The Grey Tower

Oh! So gracious and kind! He was truly, truly honoured!

Tristram couldn’t help but raise another eyebrow, torn between laughing and simply walking away. He didn’t think that he would ever be able to be suitably humble or contrite. They could send him to do penance as much as they wanted, but he wasn’t going to change. It just went against every fibre of his being to bow and scrape and act like he was honoured to have them pay attention to him. Other folks could, but not him. He’d lived to long, experienced too much. He was perfectly happy to weather the storm and see it through. A storm could only last so long before it eventually faded away and lost all of its power.

He wondered, though, if Aes Sedai and Asha’man really would bite their own noses off to spite their face. His request had been perfectly reasonable. There was no allowing it to be had. Who, after all, would rather stand in a hallway just to prove a point when there were perfectly good places to go and sit?

“I’m sure I’ll be fine, but thank you,” he said with a small smile, bowing ever so slightly, though it was more mocking than respectful. He couldn’t help it. He knew that he should, but he’d never particularly liked people telling him how to act. The fact the Asha’man was Athaan Miere didn’t help matters. They were a bunch of bloody sailors, One Power or not!

He didn’t wait for a response or to see if the Asha’man followed, but led the way (though not before picking up his books) to an empty classroom, where he proceeded to perch on the edge of a table.

“I hope this suits you? I’ll try not to take up too much of your time. I’m not sure how many questions I actually have.”

Any Atha'an Miere, sailor, or person who lived near the coast knew what calm before the storm meant. it was that moment, that brief space of time before the sky darkened and the sea awakened full of fury. Taesh was currently dwelling in that rapidly diminishing moment, and the first crash of anger was about to begin.

The Grey Asha'man was not know for his anger, in fact there were few in the Tower who had ever seen him more than slightly irritated. Still, even the most still waters could rise, and Taesh was perfectly capable of creating a swell. Living on the Star Song he had battle storms, being in the Tower had seen him come against much worse. The presumptuous attitude of this Soldier really was small in comparison to what the Head Clerk dealt with from day to day, but the dark-skinned channeler had never really come to like the airs that nobles gave off. The bow, a disrespectful mock at best, only set Taesh further down the path of indignation. A storm had been called, and now it had no choice but to blow.

The incredible thing about the Atha'an Miere's mental state however was the fact that the smile never left his lips. It only took a sharp edge, and a dangerous narrowing of his eyes turned his exotic features almost feral, like something poised to lash out at any moment. The Asha'man followed the Soldier into the room, and as the young noble placed himself on the table, Taesh channeled, slamming the door with a blast of Air, then weaving a Ward so none could enter the room. He did not wish to be disturbed.

"it is well that you have chosen one of the lecture rooms, Soldier." Taesh stressed the title and rank "Before you begin to ask your question, if I allow it, I believe that a lesson is due? And what better time to have a lesson than when the wind blows right hm?"

Taesh stalked dangerously close by the Soldier, stopping briefly. There was an edge to saidin that wanted to be used, in any way. A man who could channel would feel a sense of awe, and aggression, toward another man channel. The Atha'an Miere did not know if Tristram could feel such, but he hoped so. It was the fact that he was Head Clerk, and the sudden realization of what he could do being unbound by any Oaths, that made Taesh keep walking toward the front of the room.

"Sit down" he commanded, the tone of his voice like a cold wind carrying the threat of an icy cold rage, conveyed that he would entertain no discussion.

"So, Soldier, you wish to know about the Ajah's do you? And as the Light would have it, your inflated self has literally crashed into me first. So, you will learn about the Grey by doing what we do best, negotiate." Every fiber of the Atha'an Miere's being was taunt, he had been irritated by something small that shouldn't have effected him, and that only irritated him more.

"You are from some House, that is evident, and you think that still means something here. It doesn't. Your House, whatever rank you have, will pass before I even think about dying, Light willing. Get that through your head, quickly, before the tide sweeps you under. You are not the first person who considers themselves noble simply because their mother happened to land the right man, to enter the Tower. And before I have you visit the Master of Soldiers so he can teach you just how much rank you have here, I will take you on a visit to see some of those same nobles who are still in the pin-less coat of a Soldier or the whites of a Novice. Some of them have been in this Tower longer than you have been alive I'm told."

Taesh knew that for some it was an adjustment to go from a place of privilege to suddenly be considered a child that must be taught and led. Life in a Tower however demanded such breaking down to be taught, these were not bakers apprentices working with dough. The channelers of the Tower learned to wield a Power that had once broken the world, and a sense of entitlement was a hindrance to true teaching.

"Before we begin all that however, you will convince me now why I should not treat you like the lowest of deckhands and have you act as servant to the groomsmen of the Tower stables. You want to feel your rank, show me you deserve this vaunted sense of self. I convinced a Green not to kill a man and destroy a town as a Soldier, surely you, with all your knowledge from your great House can convince me to keep you out of the stables until my first grey hair appears."

There was a laughter to Taesh's tone, a mocking and appreciative mirth in his voice. Yet there was also the sense that, Oaths or not, every word that left his lips was true and he would see them come to fruition if need be.

Tristram laughed. There was no other reaction. Just laughter. Somewhere along the line something had completely been misunderstood, and, though he laughed, his eyes were cold, his chin raised in stubborn defiance. Instead of moving to sit, he remained where he was, arms suddenly crossed. The display of Power hadn’t scared him, only irritated him. At the end of the day, the Asha’man couldn’t hurt him, couldn’t touch him, couldn’t kill him. He couldn’t be hurt.

He laughed because the Asha’man thought that this was all about rank, about nobility, about being entitled to something because of the way he had been born. If only! Then he would have bowed and scraped and feigned an apology. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. Because even a noble knew to bow before kings. Maybe a part of it was due to rank – he couldn’t take being ordered around by an Atha’an Miere seriously- but it went so much deeper than that. The storm could rage. The sea could surge. The wind could blow. Tristram didn’t care.

“You think this is about nobility?” he said, staring directly at the Asha’man. “This isn't about nobility. This isn’t about being the Head of my House, and yet you seem to think it is because I made some joke about riding around in a sedan chair.” He snorted. “But that was all it was: a joke.

“But I am not going to convince you. I don’t have to convince you. I shouldn’t have to ask for respect. I shouldn’t have to fawn and simper and act like a child, and let myself be treated like a child, because I happen to be a lower rank. Oh, yes, I’m all about ranks, ignoring the ranks and wanting equality as I am in wanting to be treating like a person!

“I’ve lived,” he continued, “too long to be treated like a child. Oh, it might not be hundreds of years, but it’s plenty enough. I watched my wife die. I watched two of my children die. I held them in my arms as they took their last breaths, and I could do nothing. I sacrificed everything to come here so that I could stop anything like that happening to me again, but I’m supposed to change the way I am, let myself be treated like I haven’t actually lived, like I really am some child who knows nothing, who should be told everything, just to please you all? That is not happening.

“So, sure, send me to me to the stables, because I’m not going to lose myself for some bloody Asha’man. I’ve lost enough already. I’m sorry,” and his voice was earnest, “that you don’t like the way I speak, the way I talk, the way I hold myself, but that’s who I am, because otherwise I will bloody break. I will shatter into a thousand pieces.”

Sympathy was something that the Atha'an Miere was familiar with. Sympathy and empathy were his friends, he knew them well. Normally he would listen to them, but not today. A younger Taesh might have, the Taesh who had not been through two battles. The Taesh who had no discovered a murdered Novice stuff in a cupboard, or had to pick through the rubble of the ruined Novice and Soldier quarters, trying desperately to find survivors. The Taesh who had not hat to kill in order to protect others. That Taesh might be moved more by Tristram's words, the raging storm within him quelled at the sadness of the story. Taesh the Asha'man, who had been through things, seen the darkness that could hide in people's hearts and minds, was not so effected.

"You desire to speak of death?" Taesh asked, as cold as Tristram's voice was, Taesh's held a dangerous edge. An edge all the more sharp because the Asha'man was still holding saidin, and no compulsion from One Power backed Oaths was forcing him to release or rethinking binding the arrogant and petulant Soldier in ropes of Air. "Your family died? How awful for you. You could do nothing? You think you are the only one? You believe your situation, as much as it hurt you, makes you special?"

With a movement fueled by the One Power and anger, Taesh moved from where he was to directly in front of Tristram. "This Tower is my Clan, every one of them my family. And I waded through a sea of ruin, to find some, like you, after devastation. Children. More than half of them dead, from an attack, Novices and Soldiers, with no hope of protecting themselves, attacked for Light knows whatever reason."

Taesh backed away from the Soldier slightly, still breathing heavily, his nose flaring with each breath. "You are a child here, and it has nothing to do with how long you have lived compared to others. It has everything to do with what we teach here. You want to make sure that what happened to your family never happens again, how can you if you do not know how to wield saidin? There is nothing more dangerous than a fool with a weapon they know nothing about, and for all the beauty it can create, the One Power is the deadliest weapon I have seen. And I know it well for a weapon, I have used it to kill."

The Atha'an Miere gave the Soldier a final disapproving look before turning his back on him. He stopped talking for a while, taking several deep breaths as he summoned the Flame and the Void. It took longer than ever, even longer than when he had first learned the technique as a Soldier, for the Atha'an Miere to control his emotions. Once he had them under control, as much as he would be able to at that moment, he reluctantly released saidin. A deep a ragged breathe escaped his lips when he did, and he continued talking, keeping his back to Tristram.

"You think you will break if you lose yourself, saidin will break you first. You think because you are older than most Soldiers that your life outside of this Tower gives you some gift of knowledge, you are wrong. Nothing you have done has prepared you to be an Asha'man, you know nothing of the One Power or it's proper use. You're like a blind man behind the helm, eventually someone will get hurt, you and a lot of others."

All Tristram heard was meaningless words, words, and words. The man was supposed to be a Grey, an expert in persuasion, but Tristram wasn’t persuaded. All he felt was contempt instead. In order to mediate, you had listen, no matter how hard the words were to hear, but the Asha’man hadn’t listened. At what point had Tristram said that he was special? He had explained the whys and the hows, the reasons he felt like he did, but did that make him special? No. He had said it in hope of more understanding. One size would never fit all, after all. The Tower couldn’t hope to keep going if it treated all its students the same.

Tristram’s hands clenched into fists and he gritted his teeth, biting back on the urge to laugh. This was ridiculous, stupid. The Asha’man did not know him. Oh, so the man had seen a few dead Soldiers? That made him the expert about everything and everyone, did it? That made everyone the same? This time Tristram did laugh, shaking his head, not quite believing what he was hearing. And all this was happening because he had dropped a few books. Maybe if the Tower hadn’t been so intent on treating the Novices and Soldiers like children they would have been able to protect themselves.

The Asha’man made so many assumptions, so many incorrect assumptions, that Tristram had to wonder if he should ask him whether he thought he could read minds. Sorry, mate, you haven’t got that Talent…

He stared with cold eyes at the other man, his lips pressed into a thin line, hands still clenched into fists. If looks could kill… Well, the Asha’man wouldn’t be dead, but he certainly wouldn’t be standing.

“Learning something does not mean I have to be treated like a child. Would you teach and treat a man, who was somehow able to use his legs for the first time, to walk as if were a child? I don’t think so. Should you teach and treat a man to learn the sword the same way you’d teach a child? ‘Darling, don’t do that, you might poke your eye out…’

“I wouldn’t treat a blind man like a child either. I wouldn’t belittle him, I wouldn’t demean him. No, I’d guide him. I’d treat him with the respect that he deserves. It doesn’t matter how dangerous something is. It gives you no bloody right to treat them like that. That shows you as fools more than anything else. Men will close their ears, refuse to listen, and that’s when the accidents happen and the danger will come. Respect goes far further than bullying, but I suppose,” and he smiled, “that doesn’t feed the ego. ‘Yes, Asha’man, no, Asha’’man, you’re so amazing, can I lick your boots…? I-I can’t believe I’m in your presence!’”

He laughed again, eyes still cold. “You have absolutely no idea what I’ve been saying, and yet I’m supposed to listen to you? You’ve persuaded me of nothing. I’m not asking to be allowed to do anything I want. I’m asking to be able to be me so I can get the chance to learn. So, if you please, Asha’man, punish me, whip me, throw me out, and be done with it, because, quite frankly, I’d rather be dealing with that.”

Taesh sighed, a sound of exasperation and disgust.

"You hear to defend, you do not listen to understand. I am done wasting my breath and time."

The Head Clerk turned back to look at the Soldier, a look that was rarely seen on his face. It was one of sadness painted over with regret and disappointment. Taesh saw the good in everyone, everyone was an immediate friend until they weren't, that was how the Asha'man lived his life. Tristram had all but proven himself to be someone the Asha'man would rather keep at a far distance. Taesh could never imagine acting the way Tristram did, a sense of entitlement permeating his every movement and word. Especially when speaking to someone who had obtained already what he swore was his ultimate goal. The Atha'an Miere saw no disrespect in reminders to respect rank, not total obeisance, but acknowledgement that the haul he wanted lied in another ship. Had Tristram been Atha'an Miere and spoken to the Sailmistress in such a way, he would quickly find himself tied to the mast, probably during a storm. Sometimes lessons had to be learned the hard way.

"You are free to go Soldier, though you may leave the books with me, I will see them returned to the Library. Stop by there and let the attendant Brown know they may send someone to collect them from the Head Clerk" Taesh looked at the books. Refusing to let the Soldier keep the books was partial out of spite, the Atha'an Miere could be when put his mind to it. It was also because he felt that the Soldier was not ready to be researching the Ajah's if he was not ready to listen for knowledge instead of defensively. Finally, the Atha'an Miere could not see the Soldier had much free time in the near future to study much outside of his assigned classes.

"When you have reported to the Library attendant, go an introduce yourself to the Stablemaster. Let him know that Taesh Asha'man has sent him the help he requested before. The Grey horses go out just as much as the Blues and Reds and need much attention, he may assign you there for now. Let him know your tasks there will have to wait until the next tide, because you will have to report to the Master of Soldiers after that. The Aiel are much better at steering a lesson to port than I."

Taesh took one last deep breath before turning his gaze from the Soldier toward the door. He had forgotten about the ward placed there, and had to once again seize saidin to dismiss it. He was sure that by now, even though no one could enter or hear outside, a crowd had gathered close to the hall. Soldiers and Novices knew what a warded room meant, and liked to know who had caught the ire of an Aes Sedai or Asha'man. Taesh had gathered in those same crowds in his learning days, normally to console rather than be nosey.

In order to be able to defend, you had to understand what was going on or your arguments would flat, but Tristram knew it would be pointless to say anything. The Asha’man was blind. He saw what he only wanted to see, heard only what he wanted to hear, and Tristram was also very much done with wasting his breath and time. He thought that if he said the sky was blue, the Asha’man would argue differently, because clearly Tristram was entitled and noble and that made him the worst sort of person. He was, he admitted, slightly disappointed that the Asha’man hadn’t countered his words, but then that was also a victory.

He had won the argument, and the Asha’man had lost.

There was no way, though, that he was going to be forced to do chores because he dared to have different views and had managed somehow – by saying that the Asha’man should sit down?- to offend the man. He wasn’t going to suffer because someone, supposedly of the Ajah that could argue and persuade and sway people with words, couldn’t see past his own nose. They could drag him back if they wanted, but he had absolutely no intention of handing himself over. He hadn’t come here to muck stables. He’d been perfectly polite, but that had apparently not been enough.

He smiled, “I’d rather not leave the books with you, if it’s all the same to you. I think it’s rather pointless to give the librarians more work when I’ll only check them out again. Besides, I thought Asha’man were supposed to encourage their students to learn. But, here you are, taking away my source of learning.”

He pushed himself off the table and onto his feet, scooping up the books before the Asha’man even had a chance to react, and then he was heading for the door.

“I’ll be happy to report your biased and unprofessional behaviour to the Master of Soldiers, though. Asking for a room, apologising, thanking you and saying that I’ll be fine should not have warranted such an extreme reaction. But thank you once again.” He sketched a bow. “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Asha’man.”

He stepped out the door and through the crowds, too fast for anyone to stop him and wrap him in air.

There was a point when things shifted. A line, that once crossed, brought out the extremes of a person's personality. Taesh had reached and propelled past that point. He could understand rebellion, he was not known as the most obedient of children on the Star Song and Light knew he had done his fair share of penance in the Tower. Yet, even the Atha'an Miere knew that there were some things you didn't do, and blatantly disrespect rank was never the answer. Even in his anger, facing the threat of being jailed and worse because of Valadin Asha'man, Taesh had known how far he could go. Tristram apparently thought himself above such rules, and it would be a hard lesson to teach him that he was not.

Taesh took quick steps toward the entrance of the classroom, before he had reach the door saidin was already raging through his being. When he stepped into the hallway, it was easy to tell which way the errant Soldier had went by the eyes of the gathers learners. Many of the smiled at Taesh when he came out of the room, he was well known for being one of the more laidback and approachable channelers of the Tower. Those smiles however, quickly turned to looks of confusion as the students took in the look on the Head Clerk's face.

The Atha'an Miere stalked down the hallway like a shark following a blood trail. As the crowd of learners thinned out, keeping themselves out of the Asha'man's sights, Taesh was finally able to spot the quickly retreating Soldier and the books he was told to leave. Taesh didn't call out, he simply called into being a wall of Air in front of the Soldier, and felt a fleeting moments satisfaction as Tristram ran into it with a look of confusion.

As The Head Clerk continued moving towards the Soldier whose escape had been arrested, the hallway mysteriously emptied very quickly. With his senses heightened by saidin Taesh could feel that just around the corner the crowd had gathered, but this time he did not weave the ward against eavesdropping.

"We now have a problem Soldier. A very serious problem." Taesh said, his voice so dangerously polite it was confusing. "When I told you what to do, it was not a suggestion." Taesh wove Spirit, in a weave that cut the Soldier from being able to reach the One Power. The dark skinned channeler was not sure if the Soldier could even thread one of the Powers, but he did not want to take a chance. The Soldier had shown he had no respect for rank, and if he attempted to use saidin against Taesh, the Asha'man would respond. Even if he were bound by the Oaths, he could defend himself.

"Now Soldier, you and I together will see my task done, after we have a nice talk with the Master of Soldiers, but let me take care of those books for you."

Taesh called out to a Dedicated, and one quickly came around the corner. "Dedicated, please relieve this Soldier of these books and take them to the Grey suites. Let any of my Brothers and Sisters know to place them in the mediation suites, I will collect them when I am done." The Atha'an Miere turned his attention back to the Soldier pressed against the One Power crafter wall. "Give the books to the Dedicated, Soldier Tristram."

He managed to stop himself from walking into the wall of air, sensing the weaves just in time to stop before he collided with it, but he wasn’t able to stop himself from being Shielded. Tristram gritted his teeth, fighting against the fury threatening to rise. He’d had enough now. He wasn’t going to deal with some jumped up idiot who thought he could throw his weight around because of his rank. Yes, the Asha’man might be of full rank, but he certainly didn’t deserve the respect such a rank warranted, and Tristram would be damned if he gave it to him. Just because you were an Asha’man or Aes Sedai didn’t not mean you were right. He’d always been taught to question his teachers, to engage with them, to learn and to earn each other’s respect. He still couldn’t see anything wrong in what he had said. Oh, he was forward, yes, more confident than most, but he hadn’t said anything disrespectful until the bloody Asha’man had got his knickers in a twist.

There was definitely a serious problem.

He stared stonily at the man, but made no move to hand over the books. He wasn’t going to give up or back down now. He’d do it for another Asha’man or Aes Sedai, but not the one in front of him, not when the man’s judgements were flawed and his reactions excessive. Tristram hadn’t done anything wrong.

“I’ll hand them over to the Master of Soldiers, but not to you,” he said. “I’m not being punished because you decided to take a disliking towards me because of something I can’t help. That’s both unjust and unfair, and goes against everything the Tower seems to stand for. So, please, fetch the Master of Soldiers.”

Taesh was not in the mood to entertain the Soldier any longer. He didn't have to and the petulance had not endeared the Asha'man to Tristram at all. At some point anyone who came to the Tower had to get with the program, not matter how it grated. Almost everyone, perhaps barring those born to the Tower or Hama Valon, had made sacrifices to come to the Tower. Taesh himself, born to the sea and expecting to die there, had given up that life and had to make one on land. He had not seen his ship, family or Clan, yet he knew that the Tower was his destiny, and learned to live by the rules of it. In the Atha'an Miere's opinion Tristram would never seen the Sword, let alone Dragon, pin if he did not learn a lesson quickly: you live by the rules of the ship you're on, until you can build your own.

The Atha'an Miere only gave the Dedicated a sharp nod, and felt a moments aggression as the Dedicated wrested saidin and ensnared the books in question in a net of Air, taking them from the Soldier. The Dedicated gave Tristram a look of pity as he settled the books in his arms before looking back to Taesh.

The Head Clerk only continued starring at the Soldier who thought the rules did not apply to him. "We do not fetch the Master of Soldiers, we go to him" Taesh began before the though of Jhanic dredge a memory up. The Aielman had left the Tower for a trip to home, something important. His responsibilities were currently being over seen by another. "Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, the winds have taken Jhanic from the Tower for a time. I have never met her, so now would be as good a time as any, we will go see Mistress Velanya. You have two choices, and only two choices Soldier. You may walk of your own will and dignity, with me as escort to the Mistress of Novices quarters, or I can restrain and carry you. Which shall it be?"