The Grey Tower

No One was Safe.. save maybe the M'hael and those of rank with locked doors.. When the Tower headed to bed the night before, or woke up that day, on their pillow was a little carefully painted cookie in upside-down hearts. It was confusing, and there was no note or residue of Saidar or Saidin. In fact the lack of anything made it confusing.

As you leave the Tower, or peer out a window one could see what looked like colored flags all around the Tower. Even around the Barracks. It was the lack of a few colors, like Grey and White, but with Black flags that made it really confusing. Looking closely all is revealed.

The Tower is covered in colorful panties, and none of the Novice, Soldiers or even Drin escaped its tease. Not even the one that pulled the prank who sat cleaning swords in the yard with nothing under his pants. A quiet smirk on his face.

It'd been a long time since he'd had a cookie, he reflected, twisting the pastry in his fingers as he straightened. His bunkmates did much the same, as it was both later than their usual awakening and there was a hubbub in the halls. Stomping on his boots, Rhysland Bowery unfolded to his rather puny height, and did not pause to curse his milk-pale skin, floating freckles, or carroty-red hair. He dressed in a gray tunic and long trousers, tied his boots with an authoritative double knot, and slid into the hallway with a salute in place that was promptly ignored by everyone. Perturbed, he crossed to the window, where an ocean of backs blocked most of the view, and wriggled, writhed, and squirmed his way toward the glass.

"I know the green ones, the pink ones, and the ones with the Far Madding lace," one Warder said, stroking his Arafellin mustaches morosely. "Berylla will be most sore about those hanging about the Tower like bunting."

A few other male voices agreed: Rhysland took a moment to swallow the fact that these Warders spent entirely too much time with women's lacies, that several of the men were identifying multiple pairs, and that nobody appeared too scandalized. Where had he ended up? It was either the Creator's own paradise or a much prettier Shayol Ghul, and he wasn't certain which was the worse. "Those are the Accepted Einalie," a Ji said, from somewhere over Rhys' head, "but those are Neghali's. And those pairs..."

"They could be the Amyrlin Seat's," one Warder offered.

"Not hers."

"Well," a Shienaran said, again from high over his head, "I think I might know the yellow ones."

"Aye, we're fond of those," a Warder chuckled. "Well. Shall we barricade the doors before the Aes Sedai arrive, demanding to know what we didn't do about protecting their rooms?"

Rhysland's eyes widened farther. Barricade themselves? Had these men ever seen the One Power and an infuriated woman before? There wasn't a lock strong enough.

He had a severe craving for a long ride in the country. Six weeks or so might begin to set the ruffled feathers of the world's most powerful women right again. No, he had better find somewhere to be gone for twelve, at a minimum.