The Grey Tower

The sooner he could get rid of the Asha’man, the better things would be. He had to wonder how the man had managed to be raised to Asha’man when he took such easy offence and had such obvious prejudice. Tristram hadn’t done anything to earn his ire, but he was certainly willing to snap back, perhaps more so because he hadn’t done anything that deserved even the level of anger the Asha’man threw at him.

Confidence shouldn’t get you punished. So he wasn’t totally deferential. So what? He took the piss out of himself more often than not. He couldn’t, and wouldn’t, change his bloody personality so that some idiot could feel better than everyone else. The other Aes Sedai and Asha’man seemed able to deal with his manner, but apparently not this one. Apparently not being all “Let me kiss the floor you walk on. The words you speak are pure wisdom and I’m in such awe!” was the wrong way to be. “Thank you, but I’ll be fine” was enough for him to kick off? Sorry for being amused by the warning when he was perfectly capable of looking after himself! It was ridiculous and stupid.

So, yes, the sooner he could get away from the bloody Asha’man, the better.

He gave the Asha’man a withering look, “If you want to escort me, that’s fine, and, if you want to pick me up, sure. Should I feel like the Queen of Andor with a bodyguard, or a wife being carried over the threshold?” He made no move to hand over the books, and there was no attempt at being polite. He was polite to people who deserved it, but the Asha’man did not. “But fine. You can voice your complaint and I’ll voice mine.”

He started walking towards the Mistress of Novices’ office. He was doing what the Asha’man wanted, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he was picked up with air and carried. He wasn’t walking meekly two steps behind, after all, was he?

Jhanic had taken an extended holiday and Zeen had seen fit to put Jaryd in his place for the duration. The M’Hael’s reasoning had been unexpectedly sound: Every student Jaryd had taken into his tutelage had become an outstanding, talented Asha’man in his own right, including Zeen himself. The Red demonstrated remarkable care for the growth and development of the young, and that was a skill much desired in a Master of Soldiers. After an initial burst of frustration, Jaryd accepted the decision with remarkably little fight. No one could stop him from leaving the Tower if he found it necessary to do so...and in the meantime, the position offered many opportunities, both selfish and altruistic.

The Altaran left Zeen's office and immediately descended to his new study, where he began to go through files and acquaint himself with his temporary students. It was a lengthy process and he found himself moving about frequently as he studied, intense energy refusing to be contained by the unfamiliar walls of his new home. A few hours after his arrival he found a seat on the wide bench in the hall across from his office. He held a thick book that chronicled every penance given out in the last year, and leafed through it with unfeigned fascination. He had to admit that some of Jhanic’s ideas were intriguingly effective, if rather alien to his mindset.

The news of his appointment had not reached the Tower at large just yet, so Jaryd was not terribly surprised to note two men approach and pass him by in his peripheral vision. One was Taesh; the normally serene Grey looked as if he had grown his very own thundercloud, his face was so dark. His companion was younger (but not actually young) with a face that made Jaryd chew the inside of his lip and sincerely regret accepting the knot of rank he now wore on his shoulder. The younger man was a soldier, and he carried a stack of books with white-knuckled intensity. Odd.

“I’m afraid Velanya Sedai is out,” the Altaran said calmly, closing the book and pushing himself to his feet. They turned to face him, and Taesh managed to express polite confusion even through his obvious annoyance. “The M’Hael appointed me as temporary Master of Soldiers just this morning," Jaryd explained, tapping the knot of cords on his shoulder with one finger as proof. "May I suggest we adjourn to my study?” He gestured for the two to proceed him. Once they were inside the red-clad man closed the door and circled behind his desk, though he remained standing with his fingertips lightly pressed against the wooden surface.

“What brings you here?” He asked, one eyebrow going up as he glanced at Taesh.

Taesh'd confusion knocked a small portion of his anger and annoyance away, but just the smallest portion. It took the Atha'an Miere a moment to reconcile Jaryd being the Master of Soldiers, even temporarily. Apparently Jhanic's time away from the Tower was lasting longer than he first thought. Taesh's mind briefly contemplated his Aiel friend, and through his current emotional state, Taesh sincerely hoped that the Asha'man of the Indigo was faring well.

The other concern was Jaryd himself. The Head Clerk had very little interaction with the Red, though if he was being honest with himself, he had admired from afar. Quite far in truth, mainly because Jaryd had been Father, M'Hael, when Taesh had entered the Tower as a Soldier. The Atha'an Miere was still not quite sure how, but he knew also that Jaryd, in his time as M'Hael, had also been instrumental in the Halls decision to allow Accepted and Dedicated the choice to take the Oaths or not upon Raising. Taesh did not think the two had said much more than a few sentences to each other over the years, but the interim Master of Soldiers was about to get much more than that.

"I apologize for interrupting your reading, but I was bringing Soldier Tristram here to meet with you. I had asked him to come here on his own, but the wind apparently had blown him off course, so I decided to escort him myself."

Taesh turned to the indignant Soldier, giving him a look that wavered between disapproving and amused. Not for the first time, Taesh wished that some of the learners who felt their vanishing authority, had been raised by Clans on the sea. Any Sailmistress worth her salt knew how to quickly deflate egos going at full sail.

"Soldier Tristram has shown me a complete lack of respect for rules or rank, has a nasty tendency to tell others what he will and will not do, and seems to think he runs the helm here" Taesh turned his attention back to Jaryd and gave the Master of Soldiers a recounting of his interaction with Soldier Baryn.

For a moment, everything was forgotten as he simply stared at the new - albeit temporary - Master of Soldiers. There was no mistaking who the man was. Jaryd Kosari There were very few Asha’man who fit his description; he could be no else. And Jaryd Kosari happened to be the Bonded to the M’Hael. And the M’Hael and he… He and the M’Hael… on the roof… Tristram paled. He knew enough of bonds to know that Jaryd had probably been aware of all of it. Well, well, well aware of it. At the time, Tristram had been too drunk to care, hadn’t actually thought about it, but now… He felt like he was suddenly going to throw up, and, as he contemplated the whole thing, he paled even more.

He almost missed the chair, his entire focus on Jaryd, unable to look away, unable to stop himself from wondering if the man knew just who he was. He bit down on his lower lip, hard, pulling it between his teeth, still feeling just a little ill. He was fairly certain that Soldiers weren’t supposed to go rolling around on roofs with M’Haels. If nothing else, that would certainly get him kicked out. His heart started to pound, and, if anything, he gripped the books he held even harder. Light, oh Light, oh bloody, bloody Light!

His breathing accelerated. He’d always been a private person. He preferred people not knowing too much about him. That was why he often acted as he did: most people were too focused on that to look too deep. He was well and truly buggered now.

It was the other Asha’man’s words that finally pulled him back to the present, and he forced himself to concentrate, somehow managing not to shoot the idiot Asha’man a glare. He drew a breath, pushed a hand through his hair, and tried to find some level of calm, though he didn’t succeed.

He looked back at Jaryd, blushing before he could stop himself, and shook his head. “The Asha’man… I’m sorry… I’m afraid I don’t know his name. He seemed fine with my manner of speaking to him until the moment I revealed I was a former noble, and then things seemed to fall apart. He started making wrong, unjust and unfair assumptions of me - that I apparently wish to feel my rank from before I came to the Tower - and that I should suddenly be punished for being disrespectful when I'm not aware of having changed the way I was speaking.

“I’m more than willing to accept punishment and to treat those who deserve it with respect, but I’m not willing to accept punishment or to be treated unfairly for simply being who I am. That seems to go against everything the Tower stands for. Yes, I’m forward, but if that is the problem, I should have been punished from the start instead of being led to believe that that was fine. No one else,” and he thought of the M’Hael again, which only made his blush deepen, “has ever had a problem in the way I am.

“I shouldn’t have to let someone treat me like he did simply because I’m a Soldier and because he doesn’t like nobles. I can’t. I apologise for that, but I can’t. It’s incredibly unfair.”

Although Jaryd had not spoken to Taesh on a personal level all that much, the two of them had been peers as Heads of their respective Ajahs for some time. Much could be learned about a man from observing him in the Hall; the man had a well-earned reputation for calm reason and facilitation, but he did have weaknesses. Jaryd paid special care to which details the Asha’man emphasized and filed his questions away for later.

Of the soldier who accompanied Taesh, Jaryd knew very little. In fact, he thought he might know more about House Baryn in general than he did about Tristram the human. How did it impact a man to know that most people judged him by his family name rather than his own merit? Is that why he’s looking at me like he just swallowed a silverpike? Taesh’s account had been crisp and clear, Tristram’s more emotional- and an odd echo of Jaryd’s thoughts of a moment before. There were questions to be answered there, as well.

After Tristram finished speaking, the Red remained quiet for several breaths. Then he pressed his fingertips together in front of his chest, his attention turning to the Sea Folk man. “Thank you for bringing this matter to my attention, Taesh. I would prefer to address the matter of my student’s penance privately. However, if you would meet me later today...perhaps by the fountain in the garden…?” He cocked his head to the side until Taesh nodded agreement. “We can discuss the details then.”

Once the Asha’man had departed, Jaryd gestured to the chair across from his desk. “Unless you would prefer to be uncomfortable while we talk, please take a seat.” The Asha’man settled into his own chair, turning his options over in his head.

“I understand you are frustrated by perceived injustice,” he said finally, “and I understand the desire to fight back by whatever means necessary, especially when it feels all the power lies in another’s hands. However, there are better ways to go about addressing the issue than the path you took.” The Altaran’s gaze traveled over the room, then came back to the Andoran’s face. “I can tell by your posture you are a fighting man, Tristram. Tell me- would you disobey a general’s orders purely because you dislike him?”

It was going to be like that, then? The Asha’man just got to walk away whilst he got all the blame. Tristram knew he shouldn’t have expected anything more, but he had, and it was hard to keep the disappointment from his face as he watched the Asha’man leave.

Fists clenched, he pressed his lips into a thin line and looked back at the Master of Soldiers. There was the thought again that the man had felt everything, but he quickly stamped down on his embarrassment, refusing to let his face colour. This wasn’t about that, and thankfully his bitterness managed to sweep all his other feelings aside. He took a breath, breathing in deeply, and then another and another, trying to grasp at even the smallest bit of calm. Even though he was no longer Shielded, he couldn’t have reached for saidin if he tried. The Void was as far away as it could get, and instead he simply contemplated the man before him, wondering if there was some way that he could recover this whole stupid situation. And to think this had all started with him trying to find more reasons to stay at the Tower and not give up. Yes, he definitely wanted to stay after this! Couldn’t dream of anything else! It was hard not to laugh. Bitterly.

He didn’t actually know all that much about the new Master of Soldiers. He’d been M’Hael for a time, and then, apparently, gone completely crazy due to the loss of a bondmate. It wasn’t information that was particularly helpful. Oh, Tristram could relate – he’d felt like he was falling apart when his wife and children had died -, but that wasn’t going to help him now, was it? All he could do, he supposed, was accept whatever was thrown at him… no matter how much he wanted to rebel against that.

“I wouldn’t disobey a general’s orders simply because I disliked him, no,” he said finally, meeting Jaryd’s eyes. “I would, however, disobey a general’s orders if I thought they were stupid and destructive or unfair. If I was told to walk off a cliff, I wouldn’t. And if I was a general, I wouldn’t punish my men for simply being themselves. I wouldn’t want to follow a man like that.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I always let the men voice their thoughts, feel like they could talk to me… Like I was one of them, fighting alongside them, ready to give my life for theirs. I wouldn’t ask them to do something I wouldn’t do first, for example. You don’t gain respect through fear and stamping all over them.” He couldn’t help the smile that flicked across his face. “I’d be the first to lead a mutiny.”

The Altaran watched the soldier intently, noting the rise and fall of his chest, the compression of his lips, way his eyes went flat. Tristram was far angrier than he appeared at a cursory glance. He did answer the question, however, much to Jaryd’s relief. He could carry out his duty without a response, but by choosing to communicate the Andoran had proven himself capable of rising above petty frustration. That alone made Jaryd's penalty list significantly shorter.

“That was well spoken,” the Red responded, looking at Tristram with new interest. “It is very true that obeying someone blindly just because they are in charge is not always a good decision...and I believe you and I could talk for hours on the nature of leadership." His smile was genuine, but fleeting. "However...it is just as damaging to rebel against an order you perceive as stupid without full consideration of the probable consequences.” Jaryd wanted to draw Watari, to feel her familiar weight in his palm, but given the subject matter he elected to pluck a pen off the desk and roll it between his fingers as he thought.

“As a very immediate example: Asha’man Taesh ordered you to report to the Master of Soldiers. If you had done as he commanded and brought yourself to my office immediately, you and I would be having a very different conversation. Perhaps we would be sitting over there,” he waved to the couch beneath the window, “enjoying a cup of mulled wine while we discussed constructive ways to address the obvious tensions that rise when a group of people from disparate cultures and classes are permanently shoved into one building and expected to simply get along. Clearly it doesn’t always work as well as it should, don’t you think?” His lips twitched up.

“Unfortunately you chose to dig in your heels and resort to being insubordinate to a member of the Hall, which is a violation of Tower Law.” Jaryd held up his hand to forestall objection. “I understand you were upset, Tristram, and it may have been for good cause. I was not there, so it is difficult to say. However, no matter how Taesh spoke to you it was extremely unwise to refuse an Asha'man's direct and lawful command. It was particularly unwise to do so after he gave you recourse to seek justice for the problem that caused the conflict in the first place.” He paused, head tilting slightly to the side. "Do you understand what I am saying?"

Oh, Tristram had thought about the consequences, but he hadn’t actually thought that they would happen. The idea had been too ridiculous, too silly to fully comprehend, but here he was. Wonders never ceased! Not that there was anything about this current situation that was particularly wonderful.

He slumped back in his chair, more than tempted to shut his eyes and pretend that this whole thing was not happening, and that it was, in fact, all just dream. It certainly felt like one. He felt like he was five-years-old again, about to be scolded and have his wrists slapped. It was humiliating in a way; he was twenty-eight-years-old, for the love of the Light. He wasn’t some naughty school boy to be dragged before the teacher. His nails dug into his skin as he clenched his hands into fists all over again, but he barely noticed. He was too busy fighting against his annoyance.

His first reaction was to lash out at the man in front, but it wasn’t Jaryd’s fault. The man was only doing his duty, and Tristram had to try and make that duty be something he could agree with. He’d given into his temper with Taesh, but he wasn’t going to repeat the same mistake, and so he took a few more calming breaths, biting down on his lip. The slight pain helped focus him.

“My mother always did say my temper would be the death of me,” he said with a soft snort, attempting a smile and somehow managing it. He still sat slumped back in the chair, almost as if the energy had been sapped from him.

“I know I shouldn’t have reacted, but I can’t change what I did. I’m never going to be the sort to accept my own hanging and go quietly because I happened to looked at someone crossed-eyed and in a manner they didn’t like. I didn’t know what your response would be, and I certainly wasn’t going to just hand myself over to the stables without getting a chance to stand up for myself. And...” He shrugged his shoulders, deciding to be honest. “I can’t stand people assuming that they know me, that they know my motivations, my reasons for being here, why I do what I do. I’ve never liked being judged. ‘Oh, that nobleman, he’s so far up his own arse…’” when, in reality, he was just trying to keep all the pieces together and stop himself from shattering.

He straightened and rubbed at his face, letting out a sigh. “I’m willing to accept whatever punishment you deem fit. I can understand when I’m wrong, albeit somewhat,” and he smiled again, meeting the Master of Soldier’s eyes once more, “grudgingly. At least let me keep the books. I’m happy to beg, and I swear I won’t torch them in some rebellious fit of defiance.”

Jaryd listened to Tristram’s words with overt interest, but his true attention focused on the younger man’s body language. The Asha’man had not spent his entire life studying people and their mannerisms to be tricked by a soldier who used dissembling gestures and half-truths to hide his true emotions. In that way, Tris reminded Red rather strongly of Zeen...and even, uncomfortably, of himself. What had he wanted from Landrin that the Asha’man had never truly granted? Respect. Was that what Tris wanted?

Jaryd quirked his lips at the last bit, amused at the touch of drama. Instead of responding, he looked at the books stacked on his desk, examining each title. So the soldier really had been interested in the Ajahs! “Indeed, keep the books,” he said at last, sitting up straight in his chair and reaching for paper. “Keep them, read them. You have years yet before you need think about an Ajah, but the research will help you in other ways. If you do happen to torch them, it isn’t my wrath you will face. I hear Murdock can be quite forceful with that stick of his.”

His mind raced as he considered how to move forward. “In addition, for your penance you will go to the Library and ask for a condensed version of the Tower Laws that pertain to our chain of command and our expectations of those who agree to train with us. There are many copies of this text and it is not terribly dense. You will read it, and then write me a report on exactly how many rules you broke by butting heads with Asha’man Taesh, and what the harshest penalty for doing so might have been.” Jaryd already knew that stilling and exile topped the list, though it would have taken considerable effort from Taesh to force the Hall to enact it.

The Red’s thin, spidery script had half-covered the page while he spoke; now he paused with his pen in the air and looked up at his temporary charge. Whatever Tris thought of that assignment, all he said was, “you have definitely written more than one title.” Jaryd’s lips twitched up despite his best efforts, and he chuckled as he glanced down at the list he had created. He would have prefered to have simply handed the books to the soldier, but his reference texts were the breadth of the Tower away from him still.

“I have,” he acknowledged, scarred fingers turning the parchment to face the Andoran. “But these are not for penance, these are for personal education. I’ve jotted down some of my favorite books about leadership and law,” the Altaran explained. “The good, the bad, the ugly. Some of it is historical; for example, this one is a treatise on how blind loyalty led to Artur Hawkwing’s fall.” His finger pointed out the title, then slid down a bit. “This one is a discussion of how fierce loyalty to their leaders and strict adherence to stringent laws have helped the Borderland forces protect us from the Shadow for three thousand years. Others are a bit more relevant to your interests; for example, this one was written by one of the Grey Tower’s first Aes Sedai. She was quite young and it shows in her prose, but she goes over some of the more interesting details of why Keyeran and Nevelyn defied tradition and law, left their respective Towers behind, and came together to form the place we now call home.”

Jaryd tapped the paper, then pushed it all the way across the desk. “I hope the next time I see you it’s to talk about what you have learned from these pages, and not as a result of you learning nothing at all. My next penance will not be so easy.”

If he really had years to go, Tristram thought that he might just jump off a cliff, or, if no cliff was available, off the top of the Tower. He didn’t think he’d be able to handle years as a learning rank. It was one of the few things he hadn’t actually contemplated when he’d decided to come to the Tower. The idea that you needed years to learn wasn’t one that had actually entered his mind. He didn’t think in years. He tended, instead, to think in the now. Things happened when he wanted them to, no sooner or no later. He would, he was determined, become a Asha’man a lot faster than years. Of course, his only outward response was a small smile.

He’d actually read the Tower Laws, but he’d always followed the philosophy that rules were made to be broken. Oh, he could definitely write a report on what rules he had broken, but he wasn’t going to skip why he had been justified in breaking said rules. Sometimes you had to challenge rules in order to see how wrong they were, and hadn’t the Grey Tower been founded on broken rules itself? Those who had established it had abandoned the White and Black Towers in order to found the Grey. A deep offence, he thought, in the minds of the other Towers. Was it not, then, slightly hypocritical to punish people for showing their own minds in a place that had been founded as a result of rebellion? He’d write the report, but he’d write what he wanted. There was going to be no missing that part out either.

From the looks of it, he’d be reading for quite some time, and he couldn’t help but pull a face at that. He usually liked reading, but that was when he had the free time in which to do it. His free time here was spent trying not to go crazy. No doubt if anyone found out about what he usually did he’d end up with even more punishment, although, and his cheeks coloured ever so slightly as he looked again at Jaryd again, could they really when it had been the M’Hael he had broken the rules with at one point?

He took the paper and sank back in his chair as he read through the list, wondering if there was a way he could read by candlelight in the Gardens without being caught. He didn’t like staying in his rooms either. He never had, not even back at home. Maybe it was all those years spent on campaign sleeping in tents. But, even as a child, he’d always enjoyed camping out in the orchard. Outdoors had always been far more appealing than indoors. It made you feel more free.

He tore his gaze away from the paper and looked back at Jaryd, raising his eyebrow ever so slightly. “May I ask what your next penance will be?” He gave a small, amused smile. “I’m beginning to think I should have gone with mucking out the stables. This really is a lot of reading and it might take me a year to get through it, but it sounds like I’ll learn a lot from it. But..” He leaned forward and bit his lip, debating whether to ask the next question, and, as ever, gave in.

“I was wondering if while I was here I could make a request. You’re the Head of the Red Ajah still, yes? And, well, this all started because I wanted to find out more about the Ajahs, and…” He shrugged his shoulders helplessly, wincing a little. “I can’t really pass up the opportunity while I’m here to ask if I could possibly take up more of your time and learn a bit more about the Red. I have years, yes, but I’m here, you’re here… It’s practically a date in the making, and I’m sure you don’t want me purposely get in trouble so I can end up in your office again, which I just might in order to see you again. If I promise to be on my best behaviour and not give you any reason to fetch your own stick-? I do just want to find out more to give me more of a purpose for why I’m here.”