Ellie the Good Damane [ATTN: Jenny]

[Jon]

Ellian

Ellie stood in the woman’s office. She had tried to lower herself to the floor like the good damane that she was, but she had been told not to do so. Her body quivered from the sheer anxiety at not being in her proper place on the ground. Then, she remembered her bare neck, and she quivered even more. Her hands reached up to her neck, feeling bare skin, and she whimpered. Tears streamed down her face as she remembered that she was uncollared. In the battle when her collar was removed, her sul’dam had been killed. Ellie had felt her die in the link they’d shared through the a’dam. She missed the loving caresses of Amarna, the sul’dam who had collared her and taught Ellie her proper place in society. She had been marath’damane, and she needed to be collared for the good of the Empire and the Empress, may she live forever. Crying silently, Ellie kept her eyes low. She didn’t want to look at the woman who sat before her. Being taken to this place of marath’damane and Asha’man shook Ellie. She could hardly bear to see so many women walk around freely. And the men who had brought her here, the men who could channel—they frightened her to her core. A small part of Ellie remembered being Ellian the Windfinder, a woman who could channel and do so without the need of an a’dam. However, that part of her had been buried deeply underneath Ellie, the woman she’d become—the woman she was always supposed to be. The mint taste in her mouth lingered after the tea they had been feeding her ever since her capture. She had tried to channel her way free so that she could free the sul’dam that had been captured with her. They would collar her as she should be. However, the tea they had her drink kept her unable to channel except for the thinnest of threads. Ellie had overheard people talking about having her join the other marath’damane in their studies. They had taken away her grey dress and given her a white one in its place. The meeting with the marath’damane called the Mistress of Novices was the last step in being put in classes with other marath’damane. Ellie kept her eyes lowered as she stood. Tears continued to rain down her face. Every so often, she touched her bare neck and shuddered. What had she done to deserve this? Hadn’t Ellie been a good damane? She couldn’t and wouldn’t let these women tell her differently.

[Jenny]

A damane. The thought of the word left a bitter taste in Mirin's mouth. A Leashed One, a slave of the Seanchan Empire. They were chained and controlled to be used like animals. It was a filthy, horrible thing to do to a human being.

The young woman standing in front of her was not any shorter than Mirin, but her bowed head and hunched posture made her seem somehow smaller. Her eyes were lowered to the floor, dripping with tears. And her body trembled with emotion. Her dark-olive skin had been tattooed long ago with symbols of the Sea Folk. She may have been beautiful once, but it was hard to look past the fear and distress that distorted her features.

Mirin walked around her desk to stand by the woman. Experience told her that simple, direct commands would be better than requests. She took her hand and guided her to a blue-cushioned chair.

"Sit, child," she said, gently. "Tell me about yourself. What is your name?"

The Aes Sedai sat down in the other chair. She crossed her legs elegantly under the dark grey silks of her dress and waited for the tears to stop.

[Jon]

Ellian

Ellie flinched as the marath’damane left her table and came to stand beside her. The touch of this woman on her hands set shivers down Ellie’s spine. The sul’dam would punish her if they found out that she’d let this woman touch her. She was certain they would. But she had no choice. Letting herself be led, Ellie followed the order and sat in the available chair. She kept her eyes lowered as the marath’damane sat down in the other chair. The question was one that had been asked a few times, but this time a new reaction came from her. Deep within her mind, a voice answered: I am Ellian din Során Wild Wave, Windfinder on a raker of Clan Dacan. The voice was defiant in the face of this Aes Sedai, a defiance bred from fear. Ellian knew that Aes Sedai had learned the secret of Windfinders from her people, but she did not welcome the typical, Aes Sedai thought that any woman who could channel should be bound to the Tower. Of course, she was at the Grey Tower, not the White, so perhaps that feeling was not held here. Still, afraid of being subjugated again, Ellian wanted nothing but to stand against this woman’s authority. Ellie the damane, however, was not the woman in her head. She was a different person, unaware of the other part of her that lived within. “Ellie is a good damane,” came her only reply to the question. “Ellie did nothing to deserve her collar be removed.” The tears came more freely. “Ellie must be collared. Ellie is dangerous.” A sob came and she croaked it out before crying more earnestly. “Please, collar Ellie. Please.” The damane knew she needed her collar, knew that she was a danger to those around her when she was uncollared. A stray thought, from some recess of her mind, wondered if the woman sitting before her was a danger. The marath’damane—the Aes Sedai—was uncollared and yet she did not appear dangerous. Ellie sobbed ever harder at the seditious thought. Ellian struggled against the divide that kept her out of control of her body. The woman Ellie—the piece of her the Seanchan had created—was in control, and all she could do was try and wrestle control back from her. Aes Sedai were said to read people well. Hopefully, this one would see the woman behind the outer shell, but Ellie had become proficient at keeping Ellian out of her face and minds. The sul’dam would punish her severely if they thought she was being difficult. Ellian felt everything Ellie did, so she’d kept quite. Now, however, was her chance.

[Jenny]

Mirin's lips thinned with displeasure. Light, why had they sent the woman to her in such a condition? Aria Sedai had kept one of the other damane, Seonin, in the infirmary for almost a year, who had spent that year healing from her psychological trauma and learning how to function as a free, independent woman. As she watched this woman sob even harder than ever, Mirin considered sending the girl to the infirmary.

Unfortunately, Aria was dead. Perhaps there was no one else in the Yellow Ajah who felt capable of Healing this type of trauma. Mirin resisted the urge to bury her face in her hands and instead handed the woman a large, white handkerchief.

"Ellie, here. Wipe those tears, child. The forkroot tea - the tea that you've been drinking - limits your channeling. You are not dangerous. Not here, not now, and certainly not to me. Listen, Ellie, be a good girl and answer my questions. Tell me how you became a damane. And tell me who you were before the Seanchan took you."