A Search for Tranquility (ATTN: Sean)

[Quibby]

There was a waterfall.

Mehrin had been many places in his sixty years. He had seen the Aryth Ocean, had gotten lost in the Fingers of the Dragon. He had fought Aiel from the Spine of the World all the way to the Shining Walls. He had seen forests and plains and mountains. He had felt the peace of Ogier stedding. Everything south of the Borderlands had been his, and he had seen almost everything that they had to offer.

He had never seen a waterfall.

It had been the sound that drew him to it, a rumble that he had heard people speak about. Soon, Mehrin had found himself following the circuitous paths deeper into the Gardens of Hama Valon until he had found its source. He had not been disappointed by what he found. It had taken him nearly ten minutes to realize that he was staring; it had taken even longer to realize that the Deathwatch was staring, too.

Since he had found it, Mehrin began spending whatever time he did not dedicate to rediscovering his skills or preparing classes sitting on a bench and simply watching the cascade. For once, though, he had chosen not to simply leave everything behind. Instead, he had brought with him a manual on swords and sword craft, which he glanced through occasionally when he was not distracted by the view. You need to focus. You made the bargain when you came here; they want results.

They'll have them.

Yes, but when? It's "not like" you have never taught a class like this before.

Rubbing his hand over his eyes, Mehrin tried to still the voice in his head. Ever since Renalie had died, the Deathwatch had been growing... restless. After twenty years of silence, the lessons taught to him by Anara Sedai were distant memories, hard to grasp when he needed them most. This tendency for the Deathwatch's remarks to be vocalized was one that was nearly thirty years buried. Fortunately, it seemed to realize that detection was against its best interests, as well, and it limited its outbursts to times when they were alone together. Less thinking. More reading. With a quiet growl, Mehrin threw the entire weight of his mind at the Deathwatch, driving it back with a grim chuckle. He waited a moment, daring the darkness to press upwards again, then returned his attention to the waterfall, his notes almost forgotten.

It really was quite beautiful.

OOC: Mehrin is dressed casually: black pants, a white shirt, boots. Couldn't find a way to get that into the post. At this point, he has had no real dealings with any of the male channelers, so play that as you will.

[Sean]

Whenever things grew too complicated the Gardens served as a place of refuge. The Four Kings meadowlands had provided scant varieties of plantlife usually displaying only what nature allowed to survive. It was still beautiful, the Tower's Garden had been maintained for years by caretakers and Val suspected by the One Power as well. Colors he hadn't thought possible were discovered with each visit.

Today Val had come seeking a peaceful place to think. As his studies progressed, the time was fast approaching to choose the Ajah he would serve with. Aes Sedai and Asha'man who had never taken an interest in him before now sought his company daily. Most would disassemble meaninglessly with philosophical questions that were designed to glean insight to his thoughts in one way or another, but there were some who spoke plainly. These tried to bribe him with the benefits Ajah members enjoyed. His Raising had only been a year past and already talks of another elevation were being passed about.

In all his time at the Tower, he'd never learned its politics; he intended to keep things that way.

Passing the maze-like walls of flora that twisted the paths confusingly, Val found that there was no pleasure to be had today at the sight of flowers alone. Too much was on his mind...too many things were being thrust at him. With a sigh his journey took him to one his favorite viewing spots.

It was a bench that gave a fine view of the waterfall that fed many of Lake Somal's tributaries. Even before climbing the steps that led to Garden's overlooking ridge the dull roar he'd come to be famaliar with welcomed him. Suddenly his problems seemed small once again.

At first he hadn't been certain if approaching the stranger was wise. The man wore comfortable fitting black garments and looked like the sort to value their privacy. It didn't help that Val's tunic was ratty and the color washed out. His leggings fared little better, off-color patches denoting his attempts at servicing the ruined bits. Only his boots which were replacements from the original pair he'd been given a few years back as a Soldier had spared the damage of overuse.

Considering these things he'd nearly turned around, but a desperate stubbornness moved him forward. As he came upon the man, Val noticed the awe on his face. It was a look he had not long ago. In his opinion it did wonders to smooth away the menacing lines of old age,

“It's a beauty ain't it, sir..." he greeted though choosing not to sit.

[Quibby]

Mehrin started at the voice behind him, then silently cursed himself for doing so. Once upon a time, he would not have been taken unawares like this. We're getting old, the quiet voice in his mind whispered. Too long away from everything. We need to shape up again. He shook his head quickly, trying to dispel the sudden resurgence of the Deathwatch as he looked over his shoulder at the newcomer. He was what would probably be considered a man of decent looks- a concept which was still baffling to Mehrin, regardless of gender- though his tattered appearance seemed at odds with the typical facade of the Tower. Mehrin had received enough of a stipend to purchase an entirely new wardrobe when he arrived. It had been sturdy, unassuming fare, to be sure, but it was clothing. The boots were a gift from the Tower, and he was still breaking them in. This man, however, was dressed raggedly, his clothing faded and worn, and his breeches patched heavily. Seeing somebody in the Gardens in such clothes seemed odd to him.

You're still new. Are you sure the Gardens aren't open to everybody in Hama Valon?

Why wouldn't I think that? The grove in Tar Valon was difficult to reach if you were not involved with the Tower.

This isn't the Tower.

Obviously not. We're not dead.

We're staring. Talk, fool.

The admonition from the Deathwatch was enough to shake Mehrin out of the brief stupor that sometimes overcame him with his mental conversations. "It really is," he replied, setting aside the book that had remained unread on his lap. "I like to come here. Even if there are others here, the waterfall covers their voices; I still feel alone with my thoughts." Is that a good thing?

Shut up.

Standing even as he spoke, Mehrin offered his hand to the other man. "Mehrin Mahrvon. I'm new to Hama Valon. I don't recall seeing you in the Yard before; have you just arrived?"

OOC: Something else that just occurred to me. Given that Mehrin hasn't encountered a male channeler before now, this should probably occur before the Blight RP. I'll wait to reply to that until you offer your thoughts on the subject.

[Sean]

“It is the lessons we learn that change us from boys to men…”

Val endured the man’s scrutinizing looks indifferently. It was the abrupt trance that followed that made him wary as he approached.

“Valadin Manelle,” he replied taking the offered hand in good faith. At the Tower, whatever a man’s troubles, it wasn’t the business of others to pry. “I’m one of the Dedicated. Been so fer about somethin’ short of a year now.”

It wasn’t often that Val encountered someone who was of eye level with him. Staring into those rust-colored eyes brought questions of where this Mehrin hailed from. He sounded like anyone from the Four Kings village…a little proper to be fair, but he might’ve been from Caemlyn for all Valadin could tell. Remembering home dredged up an unsettling mixture of nostalgia, dread, and relief. Life in the hamlets of Andor had been simple, unexciting, of little variety—and Val still missed it despite the precious things he’d found in Hama Valon.

Home is here as much as it was the Four Kings. You spent a fine time in Murandy an’ ya don’t call Master ‘daddy’; move on. Serve yer duty, love Nykk…let the Pattern sort everything else out, the inner voice coached him. As always it was harsh and insensitive. Master hadn’t entered his thoughts in a long time. Recalling the depraved slaver who had crafted him into the man he was more than any other person in his life left a bitter taste on his tongue.

Returning his thoughts to Mehrin, Val raised a questioning brow before nodding towards the book resting upon the bench.

“Mostly Sisters take to readin’ round here. Unless yer some sort o’ scribe,” he said, the inquiry concealed in his tone. “Ain’t a problem ser, it’s just an odd sight among men o’ the sword.” How Val had gotten that impression, he wasn’t sure.

Perhaps it was the familiar calluses he’d noticed on the man’s hands. His own hands housed the very same.

Looking beyond the Garden, his eyes cast out towards the rumbling falls. Great volumes of water cascading over the rocky edge stirred a craving in him that he couldn’t explain. Maybe it was the sight of such majestic power—the same kind that avaricious men impotently sought after, yet could never match that quickened his heart. Men weildin’ the One Power could match that couldn’t they? Val thought recalling his studies of Guaire Amalasan and the Battle of the Shining Walls. In this age alone it was said that two other men aside from the Dragon Reborn would’ve earned infamy as harbingers of great Power.

The thought was troubling, but for now the peacefulness surrounding the two men was enough to ward away the problems of tomorrow.

[Quibby]

Mehrin smiled slightly, the scar on his face pulling his lip slightly askew, and replied, "Not much of a scholar, really. I was asked to come up with some classes for the Yard, the first of which is a basic sword class. Considering my experience with the weapon is limited to only one type, it seemed like a good idea to learn-" Dedicated! He said 'Dedicated'! Channeler! Male channeler! Oh, Light... "-a bit more about the rest."

The Deathwatch was gibbering, making it hard to think straight. Mehrin didn't blame him. After he had arrived, he had heard something about the madness-causing taint being removed from saidin, but three thousand years of madness and death were hard things to overturn in a single day. He had heard tales as a child of men going mad and destroying everything around them. As a Warder, he and Anara Sedai had gone with a small group of Reds to capture one man. What he had done to the village... Even the Deathwatch had been mildly put-off.

Gibbering had turned to paranoia, and it was bleeding over into Mehrin's mind, as well. He started to say something, then stopped. What to say? "So, when are you going to go crazy and kill everybody?" Does that sound like a good enough lead-in?

Why are you never helpful?

What the hell do you mean? How many times-

Shut up!

Mehrin shook his head violently. So much for having control. "Sorry," he muttered, his head bowed. "I..." Mehrin took a deep breath, then started speaking again. "I didn't realize you were a male channeler. I haven't met one before, and... Well..." It took a conscious effort not to take a step away from the Dedicated. "I was with the White Tower for a long time, and we are... trained to have a certain aversion to your type." 'Your type.' You're trying to make friends, I see. Rubbing his eyes in frustration, he added, "I'm really not making this better, am I?"

[Sean]

“Give men the right lie and they’ll believe it.”

Val felt nothing at Mehrin’s contempt. It wasn’t long ago that he loathed himself for being what he was. When did I come to accept bein’ a madman? Did I ever really? The question produced chills on his spine, the reason for which he didn’t want to investigate at the moment. Instead he focused on affecting a cavalier tolerance at the assumed slight.

“T’ain’t no trouble t’all, ser,” he replied while moving past the man to the ridge overlooking the valley. “Grew up on a little spit o’ land called the Four Kings. Didn’t see much o’ the world as a boy. Since then I been to Murandy an’ back, met Gaidins an’ Aes Sedai an’ Asha’man o’ all sorts. Not to mention several things in between. I figure not everyone’s gonna be right with the way things are.”

For a time he didn’t say anything. An eastward breeze blew over them trying to take with it the moment’s tension. The scent of the falls and the valley below rode on its wind bringing a morsel of peace to Val’s soul which had been adrift in a sea of confusion. As always just when he was about to become too comfortable, Saidin’s presence glowed in his mind’s eye reminding him of what he’d been so afraid of in the first place. Gritting his teeth he fought down a laugh that might’ve been birthed out of madness or misery—neither would foster good relations with Mehrin, of that he was certain.

Taking a deep breath Val turned to examine the man. On the surface there were signs of many trials, the fellow’s face was marked with scars that told the story of a man whose past was steeped in fire and fury. The warrior in Val demanded contest; it would know who the better man was between them. This impluse Valadin managed to quell though with great difficulty. It was still disconcerting. The Rage and the Void were so contradictory with one another, yet in him they…Say somethin’!

Realizing he’d been silent for longer than was polite, Val offered a smile he hoped didn’t appear too forced.

“Never mind ‘bout insults an’ the like. Been channelin’ fer more than three namin’ days now an’ I ain’t killed anybody outta hand yet.”

Flashes of an incident came to him then. A prank between Soldiers. A brother’s life lost and the lie told to cover the tragedy. How long ago had it been? “Tell me a bit about yerself, ser? What brings ya to the Tower? Lookin’ to be one o’ the Warders? Certainly got the look down lemme tell ya. Feel right sorry fer the ox-brain that tries it with you.”

He’d meant to laugh after the statement, but found his tongue devoid of mirth. The weight of his thoughts and memories, dredged up by this man’s obvious wariness of him proving difficult to shake off with a few words. With so many channelers in Hama Valon and people who owed their lives to channelers—some of them males— it was odd to find one of the few whose opinion of Asha’man was still one of fear.

All he could manage was a tight-lipped baring of teeth as he clasped his hands behind his back for fear of fidgeting nervously; it was a habit he hated in himself and other people.

Light, Val thought I’d do anything fer the feel of a sword in me hand. Life is always so much easier when viewed over the edge o’ blade.

[Quibby]

Mehrin forced a smile for the sake of conversation. He had never been good at reading social situations, but even he could tell that there had been a change between the two of them, and he knew that it was his fault. The man had done nothing to deserve the treatment that he had given him. He had not chosen to be born with the ability to channel. Logically, there was no reason for Mehrin to be scared of him.

Logic doesn't have anything to do with it, does it? You've seen what these people can do, what they have done! Tell me you're not going to stay here and try to make nice with the madman!

Why not? He's trying to do the same with us, isn't he? The Deathwatch went silent.

"Right," Mehrin said, trying to save the conversation. "I'm here for answers, really. I'm from a village near the eastern border of Andor. Lived there for twenty years before some bastard took it into his head to destroy it and everybody in it." Renalie... "I'm here to find out why." Shrugging, Mehrin turned his gaze back to the waterfall. "I'm working with the Warders, yes. I can help teach, and I can help fight. That is the price for the information I need. As for the rest, well..."

Mehrin held up his hands and examined the calluses there. "Most of these now are from swinging a hammer. Until a few months ago, I hadn't touched a sword in twenty years. You could probably beat me black and blue as long as I didn't manage to get a solid strike in." How would you know? You haven't been allowed to spar with anybody in the Yard yet.

You and I both know why. Somebody would end up seriously hurt.

Forcing his gaze away from the waterfall, Mehrin looked back at Valadin's face. Funny. He did not look like a man doomed to madness and death. Maybe there was some truth to what they said about cleansing saidin. There would have to be some changes in Mehrin's life, apparently.

It probably wouldn't happen; he was too old to change everything he knew about the world. He could try, though.

"Tell me," he started, "how does it feel? I was a Warder once, a long time ago, so I heard my Aes Sedai talk about how it felt to her, but you are the first male channeler who could tell me anything about it. How does it feel to use the One Power, to drink in the taint?"

[Sean]

OOC: Wow, mate. For some reason I thought I’d already posted here. Won’t happen again. My apologies.

“Know your enemy. Know yourself. Only then may you achieve victory.”

The question had taken Val unawares.

It was rare for anyone to ask what it felt like to wield the One Power when most at the Grey Tower knew what it was like or had seen the usefulness of it. Studying Mehrin a moment before answering Val wondered what sort of life a former Warder could’ve led. Noting the roughly hewn strength lurking beneath the fine cloth, it seemed unlikely that such a man would be content with swinging a hammer for the rest of his days.

“I…” Val began, but words again failed him. How did one describe seizing Saidin?

Frowning in concentration he turned to the falls and cocked his head to the side thoughtfully. “Reckon it’s like standin’ o’er the edge of them falls over there. Power surging all around you and with a thought ya could make it go in any direction ya want, but at the same time it could sweep ya over the edge—Light…ya half want it to.”

Beads of sweat snaked down his neck and this time he couldn’t blame the heat. The ledge’s cliff was a few paces away now, Val had been walking towards it as he spoke. Licking dried lips he continued—felt compelled to do so, like the telling of a secret that had burdened the heart for too long. Someone else hearing it could ease that weight.

“Imagine staring into an abyss and knowin’ that fer even the blink of an eye ya could soar above clouds an’ move mountains; ent sayin’ it’s a fever dream. Jus…well fer me it ain’t much different from when I’m holdin’ a blade. Ya feel alive. Everythin’ else til then had been imitation an’ only when life is bein’ lived on the razor edge of a sword do ya feel like yer breathin’ fer the first time.”

By the end his fingers were clenched in a tight fist and his heart beat so hard against his chest it nearly drowned out the noise of the waterfalls in the distance. Clearing his throat, Val turned and offered a weak smile to hide the excitement churning beneath the skin. Hopefully a few rounds of sparring in the Yards would shake him loose of the jitters. Thinking back on the original question made it clear that an important matter had been missed in his explanation. “I hear that the Dragon Reborn had cleansed the taint from Saidin. Least that’s what we learn about as Soldiers. I’ve never known what it was like when the One Power was corrupted by the Shadow’s touch. Ent seen anybody who’s been driven mad either.”

[Quibby]

Mehrin listened as the young man explained saidin to him. The constant fighting, the battle for control, it all sounded... Familiar? It took a conscious effort by Mehrin to avoid shaking his head in response. It sounded so much like his struggle every day, and yet...

"That is... interesting," he finally said after what felt like an eternity of silence. The younger man had moved closer to the cliff as he had been speaking, as if drawn there. It was a puzzle to Mehrin; why go so close to the edge when you already lived there? The Dedicated obviously lived a life on the brink of oblivion. If what he said was true, then even a moment of distraction would mean being swept over that edge.

Mehrin thought he had an idea of what that would mean.

After a few more moments of silence, Mehrin repeated, "That is interesting." Setting his book aside, he stood and joined Valadin on the edge. His eyes fell on the churning water beneath the falls. "I asked my Aes Sedai the same question once. She described it as a surrender, a willingness to flow with the Power. In that surrender, she would direct the flows of saidar as she needed. She never forced it; she only showed it the way." He shrugged, still not looking at the Dedicated. "She was never very good at describing things that didn't have anything to do with Healing. Still..."

Mehrin's eyes followed the cascade of water up from the pool and to the point where it fell. There was an example to be found there, some way to connect what he was seeing to the conversation, but it escaped him. Things like that had never been an area of strength for him; he was firmly grounded in what was in front of him. "Still... Sometimes I wish that things would be as simple as surrendering." Mehrin's gaze drifted from the waterfall back to Valadin, ignoring the derisive laughter of the Deathwatch in the back of his mind. The man, the channeler, that he was looking at was slowly taking on a different meaning. It gave significance to the title of 'soldier'. His every action with the Power was a fight.

Remember what happens when they lose that fight?

The sense of empathy began to fade. Both of them losing their fights would result in death. The Deathwatch might kill dozens before it was stopped. Valadin, though? He could possibly level cities or decimate armies. There were limits to a channeler's strength, he knew, but he never knew what those limits were.

"Tell me to stop if I'm bothering you," Mehrin said after another moment. "I've only ever seen one side of the One Power." And look at how much good that did you. "I had heard about the taint being cleansed, but it's still hard to believe. How did it happen?" The question asked, Mehrin immediately regretted it. "Sorry. I've been a bit out of touch with the rest of the world. Easier question." Mehrin pointed at the calluses on Valadin's hands. "If you can destroy things with your mind, why learn about the sword? You channelers could easily stand behind the line or in a circle of defenders and lay waste to everything around you. What's the point?"

OOC: I am so sorry about the delay. Life has been a bit... interesting recently.

[Sean]

The Taint.

A thing male channellers of the new day knew only from night stories meant to terrify them into good behavior as children. Valadin had been orphan since he could remember. No father to scold him when he behaved poorly. No mother to nurse the aches that every young man incurred on the path to adulthood. When first he’d heard tell of men going mad when cursed with the One Power, it stroke a primitive, instinctual fear in him making him never want to meet such a man.

Then he became one of them.

“Nuthin’ to be bothered ‘bout,” he answered without looking away from the falls. Even from afar flecks of moisture sprinkled the overlooking ridge. Fleetingly curiosity questioned what it would feel like to plummet into the waters below. “I imagine any man who comes to the Tower after bein’ told that he can channel has to wrestle with the same questions yer askin’, ser. Either he manages or he dunt.”

The small shrug that accompanied the statement seemed too hollow a gesture and a tingle ran up the length of Val’s spine. Facing this Mehrin once more—more to keep thoughts from straying towards leaping than anything else—he found that beyond the obvious bearing of a warrior there was something more. A sinister air, barely concealed beneath the feeble veneer shaped in the likeness a man. Where the inkling had come from was a mystery, but once it entered the mind there no brushing the thought aside. In a rare moment Val felt relief in feeling the dormant fury of Saidin at the edges of his awareness.

“Most say the Taint ent cured an’ fer those that do know it has been, they strike it off as a miracle o’ the Dragon Reborn.” It was strange hearing the ironic twist of the words as they fell from his lips. In truth it was the first time Valadin admitted to himself that he did not fully trust this so-called Dragon. Why? The thought o’ another man bein’ that strong make ya uneasy? A grain of truth layered beneath many heaps of self-woven lies.

Before a question could be asked of what he truly believed was the case, Val moved the conversation onward. Ambling from the perch of the cliff he took a few steps towards the clearing where he’d first encountered this strange not-quite Gaidin. A peculiar descriptor, but Warders were beings of impeccable control and exuded such. What Val sensed the longer he continued to speak with Mehrin was a similar struggle as the one he faced while in battle. “I love the sword,” he stated simply, not bothering to clarify to what inquiry he referred.
Whirling about smoothly on the balls of his feet, he realized that he’d been tracking the distance between them the entire time; he was sizing this complete stranger up. “A very human thing to come up against someone after yer life with a blade. Like bein’ lit on fire an’ only the steel in yer hands can cool yer soul. Fer someone who often feels far from such…it’s a welcome sensation.”

A frown marred what had been his best impression of the Aes Sedai coolness. “Makes me sound like some sort o’ killer dunnit? I dunt think I am…” he voiced though did not wait long before posing a question of his own. “An’ you? Recall ya mentionin’ not touchin’ a sword in twenty odd years. What kept ya so long from it?”

Deciding decorum had already been tossed into the waterfalls Val added a short while after, “Killed someone ya weren’t supposed to?”

Keeping his gaze level, his eyes searched the lines in the older man’s face in attempt to see the story told in them. It was one with many twists and more depth than could be guessed at with a glance.