The Grey Tower

Mael stared stone-faced at the letter on the desk before him. The slip of paper seemed to stare back at him, the words, written in a forceful, angular hand, silently mocking him. He didn’t recognise Eleas’ handwriting but there was no doubt the words were his.

Neither Eleas nor Leander had wanted to be tested for the potential to learn to channel, and neither had ever manifested the spark, nor had any of their children. The last Mael had heard, they had wanted nothing to do with channelling or channellers in general, or Mael in specific. Especially Mael. And so Mael had… not forgotten about it all, never that, but just refused to think about it for so long, had stubbornly ignored any Dreams that had anything to do with his family, that he might as well have forgotten.

Except some things didn’t want to stay forgotten. It had always been just a matter of time until the bloodline came up with another sparker, who had no choice about channelling, and even Eleas would not condemn a boy to death through untrained channelling just because he hated the concept of channelling.

He’d read the letter twice already and knew the contents by heart, but he skimmed over the words again, mainly to buy some time. The letter wasn’t addressed to him; as far as Eleas knew, he was still in the Black Tower, and that was likely why Eleas had chosen to approach the Grey Tower instead. As the matter concerned a potential new student, the letter had been directed to the Master of Soldiers, but as it also concerned Mael’s family, Jaryd had chosen to consult him. Mael almost wished he hadn’t, but that was an unfair, selfish thought; this was something Mael had to deal with himself.

“I have to go to Kandor,” he said, at last breaking the silence that had dragged on for far too long. It sounded really simple when he said it, but in truth it felt anything but. Ever perceptive, Jaryd seemed to sense that there was a ‘but’ and simply waited for him to continue. Mael leaned back in his chair and shook his head with a grimace. “I’ve told you little about my family, and there’s a very simple reason for that. They wanted nothing to do with me after I went to the Black Tower, and I… didn’t disagree.” That made it sound like he’d made the decision to stay away from them, when in truth it was more that he had failed to make the decision to go back, and Ariane’s wish that he stay away had made it all the more easy. “I’ve seen them only once in the last sixty years, and that was at my wife’s funeral.”

Now, however, he had to go back and face everything he’d avoided for so long. If Eleas’ grandson — Mael’s great-grandson, Light help him — was going to come to the Grey Tower, there was no way Mael could avoid him forever. No, it was better to just…

“I have to go,” he repeated, forcing the words out, making himself meet Jaryd’s eyes, “but I am not sure I can do this alone.”

Jaryd did not interrupt as the other Red spoke of his family, making silent notes as the story progressed, though in truth it was not unlike many Jaryd had heard from prospective students since becoming Master of Soldiers. Until the end anyway. Light, the man speaks of attending his wife’s funeral as he might a dinner date or a strategy meeting. The consequences of long life had never struck the Altaran so hard.

Jaryd did not move, did not speak, simply watched and waited, in the silence that followed. There was something else coming, but with that stony demeanor, even he couldn’t begin to guess what it might be. He didn’t have to wait long to find out. Naturally you have to go. Jaryd had shown him the letter to give him that opportunity, after all. "I am not sure I can do this alone," had certainly not been high on the list of expected responses, however. He must be hurting after all.

What would it be like, to have a partner, children, a family that did not want to see him? The Altaran tried to imagine it, but found he could not….not truly. His parents had been loving even when they did not approve of his choices. He had been the one to push Kaia away. Tia had taken her own leave, true, but he had let her go. What if Jaren- his chest lurched painfully at the very idea and he squeezed his eyes shut.

Just as his friend had tucked away his feelings, so, too, did Jaryd. Asha’man training had its uses. At the moment Mael needed his support, not his sympathy.

“Of course you aren’t doing this alone,” he said with utter certainty, sitting up and rubbing his hands together. “I just need time to get a message to Jaren and grab some extra clothes and I’m ready to go.” Something flickered in Mael’s eyes and Jaryd backtracked just a little. “I am your friend, Mael. You might be walking into a fire, yes? I will have your back the whole way, the same as you've had mine." One side of his mouth quirked up in a crooked smile.

"Now. When do you want to leave?”

He really should have been able to deal with this; he was nearly a century old, for Light’s sake! The thought of facing his son shouldn’t have paralysed him so, it shouldn’t have rendered him unable to think or act… but here he was. Helpless, always so bloody helpless when confronted with his own failures.

When Jaryd spoke, it took Mael a moment longer than it should have to realise what the other man was saying. I just need time to get a message to Jaren and— Mael blinked; Jaryd was offering to come with him. The confusion must have been openly visible on his face, because Jaryd went on, speaking calmly and matter-of-factly, and bit by bit Mael could feel as though a weight lifting off his chest. The feeling was not entirely without shame — surely asking for help with family matters was a sign of weakness — but the relief far outweighed it.

“As soon as we can,” he replied, without conviction but if Jaryd noticed — and he must have — he said nothing about it. Mael shook his head with a wry hint of a smile. “No rush, of course. Just… rather get it over with. I’ll meet you in the Travelling grounds?” He pushed himself to his feet and picked up his cane. “Oh, and… I don’t know if you’ve ever been to the Borderlands in winter, but it’s every bit as cold as you can imagine, and then some.”

Jaryd watched Mael without shifting an inch, even when he saw the other man’s shoulders square ever so slightly in response to his offer. Mael had left the door wide open, but that didn’t necessarily mean he had wanted the Altaran to walk right through. To have him accept the offer at all, let alone be comforted by it, was a relief. Jaryd had not looked forward to any alternative scenarios.

At Mael’s comment on the weather in his homeland, he snorted. “Ah yes, the bone-freezing cold of the Borderlands. I’m familiar! Zeen spent a great deal of time on the Blightborder while we were bonded and he did not always give me a choice regarding my relative proximity.” He pushed himself to his feet, turning away before his face could betray him. Those were not times he preferred to think on long. “I’ll be in the Traveling Yards in a bell. As you said- let’s get it over with.”

---

Despite the fact that Jaren had never once expressed discontent with his activities, the Altaran had braced himself for a lecture from his lover. Old habits died harder than a Myrddraal at the equator apparently. “I’m going to the Borderlands,” simply caused the Yellow to push a mug of something hot and spicy-smelling into his hands, however, and “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone,” resulted in a pleasantly unexpected (and more public than they typically indulged themselves with) embrace.

Thus buoyed by thoughts of his lover and protected from the cold by multiple layers of cashmere and padded brocade, the Red strolled to the Traveling Yard at the appointed time. He nodded greeting to the attendants and to Mael, then settled back on his heels. “Traveling is not my strong suit,” he told the other Red after a beat of hesitation. “If you could make the Gateway?" That was not something he shared with many; he glanced sideways at Mael, then decided it had been acceptable to trust him.

As it turned out, it was just as bloody cold in Kandor as Mael had said it would be; Jaryd growled a curse and pulled the Void around him like a blanket. “I’ll refrain from needling you about the weather in the interest of retaining body heat,” he said dryly. “Lead the way!”

Waiting for Jaryd in the Travelling Yards, Mael had some time to compose himself… or try to, at least. He hadn’t the foggiest idea what he was actually going to say once he was face to face with Eleas, or Valentin for that matter, the great-grandson he’d never met and whose existence he hadn’t been aware of two hours ago.

He’s going to be a Soldier, he told himself, same as any other Soldier. That might or might not be true; there were other families in the Grey Tower — namely the Darrows and Miahala Sedai’s progeny — and being related to someone up in the Tower hierarchy always affected one’s life in some way. Mael was not exactly up in the Tower hierarchy, but he was Asha’man and his circumstances had been peculiar enough that most people knew his name. He feared that meant the same would apply to this Valentin.

Jaryd arrived precisely at the appointed time, and it was time to go. Mael was too preoccupied — or self-absorbed — to think much of what Jaryd said about Travelling; as far as he was concerned, it only made sense that he’d make the gateway as he knew their destination better. He opened the gateway a little bit down the road that led from the village up to the manor house. This far north the sun was already setting despite the early afternoon hour, and all they could see of the village down the hill was the warm glow of lights from the windows of the houses, the lanterns of the unfortunate people who had business outdoors.

The air was so cold it hurt to breathe, but Mael drew a deep breath anyway, savouring the familiarity of the sensation. This was home, as much as he’d ever had one; not the manor up the hill but… the cold, the silence, the vast empty wilderness that surrounded the village, the stillness. He glanced at Jaryd, who was obviously rather less appreciative of the nature surrounding them, and suppressed a guilty wince, reminding himself that the Altaran was tougher than he looked.

The guard at the gate was warming his hands by the brazier but wasted no time when he saw the newcomers approaching. “Halt! State your business.”

“My name is Mael Akashi,” Mael replied without raising his voice. “My associate and I are here on Grey Tower business. Lord Eleas will be expecting us.”

The guard blinked, clearly recognising the name but just as clearly unsure whether to believe that Mael was who he claimed to be; that was fair enough seeing as the last time Mael had been there must have been at least twenty years before the poor man was born. He decided to err on the side of caution. “Of course. Follow me.”

Very little had changed about the exterior of the manor house; almost ascetic in design, it had been built to withstand time and harsh winters and Trolloc raids, not to be pretty, though Mael thought it had its own kind of beauty, much like the Borderlands themselves. The guard led them inside and exchanged a few quiet words with a startled maid, who didn’t seem to know what to think of the visitors, either, but gave a perfectly proper curtsy anyway. “This way, if you please.”

The maid led them to a sitting room that doubled as a library, or the other way around, Mael had never quite figured out which. He noted with an odd sense of pride that Eleas — or Leander — had almost doubled the amount of books in the shelves that covered one of the walls; Mael’s father hadn’t cared for books, and Mael himself hadn’t had much time to devote to scholarly pursuits in his life before the Black Tower.

“Milord will see you soon,” the maid said, curtsying again. “Would you like some tea while you wait? Mulled wine?”

“That will not be—” Mael began without thinking, then remembered that Jaryd might like something warm. “That would be lovely,” he backtracked, a little lamely. It was only after the maid was gone again that he realised he’d not specified which. Sixty years older and still just as bad at mixing friends and family. He shook his head to banish the voice that sounded disturbingly like Alastair at his most caustic. Well, he hadn’t been punched, so far; that had to count for something.

He sank into the chair nearest the fireplace and lit the fire with a delicate thread of Fire. “I’d apologise for being a poor host,” he said wryly, “but technically I’m not the host here.”

Jaryd settled inside the Void as they walked; the emptiness helped the Altaran ignore the climate that seemed intent on killing him. His thoughts and emotions pushed each other around outside the boundaries of that bubble of calm, keeping him busy until they reached the manor. Once there he pushed his hood back and pretended, for just that short period of time, that he still wore the Fang on his finger. Aloof arrogance, utter certainty...this was a part to be played, a mask to be worn, a thing the men of the Black Tower did without thought, but Jaryd had to actively work to maintain.

It was a petty gesture, perhaps, but he wanted these people to know Mael was not alone. Just in case. To his hidden relief it had the desired effect. Those who spoke with Mael in turn gave the dark-skinned man uncertain looks and gestures of respect, then disappeared to their tasks. Jaryd watched, amusement tingling at the edge of his senses, and only relaxed once he and his friend were alone once more.

“I did not come here expecting hospitality,” he said with a dismissive way of his hand. “Don’t stress yourself.” He tugged his gloves off, tucking them away in his pocket before spreading his hands before the fire. “That maid looked like she might leap out of her own skin if either of us said boo,” he added with a chuckle. “If the rest of them are that jumpy, this will be a quick trip.”

A short period passed in which neither said much. Once he felt the chill thaw from his bones Jaryd moved to examine the bookshelves; he was halfway through the second shelf when the maid returned with a tray containing (to his profound relief) mulled wine. Tea would have been fine, but the wine might take the edge off an otherwise tense situation...perhaps she had known that. Borderland servants were rarely as subservient as they appeared. “Thank you,” he told her. She gave him a half smile and curtsied, then left the room.

Jaryd poured two cups of the warm liquid and walked one of them over to press it into Mael’s hands. “Drink, it will help,” he said in a tone he usually reserved for his students.

The door opened as he brought his own drink to his lips. Through it strode a man who could only be Akashi junior, though by looks alone he seemed the older of the two. Jaryd lowered the cup and inclined his head respectfully. “Light shine on you,” he said, once again in that perfectly distant Asha’man tone. “I assume you are Eleas Akashi?”

“I am. I know him,” the man turned to give his father a flat look that did not go unnoticed by the Altaran, “but you are new. What is your name?”

“I am Jaryd Kosari,” Jaryd said, a faint smile trembling at the corner of his lips. He had served as M’Hael twice during this man’s life and the contents of Akashi's bookshelves indicated he kept up on political affairs. The name should suffice….and indeed, Eleas's reaction did not disappoint.

The man’s eyes widened ever so slightly and his guarded demeanor melted like salt in water as he bowed. The gesture was stiff, but respectful. “It is an honor,” he said. “If I had known-”

Jaryd shook his head and cut the air with the side of his hand to indicate Eleas should stop. “I am Asha’man. Treat me as you would Mael and you will be in good favor.” And that, he thought with dark amusement, should leave the old man in quite a pickle.

Mael watched Jaryd as the other man examined the bookshelves. Unlike Alastair, Jaryd showed no outward signs of finding the situation awkward, and despite a lifetime — a long lifetime — of being taught that family drama was to be dealt with in private, if dealt at all, Mael was glad that Jaryd had offered to come. The last time — Ariane’s funeral — Alastair hadn’t even offered, and Mael hadn’t asked; it simply hadn’t been like that between them. Maybe, in retrospect, that said something about the entire relationship.

And maybe he didn’t want to be thinking about that right now. Or ever.

He accepted the cup Jaryd was offering with a grateful nod. The wine was strong and spicy and effectively banished the lingering chill from his bones; hot beverages were something the Borderlanders had perfected over the generations of inhabiting these cold, forbidding lands. They didn’t have long to enjoy their drinks in peace, however, before the door opened again and an old man Mael could barely recognise as his son strode in.

Years had not been kind to Eleas; at a quick calculation he had to be around seventy now and each of those years had left its mark. Yet he carried himself with dignity even if his movements lacked the effortless grace of a younger warrior. And that’s what he was: a warrior, even now, a defender of the Blightborder to his last breath.

Mael listened to his son’s exchange with Jaryd without interrupting, absurdly glad that Jaryd had stepped up and taken charge of the encounter. Presently, Eleas was looking at the Altaran with a momentarily sour expression. “Favour be damned,” he muttered. “You are here on Grey Tower business, as I requested, and for that I am grateful. He, however,” and he nodded towards Mael, “is not welcome here — as he very well knows — and that is none of your business.”

It occurred to Mael that Eleas likely hadn’t even known that Mael was no longer in the Black Tower; perhaps he had contacted the Grey Tower precisely for that reason, and might have sent Valentin to the Black Tower instead if he’d known. Either way, he was here now and there was nothing Eleas could do about it. “Peace, Eleas,” he said, pushing himself upright. He and Eleas were of a height, even though age had stooped the latter’s shoulders slightly. “We’re both here on Grey Tower business. We’re here for the boy you wrote about, Valentin. Where is he?”

The look Eleas gave him was nearly as chilly as the weather outside, but evidently he agreed that it was better to be civil. “Yes, Valentin,” he said, turning to Jaryd again. “My grandson. He has unfortunately fallen ill, but he’s had these bouts of fever before, they usually pass quickly. His mother is concerned, naturally, and will not allow you to take him anywhere until she’s satisfied that the boy is fine. You’re welcome—” there was a noticeable strain on his voice at the word “—to stay the night, if you wish, and Valentin can accompany you back to the Tower in the morning, assuming he has recovered.”

Mael glanced at Jaryd, meeting the other Red’s eyes briefly; that sounded a lot like channelling sickness, and if that was the case, Valentin should be right as rain by the morning. Looking back to Eleas again, he nodded. “That is acceptable.”

Eleas nodded curtly. “Very well. Guest rooms will be prepared for you,” he paused there for a second, as if to ask whether they’d prefer to share a room, “and it would be an honour—” the words were very clearly aimed at Jaryd though he couldn't explicitly exclude Mael, either, without giving great offence “—if you would join us for dinner later.”

The theory of Mael’s family predicament had taken Jaryd’s breath away. The reality had him grateful for the Void, for nearly a century of training and discipline that kept his Altaran temper in check, and --most immediately useful-- for the wine glass in his hand that kept him from reaching for Watari and damn the consequences. The last time he had heard anyone speak to another with such flagrant disrespect it had been Zeen taunting him. The giant had been lucky to escape with a broken nose and bruised ego, all things considered.

Violence will get us nowhere. They were there to retrieve a boy who could channel, not start a war. Our discord invites the Shadow’s corruption. As a Red he could not allow that, let alone encourage it. Once they were out of Kandor, Mael could continue to- do whatever it was he did to cope. What kind of life was that, though? Jaryd took a drink of his wine and forced himself to focus on the conversation rather than continuing to run circles in his mind.

They were speaking of Valentin now, at least. A fever...the Altaran’s mouth twitched up as he met Mael’s eyes. We have a sparker, do we? Of course, that meant spending the night...and apparently going to dinner. Jaryd could think of few things he wanted less than that, but niceties were niceties.

“We thank you Lord Akashi,” the Altaran inserted smoothly, no trace of his internal turmoil on his tongue. Mael likely understood his tension, but then Mael was not the one he needed to hide from. “--For the rooms and for the invitation, which we are honored to accept.” He smiled, an arrogant, self-assured expression he had learned from Eban a lifetime before, and which he had since perfected. “I am sure it will take your household some time to prepare for unexpected guests; don’t let us keep you from your duties.”

It was a dismissal from the man’s own study, albeit a politely-phrased one. Jaryd saw Eleas’ jaw clench, but then he simply bowed once -distinctly excluding Mael from the gesture- and stumped out of the room.

The door had barely closed before Jaryd flicked his fingers, Spirit and Air rolling around the room in an impenetrable ward that he tied off with a grimace. “Your son is nothing like you," he commented sourly. "I somehow doubt Eleas would miss you at dinner if you opted not to inflict more of that,” he waved his hand at the door, “upon yourself. I would certainly think no less of you.” The Altaran drank again, then leaned forward to refill his cup.

“Valentin is already channeling,” he continued in a musing tone. “That’s unfortunate, though perhaps we’ve caught him in time to save him the pain of breaking a block...and perhaps also in time to keep him from becoming a barrel of salt fish like his grandfather.”

Mael watched in silence as Eleas took his leave, then sank back into his chair with a sigh and reached for his cup again, draining it in one go. He heard Jaryd speak, but answering took way more effort than it should have. Was Eleas nothing like him? As far as Eleas was concerned, Mael had abandoned not only his family but also his sworn duty to defend the Blightborder when he’d left for the Black Tower, his duty to the people in the village who depended upon the Akashis to defend against Trolloc raids. Eleas would have had to grow up to fill that position even faster than Mael himself had; he would have had to do it all without a father to guide him. The older soldiers would have been able to help him, of course, but he had still been their lord. It was an unforgiving position, and it was an unforgiving land that Eleas had been charged with defending; how could anyone expect Eleas himself to have grown to be more forgiving?

Jaryd might understand if he explained it— or at least pretend he did, for Mael’s sake, and he shouldn’t have to do that and so Mael didn’t try to defend Eleas’ behaviour. Maybe that was the way it should be; Mael, as a father and the guilty party should forgive or at least accept his son’s attitude, but Jaryd, who wasn’t as closely involved, was free to judge Eleas more harshly. Mael wasn’t sure if that actually made any sense, but it didn’t matter as he wasn’t about to try to articulate it anyway.

When Jaryd spoke of Valentin, Mael managed a faint smile. “He’s young,” he said. “He shouldn’t be too set in his ways yet.” Even a block would be an inconvenience and a source of frustration for the new Soldier, nothing more dramatic than that; Mael had never seen a block that hadn’t been broken eventually.
* The dinner was nearly as awkward as Jaryd had predicted. Eleas had the grace to refrain from being outright hostile, which meant he didn’t speak much, and most of the conversation was carried by his younger brother, Leander. Leander was very unlike Eleas in many ways; he was courteous and smooth-mannered and though he wasn’t entirely unaffected by the awkward tension bubbling under the surface, his efforts made the dinner a tolerable affair.

And when the grown-ups ran out of things to say to each other, the children took over. Especially Valentin’s younger sisters seemed very fascinated with the Grey Tower and Jaryd, who dealt with the unexpected amount of attention quite patiently until the girls’ aunt Ilse decided enough was enough and told them to let him finish his dessert in peace. Mael couldn’t help wondering if Jaryd had ever wanted children of his own— not that he could have any with Jaren, but adoption was an option… Though combining the Red Ajah work with a family would be difficult, if not impossible.
* Once the dinner was concluded, Leander approached Mael. “A word with you, Father?” Unlike Eleas, he didn’t avoid calling Mael that; he spoke the word as though the concept amused him, but there was no malice in his amusement. He glanced at Jaryd, who had not left Mael’s side, and gave the Altaran an apologetic smile. “Alone, if you please.” Jaryd waited for Mael’s nod of confirmation before withdrawing and leaving Mael alone with his son. Leander smiled again, ever polite if a little wry, and gestured for Mael to walk with him.

“I won’t apologise for my brother’s behaviour,” Leander said as they walked up to the second floor. “It’s nought to do with me. And,” he glanced at Mael, “I figure he’s entitled to his sentiments.”

“That he is,” Mael replied. The stairs weren’t agreeing with him and he was leaning heavily on his cane by the time they were done.

Leander, of course, noticed. “You look younger than most of your grandchildren,” he commented, “yet you’re the one with a walking stick.” But, again, though the words were humorous, there was no mockery in them.

Nonetheless, it made Mael feel awkward and on edge. “What is it that you wished to talk about?” he asked, somehow keeping most of the tension he felt from his voice.

Leander didn’t answer immediately, instead opening a door and waving Mael through. The room was otherwise unremarkable, though cosy, but above the fireplace on the wall there was a painting. It depicted a woman just short of her middle years, with two nearly grown boys on her either side. Ariane’s dark auburn hair was not yet touched with grey and the piercing blue of her eyes was as brilliant as Mael remembered it. Eleas’ resemblance with his father had never been more striking, and Leander’s softer, youthful features somehow combined the best of his both parents, giving him a look that would have turned heads where ever he went.

Mael wasn’t sure how long he stared at the painting in silence, nearly overcome with a host of emotions he’d not felt in a long time. There was always regret when he thought of his family; there was always guilt and shame and a half-formed wish that things had gone otherwise. But this— this longing, to have been there, to have been part of their lives, that was something he’d thought he’d buried that night with Alastair, when he’d accepted it was never going to work.

Evidently not deep enough.

“She forgave you before the end,” Leander said softly, breaking the silence. Then his voice took on the wry undertone again. “Eleas hasn’t, though, and I don’t know that he will. He didn’t even want me to tell you — about Mother, I mean — but I thought you needed to know.”

Mael nodded, not trusting his voice to speak.

Luckily, Leander didn’t seem to expect him to. “It can’t be easy,” he went on, almost as though talking to himself, “looking at a lifetime measured not in decades but centuries. Outliving not only your wife and children, but grandchildren, great-grandchildren.” A quick smile. “Except Valentin. I remember the letter you sent, the year Eleas turned nineteen. I wanted to be tested for the ability, but Eleas wouldn’t hear of it. I always felt like I was missing out on something.”

That made Mael glance at him. “Why didn’t you come when you were grown up?” he asked.

Leander’s voice held a hard edge when he spoke, “The choice was between a father I’d never properly met, and a brother I loved.” In other words, not a choice at all; Mael could understand that. “Maybe,” Leander went on, more softly again, “if I outlive Eleas, I’ll come to your Grey Tower to be tested.”

“You would be welcome whenever,” Mael replied.

Leander smiled again. “I’d best go, there’s a ten-year-old who wants me to help him with his arithmetics and I can’t keep him waiting.”

Mael returned the smile, and it came surprisingly easy. “You do that,” he said. “I’ll remain a while longer, if you don’t mind.” The smile held for exactly as long as it took Leander to close the door behind him. Once he was alone, the stoic facade — which rarely even felt like a facade anymore — collapsed in on itself and he sank to his knees in the middle of the floor, silent tears rolling down his face.

Jaryd suspected he had been Master of Soldiers longer than Malla or Tasha had been alive, but given he looked not much older than they, he truly couldn’t fault them for their interest. Most of their questions were the expected sort: curiosity about the Grey Tower, primarily, mixed with concern for Valentin. “Can you help him, Asha’man?” Malla asked in an anxious, if hushed, tone as the salad course was served. Tasha’s eyes skipped to Eleas at the head of the table, wide-eyed and afraid, but then she turned her full attention on Jaryd as well, her grandfather forgotten.

“Yes,” he said simply. “Once he learned to channel, he will not get sick anymore.”

That started a veritable avalanche of whispered exclamations and inquiries that summoned a quirky smile of amusement from the Asha’man. As the conversation continued, however, Jaryd came to the rather unsettling realization that the elders of this family had not informed the children of the nature of this visit. Were they planning on telling them we kidnapped their brother? Despite his frustration he tried to answer as truthfully and steadily as he could. This was his chance to replace myth with fact and he could not let it pass.

Yes, he would train Valentin. No, Valentin couldn’t visit. Yes, they could visit him if their parents allowed it, but it couldn’t be a frequent thing. No, he could not test them for the ability to channel. “Why not?” Tasha demanded as she speared grapes and cheese onto her plate, all disappointed puppy eyes and poorly-controlled excitement. That led to a discussion of the difference between saidin and saidar and how training at the Tower worked. As the two girls exchanged bright-eyed glances, Jaryd made a mental note to send an Aes Sedai to visit ‘soon’. With at least two male channelers in the family, who was to say there weren’t female as well?

The conversation turned light, then. The girls wanted to know what he thought of Kandor so far, would he ever consider making a home there? They were curious about his dagger, his appearance and accent, his homeland, which countries he had visited, how he had come to be at the Tower himself. What he did there day to day. If the Red Ajah hunted men who could channel, then how could he be Red Ajah? At some point he let slip -or perhaps they picked up through some non-verbal cue- that despite his bearing he was not of noble blood. That only seemed to increase their interest, questions bubbling up like water from a hidden spring.

Their curiosity reminded him of Katrie, all bright-eyed energy as she described one of her numerous new projects to him, her hands and body telling the story as much as her voice had. Sometimes she had reminded him of his lost sister, even though there had been no possible connection between the two. He missed her, he realized, and knowing he would likely never see her again, the loss felt like something heavy and cold in his chest.

Rather than answer another question in his unsettled state, the Altaran buried his face in his glass. Someone must have noticed his discomfort, because by the time he had lowered the cup, Malla and Tasha had been diverted to other conversations with the speed and precision of a swooping falcon. Jaryd turned grateful eyes to the source--a woman whose name he unfortunately could not remember--but she simply passed him a pastry with an understanding smile.

For a time the Red was left blessedly alone. He worked his way through another glass of wine and two more pastries before they rose from the table. Leander stole Mael away, but Jaryd forced himself to engage in an exchange with Valentin’s father. Leon had some rather peculiar ideas about channelers and Jaryd spent the entire conversation dancing a fine line of diplomacy. Ivan joined them and the conversation shifted to less awkward topics for a time. When the Altaran finally broke away -ostensibly to get more wine- he realized that Mael was still missing. He vaguely recalled Leander returning a short time before, and a quick glance about as he refilled his cup told him everyone else who should be in the room was there. Where are you, my friend?

The Altaran reminded himself, rather sharply, that Mael was a grown man. He had lived at the Black Tower for decades, had wed and had a family before that, as this household surely proved. Arguably, Akashi had more life experience than Jaryd did and thus surely could handle a single evening by himself. Except… I am not sure I can do this alone, the other Red had said, his eyes fixed on Jaryd’s.

“Excuse me,” the Altaran murmured politely as he slipped past the woman who had rescued him from the girls. The door was only a few spans away, if he could just get out before she-

“Upstairs,” the Akashi woman said evenly as he walked away. “Fourth door to the right.” Jaryd didn’t ask how she knew; he just bowed his thanks, then followed her directions on cat-silent feet.

When the Red reached the prescribed room he found Mael on the floor, his cane forgotten to one side and his head bowed before him in a posture Jaryd had never seen from him before. Even near death in the infirmary he had held himself with pride. This...this was utterly foreign, and Jaryd glanced about for the cause. A painting of a woman and two boys graced the wall immediately ahead, and Jaryd didn’t need a guide to tell him they depicted Mael’s family in another time. His family, but not him.

Jaryd tore his eyes away from the painting and knelt next to his friend. “The Wheel can be cruel, can it not?” he asked softly. He dug a kerchief -soft silk, and thankfully clean- out of his belt, then let his hand settle palm-up on his thigh, putting the bit of cloth within easy reach of the other man. “I thought you might like to know you aren’t alone,” he added, true care warming his voice. “Even if you don’t want to speak.”

And with that the usually talkative Altaran fell silent and concentrated on simply being there.