The Grey Tower

"Where are we going?" asked Darthalien, following Cavros Asha'man as the older man led him down another set of stairs. They were well below the tower now, in an area that Darthalien had never seen before.

"To your temporary quarters, lad," Cavros answered easily. "I've made some arrangements which I think you'll find interesting."

There were no torches down here; they walked in the light of a small, glowing sphere that Cavros had wrought from the One Power and suspended above their heads. Darthalien matched his mentor's pace, tracing their route in his head and looking curiously around, but all that he could see down here were bare stone walls and the occasional wooden door. "Do people live down here?"

"Not as a general thing, no. I converted one of the smaller storerooms for you to stay in."

Darthalien followed in silence for a few more steps. He had a vague inkling of what Cavros might be doing, and why, but he decided against asking.

"Ah, here we are." Cavros stopped at a wooden door that, as far as Darthalien could see, was utterly indistinguishable from any of the others. He swung it open and stepped inside, and the Soldier followed.

He had made that much progress, he supposed; these days he usually thought of himself as a Soldier instead of a Dagger.

The room inside was the same plain stone as everything else on this floor. There was a simple wooden desk against one wall, a cot set beside another, and a set of shelves pressed against the third. A simple wooden chest sat at the foot of the cot. The shelves were filled with books and scrolls and some of the basic items that he and Cavros used to practice with Saidin; the bottom shelf held a set of small wooden boxes.

"Here you go, lad," said Cavros. "The Browns were kind enough to provide us with some books in the Old Tongue; they'd consider themselves well-repaid if you could do a bit of translating while you're here. There are candles and lamp oil on the bottom shelf, there, and the Master of Soldiers has arranged to have food sent down at regular intervals."

Darthalien frowned, but he was more curious -- unwillingly fascinated, really -- than concerned. "Am I to be a..." He hesitated, trying to find the right word. "...Captive?"

Cavros shook his head. "No, lad. The door won't be locked. I ask that you stay in the room as much as possible, but you're welcome to walk around so long as you stay on this floor. No going back up the stairs."

Darthalien regarded his mentor. "You want to keep me away from daylight."

"Sharp lad," said Cavros, smiling his approval. "Yes. I want to see if this block of yours persists when you have no idea whether it's day or night. If it does, well... then it may be as you've suggested before: something unique to your people, something that can't be broken."

Darthalien nodded slowly. At least Cavros took him seriously enough to entertain his theories and test them. This could have been so much worse. Yes, among other things I could have been executed as a Darkspawn. He'd only recently become aware of that possibility. In his own world, the Pallid were so common that nobody would make that mistake; but here, he was very likely the only Pallid in the world, and there were some uncomfortable resemblances. His people had begun as Darkspawn, after all... "Very well. I will stay, and we will make this test and see what comes of it."

"Good," said Cavros. "We'll make an Asha'man of you yet." Then he turned and departed, leaving the door open behind him.

Darthalien crossed to the door and closed it. It was night outside, and so it was a simple enough matter to weave a small point of fire to provide some light... and Darthalien suspected that he could see in the dark quite a bit better than Cavros could. Finding the lamp on the table and using the channeled flame to coax it to life was still an exercise in control, but that was exactly the sort of practice he needed. And, of course, his mentor had left him with books... and the senior Daggers of his previous life had schooled him well in the art of patience. He could do this. He would do it, and they would see what they would see.

OOC: If any of our Novices or Soldiers want to interact with Darthalien in the course of bringing him food or -- may the Creator shelter and preserve you -- emptying his bedpan, you're welcome to jump in and roleplay. Otherwise, this is just going to be an episodic fiction wherein Darthalien breaks his Block and gets a better handle on channeling Saidin.

Darthalien sat back and sighed. The book he was translating was supposed to be a contemporary account of the Breaking of the World, but given how much it focused on two particular people and their slow shift from enmity to attraction to courtship, he couldn't help but think that it was most likely pure fiction and written well after the Breaking. He didn't really read the Old Tongue itself, but his native language had remained far closer to it than anything in this area of this world. With a glass of wine, an occasional pause to read out loud, and a bit of imagination, it was close enough for him to translate... and as he did, he discovered that the connections and even the differences were fascinating. Perhaps he had the makings of a Brown, though he would need a lot of study in order to even begin to catch up on his scholarship.

Also, he'd been sitting still for too long. His fingers were beginning to twitch, and his handwriting was growing sloppier. He dried the tip of his pen and set it aside, capped the ink, and set his latest page aside to dry. Then he pushed his chair back and stood, stretching his arms and then bending down to stretch his back. He went to the door, listened, and then opened it.

There was nobody out there, of course. He didn't think his next meal was due for another hour or so. Cavros had been very thorough. The learners who brought him his food did so every six hours, even knowing that he would likely sleep through at least one of those meals. They would talk -- briefly, because they had other chores to get back to -- but they had been forbidden to tell him anything about the time or what might be going on in the larger world of the Tower. His only way to tell, in fact, was to attempt to Channel -- risky, as Cavros had repeatedly warned him, at this stage of his training -- and he still couldn't tell if the Power came when he called or whether he was simply sleeping through the daylight hours and so missing the times when the Power would fail him.

He had managed, after repeated efforts, to reproduce the mix of Fire and Air that Cavros had used to create his ball of light. It wasn't a particularly complex weave, but Darthalien still couldn't get the glowing ball to form in anything smaller than the size of his own head. Fire alone was simpler, but moving an open flame around had its own risks.

He opened the door and stepped outside, standing for a moment in the relative darkness beyond the light from the lamp on his desk. Then he closed his eyes, drew a deep breath, and released it. His thoughts went with it, leaving his mind empty and his body relaxed.

He reached for Saidin. Even the Pallid needed some light to see.

He reached for it, touched it, and forced it to fill him. It was a struggle, but the struggle was becoming more familiar, more of a reflex. Was it light outside? Dark? He didn't know. He only knew that this time it came when he called.

He formed a light and set off walking.

It had been days. Darthalien was sure of that much, but little else. How long he'd been down here, what time it might be, whether it was day or night outside... he held no certainty for any of those things. He had, however, settled into a routine.

He woke; he channeled a spot of fire to light the lamp.

He exercised, stretched, and raced through the narrow corridors around his room, towing a ball of light behind him.

Then he returned to his room, ate whatever had last been left for him, then went and sat at the desk, translating a book from the Old Tongue into the common language of the Westlands.

When he felt he'd been sitting too long, he walked through the corridors again, or ran, or stepped through the dances that had been his first introduction to infighting.

Then he attempted to practice with the One Power: trying to juggle wooden blocks with a weave of air, lighting and stilling candles with fire, filling his cup with Water, reshaping a rough clay statue with Earth. Sometimes he tried combinations; he could only handle a single weave, but he could feed two elements into it when he did. Sometimes, at least. Fire and Air for light. Earth and Water to make the clay easier to shape.

And finally, when he grew tired, he slept.

Days passed -- or nights -- and Darthalien learned things, about himself and about the One Power.

Foremost was that he could almost certainly channel during the day. Saidin was completely reliable, down here in the dark where he didn't know the day or time. Some of the channeling he was doing must be taking place while the sun stood in the sky. Which meant that Cavros Asha'man was right, and his Block was entirely a product of his own mind. He wasn't sure whether to be irritated or relieved by that.

Second was that of the Five Powers, he was strongest with Fire... and apparently Spirit. He learned this when he woke from a nightmare, and found that within moments of waking he'd created a weave of Fire and Spirit that allowed him to see in the dark. After that, when he ran through the corridors, he did it with no light at all. Air, on the other hand, required his full concentration to use at all. Water was marginally better, and Earth just a bit more forthcoming than that.

Third was that the book he'd begun translating was indeed a romance, and an enjoyable one; that it did not in fact date back to the Breaking of the World did not in any way detract from its historical significance, as he noted in the brief introduction that he penned for it before handing the entire translation and the book itself off to Cavros Asha'man during one of his mentor's brief visits.

He hesitated before diving into another translation. He wasn't sure how much longer he would be down here; how much longer he should be down here. Darthalien himself was convinced that he must be able to channel during daylight; surely that was all that was needed? At last, though, he gave in and started on another book. Even if his Block was broken and he could return to his own rooms among the other Soldiers, this was something that he could contribute that very few other people could. He would continue it.

Cavros Asha'man was waiting in Darthalien's room when the soldier returned from his run. He must have arrived just after I left. "Asha'man," he said respectfully by way of greeting.

"Darthalien," said Cavros, setting the most recent page of the translation back on top of the pile. "It looks like you've made good progress."

"I think so," Darthalien said carefully. The lamp on the desk was lit, so neither of them were channeling. Still... Darthalien reached for Saidin, found it, and let it go again.

Cavros nodded. "Good lad. We're going back up -- you know why, but try not to think about it. Instead, I want you to create a weave, and hold it. Can you do that?"

"Long enough to get back to the Tower grounds?" That would take an effort, but like so much else he'd done down here, it would be good practice. "I'll speak if I find trouble."

"Follow me, then," said Cavros, and led the way out the door.

The sun was shining bright on the Channeling Yards. Darthalien stood in the doorway, blinking furiously, then forced himself to step through.

He was still channeling Fire.

He was still holding Saidin.

He was squinting like he'd never seen daylight before -- and after all, it had been a while -- but it was daytime and he was still holding Saidin. He tried to look at Cavros Asha'man, but his mentor was dark blur outlined in searing brightness.

Well and well, he thought, and released the weave of fire. Then he shaped it again, split it, and made the two points of flame circle each other. Now we see, though.

He took a deep breath, then dropped the weave and released Saidin.

It had been a long walk up from the sub-basement, and releasing the One Power -- though always disappointing -- was a relief. Darthalien was tired. But there was still one more thing.

He reached for Saidin again...

...and found it.

"Done," said Cavros.

"Done," said Darthalien, and released the Power. He stepped to the side of the doorway and sank down to the grass. "A moment," he said.

A moment to rest. A moment to savor this victory.