The Grey Tower

Ravak smiled contently as he read A Comprehensive Discussion of Pre-Breaking Relics. It wasn't that the book was particularly fascinating (although it was) that made the slender Fal Daran happy; it was the simple peace he could find in the Library. Even on the busiest days, such as today, he seemed to have his own little den in one corner where no-one would disturb him. He didn't even have that sort of solitude within his own quarters, although he shared them with no-one. At least two people had copies of the key that resided in his own pocket, and one of those keys could be used at any time for an inspection.

Getting to the end of a chapter concerning items presumed to be stored within the Stone of Tear, Rav closed the compendium. He slid it onto the table, and considered what to pick up next. There were two different biographies on Artur Hawkwing, each viewing history though a distorted lens. From the covers, there was nothing to set the two books apart. His interest on Artur Hawkwing had started when he was looking for more information on the Seanchan, but it had twisted into an investigation on the events that occurred within Tar Valon and the White Tower. He drummed his fingers on both books, indecisive about which to start on. After a few moments, he went for a third option, and lifted Pre-Breaking Relics. Standing, he strolled into another section of the library, to return the compendium.

Returning to his seat, he found a cuckoo had nested in his sanctuary. A brown-haired Dedicated had settled in the chair opposite his own, and was hastily rolling up a piece of parchment. No, not just a Dedicated; Dedicated Daelar Ralead. He had learnt something about unarmed combat from the Seanchan, as was appreciative of that fact. However, Rav felt that something personal had been infringed upon through Daelar's occupation of his table, even if the table wasn't actually his.

Pulling back a chair - my chair burn you! - the red haired Shienaran ensconced himself once more at the desk. He slid one of the books on Hawkwing, he didn't care which, along the desk pointedly. The two histories had been moved, and that had to be the Seanchan's doing. If you saw the books, why didn't you take another table? There's plenty of them! The Dedicated was now reading from a small book, seemingly ignoring the red-head opposite. He glared in Daelar's direction. There was a quill and an inkwell before the man. You're not here to read then, are you?

Ravak begrudgingly admitted to himself that he didn't have sole custody over the table, but he'd be damned if the Dedicated was just going to endure this in silence. And avoid the obvious fact that he was poorly concealing the fact he had come to write, not read. He could have been tactful, but that didn't suit his present temperament. "It's a pleasure to see you again, Dedicated Daelar." His tone was even. "What brings you to this part of the Library?" It was a neutral question, but it forced Daelar to at least acknowledge his presence.

Ravak wanted to cause mischief, despite the seniority of the man opposite, but the mention of ter'angreal momentarily moved that aside. The red-haired Drin straightened, the book on Hawkwing falling to his lap. Internally he winced. Light, now I've shown I'm interested. I'll not be able to browbeat now.

Rav scratched at his head in frustration. How to proceed? He really knew nothing of Daelar, nor of his culture or background. Rav was always a bit wary of male channellers, the same way that other people were wary of Aes Sedai. He respected Aes Sedai, but that respect didn't extend to the Asha'man.

Well, maybe it's time to change that. That thought didn't sound sincere in his own head. Rav would have loved a world where the Asha'man and male channellers didn't exist. He didn't think that was a callous thought - he had no intention on acting on that thought in the slightest - but he would have felt a lot more comfortable knowing they weren't around. A pang of self-reproach touched him at that. These were childish thoughts, unbecoming a Warder-in-training. Rav leaned forward. He wanted to show genuine interest; that wasn't hard. He also didn't want to surrender the table - his table - to anyone. Let's see if I can wheedle my way in here...

"Maybe I can be of assistance," the Fal Daran offered. He hated the sound of subservience in his own voice. "I practically live in this chair in my free time, and I've read a few books on ter'angreal. Maybe I can help you find something?"

Ravak ground his teeth. His emotions were already on edge, having to be self-effacing to the Dedicated. It was one thing to be dismissed out of hand by an Aes Sedai or an Asha'man, someone who had master how to channel. To be dismissed by a Dedicated, and during a free hour as well. And at my bloody table! Rav imagined lifting up Daelar with the One Power and dropping him on his head, but resigned himself to the realities of the world.

Daelar had taken the parchment back out, and was setting himself up to write. No, it's not writing. Rav thought that the parchment had drawings on it, although not drawings he recognised nor understood. Oh yes, of course, he thought wryly, I wouldn't understand. I'm just a poor sap who can't channel. Scrapping his chair back loudly, he rose to stand high over the Dedicated and his sketches. The Seanchan seemed to be pointedly ignoring him. Leaving the two histories on Hawkwing on the table - just as they had been the last time - Ravak stalked into the bookshelves.

Although he spent most of his time in his own corner of the library, he had wondered back and forth along the shelves enough to recognise the other semi-permanent features. The librarian was a Brown sister who knew where every book was, or at least seemed to, although her directions had got him lost on a number of occasions. There was a pasty-faced Novice who seemed to take so many notes, he thought she could write her own book. And there was an Indigo Asha'man, a Kandori from his accent, who mumbled as he read. It was the Asha'man that Ravak sought out now.

Rav returned from his excursion some time later, simultaneously upset and glad that the Seanchan Dedicated was still there. Daelar seemed to be concentrating on the parchment spread over the desk, making thoughtful marks with his quill. Rav slipped into his seat, and placed two books on the table where there was still space. One was A Comprehensive Discussion of Pre-Breaking Relics. He laid it down, opening at the chapter related to the Stone of Tear. According to this book, the Stone of Tear had a repository of ter'angreal to rival any of the Towers. The second book was much newer, and didn't have the mildewed smell that accompanied most of the tomes stored in the Library.

"This," Ravak started without preamble, "is a book on the theory behind making ter'angreal. From an Asha'man who has successful made ter'angreal." He let the words fall on Daelar's ears before continuing. "And I've been entrusted with it, at least until the next bell. Fancy a look?" His tone was somewhere between goading and inviting, weighted more heavily on the inviting side. If this doesn't break through that imperturbable visage, I'm going to lob this bloody book at him!

"Assuming you were capable of it, how would you go about creating a weave to regulate the flow of ink through a quill?" Ravak frowned - Daelar wasn't giving an bloody inch - and now he truly was at an impasse.

A bit of self-doubt crept into his thoughts. He knew he wasn't a noble or from a prominent family, but that hadn't make him stupid, or someone to be dismissed out of hand. He was well-read, the various books lying on the table were a small testament to that fact. And he was generally smart enough not to need the same lesson twice. But I know nothing of how weaves work. Nothing really about ter'angreal.

Mentally, he conceded. Collecting the four books - plucking the restricted book back from the thankless Daelar - he stood to leave. If he's so bloody entitled, he can have himself for company.

"I hadn't wanted anyone to know I was making a ter'angreal here." Daelar spoke in that drawling inflection Seanchan had. "I am not certain that it is sanctioned by the Tower."

Ravak paused, considering, the frown already falling away from his face. He's making a ter'angreal? Here, right now? This was fascinating to the young Drin, who relished any opportunity to learn about the One Power. He settled comfortably into his seat once more.

"You have my silence," he said, holding a hand to his heart, before he had really thought. Something unsanctioned by the Tower meant two things that Rav could think of. One was concerning actions related to Darkfriends, and he dismissed that with a shudder. No-one would be so brazen to follow the Dark One within the grounds of the Grey Tower. The second meaning was simply a breaking of the rules of conduct set down the Tower. Most of the rules made sense, but he had broken one of those rules in this very chair. That made him feel like he didn't have grounds to censure someone else.

Despite the swift words of apology, there was still a threatening light in the Dedicated's eyes. "In fact," the Dedicated continued, "if you procure two stones and another quill, I would be willing to make one of these for you." Ravak's heart skipped a beat. A ter'angreal for me? He couldn't begin to imagine what he could been a ter'angreal for. Most, but not all, required the One Power to use. What would a Drin - what would I do with one of those? Before he had an moment to voice those questions, Daelar spoke again. "You appear to be quite academic; a self filling quill would likely be quite useful for you, as well."

Ravak never considered himself a scholar, never thought that he would write a word worthy of placing in one of the tomes stored within this library's views, but he still had need of a quill from time to time. "A quill and two stones?" That seemed like a simple request, although who knew how the One Power would change such a simple object. Rav nodded, not wanted to lose this opportunity, and left the books on the table.

Returning after a few minutes, quill and stones in hand, he sat to watch whatever it was Daelar was about to do. Seeing ter'angreal being forged right in front of me! His blue-grey eyes watched with intrigue.