The Grey Tower

With an excruciating sluggishness that is only exhibited by those objects that are observed, the grains at the bottom of the hourglass gently built up. Candlelight reflected off the glasswork, the only source of illumination and heat within the cold room. In the depths of the Grey Tower's basements, there should have been a natural warmth, but this room was always colder then those adjacent.

Elia rubbed her unprotected hands together in a vain effort to provide warmth. Her slender fingers were as red as her nose and cheeks, even if she did not shiver. The 'trick' to seeming indifferent to sweats or chills was only surface deep. She tugged the tall collar of her Cairhienin dress up, then glanced at the hourglass again. The sand had barely seemed to move. She made a scoffing sound that produced a whip of white breath.

"Oh, bugger this," she exclaimed. Stoppering the little ink bottle, Elia started to gather up her writing apparatus between shaky, frozen hands. The quill and well returned to the small silver beech box with none of her usual care. The little clasp only locked in place on the third attempt, and she disregarded the rest of her work. The sandbox for drying ink, the pages of research, and the sheafs of unused paper all were left unattended, as did the hourglass. No-one else would come along to this vault before tomorrow. On the slim chance they did, there was nothing so urgent in her work that she needed to keep it a secret.

On the point of getting ready to stand, she made the choice to take up the latest ter'angreal she had been studying. She had only got as far as looking at it with the naked eye before the accursed cold had set her teeth to chatter. Taking up the metal chain, she gripped it and her writing case in one hand, and proceeded to leave the chilly basement.

The air in the corridor seemed like midmorning in spring by comparison. As she took the stairs back towards her apartments, feeling resettled back into her extremities. Her cheeks and nose returned to pale white, as did her hands.

She felt quite normal when she reentered her apartments. As the door clicked shut behind her, she deposited her belongings on the small table, then turned towards her compatriot. Emmond sat on one of the three chairs in the room, smoking his pipe in his Grey Tower livery. His dark unseeing eyes followed her around the room as she took the chair beside his. She dissipated the bluish smoke that hung around the sitting area with the wave of a hand.

"You should find out which ter'angreal makes that room so cold," Emmond remarked between puffs of his pipe. "It's a curious sensation to feel frozen whilst you're working in the kitchens, with all of those cookfires and boiling pots."

Elia wrinkled her nose at her bondmate, but her tone came off as apologetic. "I hardly do it on purpose. If I knew why that room was so miserably cold, I would have done something about it already." She rubbed her hands together from the memory. "If you were so bothered by it, you could have brought me a cloak."

"The Mistress of the Kitchens was in an unpleasant mood," he replied diplomatically. Resentment was the emotion that echoed through their bond from the once-Asha'man.

"Well, I am in a gracious one. Maybe you can help me with something, and help take your mind off the battle-axe in the kitchens." Elia rose from the chair, and crossed the room back to the ter'angreal. It was a series of chain links that formed a large circle, about the width of a serving plate. As she lifted it and took it back to her seat, she took a better look at it. The links in the chain seemed to be made up of even smaller links. Curious. Despite her interest, she placed the ter'angreal on Emmond's lap instead of her own, as she carefully took away his pipe to empty it out.

Elia offered encouraging words to her bondmate. "You have different sensitivities than I do, my love. What do you make of it?"

Emmond took the ter'angreal and hefted it in his hands. It was curiously heavy. The links warmed to his touch. He assumed that it was metal, though the surface was riddled with smooth bumps. Small links, he realized with some surprise. Each link was made of smaller links, and those links also made of smaller links. His sense of touch could not distinguish further details. There was no clasp to the chain, nothing that indicated that it could be worn.

He didn't quite enjoy playing with ter'angreal as his bondmate did. However, Elia seemed to think that his ability to channel saidin, even weakened, was somehow valuable for her studies. And Emmond did not resent it. Their explorations created a welcome excuse for him to channel, an ability that he had to hide for most of the day. He reached for the Power and saidin rushed into him, dousing him in its glorious, icy chaos. He seized control. Every sensation became clearer. Yet he didn't sense anything within the ter'angreal that reacted to saidin.

"Nothing," he said. "I can't tell what this could be for. Perhaps I could test it with different affinities?"

Through the bond, Elia's presence grew more distant. Her voice called from the bedroom.

"You may. It has been labelled as 'not dangerous' by some previous archivist, though don't take that as a - "

She said the same thing every time. Emmond interrupted.

"I know, I know," he said with some irritation. "I will be careful."

He drew out a thread of Air and prodded the ter'angreal. Nothing happened. He tried again with Water, followed by Earth and Spirit. He had already begun to channel threads of Fire when he paused. Something seemed to have changed. There was something missing. For the first time in years, his mind was quiet. And he was alone. He could not sense Elia. Nor could he feel the presence of his other bondmate where he had been in the higher floors of the Tower. Had something happened to them? Surely he would have felt something more!

"Elia?" he called. "Did you mute the bond?"

"No? Emmond! What did you do?!"

Realization. Horror. A sudden blossoming of hope. This was his chance! He had to get away! He clutched the ter'angreal and leapt for the door. But instead of meeting grains of wood, his hand found the strange, smooth hardness of a wall woven from the Power. He pounded his fists against the barrier. Then he spun around. A knife slipped from his sleeve into his right hand, while the other hand held the ter'angreal against his chest. He refused to let it go. It was his freedom! If she wanted it, then she would have to take it by force.

Emmond found it suddenly disorienting that he did not know where she was. He backed against the barrier like a cornered animal.

"Let me go!" he shouted. His voice cracked as hope faded to desperation. "Don't you dare, Elia. Don't tie me down again."

With saidar flowing through Elia, every frightened beat of her heart felt like someone striking at her with a training sword. The weave of Air that solidified the space around the doorway was joined by a dome of Spirit, separating Emmond from saidin. The shield moved into place without resistance, but she held onto both weaves.

She had no idea what had just happened, except that Emmond's presence in her mind had vanished completely. And he had tried to escape. Elia took three steps towards Emmond before seeing the knife in his hand. Why are you escaping, she asked the nothingness where Emmond's bond had been. He looked around frantically, his dark eyes truly unseeing now.

Time was not a resource she was worried about expending, not with Emmond shielded and trapped. Elia simply watched him with a keening sadness. He hugged the ter'angreal to his chest fervently, and held the dagger before himself with almost as much resolve. Why was her Emmond reacting in such a way? Surely they had long ago stepped past the role of captor and captive?

Elia stepped back into the doorway, partially shielding herself with the door. Without a connection to his thoughts, she felt wary in his presence, like she had long ago. The memories of the old Emmond brought goose pimples to the surface.

"Why are you running?" Her voice held the telltale sound of despondency.

Even without the bond, Elia could see a subtle change come over Emmond at the sound of her voice. His body language became somehow predatory as he started moving towards her. "Can't a man have some space to himself?" His honeyed voice carried hints of irritation.

"Stop it," she commanded.

Emmond paused misstep. "Let me go. Please, Elia." He still seemed poised on the edge of violence, but his voice was a hoarse whisper. "I will promise to come back. Just give me time."

Elia slipped further behind the door, angling herself further away from the Andoran. At the same time, she just wanted to sooth his fears, but he still clutch the dagger, and there was no guarantee of retribution as there had been when the bond was intact.

"But where are you going to go? And why without me?" She couldn't keep the hurt from her voice. She didn't understand his desire to get away from her. Was she not loving? Did she not keep him safe, from both the Tower and from the Ajah? She had let him live in the Caralain Grass, and even let him have back his ability to channel. Murdock would not have been so kind. She had been as devoted to Emmond as one could be to their Warder. She'd taken him as a lover, when he could have merely been kept as a tool.

Elia watched the answer form behind Emmond's eyes. Her fingers trembled against the doorframe in fear of what he would say next. Did he actually hate her, even after all of this time together? Were the shared moments over the last few years all a string of lies? She tried to bring her emotions under control, but they all bubbled over without Emmond's reassuring presence to sooth her.

When Emmond at last spoke, it was with quiet determination. "You said that you trusted me once. Did you say that only because of the bond? If you ever trusted me Elia, then trust me now."

Her hand still shook. She wanted to trust him so much, but he was free of any control she could exert over him. Did she dare to give in to hope and pray that he spoke the truth? Or did the former head of the Black Ajah once more desire to reclaim his position of power?

Long, still moments passed. At last, Elia gathered the courage to answer. "I trust you." She was proud that her voice barely quavered. "But the ter'angreal Emmond. Whatever you did, you need to tell me. And there may be other side effects we're unaware of. You should still a little while." Everything she said was true, but she was also undeniable begging him to stay as well. "Please, sit. Let me see what it you've done."

Emmond could bear to stay no longer.

“No,” he said. “I want to go.”

He shied away from the sound of her slippers on the carpet as she moved toward him and backed against the wall of Air. Blasted woman! His heart pounded within his chest. Light, Emmond, stay calm! He tensed and clutched his knife before him. If she would not let him run, then he would fight. To his last breath, if need be. He refused to be bound again!

“I want to go,” he repeated.

There was a long pause. Emmond forced himself to breathe evenly, or otherwise he might have held his breath. Please don’t press me, he prayed.

Just before he thought he would snap from the tension, she spoke.

“You would only hate me if I stopped you,” she said, softly.

The shield, along with the wall of Air, vanished. Emmond fumbled behind him for the door handle.

“Wait,” said Elia. “The ter’angreal.”

His grip tightened around the metal links. If he let it go, would she bond him again? If he let it go, would he ever be free? Then anger overcame fear. He flung it in her direction.

“Take it,” he snarled. In a sudden movement he forced open the door. It closed quietly behind him. And then he was gone.
----- Freedom! Sweet, sweet freedom! The man who strode from Elia’s room was not the same man who had entered. Servants and students scurried out of his way as he rushed headlong through the halls. He fled to his small room in the servant’s quarters. Would Murdock be coming for him? Would Elia change her mind? He flung his belongings into a travel pack and rushed for the stables.

Soon he knocked on the back door to the Lady of the Lake.

“Master Salere? Oh, Light! Are you alright?”

“Almyra. Please. Let me in. I’ll explain… in just a moment.”

“Come, come, sit!”

She clucked her tongue and shooed him inside. Pots and pans clanged as she bustled about the kitchen. Emmond sank into a chair and buried his head in his hands. Almyra set a bowl in front of him. The soup was delicious, but Emmond had little appetite. His hostess spared little time before letting lose a tirade.

“It’s the missus, isn’t it? The red-haired lady. You should have listened to me, Master Salere. I always said that Aes Sedai were no good. I never liked her. She was never good for you. She put on such airs and treated you so poorly, like an errand boy! Good riddance, I say. Chin up, sweetheart. Really, I’m glad that you’ve finally left such a terrible woman...”

Emmond’s jaw tightened.

“Almyra, please. Don’t…”

The woman fell silent. Then she gently took his hand.

Emotions were useful things when controlled and directed with purpose. Emmond had always prided himself on his self-control. But even he had a limit, and he couldn’t hold back anymore. He felt so tired, weary, and lost, in a way that he hadn’t felt since he had lost his sister. He was slipping… falling…

Almyra held him and rocked back and forth.

“There, there,” she crooned. “Did something happen to her?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” He wiped at his eyes. “I can’t go back. But I promised her that I would. I have nowhere else to go. I need time, Almyra. Can I stay for a while?”

The mid-evening moon cast beams of silver light throughout Elia's small apartment. The living room was quiet and still, without even a candle lit to give the space any warmth. The outer door was unlocked for no-one intruded on an Aes Sedai without knocking first. That much was fortunate as the remnants of discarded clothing littered the floor leading to the bedroom. Its narrow doors were shut, and a ward against eavesdropping kept the noises from within private.

Elia found herself staring in curiosity at the curved dagger that had been thrust into the headboard. There were a great many things Elia had found herself feeling curious about over the last couple of days, but having the looming threat of pain so close at hand barely registered. Her hands ran over the chest of her latest lover, finding the marks left by both the Power and by more mundane weapons. Elia approved of his scars. It added to the sense of accomplishment she felt at having persuaded such a veteran into her bedchamber.

That he was an expert in much more than warfare became apparent the moment he opened his mouth. He had a sarcastic devilish charm. In that way he was like Emmond, but without the looming threats of death. The only danger was from his approaches, which were so transparent and persuasive it made Elia wonder why she'd never considered him for a lover before. He fit her type: powerful, handsome, and aware of his own strengths.

Elia gasped as his mouth worked across her body, his teeth leaving marks on her otherwise flawless skin. She did not bear the marks of combat, but then she was far younger than he. How much so, she didn't know. That was the problem with Aes Sedai and Asha'man. He was youthful in contrast to her agelessness, but his dark eyes had seen far more than she had ever dreamed of. She could lose herself in his gaze, when it didn't return to the glare of a madman. Sometime she caught glimpses of Emmond in those black pools.

Not that there was much similarity there. Her lover had the sun kissed skin of Altara, was as short compared to Elia as she was to Emmond, and he took charge. She wondered if he was like this with his former lover. Domani women needed twice the satisfaction of other women, so it went. Had he been educated in how to please? Regardless, she was blissfully gleeful about how much he had learnt from the late Keeper.

His kisses and other touches brought out a crescendo of cries as she curled up against him. Her mind went blank with the rushes of ecstasy, leaving her momentarily paralysed against the svelte figure of Jaryd Kosari.

He was not surprised to find that the door to her quarters were not locked nor warded. After all, there was no reason to expect that her habits had changed in his absence. Silently, he cracked open the door. Then he stopped to gaze in awe. Though nearly two days had passed, sight was still a marvel. He stared, fascinated, at the long slivers of moonlight that cut across the floor.

Several moments later, he noticed the clothing strewn throughout the sitting room. His expression twisted and became sour - and just as quickly returned to stoic calm. Why should he care if she took another lover in his absence? She had promised him nothing. He held no claim to her bed.

The first surprise came at the doors to the bedroom. Emmond studied the traces of saidin that laced themselves in elegant, swirling loops. A skilled channeler, he thought. A ward of silence like this blotted out all sound. Elia could be screaming bloody murder behind those doors and he would never know. Had she invited a man who valued such stringent privacy into bed? Or was this a sign of something more ominous?

He looked again around Elia's quarters, searching for suspicious signs. Seeing nothing, he sighed. Likely the former, he thought. It was risky and utterly stupid and just like Elia to do something like this. Which meant that he had time to explore.

He wandered into her study and flipped through the papers on her desk. She kept nothing important there of course, but it occupied his mind and stimulated his curiosity. He selected a few that seemed particularly interesting and took them back to the sitting room, where he sprawled on the couch and began to read.

As consciousness returned and the pleasant dream faded away, Elia's body reminded her of the night before. She could feel where Jaryd's nails had made incisions on her back, and some of the places where his teeth had bitten too harshly. They were good pains, a sign of an evening well spent.

Her eyes fluttered open slowly. Soft light lit the room evenly. During the night, she had torn the sheet free from her lover, leaving her to revel at his muscled form. His chest rose and fell rhythmically. Elia enjoyed the simple pleasure of watching him sleep for a few minutes as she continued to awaken. Watari, the Altaran's dagger, was still embedded deep into the headboard. With the curiosity of a bored cat, she brought a finger towards one of the dagger's edges to see just how sharp the weapon actually was.

The pain jolted Elia awake as she withdrew her cut finger. She sucked on the end in a futile attempt to dull the hurt, and to keep blood from her bedding. Unwilling to rouse Jaryd, Elia rolled to the edge of the bed and stepped off onto the sheepskin rug. Free from the bed linen, the room's air touched every part of her skin. She'd never been called modest, and thus thought nothing of stepping out from her bedroom into her living quarters without a stitch on.

For the briefest of moments, Elia regretted that decision. And just as quickly she didn't.

The Shienaran closed the door behind her without a sound, then crossed the room to the figure sleeping on her chaise longue. It had been over two months since she'd last seen the former Asha'man, but there was no mistaking Emmond. Aside from the fact he was lying on his back, his clothes were finely tailored, and her letters lay scattered on the small table beside him. This was her former confidant and lover, back to his usual tricks as if nothing had happened.

Well plenty had happened.

This was not the sudden ambush she had feared for in her darkest dreams, but Elia embraced the One Power all the same. She held only a small part of what she could draw upon, and hoped that Jaryd wouldn't be roused at this close a distance.

Elia shook Emmond's shoulder to wake him, even as she prepared to gag his mouth with air. Thankfully he stirred without a sound. "What in the Light are you doing here, Emmond?" she hissed firmly. "You can't just stroll in here whenever you please." She glanced back towards the door that led to Jaryd, catching sight of the discarded clothes from the night before. Oh of course he wouldn't have noticed. She frowned at her memory, but her tone was no softer for it. "I have company Emmond. You chose a poor time to come back from hiding."

His eyes snapped open. Emmond sat up. He allowed his gaze to trace its way up her body. For the first time in years, he saw her and found himself disappointed. Her hair was mussed from sleep. Dark green eyes gleamed under narrow brows. Her lips were swollen, likely from passionate kisses, and she had a number of bruising marks on her neck and breasts.

He had only seen her a few times when she had been newly raised to the Shawl. Memory had faded, replaced by a shadow of fantasy. She was not the woman he remembered. In the many years that had passed, she had traded the fresh bloom of youth for the smooth coolness of an ageless Aes Sedai. She was familiar, and yet not. He wondered if he would feel differently if he closed his eyes. Had he expected that she would remain the same? A small smile touched his lips. He certainly hadn't, so why would she?

Deliberately, he took up one of her letters and read a few words aloud. Then he paused and looked up again.

He knew from her small intake of breath and silence that she was not pleased. Her face was as unreadable as any Aes Sedai, and her lips remained curved in a slight frown. Of course he had very little experience in judging her facial expressions, but he still knew her. He knew her more intimately than he had ever known anyone else. Invisible tingles ran down his arms. He realized that she must be holding the Power and felt a twinge of irritation... and amusement. Did she really think him to be so dangerous to her as to use saidar? Quite funny.

Emmond attempted to lace his fingers between hers and bring her towards him, ignoring the blood at her fingertip. He grinned at her with the confidence of long familiarity.

"Would you like me to leave again?" he asked, gently teasing. "I can come back later if you prefer."

She could not afford to show weakness. Not with Emmond 'restored'. Not with Jaryd sleeping in the next room. It wasn't just Elia at risk, but Deyeniye as well.

Elia let Emmond take a hold of her hand and draw her down to sit on the chaise longue beside him. His dark eyes had always held a certain intensity, but she'd forgotten just how frightful they could be when he could actually see her. How that was even possible was a worrying question for later.

This seemed to be another iteration of Emmond. Not the cold Asha'man, nor the indentured servant. She wasn't sure how to play the game.

"Does that mean you are back now?" Elia regretted the question on the instant. Asking shows weakness. Her tone grew forceful. "I want to talk to you, but as I said, I have company. Give me half an hour, and I will speak with you in the gardens." That was better. Not a request, but a command. I just hope he still responds to commands. The last thing she needed was an Emmond Salere looking to reclaim the throne she now occupied.