The M'hael (Solo / Fanfic)

[Sunny]

Jaryd Kosari

Katrie stared daggers at the wiry Altaran from where she stood before Mirin’s desk. Jaryd returned that look with the outward grace of an Asha’man, his swarthy face distant and impassive. Inside, however, he wrapped himself in the Void for protection, the emptiness thicker and darker than it had ever been before. It guarded him from the broken trust and hurt in those dark eyes, kept the sharp pain in his chest from interfering with his thoughts. Katrie turned away, and Jaryd took a painful breath. I did what I had to, he thought, but it rang hollow in his mind.

The Red sketched a bow to Mirin and retreated before the Void abandoned him and guilt convinced him to do something unalterably stupid. The door closed with a soft click, and he turned to touch the carved wood with long fingers. I am sorry, serenla, he thought. The younger woman whom he had met so precipitously years before could not hear. She never would.

His feet took him away, but his mind stayed in that study, tired eyes unseeing as he traversed the halls of the learning ranks’ quarters. As he emerged from the ouroboros hall and into blinding light, a sun-darkened arm shot out of nowhere, colliding with his chest and bringing him to an abrupt halt. He stumbled, arms flying up as he rocked back on his heels and turned to look at this unexpected barrier.

“I don’t care who you are, or what you are, or what happens to me after,” Dakson Torellion said, his blue eyes cold and his voice as hard as cuendillar. “If Katrie gets hurt, I will break your neck, Asha’man.” The cold formality after the bond they had shared told Jaryd all he needed to know about the man’s state of mind. He seemed to have recovered from his Healing well enough, but he had not changed from his torn and burned clothing, and weariness showed at the corners of his eyes.

Jaryd returned the Tairen’s gaze with a face still devoid of expression, eyes twin black pools in a swarthy ageless face. There were many ways to approach this issue, but his own pain, hidden behind years of training and solitude, and sheer exhaustion spurred his tongue foolishly onward. “If I recall correctly, you are the one who forced her through that Gateway, Gaidin,” he said in a cold tone, pushing the man’s arm aside dismissively. “You knew what her options were as well as I.” Return to the Tower, or endure death or life on a leash. Return to the Tower, or allow the man she loved to die. Some choice, he thought bitterly. “Are you so certain I am the one whose neck should be broken?” His voice broke on the last word, betraying his inner turmoil.

Dax flinched, a spasm of pain and guilt crossing his face as his hand fell to his side. Scarred knuckles faded to white as the Tairen’s fists tensed and Jaryd braced himself for a blow he knew he more than deserved. Abruptly blue eyes flicked past the Keeper to the hall that led to Mirin’s office. As the smaller man watched, the color drained from the warrior’s face and he tensed, taking a half step forward. Realization dawned, and Jaryd put his hand on the man’s arm. “It is not advisable for you to interfere, Dax,” he said.

The Gaidin jerked himself away with a curse, glaring at him. “Why should I listen to a flaming word you say, Jaryd?” He demanded. His words were oddly spaced and his eyes had gone flat, as if he struggled with an unseen foe. As well he does, Jaryd thought sadly. What he did not know for sure he could not be forced to reveal, but he did not need direct confirmation to know the two had bonded again after the ordeal they had just been through. Creator help us all, what a mess.

“Katrie is already facing a harsh penance for running away,” the Altaran leaned forward in his urgency, his voice low and fast as he peered into the Gaidin’s face. “Do you think going after her now will do anything other than make that sentence worse?” Light, I would change what I have done if I could! His mind felt slow from lack of sleep, raw from channeling too much, cold and distant from the death he had dealt that day.

Silence interrupted only by the sound of the man’s teeth grinding together reigned between them for several long breaths. Abruptly the Gaidin’s shoulders slumped as his hands rose to cover his face. “I cannot bear this again,” he whispered, as if no longer aware he had company, then whirled and walked away across the wide expanse of grass to the west. Jaryd watched him go, his mind fixed on the Void. I am stone. I am iron. Burn me, I’m one of them. When had he lost himself? Such thoughts accomplish nothing. Jaryd shook himself, and forced himself to start walking again, his sluggish thoughts shifting to another matter entirely.

Kaia’s reaction to his return had been clear, and yet he had seen nothing in his trip from the Channeling Yard to Mirin’s office to explain the warning she had tried to impart. There had been no danger for her in that crash of emotion….only for him. The list of possible reasons Kaia would want him to stay away carried him all the way to the Tower and through the Brown Ajah’s courtyard.

As he passed through the archway into the central welcome chamber of the Grey Tower, the fear in his head abruptly spiked, and Jaryd’s stride faltered. Go away, that feeling said. Jaryd, go! Though he could tell many levels of stairs separated them, he could nearly hear her speak the words in his mind. There were few things he could think of that might provoke that level of fear, and the threat of gentling ranked high on the list. Amadie- He cut the thought off as cold fingers of dread crept up his spine. Abruptly the Red turned on his heel to walk back the way he had come. He could not risk that fate. Not yet.

Before he had made it two spans, two figures converged before him to block his path. Hanere Tomalle had her indigo-fringed shawl looped over her elbows, and Vandin Laine wore pure black, a white cord tied about his upper arm. “Jaryd Kosari,” they intoned together. “You are summoned before the Hall of Sitters.”

Mother’s milk in a cup!

Jaryd closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then bowed. His fate lay at the mercy of the patterns of time, now.

[Sunny]

Jaryd Kosari

Jaryd stared blankly at a tall gilded mirror in a chamber at the top of the Tower, his hands pressed knuckles first against the sideboard that ran beneath it. He could have gone the rest of his life without the honor of seeing his reflection in that particular stretch of glass again, but the Pattern seemed to have other ideas. He knew it intimately, had stared into it every day for five years as he and Carra struggled to make sense of a world gone mad, to piece together the fragments left by older leaders who had abandoned the Tower to its fate in their own need for peace and solitude.

The day before he had walked into the Hall expecting to be gentled, and walked out a day later as the M’hael. Again. How in the Light can this be?

What had possessed them?

Kaia had stood for him in her capacity as Red Ajah representative, her green eyes distant but their bond boiling with feelings he could not understand. Leala had followed, pale face solemn, and then, to his shock, Sharine of the Blue, an Aes Sedai he thought disliked him. He felt numb, thinking of their serene gazes as the ceremony continued. He had washed feet as if in a dream, begged the Hall’s permission to serve as their M’hael, waited patiently as they decided whether to stand. In the end, the greater consensus had been reached, and he had felt both relief and horror. Relief, that he would not be exiled. Horror, that he would be chained to a duty he already knew he despised.

The Creator certainly has a cruel sense of humor.

The wiry man turned away from the mirror and strode across the room. Tower Law required he leave his Ajah behind so long as he wore the ring that graced his right hand, and tradition stated he wear the black uniform of an Asha’man to the celebration. A manservant waited outside the door to help him dress in observance of those requirements. Jaryd ignored it all, pulling burgundy breeches, pale linen shirt, wide black sash, and red brocade vest from the depths of the wardrobe. He dressed with bemused speed, his thoughts far away. When he walked out of his chambers, he was still adjusting how Watari sat against his hip beneath that sash.

The servant leapt to his feet, consternation plain on his pale face. Jaryd flipped his fingers at him irritably. “I did not spontaneously forget how to dress simply because I was chosen as the bloody M’hael,” he said flatly. “Go. Enjoy the festival. If you are treated poorly for the clothing I am wearing, tell that person to come to me with their remonstrations.” The young man blanched, bowed, then practically scurried out of the room.

That task accomplished, Jaryd walked through the study that would be his for the foreseeable future and into the antechamber that he had shared with Kaia for such a brief period of time. He knew she was far below him -probably caught up in some trivial ceremonial nonsense, judging by the edge of frustration that touched his thoughts- and yet he missed her presence as he glanced around the chamber.

Jaryd walked to his old desk and touched the dark wood with long fingers. Light, how he had hated being Keeper. The endless paperwork, the constant pandering from petitioners, and the ins and outs of the Great Game had all driven him mad. Yet, despite it all, he had done the work well. He had sworn to serve the Tower; it was not his to decide where the Hall needed that service. Had they asked him to do something truly wrong he would have objected, but….

Stop delaying the inevitable, he chided himself. Thinking about being Keeper was far easier than thinking about being M’hael again, even if the same logic applied, and anything at all was better than thinking about the shadows and whispers of utter exhaustion that preyed on his mind. How long had it been since he slept- two days? Three?

With a strangled noise, the M’hael left the room and began the long walk to the green where the celebration and feast had already begun in his absence.

[Sunny]

Jaryd Kosari

The revelry had long since faded, and the night had grown dark and chill. Jaryd sat silently at the table, tilting a stemmed glass half-filled with red wine in a lazy circle, his dark eyes staring blankly into the air before him. How long had it been since he slept? It felt like an Age or more since he had gone to Deachal Green with Murdock, and he had not seen his bed since the night before that. He knew Kaia would appear soon, would insist he get rest. The Altaran’s mind did not want to rest, however. His mind ran like a rat in a cage, like the wine in his cup, like the Wheel of Time itself, around and around in dizzying circles beyond the outer limits of the Void.

Katrie’s dark eyes filled his thoughts, accusing and bereft, and so peculiarly familiar even after years of knowing her. Seanchan women in gray appeared soon after, silver gleaming at their throats as fire blossomed above their hands. Both were consumed by a red-haired woman with ice-blue eyes, staring at him in imperious silence. She wore the eight-striped stole of the Amyrlin Seat about her shoulders. Fire. Ash. Smoke. Blood. Death. Sights, smells, and sounds filled his mind, and he tumbled in the chaos of memory. A Domani woman sat at a table and stirred her tea. “I will look for the Accepted,” Amadie murmured in his mind. “I cannot knowingly abandon her to danger.”

Wine sloshed over the rim of the glass, running down to coat his hand in dark liquid. He stared at the dark stain mutely, his mind trying to piece together what had happened. Where had Amadie gone? He glanced around, agitated, then back to the glass. A large hand appeared suddenly, silently proffering a towel. Jaryd placed the glass on the table with infinite care, then took the towel and wiped his hand.

He had left that part of his life behind, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he?

Looking up he realized that although Amadie did not sit across from him as he had thought, he was not entirely alone. Zarius Iiro lounged in a chair with his legs crossed and stretched to their full length, his hands clasped over his waist. M’hael gave soldier a baleful look, and Zeen simply arched an eyebrow, his eyes shifting to the spilled wine, then back to the smaller man’s face without saying a word. Neither judgment nor sympathy showed on the Amadician’s face, only something like understanding.

Jaryd abruptly found himself oddly grateful for the man’s company, though he could not have spoken if his life depended on it. He smiled slightly instead, a bitter twist of his lips that contained no humor, and sat back in his chair, his legs swinging up so he could prop his heels on the table, his hands crossing behind his head as he stared up at the sky. How could someone who had made as many mistakes as he had possibly lead the Tower? Light, there had been Seanchan. In Andor!

The silence stretched, and endless time passed, Jaryd once again falling victim to his thoughts. They seemed disjointed now, at odds with one another. His memories made no sense, and began to distort in his mind’s eye. He knew that what he saw could not be so, and yet he could not remember what had actually happened. The world shivered, swooped, and dove at the edges of his vision, and he closed his eyes for a count of three.

When he opened them again, a woman in a blue Domani dress stood before the table, her black hair caught back with a fine net of gold, jewels winking in the candle light. “You aren’t telling me everything,” Amadie told him, one graceful finger touching her lips.

The sensation of falling overcame him, though he remained still. Or did he? Something hit his head, and light flashed. Amadie gave him another admonishing look, rippled, and vanished. What-

Shadows wrapped around him; through their murky depths he thought he could hear Kaia and Zeen talking. Something soft touched his face, and as true sleep overcame him, a single thought surfaced: They have all gone mad.