Moments Lost, Though Time Remains [Dax Solo]

Tel'aran'rhiod and Portal Worlds
Sunny
"Knife of Dreams"
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Joined: July 18th, 2014, 3:23 am
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Re: Moments Lost, Though Time Remains [Dax Solo]

Post by Sunny » March 13th, 2018, 8:44 pm

The Wise Ones inspected Dax’s wrists as if they expected a dragon to pop out of his skin and yell ‘boo’ at any moment. “Not a Clan Chief,” Gabrielle said at last, pushing her blonde hair behind her shoulders as she released his hand.

Dax snorted into his waterskin despite himself and four pairs of pale eyes swung around to fix on him in unison. He lowered the skin slowly beneath their gaze. Whatever they were feeling, the Aiel hid it well; the Tairen searched their faces for some sign without avail. “I told you, all I wanted was to visit the city,” he said after an uncomfortably long silence. “Whatever your candidates have to do, I didn’t do it.”

“That remains to be seen. Did you get your answers, wetlander?”

The Gaidin opened his mouth to give a flippant answer, then paused. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he studied the ground. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. When he looked up his blue eyes were fierce and hot and hurt, skipping from woman to woman in a desperate search for reassurance. “I don’t remember what I asked.”

He had little memory of Sindhol at all. The guide that met him had been nothing like the first door and that had confused him at first. Black rage had taken over the third time the creature insulted him. From then until he opened his eyes in Rhuidean, all he could remember was voices intoning “Done” three times in succession like the tolling of funeral bells.

He knew what that meant, he knew what the snakes and foxes were, he knew why the world he stood in existed…Light, I know far too much. He knew everything, it felt like, except what the Eelfinn had specifically given him...and, more importantly, what they had taken away.

“There’s always a price,” he whispered. “What was the price, Wise Ones?” They had no answers for him, but they gave him more water and directed him to where he could get food and rest. He did as he was told without saying another word, his thoughts blanketed by a cascading veil of symbols that he dared not contemplate too closely.

The next day, an impossibly tall man showed him a better way to fold his cloak to protect his face. As he settled the folds of fabric about his neck, Tamin tilted his head. “That’s a curious decoration, wetlander.” Dax frowned until the Aielman gestured at his face in explanation.

Dax reached up instinctively, then froze as his fingers brushed oversomething in his ear.“What-” Something of his confusion must have shown; the next thing he knew Tamin was pushing a hand mirror into his hand. Dax peered into it, free hand lifting to finger the slender loop of black metal -or perhaps it was particularly shiny stone with minute designs etched into it- that pierced his earlobe. He turned it slowly, three times, before coming to the conclusion that the thing had no clasp. So how did it get there?

“Yes, it is curious.” He handed the mirror back to his companion. “Excuse me.”

Thankfully no one felt the need to follow him when he stalked away from the camp...or if they did, he didn’t see them. When he returned to camp just before lunch, his fists were bloody and his arms were sore, but his shoulders were set with newfound certainty. “Thank you for your hospitality, and for allowing me the privilege of visiting your city,” he told the Wise Ones, painfully aware that he didn’t know the appropriate words for this circumstance. “I must depart now.”

---

Leaving the Waste was easier than entering it had been. He just needed to travel west until he reached the Spine of the World, which was a considerably larger target that a single sacred city. Tamin accompanied him, ostensibly as a guide. Dax suspected it was more to prevent other clans from bringing his journey to a premature end, but was wise enough not to say anything.

When at last they reached the point where green grass had overcome sand and the sun was hidden behind a haze of clouds, Dax realized that somehow the Aielman had brought him back to the exact place he had entered. They were watching me that long? Of course they had been, he realized, and laughed at his own surprise before giving into the relief that flooded his heart that he wouldn’t have to find it on his own.

Tamin took his leave not too long after. After watching to be sure the Aielman was actually gone, Dax strode west, tracking his own signals until he found where he and the two Asha’man had camped. No trace of the men remained, but he retrieved his sword from beneath the makeshift cairn he had built for it and headed west.

Mael had said he and Jaren were going to a small town on the western edge of the Dragonwall for reasons unknown. We will be there for a week or two if your magical city doesn’t take you home, the Kandori had added. Despite his sardonic tone Dax had caught the implication in that statement. At the time he had selfishly hoped their generosity would be for naught, but now….well. The channelers hadn’t given him reason to distrust them so far, right? It took three days to cross the mountains and Dax spent the time fretting and anxious that the odd pair would give up and leave.

Mid morning of the third day he reached Murhallow’s Crossing and walked into the small tavern that sat at its center. He didn’t even have to ask about strangers (though he did ask for food); Jaren sat at a table in a corner, staring into a wooden cup with an odd smile on his face. The smile vanished as soon as he saw Dax approach. “No luck?”

Dax lifted one eyebrow as he studied the younger man curiously. The channeler’s blonde hair was in remarkable disarray, and he wore no coat. Most interesting to Dax were the faint purple marks marched along his jaw and down the sides of his neck. Those were new. “Had a good time since you left me, I take it?”

Jaren immediately made a rude hand gesture, but that smile came back, thin lips curling up in a smile that was so totally satisfied that Dax actually envied the man. “I’m flattered, but you aren’t my type,” the Tairen said easily, hooking a chair out from the table and sitting down. “Nor I yours, I suspect. My hair isn’t nearly curly enough.” He paused thoughtfully, then added “and I’m at least half a head too tall.”

“You can fuck right off, Torellion,” Jaren informed him, his attempt at sober disapproval ruined by a ripple of laughter. Then he repeated his first question. “No luck?”

“Sort of,” Dax said. “I didn’t make it home, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“But I- I got something that might be useful. I just need...a channeler to help me.” Jaren waved for him to continue, but the Gaidin took a moment to collect his words. “I need to go to a specific place in the Mountains of Mist,” he said finally. “There is a...pillar there, covered in symbols. It’s called a Portal Stone, and it will take me home with a touch of Spirit to the correct images.”

“And you know which images?”

Dax tilted his head to study the younger man, remembering the conversation they had had by firelight before he went to Rhuidean. Jaren’s reaction to hearing of his life at the Grey Tower had been bleak and disheartening, but the man who sat before him seemed brighter. Hope suits him, Dax thought, then had to hide a laugh at his own terrible pun.

“Yes,” the Gaidin said with deliberate care, “I do.”
Image Image Image Image
False alarm- there's still a song for me; I'm just about around to sing it
There's still a chance for me...and I'm still here singing.

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