Moments rolled by at a slow crawl as the appointed hour drew closer. Impatience remained a character defect in Valadin though this shortcoming had been somewhat tempered since being Bonded to his Aes Sedai. Watching Hama Valon in the thick of day while working his jaws on a tough fare of barley bread with a slice of cheese, the Green Asha’man assuaged his restlessness by absorbing himself in the events of his surroundings.
The city at the foot of the Grey Tower had become a thriving cosmopolitan center for business, art, and politics. Many were drawn to the neutral location not far removed from the Mountains of the Mist and Lake Somal. Some sought fortune of a personal variety while most were content with finding comfort in the knowledge that a haven from the world’s troubles existed.
The lies we tell ourselves to keep hope alive.
Midday had not quite come yet, but the scents of spice and cooked meat was already heavily permeated in the city square, the odor surpassed only by the overpowering cloud composed of sweat and the cloying perfume sold by vendors.
Warren, a local tradesman whose repute had grown largely due the frequent undertakings of the perilous journey from Hama Valon to Baerlon and back several times in a season. Valadin found himself distracted by the deep blue stone set into a necklace of gold that the merchant was lavishing with words of praise.
The sight of the trinket deepened an irritation in Valadin that appeared whenever his thoughts strayed near a sore subject. Predicting when his thoughts would turn to such irksome matters was impossible and left him in gloomy spirits if too much time was spent on it. Once he’d sought Nykkolaia’s counsel to deal with…one of the many troubles that plagued him and the woman’s sound advice had been to only concern himself with those things which he could control. To great effect his mood improved even while not around the Blue Sister—it helped that there had been a decline in the number of bloody assignments handed down to him by the M’hael. It meant that seeing the woman he loved became a more manageable task.
Today was supposed to be another of their meetings. No intentions, no designs or pressure; just a man and a woman seeking the peace found in the comfort of each other’s arms. The Bond warned of Nykk’s imminent arrival, but there were still a few moments left to brood in silence.
Warren gesticulated theatrically as a young woman with a single long braid tracing down her back stared longingly at the trinket being waved about. At best it was worth a single silver mark, but Valadin had learned quickly in his prolonged period of inactivity that professionals rarely provided their services at reasonable cost. Any unfortunate pawn was likely to pay three or four times as much for what Warren had gotten for a minor amount.
Swallowing the last mouthful of his meal, Valadin rose from the barrel where he’d been observing. The beggar who’d shared refuge from the heat silently with him glanced expectantly at the movement. “For your company,” Val murmured while pressing a silver mark into the outstretched palm.
Not waiting for the gratitude that was sure to come, he followed where the gentle persuasion of the Bond led him. When she came into view, the heavy emotions of earlier lifted like a morning mist in the wake of the first rays of sunlight and Valadin strode towards the flaxen haired Sister with a boyish smile stretched wide upon his lips.
“I was getting impatient,” he rumbled, eyes alight with mirth. Keeping his hands at his back was difficult—it always was when she was near. “I even had a mind to risk another ale-fueled visit to the Blue Ajah quarters.” Of course he wouldn’t. Not after last time, but there was little that would not be done for the ageless woman before him.
The city at the foot of the Grey Tower had become a thriving cosmopolitan center for business, art, and politics. Many were drawn to the neutral location not far removed from the Mountains of the Mist and Lake Somal. Some sought fortune of a personal variety while most were content with finding comfort in the knowledge that a haven from the world’s troubles existed.
The lies we tell ourselves to keep hope alive.
Midday had not quite come yet, but the scents of spice and cooked meat was already heavily permeated in the city square, the odor surpassed only by the overpowering cloud composed of sweat and the cloying perfume sold by vendors.
Warren, a local tradesman whose repute had grown largely due the frequent undertakings of the perilous journey from Hama Valon to Baerlon and back several times in a season. Valadin found himself distracted by the deep blue stone set into a necklace of gold that the merchant was lavishing with words of praise.
The sight of the trinket deepened an irritation in Valadin that appeared whenever his thoughts strayed near a sore subject. Predicting when his thoughts would turn to such irksome matters was impossible and left him in gloomy spirits if too much time was spent on it. Once he’d sought Nykkolaia’s counsel to deal with…one of the many troubles that plagued him and the woman’s sound advice had been to only concern himself with those things which he could control. To great effect his mood improved even while not around the Blue Sister—it helped that there had been a decline in the number of bloody assignments handed down to him by the M’hael. It meant that seeing the woman he loved became a more manageable task.
Today was supposed to be another of their meetings. No intentions, no designs or pressure; just a man and a woman seeking the peace found in the comfort of each other’s arms. The Bond warned of Nykk’s imminent arrival, but there were still a few moments left to brood in silence.
Warren gesticulated theatrically as a young woman with a single long braid tracing down her back stared longingly at the trinket being waved about. At best it was worth a single silver mark, but Valadin had learned quickly in his prolonged period of inactivity that professionals rarely provided their services at reasonable cost. Any unfortunate pawn was likely to pay three or four times as much for what Warren had gotten for a minor amount.
Swallowing the last mouthful of his meal, Valadin rose from the barrel where he’d been observing. The beggar who’d shared refuge from the heat silently with him glanced expectantly at the movement. “For your company,” Val murmured while pressing a silver mark into the outstretched palm.
Not waiting for the gratitude that was sure to come, he followed where the gentle persuasion of the Bond led him. When she came into view, the heavy emotions of earlier lifted like a morning mist in the wake of the first rays of sunlight and Valadin strode towards the flaxen haired Sister with a boyish smile stretched wide upon his lips.
“I was getting impatient,” he rumbled, eyes alight with mirth. Keeping his hands at his back was difficult—it always was when she was near. “I even had a mind to risk another ale-fueled visit to the Blue Ajah quarters.” Of course he wouldn’t. Not after last time, but there was little that would not be done for the ageless woman before him.
