The Grey Tower

As the sun slowly rose above the Mountains of Mist, painting the eastern facade of the Grey Tower a golden hue, Albion stepped up his gate, home within sight. On the gray's back rode Prewtez d'Grayson, Gaidin of the Tower, though that seemed a lifetime ago. Months recuperating from a grievous wound had a way of changing one's perspective.

As they approached the gate, the warhorse began a spirited prance as he rider surveyed the scene about them. To his left, the woods in which he and his mentor, the former Mistress of Training Ubriel Byrne, had spent a pleasant afternoon cataloging the various monsters that served the Dark One. To his right, the training grounds which included the field in which he had taught cavalry tactics and, just beyond that, the archery course where Riahana Gaidar had held her classes. He thought again of the woman, the best with a sword, male or female, he had yet to meet. Was she still Mistress of Arms, as she had been months ago when he had departed the Tower? And what of the Amyrlin herself, would it be the same woman that had sent him on his mission, a mission cut short by a crossbow's bolt? Such questions would soon be answered, he knew, as Albion crossed through the gate, waved on by the guards there.

At least some things haven't change, Prewtez noted, as he nodded towards the guard whose name, he was fairly sure, was Mordjen. His partner, the surly one, Heb as Prewtez recalled, merely scowled.

“Well, you're surely a sight for sore eyes, Gaidin,” Mordjen's smile enlivened his otherwise ugly face, “Word around the guards was you was dead. Never believed it meself, not the likes of you, Gaidin.” Ah, yes, Prewtez remembered, this one was a talker.

Dismounting from the saddle, Prewtez gave Albion a pat on his neck as a groom rushed up to take the warhorse to the stables. “Seems it takes more than a bolt from a crossbow to do me in, eh Mordjen?” In truth, Prewtez knew how lucky he had been. He had made it as far as Four Kings without incident, only to be ambushed upon leaving the inn. Had he fallen from the saddle when the bolt took him in the back, that would have been the end of it, of him. His attackers, whomever they might have been, would have seen to finishing the job. Instead, Albion took off, with Prewtez firmly in the saddle, and somehow took him to a farmhouse outside the town. Whether by the hand of the Creator or simple good fortune, the place belonged to Shevedora Bancroft, widow of his troopers. Prewtez had done her a kindness, as he tried to do for each family of those lost under his command (thank the Light there had been few losses). Recognizing her late husband's former commander, she took the semi-conscious d'Grayson in and nursed him back to health. Oh, it had been a near thing, the bolt having punctured a lung. Prewtez had been confined to bed for the first month, and then only slowly began to regain his health. As he gradually to recover his strength he resumed his daily practice of dancing the sword forms. His goal had been, and remained, one day achieving the herons of a blademaster. But even as he practiced at an almost faniacal pace, he appreciated the irony. No matter how good a swordsman, he was taken down by an assassin from afar.

As the months passed, it became apparent to Prewtez that the widow Shevedora was hoping he would stay on. “The farm needs a man about,” she mentioned to him on more than one occasion. But his allegiance had been pledged to the Tower, and to the Tower he had to return. So it was that, once he deemed his body strong enough for the journey, he bid the widow farewell and set out to return... home.

Now that he had arrived, there were a couple of tasks that needed his attention. First to report to the Mistress (or Master) of Arms, to announce his return, and then, to the Amyrlin herself to announce his failure. Bidding Mordjen good day, Prewtez set off at a brisk pace across the Warders Yard, a reassuring sense of familiarity as he took in the training yards, Drin and Ji going about their exercises, past the stable and the armory and then entering the building housing the administrative offices of the Yard itself.

Not wishing to delaying the inevitable, he marched up the stairs and down the hall to the office of the Mistress of Arms, knocked once, and was told to enter. Stepping into the office, Prewtez was pleased to see that at least one thing had not changed in his time away. Riahana Gaidar was still the MoA.

“Gaidin Prewtez d'Grayson, reporting,”he said smartly, though he had sparred enough with the woman he knew his name was a mere formality. Placing hands behind his back, he stood rigidly before her desk awaiting... he wasn't quite sure.

Riahana rubbed her forehead as she looked over the paperwork before her. The rebuilding of Hama Valon and the Tower took vast amounts of the Triumvirate's time, and ate away from her duties to the Yards more than she would have liked. The cost to rebuild was staggering, but the Tower was wealthy in many ways. It and Hama Valon would soon be back to their previous glory, and few would be able to tell the amount of devastation leveled at the town and Tower.

Currently, the Mistress of Arms was sitting in her outer, public office. The inner one was under a bit of disrepair, though she could make it work if she needed a quiet moment or two to herself. Setting aside the ledger and report on reconstruction, she shifted her focus to updated work and training schedule. Ravak Gaidin had gone above and beyond during the attacks, protecting the children under his charge, putting their needs before his own. In what might seem a simple act, he'd proven himself once more worthy to carry the Master of Training mantle. The schedule before her was one of his first acts, and it had the Yards' learning ranks dividing their time between cleanup, reconstruction and training.

About to turn her attention to the next bit of paperwork, Ria paused when a familiar face was shown into her office. Setting aside the parchment, Ria folded her hands together and placed them on her desk. "Gaidin Prewtez de'Grayson. We had grown worried. . .welcome back and what news do you bring?" She knew some, but no details of his delayed return. The Seanchan attack took precedence and meant it was more than difficult to get aid to him.

Though gladdened to see the one person he respected above all others in the Tower, yea, even above the Amyrlin Seat herself (though he obviously would never admit to such a thing), Prewtez noted the strain upon the Mistress of Arms' face. That, and the construction he had noted on his way to her office brought the realization he had missed something important in his absence.

“Sadly, Gaidin, (OOC: Just saw the post regarding gender neutral ranks now) only news of failure on my part,” he then quickly related the events of the past month: the mission given him by the Amyrlin with instructions to tell no one of his leaving; the packet not to be opened until after departing Four Kings; the ambush that nearly took his life and, then, the months of recuperation at the hands of Shevedora Bancroft, a woman who, thank the Light, was a more than proficient healer even if not Aes Sedai. Finishing his account, Prewtez added:

“As I lie bedridden those first few weeks I came to face the fact that I need to bond with an Aes Sedai. I came to the Tower for that express purpose, willing to turn my life over to protecting another. But I also realize that with bonding come certain benefits to the warder as well. What took months of recovery time might have been shortened to weeks, perhaps even days. In fact, I might have sensed the ambush before it happened. At the very least, my bondmate would have felt my condition and could have alerted someone here at the Tower.”

Prewtez relaxed his stance before continuing, “I have no idea who the assassin might have been. I believe I would have felt his presence had he been a dark friend. Perhaps it was simply a brigand, or a Murandian raider. On the other hand, it might have been someone whose express purpose was to prevent me from carrying out my mission. I suppose I shall need to talk this over with the Amyrlin Seat herself.” A thought that brought no pleasure.

“But tell me, what has happened here? You, in this office, the cleanup and repair I see about, as if a battle has been fought.”

OOC: Seems like a good opportunity for you to bring me up to speed.

The Mistress of Arms ran her fingers along her jawline as she listened to the rest of the Gaidin’s account of what happened. “He may have been a Darkfriend, and you may never have known. There are those who likely walk among us that serve the Dark One while purporting to serve the Tower in earnest. My family has known all too well how subversive they can be, and it is nigh on impossible to sniff them out without a crumb of a lead.

“Having said that, rest assured we are glad you have returned to us, and while we would have sent you aid if we could, you’ve noticed the state of things. I am surprised news did not reach you. A faction of Seanchan thought it good to make a move on the Tower. It was, needless to say, a vicious battle. We prevailed, but not without loss,” Riahana explained.

The Mistress of Arms went into the official account of the battle, and left it at that. She did not share the personal scars she and hers bared, as it was not prudent to the conversation. Her thoughts drifted to her daughter, knowing Tia put on a brave face, but wondering how much of a toll her time in the clutches of the Seanchan really affected her.

“Now we rebuild, and learn how to improve our defenses going forward. We thwarted their attack, to be sure, but at great cost to us,” Ria pursed her lips. “We learn and move forward, without dwelling in the past. It is the way of the world,” she added.

Prewtez considered the Gaidin's words. 'Seanchan'? He knew little about them, came from across the sea he had heard. There had been a Soldier in his Unarmed Combat class, a quick little demon adept at using Prewtez's size against him... he had been Seanchan, hadn't he? Could he have been involved in the attack? No doubt the Administration was well aware of the matter and had investigated, if the man was even still part of the Tower. What was his name? It had totally slipped his memory.

“That is true, Gaidin, though still I regret not having been here to lend my sword to the defense,” not being the most social of people, Prewtez did not know many within the Tower: Ric Gaidin, a couple of Aes Sedai, some students he had sparred with and those who had taken his Mounted Combat class. He hoped all had survived the attack but felt it best not to ask. The Light only knows the Mistress of Arms felt each and every loss, no sense bringing up a painful subject.

“If memory serves, we were to spar but I was called away. I confess I am a bit rusty after my convalescence, Dancing the Forms only goes so far. I would like to test my steel against yours again... when you have the time of course,” there was no blade in the Tower quicker than Riahana Gaidin's, at lest to Prewtez's mind, “But now, if you have no further need of me, Mistress, I must report my failure to the Amyrlin herself.”

Riahana inclined her head, "I would be happy to work with you once again, Gaidin, though time is short given all of what we have going on at the moment. Once things are back to some semblance of normal, we shall see. I barely have enough time to focus on my training, much less working with others, which is a shame, to be sure. Training is the one clear excuse I can use to get out of the office and set aside paperwork. Right now, though, my priorities lie here."

Hearing he was to see her Memma, she allowed a small smile, "I would be surprised if the Amyrlin would not be understanding, Gaidin. Amyrlin she may be, but she is a green to her very core. She knows that failure is not the end of the story or the journey, but a learning experience for all." She let her smile grow a bit, "Though you should not keep her waiting. Carry on, Gaidin, and welcome home."

OOC: Short and sweet, but it does the job.

OOC: I think that wraps it up. Let me know about sparring, whenever you and Ria have the time.