The Grey Tower

Four weeks after the events of After Effects The early autumn morning light created an eerie glow in the archery range below while hiding the balcony above and behind it in deep shadow. It was enough light for Mal to take everything below him into view, enough for him to watch silently as a man dressed in Asha’man black briefly share a moment with a diminutive Gaidin with a bow.

Not far off was the Gaidin’s aide and translator, trying his best to be unobtrusive and ignoring the couple.

Malcym had held this perch for three days now, and every scene was the same. Some long moments between the Warder and her charge before the latter left, followed by early morning practice. As far as he knew, he’d gone unnoticed, watching as the Gaidin executed every shot with seamless perfection.

All the while, his mind dwelled on the past few several weeks since -- well, since he had made a complete fool of himself and burned nearly every bridge imaginable. First, it had been sticking his foot in his mouth whilst in the Infirmary with Lysira Gaidin and then his encounter with Miahala Sedai.

It was the latter that shook him back to reality -- and forced himself to look in the mirror. He’d blamed and directly accused the Captain-General of sabotaging what fragile relationship he had with both the Gaidin and her Asha’man -- and she had pushed past it and forced himself to look at his own reflection.

And now here he stood ... regretting his own words to the Gaidin below and his attitude to the Asha’man. But he wasn’t sure how to mend something already perilously close to collapsing.

Mal heard the steps before the voice and reached for his sword ... but a light touch on his sword arm’s shoulder stayed him.

“Wondering what you’re going to say to her, aren’t you?” the familiar voice said. A second later, Joram Satile Gaidin was beside him, folded arms perched on the balcony railing as his sharp brown eyes looked at the pair below them. “You’ve been wondering for three days now, and nothing?”

Mal blinked at the relaxed Warder’s presence, all too aware that the slender Amadician with a wide-brimmed hat could easily draw his sword and kill him in a heartbeat. For the last two weeks, the man had been the bane of his existence, scheduling spars between him and the most aggressive Ji’val in the Yards.

And then critiqued and trained him in every failed parry or form he should have taken.

“Birds chirp, Malcym, and they sing to me that you’ve been here all this time,” Joram said simply, his eyes never leaving the couple below. “They also sang about your row with the Gaidin ... and how you balled like a baby in front of the Captain-General.”

Mal stiffened but a stern sideways look from the Warder stopped any unspoken demand of how the Warder knew. “Child, Jerid Asha’man requested that I watch you ... and I asked Liana Gaidin to do so as a proxy. He requested it because he was concerned about safety should you approach Lysira Gaidin or Miahala Sedai in an angered mood.”

Mal blinked. “How would they need ... “

“Not them, boy, yours. Pressed the wrong way, his Warder could kill you and she’d be justified; I ordered Liana Gaidin to intervene and knock your bloody arse back to the Yards before the Gaidin could kill you in that rare event. Safe bets are she wound’t kill her Ward’s child, especially one who had his eyes,” the Warder said. “As for the Captain-General ... the Asha’man really didn’t care; he had enough faith in Miahala to know she’d likely just send you away with a bruised ego and bruised hide.”

Mal’s jaw must have hit the floor judging by the smirk on Joram’s face.

“Miahala Sedai may be the oldest channeler in the Tower with a reputation that makes most Darkfriends soil themselves, but she has a talent for piercing through barriers and bravado,” the Gaidin said. “My thoughts were that she would make you break your own bloody walls down ... and for that you’ve my deepest empathy.”

Mal was still confused.

“Son, the Captain-General is a mother first and would deal with you as a mother would an errant child. That one,” Joram said, nodding toward the Asha’man below, “informed me about that trait when he asked me to keep an eye on you. It’s nice to know the assessment was accurate.”

Mal’s mind was swimming with questions. How long had this Warder been observing him? More to the point, how long had he been in collusion with the Indigo Asha’man? His thoughts were too perplexed with the standard desire to strangle the Asha’man.

“How do I even begin to apologize for what I did and said,” Mal murmured after a moment. He noted the Gaidin’s brief flash of approval.

Joram nodded toward the pair. “You can’t,” he murmured. “You can try, though, and hope you can re-earn their respect.”

The Gaidin nodded toward the Gaidin. “She loathes self-presumed martyrs, she’ll eat them for breakfast and shit them out without a passing thought,” he said. “She was trained by the Freak of the Yards hmiself, has served through multiple conflicts in Tower’s history and ever only was bonded to one Asha’man -- twice. She holds more influence in one pinky in the Yards than any Warder except the Officers and the Captain-General, yet her exertion over that power is respectfully low. Very few would dare order her about.”

Joram nodded at the now-departing Asha’man. “Jerid Asha’man is a martyr walking, whether he knows it or not. But he if does know, he doesn’t presume. The man may be arrogant, overbearing and subject to acting on instinct, but he’s also very methodical. In all his years as a Dedicated and Asha’man, he’s fought beside those forces loyal to him ... he mourns those he loses ... but he’s never once brought it up. He might have torn into Miahala Sedai’s hide when she was Amyrlin but he respected her decisions and her judgment and never questioned it.”

Malcym sighed. He knew where this was going. “I acted like everything those two really don’t like.”

Joram snorted. “Boy, you acted like everything those two would have let die if you did not belong to the Yards ... “ he paused briefly before holding up a sealed scroll. “Which brings me here. This is Jerid Asha’man’s request to the Master of Training and the Gaidin Captain that you be discharged from Warder Yards.”

Malcym blinked and his grip on the balcony rail tightened briefly. But then he had expected this would come sooner or later.

“When am ... “ He didn’t have a chance to finish when the Gaidin’s other hand slapped him upside the head.

“Boy, do you not listen?” the Gaidin growled. “I said this is his request, not your order to depart. The Asha’man kindly requested I present it to the Officers in respect to Yard hierarchy ... and I am creatively interpreting his request.”

Before Mal could even respond, Joram Gaidin chose his moment perfectly. Lysira Gaidin had exhausted her quiver and her aide was midway to handing her a second one.

“Trainee, you will drop stand fast and drop the quiver!” the Gaidin bellowed in a surprisingly powerful voice. “Gaidin Lysira, report to the observation deck now.”

Mal watched as the Ji aide dropped the quiver and ran toward the small Gaidin ... and handed her a note. The young soldier shot Joram a sharp look.

“I might have given the lad instructions to deliver a note explaining an intent to force a meeting between you two, with the implied threat he’d be subject through harsh training if he failed or a promise of quick ascension to the fancloak if he did deliver,” the Gaidin said.

Mal turned furiously on the Gaidin ... “You had no right to involve him!”

A smack upside the head stopped him from speaking further. “Son, if that Ji is smart, he will inform his mistress of the promise and the list of names that came I provided threat ... and she will realize the list of names are the promise kept to push him to become a Gaidin.”

Joram shrugged. “Promise, threat. The boy has potential, otherwise, he wouldn’t be her aide.”

Whatever brief anger had simmered in Mal was now a full-on fire. But the Gaidin’s unpredictability kept his tongue silent.

And so he waited until the small but formidable Gaidin appeared on the deck ... and Joram Gaidin simply handed her the sealed scroll.

“This is your Asha’man’s request to have the boy discharged ... I merely ask you that hear the lad out,” Joram said. “I’m thinking the boy does have a future here, but you are the final judge ... and that your Asha’man will respect your decision either way. If he fails to impress, deliver the request. If he convinces you ... tear it up. And if you two have dispute beyond that, has it out in the sparring yards.”

He rose one finger prior to leaving and promptly looked at Malcym. “Soldier, present your sword!” Without hesitation, Mal drew his sword, the well-crafted curved longsword coming free of its scabbard within a moment.

Joram took it without a second thought and thrust it into Lysira’s hands.

“The ground rules are simple: he askes two questions before he tells you what happened to his wife and child that so embittered him against the Warder Yards,” he said while looking at the boy. His eyes turned toward Lysira. “And if you’re not satisfied with his answers, you don’t give this back. If you have any qualms about this flaming ... meeting, you know where I train. We’ll settle it there, no questions asked, no holds. Just bring a blunted blade. But just listen to the lad. Please.”

And without another word, Joram was gone, leaving the other two alone.

Malcym looked at the diminutive yet intimidating Gaidin -- and didn’t hesitate.

“What was Caden Ives truly like? Why is it that everywhere I go in the Yards, they speak of ‘Freak of the Yards’ as the embodiment of its legacy?” He winced visibly at speaking the name but he didn’t hesitate. “For that matter, why is it that in nearly every flaming Hall I have to run errands your bloody Asha’man seems to evoke respect? I respect the man, but half the time I don’t whether to hug him or punch him in the flaming jaw.”

By the time Lysira had heard Joram out, she both saw his...peacemaking wisdom as well as determined that they would have their own meeting about his tactics in the very near future. In the meantime, she had this disobedient pup before her. If nothing else, however, the mute, diminutive Gaidin was not a woman without fairness or justice in her soul.

And, of course, how he described her husband was fairly accurate. That's how she'd spent majority of their time together, if she was honest.

When he finished, she signed, 'That's three.'

To his confused looked, she continued, 'You just asked three questions. Joram gave you two. Which ones would like me to answer, then? It was meaning to be a smart-arse or pedantic, her expression told nothing. As it usually was.

Mal grimaced at the diminutive Gaidin’s explanation, his confused look giving way the second those nimble fingers flashed in a silent language.

Light, but his sister would like this woman. Short, to the point, and no wasted words.

Granted, the two could also be at odds — all over how to kick his flaming arse up the entire lenght of Hama Valon’s main avenues.

Mal would have pushed the point, of course, about his extra question, but his eyes flickered briefly toward the scroll in Lysira’s deceptively delicate hands. She could turn it into confetti with ease — and without much prompting.

Lysira Walker might seem predictable, but Mal knew otherwise. Viathene, you bloody sheepbrained fool, not Walker. He ignored the thought. The small Gaidin might carry her family name, but something about her smelled wholly of one thing: Walker.

Asha’man and Warder might as well have been opposite sides of the same coin, Mal thought. What few tales there were of the pair were often spoken about how solid a team they had been.

But those were wistful legends told to a child by his mother and later read from pages of dusty books written by would-be scholars. If there was anything to be learned from recent events, it was those tales could be ... underwhelming in describing the true nature of the proverbial beast.

In Lysira Gaidin’s case, someone who could cut his heart out without a second thought, squash it and burn his corpse before using the ashes as fertilizer should he prove a threat to her Asha’man.

Or she could just shred his hopes and dreams. His silver-blue eyes glanced briefly at the scroll that held his fate a second time.

“The first and the third,” he said simply. He could deduce the second from the first answer and ask someone else the second — more diplomatically. Light, but the only other two people who might know were the Captain-General and the Indigo.

Before the Gaidin could respond, the young soldier nodded in the now-departed Joram Gaidin’s direction. “A fair warning, my Lady, but Joram Gaidin’s got a heron mark like yours. Only instead of being imprinted on a sword or bow, his mark stands invisible on his tongue,” he said politely. “You go to meet him in a spar and you’ll likely end up leaving without having drawn steel.”

He clasped his hands behind his back and looked at the Gaidin. “But .. yes, the questions of Caden Ives and Jerid Walker .... they seem so much alike.”

It wasn't any easy question to answer..

Lysira turned her head to look out at this area of hte Yards around them. Her dark eyes--if he could see it in what little view of them remained to him--held emotion. What emotion that was, he'd never be able to tell. Only Jerid would. But they were…nostalgic. Sorrowful. She remembered watching the man ride off through the Gateway, his dead wife in his arms, never to return.

It had been like losing her father all over again.

'Caden Ives was…a private man. Few people truly knew him, and I won't disrespect that by telling you anything more than others knew,' she signed, turning her eyes back to him. 'I've been told he was a handsome man to any woman with an eye for them before the flames. The reason some…idiots of the Yards called him the Freak was because half his body and face were burned--nearly away-by balefire in defense of this Tower.

'He became cold and angry. Lost much of his old life to it, but he was one of the best Gaidin the Yards ever created. A master swordsman that took up arms to save this place, even after that very action nearly took his final breaths from him and did take most of the life he knew then from him. He trained others to do the same. He and his lady wife--who he married after his scarring--razed Shadow from more of this countryside than many others.

The small gaidin had been grateful to get Mia back, her near-mother, but she still missed Caden Ives.

'He was a private man for the rest of his years, hard to get through to and hard to get to know, but he was a good man inside the icy chambers of his heart.' Her gaze, for whatever softness it had developed, hardened again. 'Does that satisfy your first question?'

Mal caught the look in the tiny Gaidin’s eyes, emotion, deep and ... very uncharacteristic of her.

One would never expect her to show such a thing. Even Mal had never seen her show such a thing. Well, other than her reaction a month ago he had acted like a fool in the Infirmary.

But she was hiding it. Most people would never know about it. But he smelled it, after a fashion. It was the odor of sorrow, profound loss beyond measure.

Malcym Ashe was all too familiar with that emotion.

But he couldn’t say anything before Lysira spun her answer.

And her response perplexed him in more ways than he could realize. His face scrunched up in brief confusion over the incident that caused the legendary man’s equally reputable disfigurement.

How in the Creator’s flaming name could balefire just “burn” someone? he thought. By all accounts, from everything he’d read, both as a child and after he came to this place, balefire -- erased anything from the Pattern of Life, as if it were chalk from a board.

How could a man ever survive such an encounter, even a touch of the bloody stuff?

Sheer will or stubbornness, he thought.

And some of the traits she described of Caden Ives were ... They are reflections of yourself. Angry, cold ... only, you chose a different path -- and were willing to do whatever was req...

Mal shuttered the thought from his mind. He did not care to relive the memory.

His silver-blue eyes watched as Lysira finished her response. “Idiots of the Yards? Or idiots of the Tower?” he asked quietly. “I had heard those words ‘freak’ went far beyond the Yards. And the rumors went that in the years after his raising, your Asha’man made ... efforts to curtail the use of such a phrase, at least within his own Ajah.”

His eyes flickered back toward the direction Joram Asha’man had vanished. “At least, that’s what I heard, but given your husband’s nature, it would not surprise me.” What Mal had seen of the Indigo had made him believe many things, among them that the bloody man could assume the personas his enemies gave him. Equally so, the man had a sense of justice and a ... subjective moral compass.

His eyes went back to Lysira and he smiled slightly. Most would make jokes about falling for and marrying father figures, but Mal disdained such things. For one, it could get a person skewered and for another, such assessments were not always entirely accurate.

“They were like mother and father to you, the Aes Sedai and Gaidin,” he murmured. It was a statement of fact, not an assumption. “The way you speak of Lord Ives suggests that much and Miahala Sedai ... “

He coughed slightly and muttered, “Maybe during your ‘talk’ with Joram Gaidin, you might want to remind him to not provide information, however select, to trainees with a habit of talking too much.”

Mal knew his own faults and he readily accepted that talking too much outside an actual mission was one of them. In the field, with the enemy all around, it was different.

“Yes, you’ve answered my first question,” he said after a moment.

His silver-blue eyes flashed in the growing light. “I can also understand Lord Ives’ icy demeanor. We all handle grief and loss in our own way,” he murmured. “Some carry the scars both inside and out; others, just internally.”

“But as to my second question ... “

Mal realized all too well his last words could easily provide an easy target for the Gaidin to seek should she desire to avoid the topic. In fact, every word since her response also left her an opening to skirt answering the question of her bondmate altogether. The young soldier knew exactly what kind of man Jerid Walker was, otherwise he would not have laid down his life to see him and others escape.

Perhaps he had just wanted to hear such affirmations from the Asha'man's Warder herself. Perhaps it was that we wanted vindication for wanting to punch the bloody man in the jaw. Perhaps it was something else entirely.

'People are complex beings, she began after several moments of contemplation. He had asked the question, and she had agreed that she would answer. She did not renege when she made an agreement. It might have been a small matter, but it was still a matter of honor to her. So she thought it through and began to sign.

Her narrow shoulders rose and fell with a soft sigh. 'People are complex beings,' she signed again after her pause. 'And some of them can be very extreme and intense. They tend to attract and repulse people from them in equal turns, and can create feelings in others that are both sides at once. Although it is said that the opposite of love is indifference...'

Lysira's mouth flirted briefly with a smile. She wasn't sure she knew anyone who'd met her husband and was indifferent to him. They went one way, or the other...

'For one such as that, who lives as long as my husband has, they are bound to leave swathes of each feeling and reaction in others. Or both at the same time. It is a matter of one's nature, and how nature around them and the natures of others reacts to it.'

Mal couldn’t help but chuckle softly at Lysira’s silent words. His silver-blue eyes were as much on her body language and facial movements as they were on her moving hands.

If there was anyone way to answer and avoid a question at the same time, she managed. The Gaidin had picked up much in the way of the Game to be an expert, it seemed, or least be very practical.

The answer was there, it seemed. Why did Jerid Asha’man evoke such respect?

Because Jerid Walker was a man of such complexity and a person who summoned so many different responses ... and because he already knew the answer. Legends or no, the Indigo commanded respect by sheer presence alone. The man could summon every emotion between love and hate and still guarantee most would listen to him when he spoke.

Or when he issued a call to battle. In many ways, Mal did not envy the Asha’man that latter aspect.

He looked sideways at Lysira and said, “But for you, it seems more love than anything else ... like no matter what’s been done, no hatred or anger could ever have a hold,” he murmured.

It wasn’t a question, simply a matter of fact. He tapped the tip of his nose and murmured quietly, “I ... smell it every time you two are around each other. I can’t explain it, but it’s there. If there’s regret or anger or anything else, it’s not evident. You two could be stone statues and it would be easy to detect for me. Whatever pasts you two have, it’s overwhelmed by that fragrance of passionate, deep love you share for one another, to the point where it’s painful not to be apart again.”

His lips curved into a smile. “Plus, a Novice saw the two of you the first time you met since his return to the Tower,” he muttered. “I believe her description to the small circle of us lower ranks around her was ‘sparks so hot they scorched’ -- well, before a Yellow Aes Sedai showed up and pretty much told us to hold our tongues.”

“Words which I did not repeat to anyone, on my sister’s soul,” he said more seriously. It was an honest, serious promise. There were few people closer to him than his younger sister.

After a few seconds, he pulled a simple jade ring with silver leafing from his coat pocket and set it on the railing.

“And because I know what it’s like to feel that way,” he murmured, his silver-blue eyes looking forward.

“Some years ago, my company was assigned to protect and support the westerner edge of Murandy’s border, ruled over by a very provincial but powerful Murandian lord,” he murmured. “Not many in Lugard knew he had allowed a large caravan of Tuatha’an to settle in his lands, in return for services rendered in terms of horse-riding skills and tutoring the outer villages’ children in letters and numbers.”

He smiled, more so at the thought of a compassionate noble than anything else. Most Murandian nobles were either hotheaded or prone to adopting Andoran or Altaran attempts of playing the Great Game of Houses.

“We were given orders to patrol and secure the borders against bandits, rogue Aiel and the so-called Dragonsworn, but our unofficial command was to protect the caravan,” he murmured. “The Tinkers didn’t like that, of course, but they seemed to accept it as a condition of their continued stay.”

His smile wavered slightly, his eyes continuing to stare out at the archery range. “The officer in charge at the time delivered an extended invitation to the caravan about a month in, so long as our weapons remained in the camp.”

His smile returned as he looked briefly at the Gaidin. “I was the only one to do so. I was young, curious and still very much open-minded,” he said simply. “I went unarmed, unarmored into their camp ... and enjoyed myself. And met Elysia, a Tinker of Altaran descent. She was marvelous, enchanting, outgoing and bloody better dancer than I ever could be.”

He chuckled at the next bit. “And it took me a month before she would even grace me with a kiss on the cheek. Two weeks more before we stole a kiss under an oak in midsummer.”

Mal’s eyes became bittersweet. “Our first night together was in an abandoned cottage ... neither side really approved of our close relationship ... and it was overwhelming, as if I could sense everything she did, feel everything she did.

“The next morning, when I held her still sleeping in my arms, I realized she was still in there, in my head,” he murmured. “Every emotion, every little thing about her physical self ... she later explained as best she could. A link between us ... something forged because she could channel, something even she couldn’t explain.”

Mal’s silver-blue eyes flickered in the morning light. “I accepted it ... and continued seeing her. That link ... that bond grew stronger and we were married a month later, in secret. A soldier and a Tinker, such an opposite of pairs. I could never give up my oath as a soldier ... she could never see merit in anything but peace.”

“My commander was reassigned, a new officer, a young arrogant noble, came aboard and our orders remained the same,” he murmured. “Protect the noble’s land and the caravan within its borders. I continued on with life as necessary ... and my nights were mine alone with her. She gave birth the next year to our daughter ... and things were quiet for a while.”

One hand gripped the railing tightly. “Until that young officer decided that glory was more important than orders and he commanded the entire company a day and a half east on rumors of a brigand force that was pressing the Murandian lord’s lands.”

“We arrived to find nothing ... and an hour later I felt this sharp, searing pain that I could not explain at the time. It was as if all the light in the world suddenly faded and nothing to fill it back up with except unending sorrow and grief.”

“It wasn’t until we were nearly back to our encampment when a rider found us, telling us the entire caravan had been slaughtered by the very brigands we had been dispatched to hunt,” he murmured.

His silver-blue eyes darkened. “Our officer ordered us to stay put, not make ‘a commotion over dead Tinkers.’ Fifteen soldiers disagreed.”

Mal’s eyes flashed toward Lysira and he murmured, “With all respect, Gaidin, you don’t know what it’s like to hold your spouse’s lifeless body in your hands, or to bury a daughter who barely saw a year ...”

His eyes darkened. “I rode out with fifteen men to find the brigands responsible ... we found them and the few that survived ... I made sure they endured while I did .. “

Mal shuddered and gripped the railing. Every scream, every little plea echoed in his mind.

“If there is a place where souls too dark to be reborn, I surely belong there,” he whispered.

He signed before looking back at the Gaidin. “The aftermath of the Tuatha’an camp, the raid on those who slaughtered them ... it’s likely the single significant factor for everything that came after and how I behave when charged with protecting others. Sadly, arrogance and pride seem to have slipped into the mix over those few years since.”

Lysira gave him his words, his time, and her ears. She only tended towards interruption when someone was being an idiot, and for once, it seemed he was managing to not be one. Thus, she listened. She heard him out in that silent, intent way she had about her, without ever focusing so much on one thing as to forget all else.

Too long a terrified child, too long a Gaidin, for that. Still, she gave him as much attention as she could.

What he'd said about her and Jerid had been true, of course, but it wasn't anything she was going to explain to him. The rest... Well, it was news to her, and one of my tragedies that built the walls of this place. It seemed that everyone walked to its gates with a bag of them over their shoulder, removing some of the burdens and gaining others.

'I am sorry for your loss,' she said simply, but sincerely.

She wondered at why he always assumed he knew what pain others carried, and how they weighed out against one another, but this time, she chose to let him keep it. 'All of us who survive must continue, learn, grow, and be better in honor of all those we've lost.'

Mal could only smile faintly at Lysira’s comment, at her professed condolences.

Here was a woman who probably endured more in her entire life than he could ever phantom past nearly six years in military service.

She might have suffered the loss of family at one time or another, but she had — she still had a husband and bondmate and a son ... more, grandchildren.

And yet something told him never to question her. It was an instinct he listened to this time.

“I swore an oath, first some sodding lord, and then later to your son to keep your Asha’man safe,” he said simply, his eyes once down gazing down at the archery yard beneath them.

Sunlight had already crested and Mal saw young trainees begin to populate the area.

“Only your son could release me from such an oath, and he wouldn’t deem fit to so if it meant his father and his mother were had a soldier guarding their rear,” he murmured. “Granted, four weeks ago I was willing to toss myself on the literal sword and died ... and I still will contend the Captain-General had ...”

He paused and smirked. “Had every right to be there. It proves what loyalty you two can conjure up ...”

His eyes narrowed slightly.

“And it proves that my service as your Asha’man’s ... guardian is no longer needed,” he said. “Up until that moment, I sought release, a purpose to die for ... and then I was face to face with those bloody poor sods for Dreadlords, all I could think about was my duty to that man of yours, to the crown of Murandy ...”

He smiled bittersweetly. “And then just before I blacked out after my would-be glorious death speech, I remembered that my little sister would have pulled my remains up from the ground and yelled me out about some stupid foolish notion about protecting a nobleman at the risk of my own life.”

He looked at Lys and murmured, “You’d like her. Nearly deaf, as I mentioned, but she can read lips and speak after a fashion ... and when she speaks carefully, your ears will be red. She’d have insulted me for my own foolish death, and then gone through you like water and torn your Asha’man’s hide for her saddle ...”

Mal smirked at the mental image. “I say this with respect, Gaidin, but for all the Trollocs and Dreadlords you’ve faced, they pale in comparison to Amberlee Ashe’s wrath. She’ll throw icoberry slosh on you and beat you with a shovel just for offending me.”

Family was what kept him going these days. And ...

“... and she would also remind me that what I lost is behind me, what was could never be, and what lies before remains yet to be discovered.”

The image of a dark-haired Murandain woman popped into his mind, one with fine skin, hair dressed up in ringlets, in a Novice gown ... a woman who confounded him as much as he could respect ...

“With respect, Lysira Gaidin, I humbly ask you remove me from the oath I swore to your son to protect your Asha’man,” he murmured. “I ask this in part to seek amends and in part because an Indigo Asha’man cannot have two Warders ...”

He hesitated briefly, his silver-blue eyes cast below.

“I need to be one of them, truly, and to know my place as a trainee, instead of a soldier who is ... well, as arrogant as your Asha’man. Seriously, how did you ever resist the urge to punch that man when he ... “ Mal bit down on his tongue and closed his eyes before looking back at Lysira.

He blushed for a second, realizing that he spoke probably the most inappropriate words to the Warder.

“I’d ask for amends, Gaidin, for the mistakes I’ve made, but I desire absolution of this oath I’m bound to serve your Ward,” he said. “Because this oath I swore to your son binds me to him -- and you -- and I’m obligated to follow wherever you journey next.”

“And honestly, I don’t want that. I belong here with many more miles to go before I could come close to being a true Warder. And in earnest, either you or him would likely kill me within six months, and I do enjoy living.”

Lysira listened, one dark brow rising and falling as if it was a living creature that responded to the various things he said of its own accord rather than by the dictation of her mind. She appreciated when he spoke of his family, of attempting wisdom, and the moments where he was capable of humility...

...but the thought that overrode most was, By the Light, this boy can talk.

She wondered that he wasn't better meant to be selling something out on the road or telling tales in the inn, but he was not in either of those places. He was here, and he had every right to what he asked of her now. After all, when he had sworn his oath to Cade Walker, Jerid Walker--in all the things that he was--had not presently had his wife at his side.

Now he did, and she would be all he needed.

'You have much to learn,' she began, but she smiled faintly, 'and you're finally starting to learn it. You're absolved of your oaths and free to pursue that learning. I shall take care of Jerid Walker from henceforth.'

Until the day would come, as it must to all men and women, that saw them in the ground. Together.