Sundown [Attn: Jenn/Zeen]

[Heather]

Saowynn Don’t tense up, she told herself. That only makes it hurt worse. But knowledge that the pain was coming tightened every muscle in her body. She whimpered in anticipation, sweat pouring down her face. Only a soft whoosh gave her warning before the whip lashed across her back. A scream ripped out of her as pain weakened her knees. She cried into her shoulder as she hung in limp agony. Then arms wrapped around her, squeezing her, choking her. She thrashed and kicked and…

...fluttered awake, still thrashing and crying out, her hands clawing at the arms around her. Those arms tightened as their owner pressed his lips against her hair, voice trying to soothe and calm her. As she became more conscious, she ceased struggling. Her breath continued in ragged gasps for several minutes, though, as the nightmare lingered. Though her back had no scars to remind her where it has been kissed by a whip, her mind would not let her forget it.

Then again, neither did the presence of the man who held her. Jahn had, after all, been the man wielding the whip. She knew he could feel her conflicted emotions just as she could feel his. When she slept, she had no way of shutting him out, so when her nightmares returned he knew. He never complained, though, no matter how tired he grew. He continued holding her until her heart rate returned to normal and she grew still. Without a word, he let her go and slid out of bed.

Saowynn slid around so her legs dangled off the edge of the bed, scrubbing her hands through the tangled black mess of her hair. She had been back at the Tower for a month now, and more nights than not her sleep was disturbed. And it was making her...numb. Hollow. A shell. It was a feeling she was not accustomed to, as if the ends of her nerves had been burned off. Even when Jace had died and she was overwhelmed with pain, she felt something. Not feeling anything...it terrified her.

She jumped slightly when Jahn returned to the room. His eyes had dark circles under them, as well, making their green nearly black, and she sensed his exhaustion. A piece of her, maybe even most of her, felt bad for all of this, but part didn’t. He had agreed with her brother that she didn’t need to know the plan that had been executed in Arad Doman, and had allowed her to be tortured in an effort to stop the Whitecloaks. In his hand he held a glass filled with what looked like water. “Drink this,” he said, holding it out to her.

She gave him a long look, clearly not wanting to take it. The last time she’d accepted a drink from him, it had been laced with forkroot. His face flushed with a mix of shame and anger but his outstretched arm didn’t budge. The Green took the glass and sniffed at it with uncertainty. “It’ll help you sleep undisturbed,” Jahn sighed, his gruff voice displeased that he had to explain himself. She took a sip after sniffing the glass’s contents and found no hint of mint to the concoction. So she knocked back the bitter drink and handed him back the empty glass. He sit it down on her night table, folded her back under her sheets and pulled the covers back up to her chin. She was barely aware of him kissing her forehead before her eyes fluttered closed and a deep, dreamless sleep found her.

Some time later, she became aware of someone shaking her gently. Her gummy eyes eventually opened and found Jahn standing over her. “Wha...what is it?” she muttered, her speech a little slurry from whatever he’d given her. Her eyes cut to the window and noted that it had to be a couple of hours past midday. Light, she felt groggy!

“The M’Hael - Zarius...he wants to see you.” Now it was his turn to look concerned. His leaving the Tower hadn’t been mutual and there had been a great deal of discussion about what to do with him since they had come back to Hama Valon. Saowynn assumed this discussion would fall in line with that conversation. Given the knot of worry that she felt in his mind, he didn’t know but suspected as much, too.

He held out his hand and helped her out of bed, which she didn’t want but found she needed when she wobbled on her feet. A wave of dizziness swept through her but eventually left her standing upright. “Please tell the M’Hael I will be there shortly. I’d like to freshen up first.”

The Green managed to wash off and change into fresh clothing. Though titles didn’t mean much to her, she felt it might be better for Jahn if she took this meeting seriously. She might not fully trust him - maybe she never would - but he did do what he could to keep her safe when she was Goodwind’s captive, even if that meant taking charge of her torment. She was no stranger to Tower punishments herself, having been sent to a farm more than once as a full sister, but here she wasn’t sure what to expect. Therefore she dressed in a formal Domani dress in a deep purple, to which she added her Great Serpent ring, green-fringed shawl and some tasteful powders and paints. She left her hair loose, and it curled around her face with a cheer she didn’t feel.

Finally, she found Jahn in her foyer and said, “Let’s go see the M’Hael.”

[Jenn]

Zarius Iiro

One.

Hips shifted, torso rotating, shoulders following, his body no longer protesting at the weight and pull of the weapon he wielded. The long, lean muscles of his arms flexed as he brought the hammer around, the block of metal... singing as it parted the air before it. Zeen was strangely aware of the uneven edges of the wrapped leather grip biting into his palms. Pain stung through his hands. Blisters. They were bursting. Later, they would heal. After several repeats of that, calluses would form.

Two.

The Void kept the distraction at bay. He could acknowledge what he felt without giving in to it. The M’Hael pivoted on his back foot, front leg turning then planting as he spun. He ducked down and sideways as he dodged an imaginary foe, the warhammer arcing up in a blur of silvery metal. Trollocs, Callie had told him to envision, and so he did. He twisted the hammer at the last moment, the wicked spike colliding with what would have been a hooked beaked mouth or a furrowed snout nose.

Three.

Zeen lifted himself to his full height, arms raising high above his head. His back was arched and completely taut, the lines and planes of muscle moving as if sculpted. His silhouette stood out against the early morning sun for a brief moment before the Amadician fell forward with perfect control, the hammer smashing down on the ground in front of him. The loud crack echoed the length and breadth of the Yard, the jolt of impact reverberating through his very bones straight up into his skull. The silence and stillness that followed seemed almost unnatural. One day, he would get past the count of three.

“Bring it here.” It was not a request.

He took in a deep breath, shaking himself as if coming awake. The Void fell away, and his palms immediately felt as if they were on fire. He grimaced faintly, the dull throbbing pain gnawing away at his thoughts. Silver-grey eyes glanced over at Callie as he slowly picked himself up. For a wonder, she was not scowling. He did as she said, handing the crusty woman the warhammer that had once belonged to her. His posture was indolent as he leaned back against the fence that she was perched on.

“Drink,” she told him absently, propping the hammer up with the arm that ended in a stump just beneath her elbow, hard hazel eyes narrowing as she studied the spike and the head with meticulous care. Once again, he did as she said without protest, gingerly taking a hold of the nearby jug of water and downing several gulps.

“Not too fast, Nugget, or you’ll get sick,” she admonished him in the same distracted tone.

Zeen could not help himself. “Yes, mother.” His lips twitched as annoyance and exasperation coiled through the bond.

“It’s not my fault that you’re an idiot that needs looked after.” That was shot back without any real heat. “The Hand Twirler is just as bad.” Callie tapped at the block of metal almost fondly before she thrust the warhammer back at him. “See? I told you you wouldn’t be able to break it. You barely even scratched it.”

“Indeed,” he answered easily, “how could I have ever doubted you, my lady?”

Her face was carved from stone, but the thread of amusement came through before she was able to fully suppress it. Zeen gave her his most disarming smile and was rewarded for his efforts with a slap to his chest with the back of her fist.

“Put on your bloody shirt Nugget. Bathe too. Busy day for you, overseeing all the other finger wigglers.” She hopped down from the fence, her shoulders very easily almost as wide as his. “On second thought, don’t bathe. I’d pay to see someone tell you that you stink like old sweat.”

The Amadician shook his head. He plucked up his shirt from nearby but slung it over his shoulder instead, swinging the warhammer up to rest on that little patch of padded fabric. “I am certain that you could get Red to tell me that with very little payment or prodding,” he retorted dryly.

The noise she made was noncommittal, but she purposefully ignored his questioning look. Zeen shrugged inwardly and they made their way back into the Tower and up to his rooms in companionable silence. Despite her earlier statement, she ordered around several of the servants and directed him to his bath as if he was a child of three and not a full grown man. Fussy salty broad, he thought, amused, as he did his best to submerge himself in the copper tub that was not made for someone of his height or size.

Propriety demanded that he don on a fresh shirt, his pins hanging from the leather cord around his neck. No amount of formality could convince him to wear one of those dratted coats, however, and he left that on the the end table behind him. At least it would be in sight for whatever people these meetings conjured up. With stern orders not to touch anything, Callie slathered on some kind of salve onto his palms. The smell of goosemint was overwhelming, but he eased back into his chair as the tingling sensation cooled and soothed the burst blisters.

The salve dried far too soon. He sighed audibly, before sending the summons out for the first of his appointments. Trade agreements. Financial updates. If anyone thought being the M’Hael was a constant glamorous source of excitement, they were sorely mistaken... Time slowed to a crawl, and before the sun had even reached its zenith, Zeen was about ready to scream in sheer frustration and utter boredom. He had a sneaking suspicion that Murdock lined up all of the dreary, spoiled nobles up together, one after the other, each more vapid and self-centered than the last.

He brightened visibly as finally, something interesting caught his eye. A fellow Green... newly returned to the Tower, it seemed. Saowynn Ardashir. And... curious, with her... this Jahn... He scanned the report, two words jumping out at him that set his entire world on its ear. Former Whitecloak. Zeen’s jaw clicked shut. The silver of his eyes leached out, leaving behind flinty hard granite in its wake. The name... was not immediately familiar, but that meant little. Did they know one another? Had they served together? Why was this man here?

“Send for Saowynn and Jahn. Cancel the rest of my meetings,” he told the room, expecting someone to hear him and carrying out his orders. “And leave me.”

Callie did not budge, but that last command had not been meant for her regardless. When the last of his attendants had left, he tossed her the folder. He watched as her eyes flicked over the report, scarred lips pursing thoughtfully before she threw the folder back at him. He caught it and slammed it back onto the desk. The wait was nearly unbearable, his thoughts spinning while his mind chased itself around in circles. When the knock finally came, the tension snapped with a palpable sensation.

“Enter,” he said, pushing his chair back a ways from his desk. He leaned back into it, lounging indolently. Long legs stretched out in front of him, crossing at the ankles. Hands folded over his stomach, grey eyes glittering as they fixed on the doorframe. Callie was a knot of tension and anticipation that radiated out from one corner of his mind. He heard the latch unclick, and as the door swung open, Zeen kept his expression blank as the scar between his brows twinged. His chin lifted, the only indication that he wished for them to sit down across from him. Domani. He could smell her. He ignored everything about her, her exquisite beauty, the way her figure moved beneath the sheer silk and lace; he could not afford that distraction until he ascertained whether or not other man in front of him posed a threat.

The M’Hael did not move a whit, his face still carefully composed and neutral. His level look was hammer-like and intense as he took in both the Aes Sedai and... whatever the other man was to her. He did not care. “So tell me,” he began conversationally, his voice pleasant. “What brings you both back to my city and my Tower?”

[Heather]

Saowynn “Do you know him?” Saowynn asked Jahn as they walked through the halls. He shook his head, a green cast to his face. She knew with certainty that, if she laid her hand across his chest, she’d feel his heart hammering in its cage. In their brief pairing, it had grown apparent that Jahn detested uncertain situations. His status was bound to be a bone of contention during this meeting. Saowynn hoped hers would not be, as well.

A ripple of nausea passed along their bond, and Saowynn wasn’t sure which one of them it originated from. Jahn’s exhaustion mingled with his nerves, and the Green still felt the effects of whatever tonic she’d taken the night before to get some semblance of sleep. How long, she wondered, until she could sleep without the nightmares and the tonics? Until that frozen space inside her chest began to unthaw and she could feel again?

They approached the M’Hael’s door, and Saowynn rapped it with a light knock. “Enter,” came the response, and Jahn pushed it open for her. The weight of a pair of grey eyes fell heavily on the Domani as a shiver worked its way down her spine. Though he was taller and had a larger frame, the Asha’man’s general look reminded her of Ben. She suppressed a sigh at the thought of him, although she wasn’t sure if it was the sound or the brief ache in her chest that made Jahn give her a sideways glance. His attention was also focused on the M’Hael, a sense of trepidation rising beneath his hard features. She had to admit that his ability to bury his emotions under that gruff exterior was as impressive as any Aes Sedai’s.

When they took the seats that the man so inelegantly indicated, he asked in a voice far warmer than his expression, “So tell me, what brings you both back to my city and my Tower?” Saowynn’s right brow arched at the words, which in turn earned her a hint of a smile from the woman sitting behind Zarius. The Green wondered what the story was there for a moment before turning her attention back to the question at hand.

“You mean what brings us home?” The mildness in her voice matched the question, though her own chin tilted up in challenge. “Hama Valon has been mine since I turned fourteen. After visiting the land of my birth, it seemed most appropriate to return here.” Her mind swirled, wondering if his personal eyes and ears had brought news of their encounter in Arad Doman ahead of them. It wouldn’t surprise her, since Meghan and Harald, the Yellow Aes Sedai and Asha’man that had Healed her, returned a fortnight before they did. Jahn shifted, so she added, “Besides, shouldn’t you be thanking me for returning one of your wayward Dedicated?”

Anger spiked through the bond as Jahn shot her a black glare. “I wasn’t wayward,” he growled. “The previous M’Hael knew I left, and why.” His words drew Zarius’ sharp gaze as if he’d named the Dark One. His discomfort rose, but outwardly he managed a confident slouch back in his seat.

Those cool grey eyes moved back to Saowynn, who cross her arms under her breasts. “I see,” the man said, as mild as milk. “And what,” he continued in that implacably calm voice, “did you hope to accomplish?”

Saowynn’s mouth opened, but she found herself unable to provide an answer. She turned to look at Jahn, who was looking at her. He shrugged, which earned him a frown. “I hoped to return to my life, such as it is. I wanted to see my niece through her first year as a Novice, and I wanted to be sure that there was no price placed out on Jahn’s head.” It was a relic from the Black Tower days, that deserters were executed, but the fear for male channelers lingered.

She sank into a moment of reflection before adding, “And I needed to come someplace where I could recover from what happened in Bandar Eban.” It pained her to admit she needed the Tower, but if she were honest, it was nice to have a place that wasn’t centered on her spiraling, dysfunctional family. A gentle squeeze of her hand pulled her out of her reverie, and she gave Jahn a grateful smile. It didn’t ease the knot of guilt that was ever-present in their bond, but the smile helped. He returned it, and she was able to remember for a moment how she’d found him attractive on Bel Arvina.

A pointed cough snapped her attention back to Zarius. “Was that all you wanted?” she asked, expression bored as her mind raced, trying to figure out why else they might have been summoned.