In the Library (anyone)
Posted: August 11th, 2016, 3:06 pm
As the first rays of dawn played across the table Fen Garlan opened his eyes and lifted his head from the heavy tome that lie open before him. By the Dark Lord's toes! He cursed silently as he noted the puddle of drool on the open page. The gray sisters would have a fit if they saw this. He quickly daubed the moisture up with the sleeve of his jacket.
Another night spent in the library. How many did this make now? Months, it seemed. When was the last time he had been to his room, Fen wondered. He felt his face, felt the stubble. At least a week by the feel of it. No doubt he smelled of it. No wonder others left him alone to his studies. Except for a Soldier who occasionally brought him meals no one had spoken to him, or even acknowledged his presence, and that was just fine with Fen. He had spent most of his life alone, friendless, only his imagination for companionship. And now he was alone again, his Mistress having deserted his dreams. How long had it been, Fen wondered, since the last time she spoke with him in his sleep? Months, with no word, no orders. He was a rudderless ship, adrift on a sea of self-doubt. Had she ever even existed, his golden haired beauty? It had been common knowledge that men with the ability to channel eventually went mad. Was that it? Were his dreams the onset of madness? Yet his teachers here at the Grey Tower assured him that it was no longer the case. But could they be mistaken? Or perhaps he was merely an exception.
Glancing about him, Fen observed a few of the Grays already busy in the stacks. He glanced down at the volume before him. Another history of the Forsaken, or Chosen as he preferred to call them. How many of those had he read? He had jumped from subject to subject like a frog. Weaves, histories, descriptions of creatures of the Dark... no one subject held his interest for long.
“Make contact with the Black Ajah”, that had been his last instructions. But how by the Great One's blessing could he do that? It was not as if those here in the Tower that had rejected the Light went around advertising themselves. Fen was perplexed, no, more than that, he was frustrated. “Do not strive to become an Asha'man too rapidly” his dream mistress had advised, “Dedicated can move about with far less notice.” So there was not even that to work towards. Instead, he isolated himself in the library, oblivious as to what might be happening in other parts of the Tower or beyond.
As his stomach suddenly rumbled, reminding him it had been a while since he'd had a meal, Fen noticed the stains on his jacket. If some Asha'man happened to notice him he would no doubt be reprimanded, perhaps severely. Best clean up, Fen decided, yet reluctant still to leave the sanctuary of the library.
Yes, he thought, he would return to his room, bathe, shave and change clothes, before grabbing some breakfast and returning to his studies.
With new resolve, Fen rose from the table and strode through the library entry, making eye contact with no one.
Another night spent in the library. How many did this make now? Months, it seemed. When was the last time he had been to his room, Fen wondered. He felt his face, felt the stubble. At least a week by the feel of it. No doubt he smelled of it. No wonder others left him alone to his studies. Except for a Soldier who occasionally brought him meals no one had spoken to him, or even acknowledged his presence, and that was just fine with Fen. He had spent most of his life alone, friendless, only his imagination for companionship. And now he was alone again, his Mistress having deserted his dreams. How long had it been, Fen wondered, since the last time she spoke with him in his sleep? Months, with no word, no orders. He was a rudderless ship, adrift on a sea of self-doubt. Had she ever even existed, his golden haired beauty? It had been common knowledge that men with the ability to channel eventually went mad. Was that it? Were his dreams the onset of madness? Yet his teachers here at the Grey Tower assured him that it was no longer the case. But could they be mistaken? Or perhaps he was merely an exception.
Glancing about him, Fen observed a few of the Grays already busy in the stacks. He glanced down at the volume before him. Another history of the Forsaken, or Chosen as he preferred to call them. How many of those had he read? He had jumped from subject to subject like a frog. Weaves, histories, descriptions of creatures of the Dark... no one subject held his interest for long.
“Make contact with the Black Ajah”, that had been his last instructions. But how by the Great One's blessing could he do that? It was not as if those here in the Tower that had rejected the Light went around advertising themselves. Fen was perplexed, no, more than that, he was frustrated. “Do not strive to become an Asha'man too rapidly” his dream mistress had advised, “Dedicated can move about with far less notice.” So there was not even that to work towards. Instead, he isolated himself in the library, oblivious as to what might be happening in other parts of the Tower or beyond.
As his stomach suddenly rumbled, reminding him it had been a while since he'd had a meal, Fen noticed the stains on his jacket. If some Asha'man happened to notice him he would no doubt be reprimanded, perhaps severely. Best clean up, Fen decided, yet reluctant still to leave the sanctuary of the library.
Yes, he thought, he would return to his room, bathe, shave and change clothes, before grabbing some breakfast and returning to his studies.
With new resolve, Fen rose from the table and strode through the library entry, making eye contact with no one.