help broker the peace — one that failed because the Whitecloak was interested only in bloodshed and mayhem.

But those days were long gone and he far removed from that world. Odd, though, given that he should have been rewoven long since. Yet the mediator remained, connected to the Dream and to the gifts it granted whilst he remained.

He gestured to the other chair, a simple piece of furniture with a comfortable cushion before motioning to the tea. “If you would like, I can prepare you a cup. This particular blend is infused with passion fruit, but if you wish anything else … “

Trae scanned the room, as much in curiosity as anything else. He didn't know if it was the Aes Sedai's dream or if he had pulled her here like a magnet. Despite his long residency in this world, he was still unsure of how it completely worked.

“Uncle Walker said this place remained unchanged since my death,” Trae murmured. “Sealed by order of the Flame of Tar Valon, and the order not rescinded. I find it strange that one would do so much for one man who was not even a disciple of this Tower, only one of its vassals.”

He looked at Miahala and asked, “Tell me, Aes Sedai, does the man you know as Jerid Walker hold strong?”

This was not like her normal Dreams.

It was not unheard of for her to find some consciousness, some awareness, while Dreaming that it was, in fact, what she was doing. It was different from Dreamwalking, from purposely or even accidentally entering Tel'aran'rhiod, for that was not a skill she possessed. But the World of Dreams and the World of Dreaming, well, they could share a thin boundary.

Mia had to assume that that was what was happening now, even though it was unsettling. She found herself in an unfamiliar room with a man before her. She had a vague recollection of him, someone she had known once but not known well. He clearly knew her, though, and his reference to Caden's despicable kin and the events of that fight... Well, that was a sharp reminder.

Memories crashed in as she approached and took a seat, waving off the tea. "Trae Elien. Of the Grey. I remember," she said simply, her blue-green eyes keen with the speed of her mind but the rest of her face devoid of emotion or thought. He had been known to Jerid, and to Amora, the woman who scared many but never Mia.

"As far as I am aware, he holds firm as he can," she answered carefully, trusting little even in her own Dreams. She knew of the loss of Jerid's daughter, but also of his reunion with his wife and son.

Trae smiled politely as he poured himself a cup of tea. It wasn't needed in this place, but the memory of the simple ceremony was perhaps what drove him from being insane.

As a boy and later a man grown, he had heard of rumors of what happened to people who were trapped in this place for too long. Some become part of it. A few moved on from the Wheel altogether.

Most went mad as the decades turned to centuries and years untold.

Trae's lips curved in a smile at Miahala's words, hidden behind the lifted cup. How many might have mistaken him for an Asha'man given his ties to this place when he still yet lived.

“I suppose I would have been a Grey if I wore the cord,” Trae murmured as he set the cup down. “I never signed the Soldier book, but the Tower took me in when I was a blind man. It was this place that gave me family, home, even restored my sight.”

His smile never faded. “I served the Lady Amora, while I lived, but I was only ever a simple mediator.”

Trae looked at the stones board and saw the pieces re-arrange themselves. The pattern was just as erratic, but a white one bearing the glyph of the fox was now more isolated, surrounded by a sea of black.

“I feared as much, the loss of a child is never a good thing, and he has lost so much,” Trae murmured. “He was not unlike Janos Alyd Temeri in the fifth year of the War. He was a good man, not so much different than Uncle Walker, but without a vein of discord in his heart. He lost so much to the Dreadlords that year, his home, his family, his city. He became a trusted lieutenant of the Dragon, but he was never the same. His heart hardened and he became Death's weapon.”

Old memories flashed in his mind, those that predated the man who was Trae Elien. Perhaps Janos was Jerid in another life, or was it the other way around. Both men bore gold-green eyes.

“You are Amyrlin Seat now, yes?” Trae murmured. “You bear the mark of someone who has been shoved into an ill-fitting gown and expected to adapt.”

His eyes shifted toward the board.

“This was meant for you to see, though I know not why,” Trae said. “His is a life that is hard to predict, but he may face demons ahead and not the easy ones. Most men break under what he has suffered, but he's endured. But things may change soon.”

A rather glaring piece of incorrect information, Mia reflected. While another might have been embarrassed, this was not a woman who was prone to such a feeling. In truth, she could not recall the last time she had. Instead, she simply reflected that her primary encounter with the man had been one of strong emotional issues. Details were likely to be forgotten.

So when he corrected her, one side of her mouth turned in a smile. "You know what they say," she said, muted yet flippant. "The mind goes with age."

Mia took in his comments about her being Amyrlin and the ill-fitting gown. For a man who was at all observant, that was likely not hard to figure out. And living in a world of Dreams, a world beyond the Wheel, undoubtedly offer many an insight. She did not comment in response to it, since she was hardly going to argue. He was right.

"You sound like a man who knows things," she replied musingly. "I feel like maybe you're here to impart some of them."

Trae tilted his head briefly, curious that this woman would forget such a detail. But his curiosity was also balanced by knowledge surrounding the event.

“Most minds fade with time,” Trae murmured. “Yet you seem selective in every person who gave you joy or grief, anguish, sorrow or anger. Those who wrong you and yours in very damning ways and still yet live seem to think thrice before popping into the light again for fear you strike them down. Those that give you joy … they are deeply embedded in your heart.”

He tilted his head and added more respectfully, “We all had much on our minds in those days, revered Mother. Yours was on the man who took form and shape that did not belong to him, and mine was knowing no word could dissuade a man such as he.”

He reached for his cup of tea once more, all too aware that he did not need it in this place. Food or drink was unnecessary for one whose soul lingered.

But old habits died harder than he had done.

Trae smiled softly and inclined his head as he set the cup down.

The pieces on the stone board shifted again, tighter in formation around the black piece with the fox emblem.

“I don't profess to know everything, only what the Dream shows me,” Trae murmured. “Other things, they are memories from when I lived that drive those impressions.”

He leaned forward and murmured, “A shadow lingers close to Lord Jerid Walker, the leader of soldiers who came and could come again. This shadow would seek to break this man, both from his family and from his sanity.”

Trae smiled bittersweetly. “If that happens, he will snap. And he will be trapped. And this shadow is closer to his heart than he knows, like a rat that pretends to be a mouse before it attacks. Only this one's teeth is the ability to channel.”

What he said somehow did not, entirely, surprise her. Shadows lurked around all of them, and some of them more than most. Her own Dreams seemed to help show that, and she glanced over the board before them. Rats, and mice... Teeth is the ability to channel? It was that last part which she found particularly curious. Something about it, as a statement, just stood out.

Her mind again briefly roamed to the unusual feeling to all of this. Her Dreams were symbolism and imagery, sensation that was usually without focus, or at least explanation. This was...very different. Real and yet surreal at once, and a feeling that she could not recall having felt before. Considering the length of her life, that was saying something.

"You tell me so that I might help him?" she asked, almost in a musing way, as her eyes lifted to him. The use of the rat and mouse comparison did not go missed by her either, considering Lysira, but that girl couldn't channel. Mia was sure of that. And she would never betray Jerid. Not after everything. Mia just knew it, and Mia trusted her instincts.

Trae tilted his head slightly, as if to consider Miahala's question. His blue-green eyes glittered in the subtle glow around them. In all his years alive, and his existence in between death and rebirth, the diplomat had yet to consider if he was helping to stop such things, or was setting the stage to make them happen.

After all, every stone tossed into a lake caused ripples, and ripples could change the outcome. Throw a large enough stone, and you caused a tidal wave.

“I offer this insight to one of his oldest friends,” Trae murmured. “Whether it can be prevented or not, I wouldn't know. We are but weaves in the Pattern, and every time we pluck at one, a hundred things could happen.”

His eyes went back to the stones board. The pieces had moved again, giving the lone fox-engraved stone breathing room. But it was also confronted by a single piece — unique in its shifting color. It shifted between black and purple.

“Jerid Walker walks a dangerous series of paths, and his option of routes dwindles every moment,” Trae murmured. “I would recommend you caution him, but if you throw up roadblocks or walls, he would see them torn down. The death of one so near and yet so distant affected him a great deal, and he will not waste a breath until she is avenged. Remind him, at the very least, of the good man he still is, and that other Shadows linger to be exposed.”

Trae's eyes focused more intently on the Amyrlin Seat herself. “Besides, something tells me you would be unable to directly help him. Your path may differ from his soon, I suspect, as the center cannot hold without some reprieve.”

Could she not even escape in her dreams?

Out in the "real" world, Miahala felt the weight of the entire Tower upon her shoulders. It had started presenting as a recurring pain between her shoulder blades, as though it were a literal weight pressing down on her. As emotions and sensations could follow one into this place beyond sleep, the pain started again.

How can I save my friends? My family? The responsibility poured through her. The whole Tower called her "Mother" now, and she felt the same responsibility to each person within its walls now as she did for those she had birthed. Now her dreams had been invaded even more than usual, with yet one more task before her.

"Nothing goes as we expect," she replied, her voice impassive but for its quietness. She let her own blue-green gaze roam over the board between them, feeling but not meeting his gaze on her. "I could have all the intentions I want, but I know that I am not wholly in control of whether I'm able to make it happen."

She paused and finally looked up to meet his look. "I will, of course, do what I am indeed able to for a friend."

Trae smiled softly as he listened to the Aes Sedai in front of her.

His emerald eyes glittered as he considered what she had said. Most did not seem to grasp the concept that some actions could only create the future that was foretold, not prevent it.

Yet Miahala seemed to understand by her mere acknowledgement that her intentions could have possible ramifications, foreseen or not.

His smile turned to one of sorrow, however. His eyes went to the stones board and once more the white pieces narrowed in on the lone black piece.

“You're not like her, you know,” Trae murmured. “She who was older, the one whom I loved and served whilst I lived … she knew when to step back, knew that sometimes a prophecy must take place when advise not to warn the person involved.”

He tilted his head and murmured, “I knew a young soldier once, an officer in Matrim Cauthon's Band of the Red Hand. One night he was resigned to the fact he would have to lead his men into battle should negotiations with a renegade faction of Dragonsworn broke down. I advised he should do as he must, but not relent to the obvious. The next day, that man rode out alone ahead of his men and not soon after, the Dragonsworn laid down their arms.”

His eyes went back to the stone board, now unchanged.

“Do what you must for your friend, but be careful,” Trae murmured. “The Pattern is a mercurial beast, prone to change and unforgiving in its decisions.”

"Do you think I do not know that, sir?" Mia asked with a wry smile. Here in the Dream, she worried less about keeping her facade. The man before her was skilled enough at reading the small signs in a person, something learned by necessity in his profession. While she knew she was fully inscrutable even to the likes of him when she really tried, she did not wish to.

And so the pain in her heart shown clearly in her eyes with that faint, mirthless smile. "The Pattern wove me dead and the wove me alive again, and if that is not the definition of mercurial, I don't know what is."

That wounded gaze dropped to the board and she touched the top of each piece with the very tips of her fingers, as though walking her touch across them. "We can all only see what is before us. Sometimes that is whispers of Dreams or prophecies, and yet the Pattern would never be so common--" This word spoken with cynical derision. "--as to simply tell us something.

"Things are always enigmatic and usually only understandable when they are over." She noticed there was a green piece in the far corner now, a woman standing with her hands held before her and her head held high. She touched that one and let her hand linger. "We hope for the best, prepare for the worst, and take what comes." Her eyes lifted although her head did not. "Wouldn't you say that is the most any of us can ultimately do?"