The Grey Tower

Of all the things that he had thought that he would do upon arriving at the Tower, cleaning the floors was most definitely not one of them. It was a job for servants, but apparently somewhere along the line the term ‘servant’ had been exchanged with that of ‘soldier’, and it now – or maybe always had -fell to the first ranks to see to the chores, because cleaning floors was definitely going to teach how to use the One Power.

Oh, he knew what they would say, the Asha’man and Aes Sedai; that it was all about teaching them humility. They were, after all, servants to all, though that was, as far as Tristram was concerned, the biggest load of crap ever. They had to be saving thousands on getting their students to clean instead of hiring servants to do it. You didn’t have to pay students wages, for one.

Tristram heaved a sigh as he dumped the scrubbing brush in the bucket of soapy water and set to scrubbing at the tiles once more. Water splashed everywhere, but he didn’t particularly care. There was a small part of him that rather hoped that if he did a bad enough job they’d never make him do it again. His clothes were drenched, and he’d long since abandoned his shirt. It lay where he’d thrown it on a bench.

He scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed, dipped the brush back in the water, scrubbed and scrubbed some more. Rinse and repeat, around and around and around and around. The sooner he finished, the sooner it would be over. If he wanted to become an Asha’man he was just going to have to deal with it. He wasn’t going to give up. He might be highborn, but that did not did mean that he was soft and incapable of doing anything. There was a certain satisfaction to be had in proving people wrong in their expectations.

A pair a feet came into view, and he held up his hand, halting them, not even bothering to look up.

“If you take one step more and ruin my nice clean floor, I’m afraid I’ll be forced to dump the entire bucket of water over your head. You’re going to have to find another route... unless you'd like to help me.”

Setting the brush aside, Tristram sat back on his heels and looked up into the trespasser’s face. He smiled. He certainly hadn’t been expecting her. She was pretty. Very pretty, although she had something of a haughty look to her. But then didn’t all those who aspired to be Aes Sedai? Having your head up your own arse seemed to be part and parcel of the job description; he actually didn’t think he had ever met an Aes Sedai who could laugh, or whose attempt at a smile did not look as though they had just sucked a lemon.

He wiped his wet hands on his trousers as he straightened, not really caring. They couldn’t get any more covered in soap suds than they already were, and he probably looked enough of a sight already, what with the fact that he was fairly sure that he looked like he had already taken a swim in the bucket. He had, in fact, already spilled the water everywhere, but he was never going to admit that. Instead, he swore that once he got back home he’d give all the servants a pay raise. Scrubbing floors was bloody hard work. Far harder than it looked.

“Oh, I don’t know,” he replied, smiling sweetly as he looked back at her. “I’d think an Aes Sedai would be rather impressed by my dedication towards keeping the floors clean. It’s not every day you meet someone willing to sacrifice their life for it.” His grin only widened. “And I really would rather drown than see footprints marring all my hours of hard work. So, sure, you’re free to dunk me, if you like.”

Tristram glanced at the floor and then back at the Novice, and slowly raised a disbelieving eyebrow. She was here to help him? Really? Besides the fact that the floor was almost done and she was late, he couldn’t imagine her kneeling beside him, getting her pretty little dress dirty. Black hid a lot of things, but white did not.

He could have told her to leave, but he simply shrugged his shoulders. No doubt this was another Grey Tower thing. Working together created great relationships or some such crap. He’d always been happier working on his own; it usually meant that there was less stuff to go wrong.

“Fine, fine…” he said. “Roll up your sleeves and help yourself to a brush.” He pointed to where another bucket and brush lay, and then paused. “Do I at least get to know your name before we get stuck back in?”

He made no move to pick up the brush once more, but continued to sit back on his heels, a slightly amused smile on his face. Clearly, in the brief time they had met, she didn’t like him, and that was in some ways like a breath of fresh air. He was so used to normal people bowing and scraping, doing their best to appease him because of his title, even if said title was still somewhat weakened by the stance his father had taken against the current Queen of Andor.

There was a temptation, almost, to give a false name. House Baryn was recognisable to most; it was one of the nineteen Great Houses, and that revelation meant that often opinions and interactions immediately changed and shifted. But in a place like this a false name wouldn’t last long. The Tower was too small for it to work, and he’d be swiftly caught out.

“Tristram Baryn,” he said, managing to bow, even seated as he was. “You have to excuse me. This is my first time scrubbing floors, and I’m very protective. I’m scared they’ll make me do it all over again… and I don’t think I’d be able stop myself from crying if they did.”

The crying was something of an over-exaggeration, or maybe it was an under-exaggeration. Either way, the odds of him actually crying over the floor were slim, but he could certainly see himself getting into a temper over it if he had to do it again. He still couldn’t see how cleaning floors was helpful when it came to learning how to channel. All it did was make him resentful and annoyed and frustrated, and that wasn’t really the mood you were meant to be in, was it? Instead, he could be spending the time wasted here getting better at what he’d come to the Tower to do.

Tristram forced the thoughts aside and smiled instead as he looked back at the Novice. He couldn’t say that he was particularly surprised by the fact that she wasn’t used to scrubbing floors. He didn’t think that she was nobility, but he was fairly sure she knew money. For that alone, it was worth getting to know her a bit more. If that meant playing the sympathy card-? Well, he had no issue doing that. It helped that she was also pretty.

“Thank you,” he said, allowing himself another grin. “I’m glad I’m not the only one who doesn’t know how to scrub a floor. I’m dreading them asking me to clean clothes, or… or wash dishes.” He grimaced, glancing at the floor, before looking back at her. “I feel like I’m five again.”