The Grey Tower

The tall Amadician felt his hands twitch as someone... who?... took the bloody white-clad girl out of his arms, his mind roiling and frothing. It registered only as a sudden absence of weight, flat grey eyes studying the retreating figure without truly seeing it. His fingers curled into fists at his side, slick and sticky. Another flash of crimson, bold and bright, captured his attention and he felt himself both drawn to it and repulsed by it.

Blood?

A pair, two shapes that stood unmoving in the empty stillness, the very air seeming to wave and distort around them. One small, dainty, and unmistakably feminine. She was stunningly beautiful but his body had no reaction to her other than what would have been considered normal. A man next to her... Zeen inhaled sharply, grey eyes narrowing, then opening wide as the fine hairs all over his body lifted in response. The man was... he was...

Not blood. Danger!

The Amadician lowered his head with another rumbling growl as he felt... a kindred sense of awe and menace emanating from the man that made the fire within the marrow of his bones pulse hotter, devouring what was left of him from the inside out as it clawed and railed against the prison of his flesh. He lifted his arms, setting his fists out in front of him as he dropped into a defensive stance. The place between his shoulders twinged in protest but he ignored it. He rocked back and forth several times, adjusting his stance, his posture to - to do to what? He could not fight this - whatever this was. Not with his fists. Not with his body.

Pain, true pain, came as the Light flared and surged upwards, seeking to burst out from him to rejoin with the heavens. Whatever control Zeen had wrested from the boiling inferno was quickly slipping away.

He felt the short cropped hair on his head actually move, not from the wind, but from the conflagration that his human frame could no longer contain. The knowledge that he was going to die pierced through the fog of his mind with startling lucidity. He felt... relief. To be wiped from the Pattern itself by this terrible horrible glory that filled his veins with anguish and fury, was - the pain became blistering agony.

The space around him seemed to contract and squeeze, and something snapped back into him with such strength that he recoiled from it. He could not see what was causing it, but it each time it happened, Zeen was driven back further and further away from the two red clad figures. Abruptly, something slammed into him with much the same force as what he imagined running head first into a wall would feel like and all trace of the churning fire stopped. The tall man reared back, his head lifting, when somehow... he was launched into the air.

He slammed back into something hard and unforgiving - the wall? - so quickly that he did not have the breath to groan, his ears picking out a fleshy thud, before he quickly dropped back to the debris littered ground. He landed on his hands and knees, the shock of it reverberating through his body. Reality spun, his mind sluggishly grasping at random pieces of sight and sound. Why... What... oh Light... Zeen stared down at his hands in mute horror. Dirt, dust, earth, soil clung to his fingers in irritating granules, breaking up what was otherwise an unrelieved covering of blood.

His head burst apart into thousands of bright white motes, the pressure that screamed behind his eyes, raging within his skull, debilitating. His back throbbed in time with the scar that slashed across his forehead, which in turn throbbed with his rapid, uneven pulse that hammered against his ribs. His skin felt too tight, stretched painfully over his frame. Everything felt tender. Hot. He was still burning. His thoughts were boiling away.

"Would you care to tell me what in the bloody Light is wrong with you, or will I have to pull it out of you by force, soldier?"

Zeen struggled to move, his eyes rolling back in his head as he tried to force his head to lift on a neck that was suddenly wobbly and weak. The man in red... he had been next to the red lady... and that gut-churning sense of awe and menace that the Amadician had sensed earlier in his delirium was still there, clinging to the red-clad man like a cloak. How do I know this? came the disjointed question. Then another. How does one sense awe or menace? It hurt to think. It hurt to breathe. Everything simply hurt. His shirt and the black coat were sticking unpleasantly to his lower back.

“Thank you,” the grey-eyed man managed to croak out, the effort of speaking feeling as if he pushed hot rough needles over his throat. “For stopping me.” He would have said more - what had he done? How had he done it? - but suddenly the world dimmed, spinning up to meet his face and he slumped over into blessed oblivion.

“Thank you.” Those were the last words Jaryd had expected to hear from the man he had just incapacitated. Sarcasm, or sincerity? “For stopping me.” Huh. The Asha'man opened his mouth to speak, but the soldier's arms buckled and he fell face first in the dirt, eyes rolling back in his head. Arching an eyebrow, Jaryd twisted, his eyes shifting to Kaia to appraise the full situation. She seemed to be caring for Elia, or at least- Ravak looked less distresssed, and Kaia herself felt calm. He turned back to Zeen.

"That much of the Power uncontrolled would make a lesser man's head burst," the Keeper commented, crouching next to the prone man. "Color me intrigued, my large friend." He knew Zeen couldn't hear him, and yet somehow it felt right to talk.

Deft fingers and a touch of Air assisted him in adjusting Zeen's head to a more comfortable position, and then he put his fingers on the soldier's temples, flows of Spirit and Air lacing together. The Delving swept through the man's body, bringing with it more information than Jaryd had expected. He had thought to find a few bruises, perhaps a headache. Instead, pain splintered through the unconscious man's existence, flowing and flexing around the weave like a living thing. The hurt intensified when the flows reached Zeen's back, and Jaryd drew away from the sickly heat that pulsed beneath it all. Wounds, and infection?

With a murmured apology, Jaryd pushed the back of Zeen's coat up, hissing as he saw the blood-soaked shirt beneath. He pulled the shirt up as well, wincing as he worked the linen free of wounds that were clearly not healing as they should. A few were angry red and swollen, sure signs of infection that even Jaryd's untrained eye could recognize. With a litany of murmured curses that would have made his former bondmate proud, Jaryd pulled shirt and coat down, and used flows of Air to turn the younger man on his back.

"I know what you have been telling the Yellow Ajah," Jaryd told his unconscious patient grimly, "I don't know why, and more importantly, right now I don't care. Your health is more important than your pride. I am not Yellow and I am not bound by their ridiculous promises. Unfortunately, I am also not as skilled at Healing as I could be, either. This is probably going to hurt."

He put his fingers on Zeen's forehead and pulled saidin to his grasp, forming the basic Healing net of Spirit, Air, and Water that he had learned as a Dedicated. He pushed the flows through the giant's body, knitting torn flesh, driving away infection, and revitalizing bruised muscles. As the flows progressed, Zeen spasmed and his eyes flew open. Jaryd was not certain if he was awake, or simply reacting to the flows; regardless, his patient was helpless in the grasp of Healing. When Jaryd finally cut the flows, Zeen fell still again, eyes fluttering shut and head sagging to the side.

The Keeper shook his head. "That won't do." He channeled for what he hoped was the last time, flows of Spirit that rolled through the other man, washing his fatigue away like sand from a river stone. Zeen stirred with a groan, but Jaryd remained with one knee pressed against the ground and the other drawn up before him. Gray eyes finally turned their focus on him and he quirked his lips up without shifting an inch.

"We have some things to discuss, Zeen," he commented dryly. "We will start with what just happened, but then I will have other questions." His tone brooked no argument.

Light.

The petite Domani shifted her gaze from the gaping hole in the side of the Weaponry Hall, ignoring the giant of a man that stood there outlined in perfect silhouette by the destruction around him. Every instinct she had screamed at her not to turn her attention away from him, but Jaryd was already acting. For a moment, she was torn, torn between using her knowledge of the White Tower's Red Ajah to help neutralize this threat, and between using her ability to mend and restore to save whomever it was that Ravak carried in his arms.

Kaia gave herself a little shake. She pulled saidar to her, part of her mind aware by the way the bond flattened that Jaryd was channeling. Trusting in the Asha'man's strength and skill with the Power, Kaia made her way towards Ravak and the red-stained white bundle he carried in his arms. By the feeling of sheer distress and panic flowing to her from the Master of Training, the Novice he held could only be his sister, Elia.

“Ravak,” the Aes Sedai said softly, a hand laying on his forearm. He did not hear her, tears running unchecked down his face. Green eyes flickered over him; he was bleeding from a gash above his right eye, but the blood made it difficult to tell the extent of the injury. Serious or not, it had to wait until she Healed the girl. What was once pristine white was nearly as red as the silk and lace that she herself was clad in.

“Ravak.” Kaia tried again, pushing a little more insistently against that spot on his forearm. She lifted herself up onto her toes so that the top of her head entered his field of vision. The bond prickled with recognition then and she smiled a little in response as wild steel blue eyes swung over to meet her steady gaze.

“Kaia. I - Elia, she's - please.”

“I know.” She sent soothing comfort to the panicked boy. “Hush. I will do what I can.” Her tone became a touch commanding and she made a gesture at Ravak. “Lay her down. You do not have to let her go but you must be still as I do this.”

The Gaidin did as she said and Kaia spun out the flows required for Delving, separating out all five elements from the river that was the Source. While she sought out to ascertain the extent of Elia's wounds, she began weaving the other threads she held in preparation for Healing. Oddly spaced pinpricks running along the soles of feet. Fingers and palm cut, shallow, but bleeding profusely. A deep jagged slash across the left shoulder that had reached all the way to the bone. That one was truly nasty; given where Elia and the giant boy had been, Kaia was somewhat surprised that the injuries were not more grievous.

She knelt on the ground next to the Novice, stretching out to place coppery fingers against the pale forehead. Spirit, Air, Water, Fire, and Earth eased through the girl's body, coaxing flesh to knit back together. Time stretched into what felt like hours, though mere seconds passed. The wound across the shoulder was the first to mend, then the palm of the hand, and finally fingers. Kaia glanced up at Ravak and reached up to touch his cheek. The gash above his eye closed. The Aes Sedai pushed herself back up to her feet with dainty, precise movements, ignoring the looks from gathered onlookers.

“Come, dear boy,” she said softly. “Elia will be fine, but she has lost much blood. We need to make sure she stays warm. Come with me to the Infirmary. They will see to it that's she's cleaned up.” The petite Domani kept her voice gentle and level, sending along soothing waves of reassurance to the still distraught Gaidin. He somehow stood with his sister still clasped in his arms. Kaia's hand went to rest against the crook of Ravak's elbow as she guided him forward, saidar still singing in her grasp. Thankfully, the Shienaran did not protest, going with her willingly. “I'm sure she'll want to see you when she wakes. She'll be hungry. We will find out from Jaryd what actually happened once your sister is awake and settled, yes?”

The first thing he noticed was the absence of pain. For timeless moments, Zeen simply floated along this strange place in between, where his body was at rest but his mind was somehow not. Breathing no longer felt as if he had to drag up leaden weights with his chest; his back... he felt nothing from between his shoulders save an occasional twinge of discomfort now and again.

The second thing that registered was how... good he felt. Perhaps not in the truest sense of the word, but it was the distinct opposite of the miserable wretched state he had been in for past month or so. From that, even mediocrity was a vast improvement. Awareness returned with an abrupt jolt and sound was the first to pass over his consciousness. It was quiet. So quiet, he could pick out the soft breathing of someone near him. Whatever it was that had kept his body still, faded, an involuntary groan sounding as his muscles woke with the sensation of pins and needles prickling over them.

The Amadician opened his eyes, the brilliant swath of endless blue blinding him. How was he looking up at the sky? He had fallen face first against the ground had he not? Someone had turned him. Why? More importantly, who? He blinked several times, his vision finally clearing. His head turned slowly as he sought to find the source of the breathing he had heard while... not fully conscious. He would have thought himself mad, but grey eyes finally alighted upon the red-clad man from earlier. At least, Zeen believe it was earlier; as with his final memories of the Fortress of Light, he could not seem to recall the last several minutes with any kind of coherence. It was a blur of pain and fire and... emotions. He could remember what he felt with perfect clarity.

The man quirked his lips up as black eyes returned the look levelly, remaining where he was with one knee pressed against the ground, the other drawn up before him. "We have some things to discuss, Zeen." How does he know my name? "We will start with what just happened, but then I will have other questions."

“You Healed me.” It was not phrased as a question, the accusation tinging the suddenly hoarse voice. He shifted his shoulders. His back... did not hurt any longer. That was wrong. It felt wrong, somehow. “I did not deserve to be - !”

A lifted hand was all it took and the look the red-clad man gave him was one of thinly veiled impatience.

Zeen sagged beneath it. What did it matter? It was too late to stop it. It rankled, guilt and shame gnawing at him. But it was done. The rage he should have felt at being so summarily violated was strangely absent. He felt... tired.

The broad man started to bring his hands up to run through his hair but the sight of the blood, dark and dried, made him blanch. He let his arms fall to his sides again, his throat working for several moments before his voice would obey and follow suit. He was not wary, not exactly, but he felt himself tense. He made himself look over at the person that had stopped his madness. “I do not know your name.  If... may I ask your name?”

Heavy brows quirked up. “It is oddly refreshing to be unknown.” What might have been amusement flickered over the swarthy face. “I am Jaryd.”

Red stained fingers absently touched the scar that slashed across his forehead as Zeen nodded, dazed as he stared at his hands as if seeing them again for the first time. “I - I did not mean to hurt the girl.” Elia. Her name was Elia. The blood was hers. Oh Light. Grey eyes darkened with horror and it was long moments before he could force himself to continue.

“I do not understand why I was taken out of the Infirmary. I was brought to the Weapons Hall by the Master of Training along with Elia. We were tasked with maintaining some of the weapons. It... I...felt defenseless. Vulnerable. Exposed. I tried to fight against the feeling, to keep it at bay. She talked to me. At first, that helped. But then... the sound of the whetstone scraping against metal... I could remember the feel of my sword in my hand. It... the memories came and I could not stop them. And then I felt as if I was burning from the inside out.”

Abruptly, Zeen sat up, his face haunted as he twisted back to look at what was left of building. “I had to get out. That room... the walls...  I had to get out. The smell, the swords, the oil, the incense... I was back there... beneath the Fortress of Light.  I could not bear it.  Not again.” He shook his head, easing himself back against the nearest section of wall, his hands clenching into white-knuckled fists. Flakes of dried crimson separated from his skin and floated to land on his trousers. His face contorted. “What did I do? What... oh Light, what did I do?”

Jaryd felt Kaia depart, and turned to watch them go. She recognized the guilt he felt, he could tell; her reassurance and encouragement settled him, and his attention returned to the man on the ground. Zeen had been displeased to receive Healing, he had seen it in the larger man's face, but Jaryd felt no regret. Even his rudimentary knowledge of Delving had shown him that infection would kill the man if exhaustion didn't get to him first; the Healing had been necessary.

“I do not know your name. If... may I ask your name?” His voice was oddly quiet and hesitant, and Jaryd quirked a surprised eyebrow at his new companion.

“It is oddly refreshing to be unknown.” All of the Tower and Hama Valon knew who the ageless man in red was, by reputation if not by sight. His reputation had been set the moment he chose the Red Ajah, and in the time since, try as he might to escape it, it had only grown. As more time passed he had grown to accept his infamy as inevitable. Sometimes he wrapped himself in it, while at others he despaired. Regardless of any of that...it was refreshing to be allowed, if only for a brief moment, to be nothing more than what his companion thought of him. "I am Jaryd.”

The Amadician touched his face, then stared at his hands as if he saw a ghost. Or blood, Jaryd realized belatedly. I should have cleaned that up. “I - I did not mean to hurt the girl.” Jaryd remained quiet as the silence stretched, watching the stranger's face contort. When Zeen opened his mouth again, words poured out, confusion and anguish, fear and pain crackling in his voice as he struggled to communicate what he had done, why he had done it, where he came from. The Altaran learned more about the soldier in those few moments than anyone else in the Tower yet knew, he suspected, for all the Yellow Ajah's prying.

Jaryd looked up as Zeen pushed himself backward, realizing that those who had been in the area had gathered to watch at what they perceived to be a safe distance. He arched an eyebrow, dark eyes scanning each face with deliberate specificity. "I am certain you all have better things to be doing. Now." He said firmly. He did not need the One Power to project his voice to all who looked on. They glanced at each other, then turned to hurry away, murmuring voices rebounding off the stone walls. He turned back to Zeen once more.

“What did I do? What... oh Light, what did I do?” His voice held a note that reminded Jaryd of a distressed child, his face contorted with the enormity of whatever he felt. After a moment, Jaryd lowered himself to a sitting position, propping himself against one of the larger boulders the younger man had pulled free of its foundation. He channeled again, this time releasing the protective Ward he had put up, and instead building a dome over the two of them that blocked all sound.

"You channeled saidin," the Asha'man said in a quiet voice, his eyes not quite meeting Zeen's. "You could as easily have harnessed the sun as control that Power; all you could do was watch as it....used you." Memories of his own first experience with the One Power rose within him, and he struggled to keep his voice steady.

"I did not mean for this to happen. I do not... understand how it... what I did."

Jaryd closed his eyes momentarily, the scent of smoke and char assaulting his mind. When he opened them again, his face remained expressionless and clear. "Unless forced to your bidding, saidin will continue to do what it pleases any time you become lost within your mind." The seated giant went pale, but Jaryd continued. "It rages and burns, an eternal inferno in your soul, and you must learn to control it before it destroys you." Zeen's eyes lifted to his, and the Keeper smiled.

"It is a difficult task, but not impossible, and at least we no longer have to struggle with madness or the Taint as we learn." The man should have been training from the day he set foot on Tower grounds. How had the Yellow Ajah allowed him to slip through the cracks?

His stillness took on a different quality as he listened to Jaryd, Zeen flexing his hands, his thoughts a chaotic jumble that pulsed inside of his skull. Grey eyes closed and he took in a steadying breath. How could... what he felt so easily fit into the other man's words unless the red man had experienced it as well, in some fashion?

I can channel. I can channel saidin. Light help me.

The Amadician opened his eyes, wary and drained as he glanced over at the shorter man. "I do not remember how I got here... only... what happened before." Jaryd did not seem much surprised, merely nodding. There was more however. So much more...

Zeen grimaced faintly, his unspoken confession searing along the tip of his tongue. Why did he hesitate? It was not as if he could do any more damage than he already had done. "This is not the first time this has happened," he admitted finally into the strange quiet that both echoed and dampened around them.

Black eyes did not so much as blink. "Nor will it be the last, I imagine." That was said without a hint of hesitation or fear. "But you're in a place now where we can make sure it happens less. At least here we will teach you to use your power wisely, rather than fanning that flame higher as the Black Tower did with me."

He shifted at that, surprised at the lack of judgment and condemnation, finding that he did not know how to react to the absence of it. Zeen was acutely uncomfortable all of a sudden. "I..." he glanced around him hesitantly, "do not think I wise to fan any flame higher with me."

Jaryd looked over at him, smiling slightly. "No, I don't think that wise. At least not until you've learned how to contain it within your skin."

Broad shoulders slumped as he eased most of his weight back against the wall he had been thrown against. He let his head fall back, grey eyes staring sightlessly up the blue sky. His throat moved up sharply as he attempted to exert some kind of control over himself. Light, but why was this so difficult?

"I was one of the Children." His voice was hoarse and he fairly spat out the words, the faint smirk he directed upwards self-deprecating and mirthless. "My first cousin is the current King of Amadicia. I rose up the ranks as slowly as I could, yet still somehow became a lieutenant. My father was a Lord Captain." Zeen flexed his hands again, fingers streaked with dried blood curling against his thighs. "I did as I was told, despite my misgivings... until... until the Inquisitors sent me after a woman... a mother of two.  Harmless. She was no Darkfriend! She was terrified of me."

He bowed his head, the scar that slashed across his forehead twinging in response to the memories that rose up to choke him. He continued, his voice taking on a distant, dispassionate quality. "I saw myself reflected in her eyes and I saw what I was to her. I was a monster... and I could not... I could not... I stopped doing what I was told.  So I was taken instead. Just as Inquisitors took my sister away when I was a boy. My father was disappointed, so very disappointed.  I was flogged.  I would have hanged.  But... saidin came."

Jaryd's voice was quiet. "It is an unfortunate fact that the One Power will come to our aid when we need it most, and that those times are frequently dark and full of terror."

The silence that stretched out between them was not awkward, Zeen shifting, hollow eyes dropping from the sky to stare at the other man. "Those deaths, I do not regret." He bared his teeth, the line of his shoulders tensing as he prepared himself for... criticism... disapproval. For some reason his overwrought mind could not fathom, it hurt.

Again, those coal-black eyes met his levelly. "Your father is the kind of man I would destroy with my bare hands. You will find no judgment from me."

Zeen sagged, a choked sound ripping free from his chest and it was all he could do to bow his head, chin touching his chest.

"I had a sister. She looked after me." Jaryd's tone was... musing, almost and abruptly, the hurt vanished.

The grey-eyed man inhaled sharply, forcing his head up, forcing himself to keep his attention on the man in the red vest. "I do not remember my mother.  She died when I was very young.  I only have memories of my sister, looking after me like... yours did."

"When she was thirteen, a man came, a merchant supposedly. He told my parents she deserved better than the Rahad. I didn't trust him, and neither did my mother, but she ran away and I never saw her again. If I could find that man..." Jaryd's gaze became sharp as it bore into his. "I cannot judge you for blowing up the Fortress of Light when I would be more than willing to do the same myself," the red man smiled grimly.

Zeen felt his jaw flex as the breath hissed out past suddenly clenched teeth, grey orbs going flat as he met Jaryd's look head on. "My father paid for letting my sister be taken away.  He burned. But the others, the Inquisitors and the Hand of the Light, I know they still live. Those that tried to hang me, burned.  Half the Fortress of Light burned.  But not nearly enough.  And not the ones I truly want to destroy."

The swarthy skinned man leaned forward, focused and intent. "If you want to destroy them, you must learn to control saidin. Or it will destroy you."

The corners of his mouth lifted a little and Zeen felt nothing but a sense of frightening peace. Had he accepted this all so quickly then? Yes. He could channel. The answer was as welcome as it was unexpected. "I wanted to die," he said softly. "I prayed to the Light I would die.  Yet I am still here.  I suppose... there is a purpose for that. If it is for no other reason than to destroy them, I will learn to control saidin."

"I wanted to die," the soldier said, so quietly that if not for the One Power, Jaryd might not have heard. "I prayed to the Light I would die. Yet I am still here. I suppose... there is a purpose for that. If it is for no other reason than to destroy them, I will learn to control saidin.” Jaryd sat back, regarding the Amadician with new interest. He looked like something a cat had dragged in, and after all that had happened that day, the Asha’man could hardly blame him.

“I am certain you will find other purpose for your life and your power than simple revenge once you begin to understand your true capabilities,” the Red said lightly. “There is more to life than war and death, though there are those who might find it ironic I say so.” He felt along the bond curiously, and found only peaceful certainty. All would be well on that front, it seemed.

“Once you have recovered, we will speak again,” he continued. “If you are capable of so much as sensing saidin’s existence right now, I would be quite shocked.”

“I will not even try, Asha’man,” Zeen said. His face remained set in expressionless wooden lines, but exhaustion had crept into his voice, and his broad shoulders dropped as if he bore a great weight.

The Keeper opened his mouth to speak, but before he could form the words the large man’s eyes fluttered shut and his head lolled to the side. Large hands that had been clenched in his lap relaxed and fell to the ground as well, all strength leeched away as consciousness visibly fled. Jaryd tilted his head, looking at him silently for a long moment. What strange twists of fate bring us together in this glass tower, he thought.

Collecting himself with a sigh, the Asha’man pushed himself to his feet and channeled once more, this time flows of Air that wrapped around his unconscious student and lifted him. Jaryd split the flows, then, another weave forming beneath the man. When he was done, he slowly lowered Zeen to his invisible stretcher, and with a flick of his fingers, ushered the younger man ahead of him. He would take him back to the Infirmary –thankfully not too long a trek- and then return to talk to Riahana Gaidar.

The groan that escaped him was completely involuntary as Zeen threw an arm over his eyes, instantly regretting having opened them. His mouth was dry, his tongue feeling as if it had swelled several sizes and was too large for his mouth. His body ached, his head throbbed, and his skin felt as if it had been stretched too tightly across his frame. All the while, a merry little band of Blight-spawned creatures hammered away inside of his skull.

His nostrils flared at the familiar scents, the Amadician recognizing where he was simply by smell. The Infirmary. He grimaced and tried to lie as still as possible, easing his head back gently into the slight give of hard pillow and thin mattress.

"And how are you feeling?" He did not see who it was that asked; he did not care to, but the voice was entirely too chipper. And loud. Flaming bloody ashes. A soft rumble sounded in his chest as he shifted slightly, one grey eye peering balefully out from beneath his arm.

"Like I have been run over by an ox cart," he croaked out sourly, glaring at the white-clad girl that frowned at him, "full of oxen." He had practically ripped down a building and had nearly killed a girl - Elia. Her name was Elia. He had fallen into unconsciousness twice, had channeled a massive amount of saidin, had been Healed against his will... and now he was back here. Again. How in the bloody Light was he supposed to feel? Zeen bared his teeth and against his better judgment, tried to sit up. The world lurched to one side and he let out a muffled curse before dropping back against the cot, nearly missing the narrow bed. He let out a noise of aggravation coupled with another rude phrase. The Novice gaped at him for a moment and he did not look away.

"You're to stay here for at least another day. You've been asleep for three." She held up the correct fingers helpfully, as if he was dim-witted and slow. Three days! "You'll need to eat soon. And glaring at me isn't going to change that. The Keeper gave those orders." She said the last with almost a defiant sort of glee.

Grey eyes blinked. "Who?"

The girl's expression turned incredulous. "The Keeper. Of the Archives."

"I do not know who that is," the Amadician replied irritably, his voice hoarse and uneven. Food was tempting, but at that moment, he would have gladly pushed the girl over for a glass of water.

"He brought you here," came the answer as the Novice regarded him dubiously. "Carried you on a platform of Air and everything. Cause quite the stir. Asha'man Jaryd spoke as if he knew you."

Zeen stared at her for what felt like an eternity. His eyes closed and he bowed his head as broad shoulders began rocking slightly. The scarred man simply started to laugh, his muddled mind unable to cope. The Light had a sense of humour indeed.