Philosophy of the Mind [Attn: Craig] COMPLETE

[Jenny]

Interesting question, Mirin thought. She wondered why he wanted to know. "I learned that I could channel over four years ago. I was fifteen then, and in love," she said. A wry tone entered her voice. "The first weave that I used is similar to the one that I would like to learn more about. With you. I used it to influence the boy I liked.

"But I was untrained. And channeling without training is dangerous," she explained. "Every time I used the Power, I came down with fevers and chills. Then one day, the boy told me something that... I didn't like. And so I channeled, attempting to influence him - and I fainted. An Aes Sedai came to examine me. And that's why I was sent here. Otherwise, I may have died."

Mirin hoped that she wasn't giving too much away. She wanted to approach Ravak with openness, yet practicality dictated that she should speak carefully. Her heart pounded furiously. This was dangerous, she knew. If any Aes Sedai found out the weave that she was speaking of, she would probably be sent for severe questioning - perhaps even stilling. But she wanted - no, she needed to learn more.

Studying patients under Aria Sedai wasn't enough. Mirin wanted to be able to explore the effects of this weave with a willing partner. Someone who could explain what he thought, what he felt. Someone who was intelligent enough to discern the effects of the weave from his own thoughts. Someone who would work with her, freely, without Aria staring over her shoulder.

"Is there anything else you would like to ask? Once you've made up your mind, Ravak, then we can meet in a study room tomorrow evening to talk a little more. And if you agree, then you may experience this weave for yourself. The effects are mostly reversible. Please think carefully."

[Craig]

Ravak Darrow

Ravak's ring tapped against the arm of the chair, as he considered thoughtfully. So she is going to try influencing me, yet she asked openly instead of just doing... whatever instead. He just couldn't work out how to define Mirin.

"What are the risks?" was all he said.

[Jenny]

"Fantastic question. You may have some small holes in your memory from the times that we are experimenting. That is all. The weave can be used like a hammer, to wipe out... everything. But I promise that will not happen. That is not what I'm interested in. I'm interested in the finer details. At the end of each session, I will remove everything."

Mirin tilted her head to the side. "Does that sound agreeable? Anything else?"

[Craig]

Ravak Darrow

An opportunity to learn more about the One Power was worth a little risk, he reckoned. And an opportunity to get some leverage on Katrie's... mentor? Any Accepted owing him a favour was worth a little risk, although he wasn't skirting around the rules of conduct.

"I accept," he nodded.

[Jenny]

Mirin nodded. "Let us meet tomorrow after dinner in one of the study rooms on the second floor." She gestured to the staircase leading to the upper floor of the Library. She stood, clutching the Essays in her hand. Then, she turned.

"Ravak...thank you," she said, sincerely. "I am in your debt."

-----
The next day, they met in the study room. Mirin wove a ward of silence.

"I discovered this weave over a year ago," she said. "I was only a novice, then, but close to being raised to Accepted. I discovered it rather instinctively, in a moment of need. After all, I had been using it unconsciously before I came to the Tower.

"Since then, I've discovered several limitations. One, it is rather slow, for a weave. The threads are too fine, too intricate, to be woven quickly. Two, I must be somewhat close to the target, nearly within arms' reach. Three, there are quite a few people who are resistant. They are too stubborn, or strong-willed. Today, I want to test this third limitation. I will be gentle," she promised.

She placed a quill on the table. "I will ask you to pick up the quill," she said. "Try to resist."

They began.

Mirin embraced saidar and wove the threads of Spirit, Water, and Air with familiarity. Months of practice under Aria Sedai's watchful eyes had helped her achieve some competency. She gave one thread a little nudge, just enough to gently persuade the man to follow her instructions.

"Pick up the quill," she ordered. Ravak did not move. The scowl on his face remained unchanged. She tried several more times, experimenting with the thickness of a few threads of Spirit. After each attempt, she made a short notation in her notebook. Finally, on the fifth attempt, the Drin reached for the quill with trembling hands.

She noticed the sweat drenching Ravak's shirt and quickly unwove all the weaves.

"How do you feel?" she asked, slightly concerned. She Delved him, looking for any changes to his mind. There were none, she saw, and let out a breath of relief. I won't let any harm come to you, she thought to herself, determined. I promise.

[Craig]

Ravak Darrow

The study room seemed cavernous, with just the two bodies inside. Ravak was sitting in front of a desk opposite Mirin, who had a notebook open in her lap. A quill and an inkwell lay on the arm of Mirin's chair. She explained, in words he mostly understood, about what it was she wanted to attempt. He thought it flattering that she considered him stubborn or strong-willed; he would be proud of both classifications.

She produced a second quill, and placed it on the middle of thee desk. "I will ask you to pick up the quill," she said in a precise tone. "Try to resist."

Ravak made a point of settling back into the chair, placing his hands on his lap with fingers interlocked. He watched her with a wary gaze for a few moments as she seemed to focus on something around him. Must be those thread things. He really was blindingly ignorant of how the One Power operated, for someone training to be an Aes Sedai's sword and shield.

"Pick up the quill." Mirin's voice was hard. Rav just stared at the Accepted. Is anything happening? Should I be- He felt a finger twitch, except it wasn't a twitch. He knew the difference between a twitch and when he was stretching a finger, and it had been the latter. He pushed his hands down into his lap, to stop any more- It moved again, the small finger on his right hand. It was just the finger, but it had strained towards the desk. In his head, he tried to shake off the weirdness he was feeling. Mirin moved for her own quill, removing her eyes from him, and wrote something in her notebook. Then her eyes where on him once more.

"Pick up the quill." This time, he felt his left hand move at the wrist. It was only a slight amount of force, one he kept in check using his right hand. If it had felt like a twinge before, it how felt like a spasm. A small bit of him, the part that connected to his hand, wanted to grasp for the quill. He fought the urge in the same way he fought sickness; by forcing himself to swallow down the urge to be sick. Mirin reached for the quill again, and spent a few moments writing. His left hand strained against his right, causing a little bit of discomfort in both wrists.

"Pick up the quill." How he had to clench both fists into a ball, fingers interlaced. His left arm reached for the table, but he still had control over his right. Light, does she really have control over my left arm, or is something else going on? He parted his legs slightly, and slipped his hands under his thighs. He used his legs now to keep his arm in check, and it quivered with the need to pick up the quill. A trickle of sweat ran down Rav's back, ice cold compared to the heat he felt from the effort. The Accepted took up her quill once more as Rav shook in his seat.

"Pick. Up. The. Quill." He leaned forward a bit, in a vain attempt to add extra downward pressure to his legs. Both arms yearned to pull free, and it was only with marked resistance that he kept them in place. I want that quill. He blinked. That thought frightened him a little, because he wasn't sure that it was his. He leaned further forward again, feeling the need just to get a little closer to it to the feather on the table. Beads of sweat from exertion covered his forehead, and he could feel the fabric of his shirt beginning to stick.

"Pick. Up. The. Quill." Slowly and shakily, his two arms pulled away from underneath his thighs. They were no locked interlocked, and they shook frantically. He yearned to pick up the quill, but some small part of him pushed back. A small voice told him that he didn't want the quill, but it was foolishness. His hands rose slowly towards the desktop, the little bit of him that said No was slowly being drowned out by his actual desires. I want that quill. Fingers slid over the table top at a crawl, furiously trembling, until their fingers encircled the quill. A wave of triumph and elation watched over him like a cleansing tide.

Something changed and the quill fell from pained fingers. His fingers, wrists, arms and shoulders all ached from the tension. He could feel damp patches all across his body, and his shirt stuck to him uncomfortably.

"How do you feel?" Her voice was softer, and he looked up from the quill that he had been transfixed on.

"My arms ache, and my thighs too." That was most of it. "I also feel a little... unsettled." Admittedly this was just a test, but he felt sick upon the realisation that he didn't want to pick up the quill, but eventually had. He rolled his shoulders to try to eke out the pain that suffused them.

Edit: It was so late when I wrote this. Just tidying up mistakes.

[Jenny]

"I also feel a little... unsettled," said the Drin'far'ji.

With her senses enhanced by the Power, Mirin could tell that was an understatement. She could see how his scowl deepened and his eyes tightened with effort. She could hear how his breath came quickly, tightly, and his heartbeat bounded with stress. She could tell, by the way that he looked at her, that he dreaded the next experiment.

And suddenly, she felt that she was standing at a crossroads. A new path lay in front of her.

The old Mirin would have stopped and torn up her notes, aghast at what she had done. This weave, Compulsion, was inhumane. Twisted. Evil. Unnatural. In the past year, Mirin had managed to deceive herself, choosing to see what she only wanted to see. She had convinced herself that Compulsion could be used for good. With this weave, she and Aria Sedai worked on patients with behavioral issues, helping them change habits, improving their lives.

For example, there was the girl who had refused to eat and was slowly wasting away. After Mirin had "convinced" her to eat again, her family had come in tears to thank her. And there was the man who was a compulsive gambler - Mirin had stopped that, too. Of course, not all stories were successful - some people simply turned to other self-destructive behaviors - but overall, Mirin felt that she was doing good in the world.

However, now she could see that Compulsion could bring nothing but evil. The distress that Ravak felt was apparent. What have I done?, Mirin wondered. She had seen dozens of patients this year, and she felt a pang of fear. Had each of them suffered as Ravak did? She heard a faint memory of the younger version of herself, calling out, I will never use it again!

But the new Mirin was harder, sharper, like a sword tempered by fire. She knew too much to back down, now. And because she was tangled up in that mess with Lydarian and Emmond and Rhykana...

If she did not master her Talent, then Mirin would die. She was sure of it. The others would easily discard her. In front of her was a new path, but she would leave something precious behind. It was the price she had to pay to survive.

These thoughts took place over only a few moments. And in the turmoil, she lost grasp of saidar. She pushed her doubts aside and wrestled her emotions under control. She envisioned the flower bud in her mind - the wide, white petals of the magnolia, her favorite flower - and soon she was calm enough to fill herself with the Power again. It was a simple exercise taught to novices, but it was very effective.

"Yes, you are quite strong-willed," she said. Her tone hit a perfect balance between concern and calm. "Let us try something else. Something less... intense. I will try to affect your emotions. Please describe how you feel."

Again, she wove that terrible weave of Spirit, Water, and Air. She changed a few threads here and there, to modify its effect. If used bluntly, then the target would worship and adore her. But Mirin wanted to learn the finer details.

Her first attempt made Ravak mildly anxious. The second attempt made him upset. And the third, and final weave, made him deliriously happy.

She wrote down careful notes after each weave, describing the changes she had made as well as the effects. She would study these carefully, later.

[Craig]

Ravak Darrow

"Please describe how you feel."

Ravak let himself slump in the chair, no longer needing to maintain a strict posture. That had been a workout he didn't expect, and he foresaw a hot bath and willowbark in his future. Hopefully in the very near future. Rav still stubbornly avoiding seeking help for his injuries as much as possible; he eyed his ring finger at the memory of that. Bruises would heal over time naturally, and the discolouration across his body was a constant reminder of how much further he had to go before he would be ready to face the Shadow.

He looked back up at Mirin, whose eyes watched and scrutinised. He was still perturbed by the experience and desire that had come over him. Bit by bit, and in larger strides, he had wanted to grasp that quill in his hands. It was such a silly thing to get worked up over, but he had put so much effort in resisting the order, and then he succeed. Or failed. The wavey-haired Cairheinian had said he was strong-willed, but did that mean he had passed her test or not? He rubbed the back of his left hand nervously, unsure of himself. If I truly was strong-willed, would I have never ran away from Fal Dara? It was possible that no amount of will would have made him stay. His reason for leaving Fal Dara was sound. It was his duty to protect the Blightborder against Shadowspawn, and he was nearing the end of his training without the skills to perform that charge. If he didn't seek out another place to train, he wouldn't have survived against a single Trolloc raid, not to mention if a Fade somehow appeared in the streets of the city. He shivered at the thought. A Fade in the streets. Oh Light, imagine if one got to the family and I wasn't there. His father wasn't a soldier, but a thief-catcher. He also wasn't Shienaran, and hadn't trained to battle Fades. And his sword-breaker is in my room. What happens if he wasn't giving a replacement? He was rubbing his left arm now, a futile gesture to reassure himself that everything would have been alright, that his disappearance wouldn't have been a catalyst for disaster. He squirmed slightly at the thought.

Mirin voice broke through the fear, a slight cough to draw his attention. He took hold of himself, and started to put some of his thoughts into words. as she had requested. He was concerned about his own fate, about not learning enough to protect others, about how he had left his family behind without his protection. He could hear the tightness in his throat as he spoke. Listening intently, but without comment, the Accepted wrote down notes in her little notebook.

"Please describe how you feel."

Ravak looked down at his ring finger again, the one cut short. He had been asked about that disfigurement recently, and had refused to speak of it. He didn't want anything to come out about it now, and with his emotions being tested. That came as a funny thought. The rational side of his mind knew that he was only feeling rattled because of whatever Mirin was doing with the One Power, but that didn't find any in how he felt. He couldn't logic away the burgeoning sense of distress that touched his heart. He rubbed at his forehead furiously. He wanted to think on something positive, like his conversation with Betrys, or Katrie's smile, but his mind wouldn't let him. His uncle came to mind, but he shunted that away with an effort. Another person jumped out from the shadows.

Elia. He had it on the authority of others that brothers and sisters did not tend to get along well together, but Elia and Ravak had been quite inseparable for most of their early years. They fought, like any siblings did, but there was genuine love between the two of them. Elia had helped Rav to read, her being the eldest of the two young Darrows. When they grew older, Rav had helped to decipher the language and emotions of boys to her, so she could pursue young love; her education on the minds of girls had not been so useful. There was also their secret, something that only the two of them knew, although it was a trivial thing. 'But it's our secret, little brother. Ours, and no one else's.'

He should have smiled at the thought of his big sis, but his face dropped instead. They had been inseparable. Even when he had to start training, she had taken time most days to come watch him. He knew she may have had ulterior motives, but whenever he caught her standing at the edge of the training yards, her eyes had been upon him. As she had learnt about becoming a goodwoman, he listened with unfeigned interest on the intricacies of sewing or cooking, or any of the other things that Rav had deemed monotonous before she enlightened him. Inseparable. Then he remembered creeping out of their room by the light of the new moon, stepping where no floorboard would creak. He packaged the food she had baked for him, her unaware of what his intent had been. Then he was out of the house, stepping quickly through the lit streets of Fal Dara, and through the gates without a word. She would have woken up confused, and then spent the Light knows how many days looking for him. He knew that she would have been Inconsolable; he had been, even with his duty to guide him. He had cried himself to sleep for the first several nights, and still caught himself on occasion teary-eyed thinking of her. I abandoned you sister. The Light forgive me.

That logical side of his brain re-emerged as he shook in his chair. He was crying, quite openly and a little loudly, he realised. He knew that he should be upset at Mirin for putting him through this, but the guilt of what he had done was not Power-wrought. Through chokes and sobs, he spoke about Elia, not about the things they had done together, but how he missed her and how he had abandoned her, the heartless way he vanished into the night without a note or signal of his leaving. Some of it was incoherent, but he didn't care. He wanted this to stop, and only by telling the Accepted would this feeling end.

"Please describe how you feel."

Rav looked up, eyes red and stinging. Rivulets still ran down across his cheeks, but there was suddenly an overwhelming change in his heart. His tears stopped almost immediately, his eyes blinking away the salty remnants. He thought no longer about his oldest friend, but onto his newest. The Lady Aikaterine of House Riatin. He grinned, and winced, thinking of that name. He would never say that name and title aloud, but in his mind he was safe to mockingly think of her in that way. Katrie. That was her real name for all intents and purposes. She hadn't been the first women, nor the first Novice, to speak to him in a friendly manner since coming to the Grey Tower. But he had been enamoured by her, if not a little intimidated too, at first sight. She had the upbringing of a Cairheinian noble, even if her features - her mother's features, he knew - were more akin to that of a Domani's. Sitting across from another Cairheinian, who also had something about her that made her seem attractive, he was glad that Katrie took after her mother.

Logic intervened. Speak now, or you'll say something to this Accepted that'll land you in a world of troubles. He didn't think that any goodwill engendered helping Mirin would extend to blurting out indecorous thoughts about a Novice. He spoke carefully, making sure to focus on their friendship and not on anything that Rav had thus far kept to himself. And Light, nothing about the key! That would probably be worse than saying anything else.

[Jenny]

Mirin took in a deep, shuddering breath. His tears, his sobs... Mirin felt compassion rising up within her. And when his face cracked into a smile while speaking of Aikaterine, Mirin felt the same relief and joy. The logical side of her knew that his emotions were artificial, created by her weave; yet another part of her understood these feelings as raw, human emotion.

Perhaps this will become easier in time, she thought. She removed the weaves. "I appreciate your openness, Ravak," she said. A crooked smile parted her lips. "What do you think now about manipulation?"

As he spoke, she made her decision. There were certainly benefits to working with another person, especially someone as delightful as Ravak. Yet Mirin could not let go of the paranoia that she might be caught. "I think that we shouldn't do this again," she said, carefully. "Although it has been a pleasure working with you, I feel that the risks are... too high. Thank you for your time, Ravak."

She pulled out the Essays of Willim of Maneches from her book bag and stood. And suddenly she struck, the weave of Compulsion spinning in a new, terrifying form, far stronger than the others she had used during the experiment. It settled snug and tight over Ravak's mind. Her smile became cruel.

"You will pick up the Essays and begin reading. When you have finished the first essay, you will remember nothing of meeting me yesterday or today. You will not remember speaking to me at all. You will remember nothing of this session except that you came here to read quietly until bedtime. I was never here. Goodbye, Ravak."

She swept out the door without looking back.

OOC: Thank you so, so much Craig. It has been a pleasure writing this with you. I leave it up to you to complete the story.

[Craig]

Ravak Darrow

When Mirin had finished writing the last of her notes, Ravak once again felt something change. He was happy, and Katrie was still in his head, but when his brain started to wander. That clarity of thought that was there vanished.

"I appreciate your openness, Ravak." She smiled, but it was not a warm smile. There was a wickedness to it. Rav felt on edge, like an animal only just realising it was in a trap. "What do you think now about manipulation?"

Ravak shifted uncomfortably, seeing that grin, a glint in her eyes. "I'm a little concerned about this," he said slowly. "I mean, I'm guessing this is all for a good cause or something, but..." He fretted with his ring. "Is this all you can do with it, make a person smile or cry, make them pick up a quill? It think the potential would be downright frightening if you could do more with it." He swallowed. I'm a little frightened, he guiltily admitted to himself.

Standing, Mirin retrieved a book from beneath the table. Rav didn't catch what it was, his gaze was transfixed on Mirin. Another one of those wicked smiles appeared.

Closing Essays, Rav scratched at his scalp. It was a difficult read, even having read it now for a third time. He understood what Willim's message was, that in extreme cases sacrifices had to be made on a purely numerical basis, but he didn't agree with it. Slumping in the chair, the redhead looked around the classroom. He couldn't recall how he'd learnt about this room, but he liked that he had another place to go, if the potential for interruption in the Library didn't suit him. He was unsure what time it was, but thought it would be prudent to start making his way back to the Warders Hall. He pushed the chair back, grabbed Essays in one hand, and walked out of the door without looking back.