The Grey Tower

Beron finished his strikes against the practice target, his throwing dagger sinking into the target near the center ring. He shook his head, knowing that he had let the practice of throwing fall too far behind. Which just means more time to carve out of my day, he thought with a grimace when he noticed an unfamiliar Gaidin watching him from the fence.

“Good Morning Gaidin, what can I help you with?” Beron asked politely wondering if perhaps he had been requested for added chores.

“I was asked to deliver this to you Drin’far’ji,” the Gaidin mentions as he handed Beron a folded letter, the outside bearing the sign of the Master of Training.

Beron opened the letter, and his eyes darted to the Gaidin when he saw that the message bore but a single word. "Attend."

“Another Drin will return your daggers to the Armoury, come with me please,” the Gaidin spoke; a Tairen by his accent unless Beron missed his guess. Wordlessly the moves through the yards of the Grey Tower, following paths that led to the towering glass edifice itself. Beron kept pace easily, his mind racing as he ignored the staring Accepted and Soldier’s inside the hallways. He was growing curious and concerned over the letter and what business could have him so deep within the Grey Tower.

In the ever growing dark of the hallways, the torches begin to spread farther and farther apart, forcing Beron to keep his pace brisk or risk losing the Gaidin. And suddenly, there is Riahana, the Mistress of Training. Beron notices right away that her bearing and carriage are serious, the Gaidin dimissed with a brisk thanks.

Having dismissed the Gaidin, the Mistress of Training stands, regarding Beron in a steady weighing gaze, before a large set of doors, bound in brass and iron. "You have been summoned for your test of honour, Drin. In times past, we would have sent you into the wilderness without a choice. But now, you have a decision. You may proceed through these doors to face your test, to fail or pass, to live or die, or you may refuse. You may refuse the test twice, but on the third asking, you shall face your test of honour, or you will be expelled. So, make your choice Drin. Are you ready, or will you refuse?” Riahana addressed Beron in a voice that left little doubt as to the seriousness of the test.

"I am ready," Beron states as he remembers vague hints and whispers of this ceremony.

Upon hearing the answer she expected, the Mistress of Training turned to push open both doors. Beyond is a small circular chamber, no more than twenty feet in diameter. A large golden archway stands in the centre of the room, only a couple of inches in width but spanning over eight feet towards the high ceiling. At one side of the archway, an Aes Sedai sits crosslegged, eyes transfixed on the golden bar before her. On the opposite side, an Asha'man mirrors his female peer. Each channeller is guarded by two Gaidin, the stern faced men unknown to Beron, in the livery of the Warder Yards.

"We stand as the sword and shield for our channellers, not simply against forces that oppose us in war or serve the Shadow, but in every aspect of their lives. You need to be able to put your charge's needs and wants before your own. Your pain comes before theirs; your life comes before theirs. Shed yourself of pride and hubris."

The Mistress of Training gestures towards the archway. "You will be faced with the realities of another life you may have led inside the golden arch. In each of those lives, you will be faced with a decision. If you choose the correct path, you will return to us as Ji'val. Make the wrong choice, and you will need to enter the arch again, unless you choose to stop." The Master of Training pauses for a moment, his face graven. "And sometimes one does not make a choice, and is lost forever within the ter'angreal."

The Gaidin steps back, leaving the Drin in the centre of the room with the archway. "If you choose not to enter now, you will be expelled from the Tower. But if you choose to go through, remember this. To be a Gaidin is to know sacrifice."

To enter the arches and become Ji’val would bring him one step closer to the goal he had set himself. A goal he had decided before knowing the full scope of the demands it would place upon him, but a goal nonetheless. And to earn a Ji’val’s Grey would place him on equal ranking with Isla. Maybe the banded dress wouldn’t be such an obstacle, Beron mused to himself and then cursed as he realized now was hardly the time for such errant concerns.

“I will remember,” Beron stated as he collected his breath, and stepped forth into the archway and is surrounded by a golden light.

The First Arch

The light through the tent flap flashed in Beron’s eyes for a moment as his fellow Gaidin returned from patrol. The three men had proven too restless to sleep with the battle almost upon them, and so Beron had taken the first watch, then tried to get some rest.

The knot in the back of his mind suddenly jumped nearby, the sensation of his bondmate strong enough he knew she must have arrived from the Grey Tower. Wordlessly the three of them strapped on their sword belts and other gear, departing to meet Adela Sedai. The three Warders moved with long practice, each taking position according to their strengths as she prepared to advance to the front.

“The Captain General says the men at the front line have been hard pressed. Let’s see what we can do to aid them,” Adela told her Warders as she advanced towards the earthworks where the pikemen had been working to stall the advance of Trollocs.

As they crested the mound, Beron floated in the oneness, his sword already singing out of his scabbard and he led the charge of fresh troops. His blade bit deep, the Tower forged steel cleaving hands that tried to clutch at him. The position he took required a fixed point, and so he remained unmoving, a whirl of death to the tainted monsters that pressed in waves. The weary and wounded were being pushed to the rear for treatment and food; while overhead fire and lightning began to flash. Knowing the chance to slay the enemy was here, Beron pressed forward determined to claim many beastial foes or fall trying. A golden haze began to wash over his vision, Beron feeling it fill his vision even as he fought the overwhelming tide.

———

The golden light faded, vision returning to Beron as he thrashed for a moment. Light that was so flaming real. I could feel the Trolloc spit, Beron thought as he caught his bearing .

The Mistress of Training glanced at the two channellers behind Beron, a shake of the head from each causing a frown. There is a sympathy in her eyes, but her voice is wrought of iron. "You have crossed through the arch, but you have not learnt of true sacrifice. You may enter again, or you shall be expelled. Choose."

Beron was confused and the arch had provide a world that felt so real it was hard to shake it. Still he knew the test had found him wanting, but his desire to improve had not lessened. And so he wordlessly straightened, meeting Riahana Gaidin’s gaze and once more, he entered as the golden light of the ter'angreal consumed him.

————

Second Arch

Beron stood once more upon the earthen barricade. Looking down he saw the teeming masses of the Trollocs being pressed against the blades of the pikemen who stood before them.

As he went to charge forward with the reserves streaming towards the melee, a stab of concern and fear blazed in his head. Looking around in a panic he saw Adela Sedai frantically spinning fireballs towards the front. He could see little reason for the intense fear when he spotted the trio of Fades making their way towards her.

Her other Warders were engaged in the fray, their blades frantic as they tried to disengage themselves from the combat. Beron knew it was up to him, and so he drew his sword and dashed towards the trio. The Fades had cut through the pikemen easily, their long weapons no match for the serpent like speed of the monsters. As he charged lighting and fire erupted in the gap of pikemen, stemming the flood of Trollocs but unable to touch the Fades.

Through the ko’di, Beron felt the fear caused by the myradaal’s gaze fall upon him, threatening to overwhelm his concentration. The walls of the Void strained with the mental assault, but Beron held his composure and advanced upon them.

He was a whirlwind, his strength just a match for the beasts, and his speed almost enough to gain the edge on them. If it had been a solo fight, he knew he stood a chance of winning; but the trio needed to be halted long enough for Adela Sedai to escape and so he fought to engage and distract rather than subdue. The sound of battle roared in his ears, and each time he exchanged blows with two of them, the third attempted a strike or to disarm him.

Finally he felt the knot of emotions that was Adela move far to the south, a Gateway clearly removing her and the other Aes Sedai to safety. With the ko’di her concern floated by like a lily on the waves; and Beron felt a stab of triumph in knowing the Shadow would not claim her today. Renewing his efforts, he slew one Fade before the other two sunk blades deep into his limbs.

————

The golden light faded, vision returning to Beron as he finished his cry of pain from the stab wounds. The wounds were no longer present, and Beron again cursed at the abrupt feeling of being yanked forcibly from a world that had seemed so real.

Once again, with no word spoke. Between them, the Mistress of Training glanced at the two channellers behind Beron, a shake of the head from each causing a frown. There is a sympathy in her eyes, but her voice is wrought of iron.

"You have crossed through the arch, but you have not learnt of true sacrifice. You may enter again, or you shall be expelled. Choose."

“Bloody ashes, what more could I give. Twice now I’ve chosen the blade and to die a warrior true,” muttered Beron to himself in a whisper under the steely gaze of Riahana Gaidin.

Standing another time, he steadied his breathing, clearing out the smoke and charnel smells that seemed to linger in his mind. Shaking off the doubt and anger once more, he entered as the golden light of the ter'angreal consumed him.

————

The Third Arch

Beron walked through the town square, glad he had thought to stow his Grey Tower gear in the Anvil, a seedier Inn he often used when escorting Adela Sedai as she checked her eyes and ears. The rumours had been growing of large crowds, angry and violent brewing in the city. There was widespread anger at the corrupt power behind the throne, which Adela was concerned was being painted as the Grey Tower.

And so Beron had mixed with the press of bodies, listening as a woman ranted and raved to the growing mob about the damage caused by the Witches of Hama Valon. Many angry cries broke out, most chanting about the supposed wealth sitting in Hama Valon.

To here her speak, you would think we all sip from rubied cups and sit upon golden chairs, Beron thought with a shake of his head at the absurdity of the claims. But as he fought through the press of bodies, he couldn’t shake the nagging feeling something was wrong.

Watching the woman, he ignored her words and allowed himself to truly see her, soaking in the details. That’s it, he thought as he watched her face. She was filthy, her hair and face covered in ashes and mud, as was her dress, the fabric tattered and worn. Yet when he looked at her hands, they were clean and uncalloused. Even more telling was her well made shoes, the leather strong and unblemished by ash or mud.

Soon the soldiers arrived to disperse the crowd, and Beron followed the mysterious speaker as she made her way down the side streets. She was surprisingly unconcerned for a rabble rouser, and Beron felt the hair on his neck rise as she made her way towards a cellar door. Not wanting to lose her, he shuffled forward faster when suddenly he was grabbed by two large filthy hands.

The two men struggled; Beron having the advantage of many years of Grey Tower training, using his knowledge to break holds and keep his airway clear. Finally he managed to knock the man’s head against the wall, causing him to fall unconscious as invisible ropes lifted him into the air.

“Pity, I had hoped Ian would prove up to the task. You should no better than to stalk one such as I Gaidin. Now let’s get some answers,” the woman sneered coldly, her face suddenly appearing ageless as she wiped off the mud.

“You’ll get nothing from me darkfriend,” cursed Beron as he struggled against the bonds she held him in.

Coldly, her face like a reptiles she advanced, not bothering to rebuff his curse. As Beron stood wrapped in the One Power he watched as she pulled a dagger from its sheath and stabbed him in the shoulder.

Pain bright as noon, caused golden light to flash in his eyes as Beron screamed against the pain. She coldly regarded him as she twisted the blade, seemingly fascinated by the crimson blood as it seeped from his shoulder. Hanging his head, Beron readied himself and cursed under his breath.

“What was that child?” the darkfriend sneered, her attitude that of a cat playing with a mouse. Beron once more whispered, and when she brought her head close enough he struck.

Pain flared in his nose as he smacked his head into her face, feeling the ruin of teeth he left behind. Shock and surprise caused the bonds around him to vanish and as Beron dropped he lunged forward to strike her once more. Down the two of them went in a tumble, and his dagger found her heart with no hesitation. As he watched her lifeblood pump out onto his hand, a golden light began to wash over his eyes.

———

The golden light faded, vision returning to Beron as he sat staring at his hands, suddenly clean of blood and death. This trip had shaken him more than he could say, fighting Trollocs was one thing, this had been cold blooded murder. He was shocked to find that within him, It’s clear I’ve given up the notion that it will be all pennants and righteous battle.

Between them, the Mistress of Training glanced at the two channellers behind Beron, a shake of the head from each causing a frown. There is a sympathy in her eyes, but her voice is wrought of iron. "You have crossed through the arch, but you have not learnt of true sacrifice. You may enter again, or you shall be expelled. Choose."

Beron shook himself, readying his mind for whatever lay beyond the Arch. Gritting his teeth, hands clenched he entered as the golden light of the ter'angreal consumed him.

———

The Fourth Arch
Beron stopped his exercises as he heard footsteps approaching. Turning he bowed when he saw Adela Sedai standing there, “Good morning Sister, what can I help you with?”

“This young man here recently arrived, he’s been healed but he needs exercise and strengthening to fully mend. Isla Sedai thought of you for the task,” Adela said with a smile as she introduced Beron to a sapling of a Tairen, the young man practically shaking in his grey uniform.

Beron smiled at the young man, he wasn’t surprised that Isla would have thought of him. Many years ago he had suffered an injury that had taken much Healing, and as a result had worked towards rebuilding a lot of the strength he had lost. Since then he had slowly built a reputation for helping the learning ranks grow and develop, nurturing the ever growing ranks of Drin and Ji’val instead of fighting as he had first imagined. His bond with Isla, a Yellow Sister had provided many benefits when he had been stationed at the Citadel, even now he found the extra stamina and strength advantageous.

“I’ll put him through the paces Adela Sedai,” Beron replied with a chuckle at the worried look from the raw recruit. A few hours later, Beron was returning to the Grey Tower quarters when a Ji’val stopped and mentioned that he was summoned. Following the Ji’val, Beron found himself in front of the M’hael.

“I know you’ve had a long day so we will be brief. The Mistress of Training is stepping down, and we would like you to replace her,” the M’hael stated as he gestured to the Triumvirate seated around the table. Beron was surprised to hear the Mistress of Training wanted to set aside her desk, although she had served for much of Beron’s tenure at the Grey Tower.

A million doubts and worries gave Beron pause, he had always assumed he would serve on the Blight until his duty ended. He had been raised on stories of the Gaidin as warriors without peer, willing to sacrifice all to stop the Shadow. Still over the years he had learned of all the good that could be done at Hama Valon, aiding the healers and other duties. If this is how I best serve the Tower, then I must accept the duty. What I’ve always pictured matters not against continuing our stand here, thought Beron to himself as he voiced his acceptance.

“I will gladly serve the Grey Tower in that capacity.”

———

The golden light fades once more. Beron was both pleased and contemplative when he witnessed the Mistress of Training look at the two channellers, a pleased grin forming on her stony face.

"It seems you have discovered something new within yourself this day. Remember that; hold onto that. It is the essence of being Gaidin."

To serve as the willow, not the rigid strength of the Oak but truly bending and preparing for whatever duty the future may hold Beron thought to himself, surprised to find that at the end it had been expectations he had brought with him that had continued to impede his progress.

The door behind the Mistress of Training swings open, and the Mistress of Arms moves into the room flanked by the Gaidin Captain.

As Beron watched, struck by the ceremony and it’s importance so soon after his revelation in the Golden Arches, the three members of the Warder Council stood before him. Beron knelt before the Mistress of Arms. The four other Gaidin and the channellers standing in attendance to watch this ceremony.

"We are gathered here today to witness our new brother, who has proven themselves worthy to wear a darker shade of grey. You have succeeded in the challenges set against you by your superiors, and mastered them with honour."

"It is the duty of every individual to devote themselves to the advancement and better of their home and calling. It is with pleasure that I performed my duty, in conferring upon you, the rank of Ji'val of the Grey Tower. Arise Beron Faim.”

Beron arose with the permission he was granted, his eyes filled with joy as he exchanged his jacket for the darker grey worn by Ji’val. He thought of those he would share his good news with, and knew that he was one important milestone closer to his goals. And from the fancloak, he no longer knew what the future would hold; only that he would give the Grey Tower all he had.