The Grey Tower

The skies had cleared only recently, so Ravak squelched his way across the muddy grass towards the archery range in his bulkiest boots. He'd no use for the thick-soled boots since he acquired them, but today was the first. A day of many firsts, potentially. His colour-changed fancloak billowed in the light breeze, frequently catching on the end of the large longbow that the Master of Training carried in his right hand.

This was a Two Rivers longbow, which was the largest type of bow as he understood it. It needed plenty of muscles to use, according to his peers, and Ravak Darrow assumed he was eligible for that definition. He didn't know how it differed - if it did differ - from any other bow, beyond size. To his chagrin, he's focused entirely too much on being up close and personal with his opponents. An arrow through his shoulder and another through his lung reeducated him on the value of ranged weaponry. Thus he trudged through the mud, towards a short woman with radiant golden curls and the uniform of a Ji'dar.

"Fiona Ji'dar." The Shienaran made a formal bow, suitable for any Aes Sedai or Gaidar. He had mocked her on her first day at the Yards, but he was not at all mocking now. "You look good in that uniform." He pursed his lips and frowned slightly in thought. "And I'm glad your needlework skills aren't going to waste. Maybe I need to assign you a few more chores." That was mocking, although it remained to be seen if Fiona took it up that way.

Ravak moved up to where Fiona was planted, and saw that he was quite unprepared. Least of all, because he had no arrows. Well, we all start off ignorant. That's why we learn. He tried to go for a friendly smile. "I'm here for a lesson, if you would show me how."

Fiona was beginning to settle into her new role as a Ji’dar of the Grey Tower. Occasionally the fact that she outranked people who were larger, older, and more experienced that she struck her as odd, but the thought was usually a fleeting one. She had grown up receiving obeisance for simply having a name, after all; if respect could be given for something that trite, why fuss herself about receiving it for something she had actually worked for? She had other things to focus on, such as deciding on her personal course of study, keeping an eye on Zeen, talking to her friends, and weapons practice.

On the first clear day after a week of rain, she took her bow to the range to practice, intent on improving speed and accuracy. The target had a red circle on it the size of her fist, but standing forty paces away it seemed much smaller. As she readied for her first shot a familiar voice spoke behind her. “Fiona Ji’dar.” She ignored him for a moment, her entire attention focused on the target. When she relaxed her fingers, the arrow flew true, buried in the center of the dot. She smiled and lowered the weapon, turning to face Ravak. He met her bow with one of his own, and she tensed, expecting- what, exactly? The Shienaran had been nothing but cordial to her since his return from the Waste. Whatever it was she had expected, it did not come.

The small noblewoman heard him out in silence, her fair brows climbing up her forehead as he spoke. Fiona knew the exact degree to curtsy for the Panarch of Tarabon versus a High Lord of Tear, which fork to use for salad and which for steak, and exactly how much to pay a royal seamstress for a job well done, and yet for all her training in propriety she had no idea how to respond to the Master of Training’s request. Eventually, she opted for honesty.

She looked Ravak up and down with a critical eye, taking in his choice of attire and the weapon he carried as well as taking note of what he did not have. “You certainly need it,” she said flippantly, then softened at his expression, reaching up to clap him on the shoulder. “I would be honored, sir. Before we can begin, we need to get you proper gear- haven’t you received any archery training at all?” Apparently not. She hid her surprise at his ignorance by bracing her bow and removing the string, wrapping it around her fingers and tucking it into the oiled packet she kept it in. Then she tucked it into her belt purse and slid her bow back into place next to the quiver she carried on her back.

Ravak made a curious noise, and Fiona shook her head, blonde curls bouncing. “While I am certain you could draw the bow you hold, you would not be able to do so reliably more than once or twice before those burly great arms of yours gave out. Plus, even if you could, you lack certain other necessities. About face, Master Ravak Gaidin sir, we’re going to the armory.” She took his arm and physically turned him, then tugged to get him moving.

As they walked, she looked up at him, eyes dancing as she went back to something he had said earlier. “You could assign me more chores, I suppose. Oooor you could show up at my door with a pile of your clothes and I could adjust them to do those shoulders of yours justice. Your choice- but I suspect the latter would be more productive.”

Ravak felt like a lummox, even if his chastisement from Fiona was good spirited. He answered in the negative to her question about archery training. It had never seemed important until now. He watched in curiosity as she unstrung her bow, and wondered why archers did that. The mighty longbow in his hands was already strung, which just seemed prudent. It's like needing to put the hilt on a sword before using it. Clearly, he had a lot to learn.

He allowed Fiona to lead him back towards the Armoury, boots catching in the mud, making the walk a slight effort. She dragged him needlessly, and if he decided to dig his heels in, that would probably be that. But I've got to be more approachable he reminded himself. There was no point being obstinate just for the sake of it.

"You could assign me more chores, I suppose." Rav grinned. She had picked up on the goad. "Or you could show up at my door with a pile of your clothes..." Fiona Trakand, the Little Haberdasher, Rav thought wryly. "I suspect the latter would be more productive."

"There's nothing wrong with my shirts." He rolled his free shoulder, just for a feel. Sure, the shirt was a bit loose around the shoulders, but that just meant a bit of extra freedom. It still looked good enough, not that he cared. Vanity was Elia's sin, not his. No, he'd still be wearing the traditional Gaidin greys if half a wardrobe hadn't been bought for him. It'd've been rude to ignore that and go back to the bog standard uniform. He was frowning again, and he forced himself to be... 'light'. "I hope you're at least trading favours for favours with this little side project. It wasn't so long ago I was a Ji, and I know what goes on behind the Gaidins' backs."

She lead him into the Armoury, still dragging him by an arm. He let it slide - let it be seen that the Master of Training is human after all. Maybe Ubriel had the right of it after all. Fiona let go once they were inside, but only to start examining... armguards? Bracers? What? We're not learning the spear are we? She selected a couple, and held them near his wrists to gauge sizes. She went as far to push up the sleeves of his shirt for a better assessment, and part of the golden-maned form on his arm became visible.

"What are these for?" he asked as a distraction from the tattoo. "Why do I need a bracer for firing arrows?"

When they arrived at the armory, Fiona went to the racks of leather bracers and began to measure them against the Shienaran’s forearm. Her comment about burly great arms had been light-hearted, but also -as it turned out- unexpectedly truthful. As she pushed his sleeves up to get a better fit, she caught a glimpse of gold, and her eyebrows went up. Before she could say anything, he spoke….almost hastily….to inquire about her activity.

“Once you know what you’re doing,” she said, finally finding the correct size of soft leather bracer and briskly wrapping it about his left arm, “you won’t need this. It won’t even take that long, I promise. However, for now you are liable to take several layers of skin off with the string when you practice, and that is a singularly painful experience.” Light, she sounded like her father, albeit in a higher octave. She tugged the laces tight. “There.”

While he looked at his arm as if it had suddenly sprouted horns and a tail, she reached for his other hand. He snatched it away with a thunderous scowl, and she sighed. “I need to see your fingers, sir.” She watched in amazement as the scowl faded, almost as if he were….forcing it away. How very strange, she thought as she took his bow away and examined his open hand with critical eyes. “You’ll be a little sore here after,” she traced the tip of a finger along the outermost pads of his first three fingers, “but you have enough callus from swordplay it shouldn’t be too bad.”

She let his hand drop and turned away, striding toward the racks of bows. “If a few minutes of stitching can bring a smile to a friend’s face, I don’t mind doing them that favor,” she commented, returning to the prior subject. It might seem a strange conversation they were having, but it was a common enough rhythm in the Yards. “I sew because I love beautiful things and I enjoy the process, so why not do it for the greater good? In return sometimes I get an extra cake at lunch. Or if I’m getting bull-” she cut off. Speaking of Jem and his ilk would do no good for anyone. “Sometimes my bigger friends intervene when I need assistance,” she corrected herself firmly, then went on in a brighter tone, “there’s no need for formal terms; if it happens, excellent. If not? I'm not fussed.”

As she spoke she removed the string from his weapon and racked it, and selected an appropriately sized recurve for him, quiver and arrows, and string. Then she led the way back to the range. “What’s the difference, beyond the obvious?” Ravak asked, looking at the bow she had given him as they walked.

“If we’re being honest, I prefer recurve,” she told him candidly. “They are easier to pull, they’re smaller, and the range difference is generally minimal. My father gave me my bow, however, so I hold onto it despite the disadvantage. A- a touch of home when I’m far away.” She stumbled over the words, suddenly acutely embarrassed for no reason she could fathom. Before she could think to deflect conversation, however, they arrived back where Ravak had first approached her.

“This is how you string a bow,” she told him, and demonstrated the process. Then she undid it, and handed bow and string to him. “Your turn.”

Ravak allowed himself to be outfitted by Fiona. He was feeling less and less like her superior, and more and more like her student. It boded well for when Fiona eventually joined the ranks of the Gaidin, although even now she had the opportunity to teach others. Maybe just think of this as an assessment. That thought allowed him to smooth his face on more than one occasion, although it had been a while since he'd been bossed around.

He adjusted the leather bracer for comfort as they marched back to the archery range. Was archery really that dangerous that it would take off skin? He knew the end result of an arrowhead was deadly, but the string? He shook his head in wonderment when Fiona wasn't looking. Light, it's like being sixteen all over again. Joining the Shienaran army had been a culture shock, and this felt a bit like that.

Rav watched Fiona in rapt interest. She demonstrated what he'd already seen her do, seen several archers do in the past, but this time was different. He focused, like he'd done as a Drin and a Ji, and did his best to memorise the actions.

"Your turn," she announced. The Shienaran just nodded, looking down at the bow with a frown. He was probably doing 'that thing with his face' again that Katrie had warned him about, but he was concentrating after all. He took the larger of the two loops at the end of the string, and put it around the 'bottom' end of the bow. He pulled his way along the string to the other end, then wrapped it around the notch at the 'top' of the bow. Rav glanced at Fiona for reassurance, to which she simply nodded.

Rav placed his left leg through the gap between bow and string, then hooked the bottom of the bow against his right boot. He angled the bow so it ran up behind his left leg, against his left flank, with the top end just coming to a stop by his left shoulder. He tried just to push down on it, but the firm wood resisted. Fiona tutted, moving his hand to the right spot and guiding the direction of force. With a not insignificant amount of effort, he looped the other end of the string around the top notches. "There?" he asked uncertainly. He removed his leg from between the bow and string, and raised it for the Ji's inspection.

"Looks good," Fiona chimed. "We may make an archer out of you yet."

Ravak cut across the pleasant conversation with a verbal knife. "Tell me about the bullying." It hadn't escaped his notice, that near trip up. He'd learnt to read between the lines working with the Red Ajah, and needing 'friends to intervene' sounded a lot like needing protection. The only people who should threaten my students are the other students, and only in training. He definitely wore his face of thunder then, and he wasn't about to let this go, no matter how kind or sweet the incoming refusal of help would be. "You're under my care and protection, so long as you are here. So who is it?"

As the Gaidin worked at stringing his bow, Fiona couldn’t help but wonder who had strung the last one for him. Whoever it was had certainly known what they were doing, and thus would have known that he did not. Had they done what he asked because he was the Master of Training, or had they had less complimentary reasons?

Before she could voice her concerns, he brought up his. Fiona looked up at him from beneath pale lashes and contemplated how best to respond. Finally she pursed her lips and pointed to his feet, showing him how to arrange himself next to the line on the ground.

Then she moved on to show him how to hold the bow itself. “Not so tight,” she said, when he made as if to grasp it like she supposed he held his sword. She pushed at his fingers until he relaxed enough she could adjust his hand. His palm pressed against the belly, thumb and fingers cupped about the grip. “Like so. If you hold it too tightly you will hurt yourself and your aim will be off. It must be loose at all times.”

“You are avoiding my question,” he commented irritably as she indicated he should pull an arrow from his quiver.

She smiled and shook her head, but when she spoke it was to focus on archery again. “This bit here is the nock,” she indicated the end opposite the pointy end, where a bit of horn had been fashioned into a groove and secured to the narrow length of wood. “It goes on the serving, here. You should feel a click when it snaps into place. If you don’t, try a new arrow.”

“Fiona.”

She sighed at his tone, and this time she answered him. “There are some among the Tower Guard who are less than kind to those in training,” she said quietly, unconsciously wrapping her arms around herself. “I got on their wrong side for defending a friend, and they have been unkind to me ever since.” That was putting it mildly.

“Unkind.” Light, that scowl was intimidating. She flushed and looked away. After a long moment of silence she reluctantly told him of what Jem and Amon had done prior to the Seanchan attack. She did not like to think of their hands on her as they bundled her into that shed, and glossed over that part as quickly as she dared. “These days they are simply a nuisance. We are too busy for them to do much more than make comments about my hair,” she finished, her cheeks hot and pink. Her hair and other parts of her, but she didn't want to think about that.

Abruptly she desperately needed to be talking about something else. Anything else. She touched his bow hand, her voice a bit breathy as she re-focused on their impromptu lesson. “You won’t learn if you’re just standing there, sir. Lift the bow. Keep your arm straight- your left hand should be level with your shoulder with the arrow resting atop, and the nock should be between your first two fingers on the string. Don’t draw until you’re ready to shoot- a dry draw is just as bad as walking around with a strung bow. ”

The young woman had never so desperately wanted to be alone. If she could get him to the point of practice shooting, she could escape. If he let her. Oh Light.

Pretty faced, pleasant voiced Fiona, using all of the charms nature and money could buy her. She's determined, you've got to give her that. Although it did beg the question, why hadn't she come to him about these Tower Guards before? She was astute enough to realise he could have them dealt with them easily, surely? Why had she not? Rav didn't know Amon or Jem, but those members of the Guard he did know showed respect, and he returned it in kind. Were they two spoilt apples on the tree, or did the Guards just know they couldn't get away with rudeness to Gaidin, but Drin and Ji'val were fair game? Many questions, and none Fiona seemed particularly in a mood to answer.

Ravak raised his arm, keeping his arm straight and in line with the ground as directed. He pulled an arrow from the quiver, pinching the near end between his two forefingers, and started to get it into the knock. "Keep your arm up," Fiona chided beside him. He grunted, lifting his arm, and pulling the string back slightly as he twisted the arrow- "Don't draw the string back."

"Yes," came the sigh. I know how to fire a bow. Raising his arm again, Rav placed the nock oh so carefully in with the string without pulling it back. He thought he heard a dismissive sniff, but that could have just been his imagination. Then he adjusted the arrow so it rested on the top of his left thumb, although most of the arrow jutted beyond the end of the bow.

"That's better. Now, when you draw the string back-" Rav started to pull back, the arrowhead coming to rest against the edge of his thumb. "Okay then," Fiona chirped, "if you want to draw it now that's fine. When it comes to aiming, you need to remember to keep your arm straight, and the bow should always stay vertical. Keep your right elbow raised, so it's in line with your arm and shoulder. Good, just like that. Close your left eye, you only need one to aim and-" Rav fired a shot. The arrow sailed for all of eight yards before burying into the ground, not even halfway to the target.

He bent both arms in discomfort. "How do you fire these things?" he asked with genuine wonder. "That was starting to hurt like the forge fires." It was stupidly sore. How did she manage to do anything with a bow?

Fiona seemed remarkably chipper about her student's pain. "If you did as you were told, you would know not to keep an arrow drawn back for so long." She beamed a smile for all the world to see, getting one up on the Master of Training. "Shall we go back to the beginning, sir?"

"There's nothing wrong with your hair." The cheerful expression on the Ji'val's face died. "Now, you're not stupid Fiona, quite clearly far from it. So why is it taking a slip of the tongue and my constant poking to get anything out from you? No, I'm not drawing another arrow until you explain to me why." He frowned just like Katrie cautioned against. "You don't want me to intervene." Not a question.

Fiona thought she had hidden her amusement at Ravak’s misfire fairly well, but judging by the tightness about his eyes, she had not been nearly as successful as she thought...and his attention had not deviated from the topic she had inadvertently imposed on them. She met his eyes as he spoke, one hand rising to twist a blond curl around her finger, tighter and tighter, until she let it go, only to do it again. “You don’t want me to interfere,” he finished, and she glanced away for a moment rather than speak..

Finally she pulled her bow free of its clip and stared at the length of wood thoughtfully. “No, I don’t….didn’t….want you to intervene. I am embarrassed that they bother me at all, to be honest, but since they do….I thought I could take care of it myself eventually. I thought maybe it would help undo the opinion some people have of me.” The Gaidin made an annoyed sound, and Fiona smiled.

“People who don’t understand archery have no idea how much work it takes to be good at it. They don’t see the exercises I do in my chambers each night to strengthen my arms and back, nor do they understand how absurd it is that someone as small as I am should carry the weapon I do.” She pulled the string free of its oiled pouch and slipped it over one end of the bow. “What they see is a tiny soft noblewoman playing at becoming a Warder. Regardless of how unfair that opinion may be, I still have to deal with it.”

The Andoran braced her weapon and pulled the string into place with a soft grunt, then let the wood slip through her fingers until her fingers wrapped about the grip. “You fell prey to that line of thinking yourself, sir. Before you went away you dubbed me Lady Trakand and you focused overmuch on the care I took with my appearance.” She put an arrow to string, and glanced sideways at him, her tone playful. “You did not seem to pay much heed to my weapon at all.” She drew and released in a half a breath, the arrow humming until it landed with a solid thump half a finger’s breadth from the arrow she had shot as he arrived. A pleased exclamation escaped her lips, and she flushed again.

“Anyway. Having the Tower punish Jem and Amon might end their bullying for the present, but it would not truly solve the greater problem. Rising above, however….or beating them myself? That would be glorious.”

To her surprise, somehow the long speech had loosened the coiled knots of tension and embarrassment in her core. She felt lighter than she had since before the Seanchan attacked, in fact. She smiled, totally at ease, and gestured for the Gaidin to try again. “Your turn, sir. You said you wouldn’t try again until I’d explained, and now I have. If you get an arrow in the target, I’ll give you my dessert tonight.”

Rav wanted to grin at that offer of dessert, but the levity of it didn't score away the rest of what Fiona had said. If there was a chair, he would have taken in, and stared at the floor whilst he reorganised his thoughts. Instead he just had to stand there, looking Fiona earnestly in the eye. Fiona, whom he still jokingly thought of as Lady Trakand. That comment had been made in jest, or at least it was the intention behind it. A slight playful nudge to see how a new Drin would take to the rougher world of the Warder Yards. But instead of being a joke, it was more of a brand. Inside of seeming lighthearted, he'd--

"I am sorry, Fiona." His heart sunk, the words coming from his mouth solidifying the fact in his mind that he'd bullied one of his students. "You deserved my encouragement, but instead I admonished you for whom you are, or rather had been. I..." He shook his head as he tried to think of what else to say. I can't say I don't think you're overly fussy with your appearance, but do I actually place that as a higher consideration than your talents? His brow knitted together. Was he really that bad a person?

It was Rav's turn to evade the conversation. He aligned himself with the distant target, glancing down at his feet to ensure he was standing right. Pinching just above the fletching, he raised an arrow up to the bow, then placed the nock in the string on the second attempt. Drawing the arrow back he breathed in deeply, making sure arm and shoulders and elbow were all in alignment, then let it loose. A moment later there was the satisfying thunk as the arrowhead drove into the bottom of the target. Not at all near to the mark of red that Fiona had drawn, but at least he had hit something other than the ground. "I think I understand." The Master of Training looked at the bow then back at the target. "It's not easy, and you don't need other people making it worse."

Rav started to brace the bow, then worked on removing the string. "You've flourished in spite of my help, Fiona, and you've shown me a great deal more respect just now than I've returned in kind. All I can do is make assurances that it won't happen again. I know you're not.. what did you say, a 'tiny soft noblewoman'? I know you are far, far more than that. A soft person would not have managed to survive the test you undertook. A day, maybe two in the woods, and they would be scrambling for the nearest settlement. But you? I think you're one of the most promising students we've seen for a while, Fiona. You'll be a Gaidin one day, and a damn fine one to boot."

The string finally came free from the bow, and he wound it around his index finger. "So, Ji'val, what would you have me do about these bullies? You have my assistance in whatever form that takes, including none if you wish to handle it alone."

Fiona stared up at Ravak Darrow in unfeigned shock, her fingers loosening enough that the bottom arm of her bow dug into the mud before she could collect herself. She hastily lifted it and examined the mess, then tugged her shirt free of her breeches and wiped the cherry-colored wood clean. The dirty cloth got tucked away once more, and she turned her attention back to the Master of Training.

“I- you- Thank you, sir.” she stammered, feeling warmth burst open in her chest and spread through her whole body. Pride, fierce and glowing and real coursed through her. “To have you say such means more than words can say.” She smiled up at him, pushing her hair out of her face with her free hand as blue eyes met gray. “I have wanted your respect since the first time I saw you with that adorable puppy.” What had happened to that dog, anyway?

She considered his question as he rolled his bowstring, gnawing on her lower lip. “Amon….he’s just a drunkard, he doesn’t worry me as much as Jem. From what I heard, they did their job well when the Seanchan attacked, so they cannot be faulted in that way.” She made a face. “I would like the chance to handle this on my own, Ravak Gaidin. If they are still bothering me in a month’s time, I promise I will talk to you.”

The Shienaran seemed ready to depart, and Fiona felt an odd pang of sadness. “I hadn’t intended on telling you all that,” she said, fidgeting with her bow as she sought for words. “But I’m glad that- someone knows.” She cursed her fair skin as her face blushed pink again. “Thank you.” Fiona bowed, and her master-student turned to leave. She cleared her throat, and Ravak swiveled back, head tilted.

“Don’t forget your arrows,” she said, gesturing to the target.

*

That night, she made her way to the Master of Training's place at the table overlooking the trainees and deposited the hot custard they had been served for dessert in front of Ravak. "You earned it,” she said with a wide smile and a bow. “Come train with me again some time, sir.” Then she left, a new bounce in her step.