The Grey Tower

By day, Zeen had become a familiar fixture out in Hama Valon. He still refused to wear the ridiculous black coat but had reached a tenuous level of compromise by wearing his pins on a leather cord that hung from around his neck.

The newly raised Asha’man was a constant presence around the construction areas, if not an entirely reassuring one. He saw the furtive glances, the wary expressions... He could not truly blame those that subsisted on such rumours about him. He did not know who circulated them; he did not care. He refused to speak of his time collared, and that was all that mattered. Best that he not even think about it. Beneath the light of the sun and the open skies, he could almost pretend that it had not happened. Rumours were all that the people knew of him and he was content to keep it as such.

His Talent for Earthsinging was complemented by the trio of Ogier that had come to help. Vamar, son of Dorei, son of Masaya; Seryn, son of Halim, son of Jocar; and Janden, son of Yoval, son of Lav. He was dwarfed by them and found the experience to be a novel one. Watching them as they shifted and reshaped living stone was a privilege in and of itself; being included in their sacred process was an honour that the Amadician had not expected to be afforded in his lifetime. The sensation of peace never lasted long, but he clung onto it whenever he could as he listened to the three sonorous voices lifting into song.

The brown haired man had also become a familiar fixture in the Yards. By night, he was a man possessed. He ran and ran and ran until he could not physically withstand the strain anymore. It took more and more laps, however, and when the inevitable happened that his body adapted, he was finally denied the exhausted oblivion that allowed him some semblance of rest and sanity. He had woken up screaming in the morning. He decided then that it was time he stopped using saidin to lift and settle the bricks. He stripped down to his breeches and joined the others along sturdy scaffolding and hauled and lifted, all the while baking and sweating beneath the sun, perfectly content to ignore the strange looks.

Zeen had lost count of how many days it had been, the hours mercifully blurring together. There was something simple in working with his body and he let himself fall into the mindless rhythmic repetition of it. It was... different, being able to use his hands. He stretched out aching muscles, his back popping in several places as he wiped at his face with his forearm. He waved off the offer for water; he did not need it yet. He caught sight of the Ogier moving below him, a brief wave from Vamar telling the Amadician all that he needed to know. He began the long climb down back to the ground. Another section of the curtain wall had been finished.

The Asha’man wiped his hands on his breeches, leaving behind smears of whitish dust. He smiled in greeting as he approached the three towering creatures, bowing when he reached them. Before he could say anything, however, a sudden yell pierced the air, quickly picked up by several other voices. Zeen glanced around, trying to find the source of the disturbance. The sound of something falling, crashing... it was close. There! Just off to his left. A pallet of stone brick... falling. Falling at him. At them. The Void settled into place around him.

The impossibly heavy load crashed through the scaffolding as if the thick beams were nothing more than matchsticks. Silver-grey eyes watched the approaching catastrophe as if he had hours to act and not seconds. Men and women screaming as they fell. He seized saidin, the world jumping into life affirming clarity.

A wide net of Air slowed the falling people. Bruises. Broken bones perhaps, but they would live. A thrust of Earth into the ground knocked the Ogier away from him. The Green wove a third time, a dome of hardened Air springing up around him. The first stones that peppered his shield were easy enough to ignore. When the majority of the pallet landed, the impact drove Zeen to his knees. The breath left him in a strangled grunt. He could not see the sky or the sun, the weight bearing down on his exhausted body. It was like... it was so much like... No! He felt icy fingers of fear sliding up his spine. He could feel the tremble of absolute fatigue along his arms and his shoulders. Light help him he could not... hold... The Shield collapsed and he sank into blessed, dreamless darkness.

Fiona had gloried in her freedom as a Ji’val until Mirin had visited the yards with a candle and the world had turned upside down. But I can’t channel...you told me I couldn’t channel…. she had told the Aes Sedai as she was peremptorily pulled away from the Yards toward the Tower. You said I couldn’t channel! Apparently the Mistress of Novices had been mistaken. How could an Aes Sedai miss something like that? Fiona supposed she would never have the answer to that question.

Novice life was not all she had dreamed of. Her clothes fit poorly. Her lessons reminded her overmuch of Synthia’s dry lectures. She missed her friends. She had precious little time to practice with her bow. The woman she had been housed with reminded her of the absolute worst of the Mantear women in Caemlyn. Grasping, devious, backstabbing cow! The woman would be stronger than Fiona, and made no qualms about crowing about it. It seemed that just as her lack of stature had earned her trouble in the Yards, so too would her lack of remarkable strength earn her trouble in the Tower.

It was not in Fiona’s nature to dwell on the things that troubled her, however. She could learn to channel after all, and nothing at all seemed too great a barrier to joy after that particular shift in her destiny. Therefore, rather than allowing herself to sit in the midst of trouble, she went out looking for new things to do.

Her seventh day in white she had reported to the Infirmary with clean hands, clipped nails, and her abundance of hair pulled back in a tight plait. The Yellows had looked at her as if she were some strange new breed of insect, but by the end of that first three hour period they were testing her knowledge on all manner of subjects. When she came back the next day, she was pulled in and set to work. From that point on, her time in that airy ward became the focal point of her day.

Two weeks later she was asked to watch the reception area while the Yellows had a meeting. It had been a relatively quiet day -which she reminded herself was a good thing in an infirmary- and she hummed tunelessly as she folded clean bandages. She could hear noise in the hall, but thought nothing of it until she realized it had drawn quite near. Abruptly the largest creature she had ever seen in her life came into the ward, ducking to avoid the delicate ornamentation that framed the tall arch.

What in the- Utter panic nailed her feet to the floor as her hands flew to her mouth, her heart hammering so loudly in her chest that they could surely hear it in Baerlon. Then slowly she got a grip on herself and realized that the being in front of her was looking at her with eyes the size of saucers, the hairy tips of ears trembling. “I did not mean to frighten you little sister,” he said. Abruptly Fiona remembered that Ogier had come to help rebuild Hama Valon, and she released a shaky laugh as she gave him the clumsiest curtsy she had ever performed.

“All is well, alantin,” she said, remembering the name her father had given for the otherworldly creatures. Gigantic lips spread into a wide grin, and for some reason Fiona found herself blushing. “What can I do for you?”

“It is not I,” he said in a rumbling tone, and his gaze swung downward.Abruptly Fiona realized the Ogier carried a man in his arms as a mother might carry a child. “This one stopped a load of bricks with his body.” Fiona’s head tilted to the side as she examined the Ogier’s burden until abruptly recognition struck and her hand went to her mouth again. No! She hastily skirted the desk and gestured for the Ogier to follow her for all the world as if she already wore a shawl.

“I will get help,” she said breathlessly as she indicated that Zeen should be placed on the nearest bed.. “Thank you….”

“Vamar, son of Dorei,” the Ogier supplied gravely.

“Thank you Vamar, son of Dorei. I am Fiona.” She curtsied again, this time much smoother. “Please wait?”

When she returned, two Yellows came with her. They glanced briefly at Zeen, then turned to talk to the Ogier. It confused Fiona that they had not immediately Healed the Amadician, but...she had discovered that Aes Sedai matters rarely made sense. Instead of trying to eavesdrop on their conversation, she gathered a few supplies, then pulled a stool over and settled near the unconscious man’s head. The blonde novice wiped his face clean and checked his head for injuries, wincing at the knot she found there. A load of bricks, the Ogier had said, and his body certainly bore the mark of such.

Her touch shifted lower, but as her fingers brushed a deep bruise at the top of his collarbone his hands flew up to wrap around her wrists. His eyes popped open a moment later, something fierce and wild echoing in those gray depths as their gazes crashed together. The Aes Sedai were still busy with Vamar; Fiona may as well have been alone with the man on the bed. She did not attempt to pull away; she suspected any such effort would be entirely fruitless. Instead she said softly, “Do you remember anything?”

He stared into the blue of her gaze as her question shattered through his mind. “Do you remember anything?” His eyes closed for a moment, the breath leaving his body in a long, soundless sigh. For a fraction of a heartbeat, the memory of smoke stung at his face, ash choking his nose and mouth. I killed our children.

“Please do not do that again,” he said quietly instead. He willed himself to look into that blue gaze again. At the uncomprehending tilt of her head, Zeen smiled faintly. “Touch near my neck.” His voice wavered slightly and he took a deep breath. No Sheis. No collar. With that clarification, the Amadician forced his hands to release Fiona’s delicate wrists, even though he wanted to do nothing more than to pull her against him, and bury his face against the golden softness of her curls.

His fingers immediately went to yank at the leather cord that lay across his throat, the pins that denoted his rank pressing into the back of his shoulder. He was laying on them. He grunted in annoyance, shifting against the narrow cot as he pulled the two pieces of metal out from under his body. His attention drifted back to her once that was done. His brows snapped together so quickly that the scar on his forehead twinged. The Asha’man blinked. He was not imagining it.

“You... are no longer a Drin?” That came out as more a question that anything else, Zeen flushing as he was fully aware that he stated the obvious. Of course she was no longer a Drin. She wore the pristine white of a Novice. His smile was crooked, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Congratulations.”

He swing his legs over the side of the cot, pushing up with his arms. His torso flexed as he stood, his chest pushing out- and then jerked as he promptly fell, legs buckling, refusing to hold his weight. His knees smacked painfully against sanitized tile and he bit off a sharp curse. His palms collided with the floor as he caught himself from slamming face first into Fiona’s slippers. The impact traveled up through his arms, making his shoulders spasm oddly.

“Why must you insist on being so stubborn, little stone brother?”

Zeen barely stifled his groan, his gaze swinging balefully up to the Ogier. The sword and dragon pins swung like a pendulum from around his neck. How had he missed the giant creature? And the two Yellows... bloody flaming Light. “Vamar,” he managed respectfully. “Aes Sedai.” That... was marginally less respectful.

“Zarius Iiro,” one of the women sighed.

“You are fortunate that the Ogier thought enough of you to carry you here,” the other scolded.

The Green felt a moment of icy shame and shook his head inwardly at himself. “Thank you, Vamar.”

The sound of boulders rumbling and grinding together answered. “Why do you not let them Heal you?”

Panic and rage shot through him and the silvery sheen of grey eyes went flat. “No!” he snarled, his fingers curling against the floor. “No Healing! No tea!”

The last time Fiona had seen the Amadician, he had been leaned against the Tower as he watched her return from the survival test. He had taken the time to ensure her safety, but then he had simply vanished….consumed, she realized abruptly, by the effort to rebuild Hama Valon. Her cheeks darkened at his comment on her change in station. The fact that even in his current state he had noticed such a detail amazed her.

Contemplation of that exchange was fleeting, quickly consumed by other concerns as the newest Green attempted to stand, and fell instead, landing face down at her feet with an invective that made her ears burn. As she looked down at him her eyes were drawn to the pale scars that crossed his back. He had been lashed...many times. Her breath caught and she covered her mouth with her fingers to hide her distressed shock. What happened to you?

The Ogier interrupted her thoughts. His nickname for Zeen momentarily eclipsed her concern, but her amusement faded quickly as she watched the exchange between Asha’man and Aes Sedai. He doesn’t like them. Why? So many puzzles. She made herself as small as she could and stayed out of the way. Interfering now would only result in being removed, and she could not bear if that happened.

“You are a fool, Zarius,” Cristianne said after the big man had declined Healing. She was also a Trakand, though of a remote branch of the house. She was usually motherly and kind, and Fiona had thought her patience unending. The edge of frustration that now tinged her voice was wholly unfamiliar. “You have head injuries, and you need-”

“I. said. No.” Zeen had not risen from the floor, and his voice could have cut glass.

“Very well.” Cristianne gathered herself, and glanced at Denara. “Novice Fiona, please ensure our guest is settled. I will come back to ensure his thick head has not been cracked in a short while.” The two Aes Sedai walked away, guiding Vamar with them. The Ogier gave Zeen a concerned look, but allowed himself to be led away.

Fiona’s stomach flipped in a not unpleasant way as she realized they were alone. Zeen still had not moved; after a moment she crouched next to him. She hesitated again, then put a tiny hand on his shoulder, carefully some distance from his throat. “They are gone, Asha’man,” she said softly. “I can’t Heal you, and I won’t give you tea. I promise. However, I would like to get you off the floor and take a look at your head to see if I can help some other way. Can you stand?”

Slowly, talking constantly, the blond girl convinced Zeen to sit on the bed. She considered her options for all of half a breath before settling next to him. She felt goosebumps race over her body as their arms brushed, and flushed. “You seem like you need company more than anything else right now,” she explained hastily in response to the Amadician’s startled look. “I’ll take care of my other duties in a minute, but for now- how does your head feel?”

“Why do you insist on being so stubborn, little stone brother?” Zeen heard the Ogier’s unspoken words as clearly as if the giant creature had spoken aloud. For a mad, fleeting moment, he wanted nothing more than to crawl to Vamar, wrap his arms around the small tree trunks that passed as legs, and beg for admittance into the Stedding. Take me with you! No collar would follow him there, no nightmares of Sheis, no temptation to return himself back to the Pattern with the Power. Not even Red understood fully, and the Altaran had lived the nightmare with him. Jaryd had the Lady. Zeen had... no one. How was he to make anyone else understand? Certainly not the self-righteous Yellows that berated him and thought him a fool. He was not a project. He was not a pet. Silver-grey eyes stared up into gentle saucer sized ones.

As the two Yellows swept out of the Infirmary, Zeen decided against speaking; there was nothing that the Asha’man could say without sounding utterly disagreeable and petulant. Instead, the Amadician chose to remain silent, silver-grey eyes pleading mutely with the Ogier Elder to do... what? Ear tufts twitched, coupled with a concerned look, but Vamar did not protest as he was led away.

The Green felt his jaw grit together as he stared down at his hands, noting detachedly that his fingers curled over pale tile with white-knuckled tension. Cristianne’s parting words had been sharp, both she and Denara’s disapproval and displeasure obvious. Shame stained along his face and for a moment, he felt the heat creep down along the nape of his neck. His eyes drifted shut for a moment only to fly open again as the air next to him was displaced.

Fiona. He knew, somehow, without having to look that she had crouched down next to him. It was brief... so very brief... but he caught the scent of... something delicate and sweet. Her. It was her. Light, she smelled the same...

The world simply stopped as she placed her hand on his shoulder. She spoke, her words soft and warm. Zeen did not hear a single thing that was uttered, his mind struggling to make sense of the strange puzzling wealth of emotion that welled up. All the breath left his body. The entirety of his being focused onto the small fingers that curled against his skin. He blinked as the words kept coming, curiously aware that he understood what she was saying, and yet the meaning of what was said completely eluded him.

He was sitting on the bed. The Amadician glanced around, dazed. What-? How? Fiona settled in next to him and wide grey eyes swung over to her. She... what was she saying? Words... words had meaning... Light, what did the words she was using mean? The Asha’man stared at her blankly, the tip of his tongue going out to wet lips that had suddenly gone dry. His head felt strange, as if his skull was both too large and too tight. He only had to lift his arm... He knew she would tuck neatly against his side... knew how her golden curls would feel as they slipped like silk between his fingers... knew how the brush of his lips, teeth, and tongue against the side of her neck would make her entire body flush bright red... Zeen squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, his hands lifting as he ground the heels of his palms over his face. Light! It had not been real! But it had felt so real! As real as the collar had been. Creator shelter him, he was going mad.

He let out a choked sound. He could not... he could. He... he had to know. Was she real as well? He reached for her, one hand tangling in blonde ringlets, his gaze intent on hers as he cupped the back of her head. The other hand busied itself with the delicate skin of her cheek and jawline, fingers exploring, caressing, grazing up and down along her pulsepoint. Zeen’s teeth flashed into view as he felt the exact moment heat suffused her, intense satisfaction rising at the way her heartbeat quickened beneath his fingers.

“Fiona...” But he did not know what to say. His thumb brushed over her lips, pausing to push inward a little at the corners as he traced along the tantalizing shape. He spent several moments studying the lips that had parted and the warmth in his chest spiked abruptly and became searing heat. He pulled her against him, the demanding motion at complete odds with the slow, gentle way he drew her mouth to his.

Zeen seemed distressed, gray eyes tinged with green shifting and flickering, seeming to trace over Fiona’s face as if he hoped to memorize it. He did not answer her question, and as his gaze met hers, the Andoran found she couldn’t remember what she had asked. Confusion and fear lurked in his eyes, she realized, as well as hope -hope for what?- and familiarity, the same as she had seen when he knelt at her feet in Hama Valon. She thought she heard the faint sound of dice, and shook her head. She wanted nothing of that in that moment.

What does it mean? Why do you look at me like that? The Andoran’s tongue would not cooperate with her enough to ask the question. She simply stared back at the older man with her blue eyes as wide as they could go and wished, as hard as she could, that those feelings were truly about her and not just a result of too many pounds of dried clay to the back of his skull.

The more pragmatic part of her mind cut through her fantasy and told her not to be a fool. A moment later the Asha’man put his hands to his face, scrubbing his palms over his eyes with a groan. Just the pain, the young woman thought, pushing her disappointment down with all her might as she made to get off the bed and go about her business.

Before the novice slid more than a finger’s breadth, Zeen made a strange sound and reached for her. Fiona felt prickles of ice and flame flash through her body as large fingers slid over her jaw, growing to a furnace as she realized she could not look away. A moment ago the Amadician had seemed captivated by some stray thought and she had dared to dream; now she could see through pure green eyes into his soul, and there was something burning there that could not be explained away. Not this time. How do you know me?

A question for another time. He spoke her name, and the word was as much a caress as the thumb he brushed over her lips. I- I should tell him to stop… Her lips parted but she could not form words, drowning in a storm of feelings she had never known existed. Abruptly the dice in her head shook out of their cup. As carved bone struck wood in the landscape of her mind, the Green yanked her against his body and his mouth covered hers.

Oh….my.

The blond woman had kissed and been kissed before. She had done a bit more than that even, once the reality of her newfound freedom as a Drin had set in. She had never quite dared take her exploration as far as her would-be partners had wanted, but- none of that mattered. Everything she had done before, the room they sat in, the Aes Sedai and the Ogier that had just left them alone….all of it swirled away and vanished in a blink as Zeen’s lips touched hers.

For a moment the small woman remained stiff and still, her hands pressed hard against the older man’s chest and her eyes wide open in shock. Then waves of heat rolled through her and her lashes drifted down. She melted against him with a soft sound of acquiescence and her hands slid up to curve around broad, bare shoulders. His hands shifted to pull her close against him, the kiss deepened, and she gave up all pretense of resistance. Her head tipped up and her lips moved against his. Hesitantly at first, and then eager for more, she met him kiss for kiss, her heart hammering in her chest.

It ended far too soon.

“Zarius Iiro! What in the Light are you doing?”

Fiona Trakand, who truly believed the rules of propriety were necessary for society to remain civilized and orderly, muttered a string of curses that would have made a stablehand’s ears burn as Zeen pulled away.

The Amadician felt the exact moment Fiona stopped resisting, the exact moment her body softened and molded against his.

The sound of acceptance she made rocked through his skull like a clarion bell. Icy lines of fire radiated out along his shoulders as her fingers curled into the muscle there. Heat rolled through him, his hands flexing over rounded curves before he pulled her even tighter to him. Her lips were smooth and eager, and he lost himself in their kiss. Her response to him was unmistakable, more than anything he could have hoped for. Her touch somehow banished the lingering horror that ate at him, succeeding where nothing else had.

A different jumble of emotions threatened to consume him, strange warmth... an almost possessive surge of longing, and he did not try to fight against it. She is real... Light, she is real! For a glorious moment that not even saidin could match, Zeen soared.

“Zarius Iiro! What in the Light are you doing?”

The acute sense of loss as Fiona stiffened against him was like a spike through his heart. He pulled away reluctantly, expression carved from stone and flint as he swung baleful eyes at the two Aes Sedai that gaped at him like a pair of sagging fish. The corner of his mouth curled down and he struggled to rein in the urge to send them both scurrying out of the room with several well placed kicks to the cot he was seated on. His hands tightened over Fiona’s body before he forced himself to release her.

“What. does. it bloody look like I am doing?” The words ground together as the Asha’man forced them out through clenched teeth. Wavy curls of unruly brown shifted as he straightened his spine, willing his legs to work as he tried to stand again.

For a moment, he towered over them at his full height. Then his knees gave out, his arm catching on the side of the cot that Fiona still sat on. The world lurched oddly, spinning wildly, forcing Zeen to close his eyes. The darkness still spun. He could not think beyond his next breath and withdrew into himself in some kind of attempt to weather the storm of nausea and whirling vertigo.

Slight weight fell onto the crown of his head, pushing down on his skull. His arms prickled and began to crawl. Saidar...? Suddenly the blood pounding through his veins was replaced by liquid ice. He jerked upright, hanging suspended between heartbeats as the cold writhed and wormed through him, the sensation of something digging through the layers of muscle and forcibly knitting them together again making him gasp. The feeling did not stop, moving into the very marrow of his bones, spiraling higher, higher, up his neck before finally wrapping around his head. The band of discomfort that looped around his temples was tight and Zeen thrashed against the pressure that held him immobile.

NononoNONO!!!!

Blind panic and pure rage lent him strength and as the frigid clarity that froze his mind finally withdrew, he seized saidin. The Asha’man surged to his feet in one fluid motion, his arm lashing out. Long thick fingers closed around the delicate curve of her neck, his palm fitting snugly against her throat, and Zeen lifted her up off the ground.

“I AM NOT A PET!” he roared, spitting out the last word. He gave the sul’dam a rough shake, his face set in dark lines of uncompromising hate. Smoke stung at his eyes. The scent of char filled his nostrils. The agony he had been bracing for did not come. Why...? What...? He blinked as he studied the face that was quickly turning purple in his grasp. Her face... the shape of her face was wrong... Why was it wrong? It was her. It had to be her!

“Zeen!”

His head tilted slightly at the sound of his name. My name. Not Dagan. But his name. His brow furrowed for a moment. The confusion hurt.

“It’s Cristianne. Please... Zeen, please let Denara go. She will not touch you again. She will not Heal you again without your permission. She was only trying to help. I will discipline her, but you must let her go. Zeen? Please... please let her go.”

He clung to the fury and terror coursing through him, the line of his shoulders setting. No, he could not falter... if he did, she would snap the collar back around his neck. It was a trick. A trap. Red. Where was Red? His free hand scrabbled toward his throat, hot liquid rolling abruptly down his face as he felt smooth skin. A choked sound escaped him. He glanced to the side, one of the unoccupied cots bursting into flame as he moved it with a small thread of Air, using that as a barrier to keep his flank protected. He sank flows of Earth and Fire into the tiled floor around him, liquefying it, turning it into something resembling quicksand. A cart near him sank, lopsided, before toppling over and easing part way into the floor. He took a deep breath, grey eyes emotionless and flat.

“No.” He tried to say it, struggling, and the tears fell hotter and faster. “If I let her go, she... she will collar me again.”

Try as she might, Fiona could not move. She sat on the cot where Zeen had been and watched in wide-eyed horror as Denara put her fingers on the big man’s head. Don’t! She did not have to see the flows to know what was happening, and she felt the bottom drop out of her stomach. She could not speak; even if she could, Denara would not have heeded her warning. It was wrong to use the Power on a person without their permission.

The Amadician exploded upward with a roar, the Yellow’s throat caught in his hand. Denara lifted completely off the ground. Fiona’s fingers pressed against her mouth to keep from adding her own voice to the mayhem, but otherwise she remained still throughout the chaos that followed. She heard Cristianne begging, the harsh rattle as Denara struggled to breathe, the distress in the Asha’man’s voice as he responded. She will collar me again.

The Andoran’s heart thumped painfully in her chest. For a moment she didn’t see her white skirts, the Aes Sedai, or even the infirmary surrounding them. She saw instead a group of people before a stone wall….two women in blue, one large man, one smaller. She pulled the bowstring to her cheek and released, and one of those women fell, bursting into flames as she hit the ground. The other…understanding broke through everything like sunlight in a storm. Light, he’s still stuck there.

Despite topsy-turvy carts and Denara’s captivity, fear seemed irrelevant as the blonde woman pushed herself off the cot. She recognized the note of panic in Cristianne’s voice as the Aes Sedai ordered her back. Noticed it- and ignored the older woman entirely. Instead, she simply walked forward until her body bumped against the Asha’man’s, then looked up. He trembled visibly, tears streaking a face that could otherwise been made of solid granite. His skin pebbled as they touched, and she blinked.

“Zeen.” He didn’t move, so she lifted herself onto her toes, pressing her palms against his cheeks. “Zeen!” This time she spoke a little louder, and his gaze swung down toward her, confusion weaving across blank gray eyes. “You are free,” she said, her voice gentle and warm. “Remember? I helped you.” Recognition flickered, but he didn’t move. “Please let Denara Sedai go. She was trying to help you, not hurt you.” The novice gnawed on her lip, her fingers pushing upward into the giant's hair. “Please, Zeen, you’re killing her.”

He remembered. He remembered it all. Everything. It passed through his mind’s eye as a dream. He could drown in her blue gaze and never surface again. Had he not done that once before? Why was it so hard to think? Zeen shook himself as if emerging from water. It was a dream... he was free. Free... He was free? His hand went to his throat again, probing fingertips touching warm skin and not cold metal.

He could move. He was holding onto saidin. There was no blistering agony, no pain... his eyes snapped to the purple face above his clenched fingers. The mess of wavy unruly brown curls shifted as his head canted to the side. A little more. Just a little more... all he had to do was squeeze and he would crush her windpipe...

The Asha’man twitched as he felt pristine white fabric pull up along his skin. Something... slid into his hair, gently twisting, brushing over his scalp. Zeen felt something deep within himself waver and pulled inward to examine it. His outstretched arm dropped a little. Fiona’s fingers... she is... touching me...? The sul’dam would never allow that. How was the young woman not collared as well...? No no nono... Unless, he was free. He had to be. Confused, he turned his head again to look again at the Novice, his throat moving as he swallowed. I helped you. Please let Denara Sedai go. Please, Zeen, you’re killing her.

He did not look away from her, even as a fresh wave of hot moisture rolled down his cheeks. Every instinct he had screamed at him as he lowered his arm, fighting back against him as he forced his hand to relax. He pried his fingers away from the slender curve of... Denara’s neck, one by one. Grey eyes squeezed shut and he braced himself for it all to go sideways. When it did not, the all the breath left his body in a sharp burst of sound. It was not until he stood there, arms taunt, fists clenched by his sides, head bowed with his chin tucked against his chest, that he realized he was shaking so badly his teeth were chattering together. Sheis. No. No Sheis. It wasn’t... it wasn’t her. Fiona said it wasn’t. But Regann...

“Where is Red?” he demanded, his voice rough and hoarse, his head rearing upwards. His look was hard and desperate as he glanced back and forth between their faces. At the uncomprehending looks, the Amadician slammed his fist into the nearby cot. “Where is Jaryd?”

“He is safe, Zeen.”

His brows drew together, but he nodded. No collar came, no pain... no mocking words or laughter. His chest rose and fell sharply, his breath rough and uneven. He lifted aching fingers to his forehead, rubbing at the scar there. The flames that seared his side with warmth died out, gutted by a slice of saidin. He yanked the cart upright, returning the floor to its previous state before he had changed the tile’s structure. That done, Zeen released his grasp on the Power and took in a shuddering breath. He was exhausted.

“Zarius.” The Green glanced up blearily. It was Cristianne. “You need to rest.”

He did not answer, instead allowing himself to be led away. His gaze strayed back to, and stayed on Fiona until a turn in the hallway finally blocked her completely from sight.