The Grey Tower

Long ago, Paks learned to manage the routine of being a Drin at the Tower. Those who started about the same time as her were already in the darker grey of the Ji'val uniform, with one peer already wearing the Fancloak. The primary difference between Paks and her peers? Most came to the Tower by their choice, where she was ordered there by mandate. If she weren't there, she would have gone to jail, though she'd likely have served her sentence and be a free woman by now. Instead, she was in Drin grey, bound to the Tower with the threat of jail hanging over her if she tried to leave, or were kicked out.

On the one hand, adjustment to the full schedule from morning until evening meal had initially been challenging, but at the same time, Paks found the freedom to. . .enjoy herself. Since the Seanchan attack, the wayward Drin tended to spend most evenings in Hama Valon, finding a warm bed to share with some beauty of a lass (or the odd lad. . .and sometimes both at once), or getting piss drunk before stumbling back to her shared quarters in the Warder Hall. Her roommate loathed her, and called her a drunkard, and worse.

For Paks, the nights out were an escape. She came to the Tower from a troupe of entertainers, and was not, by nature, a fighter. Yes, she trained to fight, and did alright with unarmed, and knew enough about daggers not to stab herself, but when it came to actual fighting? Her memories of bone crunching beneath fist made her shudder. Pushing the thought to the back of her mind, Paks turned her attention to the sword she'd been sharpening when she heard the Drin next to her say, "Honest work for honest pay."

Despite the deep thoughts, a smirk was never far from the surface for Paks, "Perhaps, though I'd rather be done with this and at a tavern with some lass sitting on my lap, or me on hers. . .I don't always have to lead." The smirk broadened as she looked from him back to the blade as she continued to sharpen it.

The other Drin sharpening weapons next to her was an odd one. The bells in his hair marked him as Arafellin, and his attitude marked him as a potential kindred spirit. Paks smirked when he all but whispered ‘boring’ to her in reference to the model Drin. She certainly didn’t disagree, but then she hadn’t come here the way most had, so perhaps their ‘boring’ nature was what it took to become the Gaidin they all seemed to strive to be.

Plans to find her way to a tavern that night were already on Paks’ agenda, and despite her spending most of her evenings out to the wee hours of the morning and in a pleasant state of intoxication, she did try and make sure all of her chores were done first. It gave the Master of Training and Gaidin Captain fewer reasons to come down on her.

Of course, Paks failed to say as much to the newer Drin, and watched confused as he left his station and the armory. With an amused laugh, Paks placed the weapon she’d been working on back on the rack and gave a nod to the quartermaster as she took her leave. She didn’t run to catch up. . .that wasn’t her style, though she did come along side the man and cast him a sidelong glance.

“For what it is worth, I do usually finish my chores before heading into town. No need to give the Master of Training any reason to badger me. . .or any more reasons to badger me,” Paks said as she flashed him her characteristic smirk. She looked where they were going and took a turn, “As for ways out, well, I usually walk out the front gate, but that’s after I’ve done my work for the day. This time? We need the back way.”

Paks didn’t explain more than that as she took the Drin on a circuitous path through the Tower Grounds to a gate manned by a female guard. “Let me do the talking,” Paks replied and took a couple of strides ahead, her characteristic smirk turning into a grin. “Jacelyn. . .what did you do to get the side gate?”

The woman’s eyes lit up when she saw Paks, “Oh. . .you know very well what I did. I reported late for duty last week, thanks to you.”

Leaning against the wall next to the guard, Paks gave her most disarming smile, “I hope there are no regrets?”

“Light no, Paks Liard, no regrets at all,” she replied.

The weaponized smirk was back, “We could do it again, you and I. . .perhaps tomorrow night?”

The woman gave a knowing look, “So long as I look the other way and let you and your friend on your way?”

Paks let a finger move a stray bit of hair out of Jacelyn’s eyes, “Well, I’d be appreciative of that, but even if you didn’t or couldn’t let us pass, the offer would stand.”

Jacelyn smirked, “You are a rogue, but I cannot say no to that smile. Go on, the both of you. I know nothing.”

Paks beamed and pulled Jacelyn into a kiss that bordered on inappropriate, though the woman simply responded in kind. A moment or so later, she and the Drin were through the gate, and on their way.

“There’s a tavern on the other end of Hama Valon. . .doesn’t see to many people from the Tower,” Paks replied. She looked over to him, “As you no doubt hear, I’m Paks. Who might you be? I prefer to know the names of my drinking companions.”

Paks avoided answering the question about how long she’d been at the Tower. That Terric, who came in within a week of her own arriva, was a Gaidin did little for her self-motivation. Instead, she looked to him with her smirk and gave a shrug, “I find partners wherever I go. I don’t think the Tower exactly encourages such things given the age of most who come to the Tower gates, but I am not like most, and I am not about to give up the pleasures in life just because I signed the roster to the Yards.”

Truth be told, she sounded more defiant than she was. Despite being a bit of a misfit, the Tower was her home, and she’d miss it if she were turned out. Of course, being turned out would mean jail, but she would miss those who’d become her friend since she joined their ranks. Pushing the deep thoughts aside, she looked around the tavern and gave a casual shrug, “It is one of many I frequent, truth be told. The barkeep knows me, knows what I like. . .and from time to time, he lets me tell tales or sing for ale, which is a relief on my very inadequate pouch of coins.”

Paks looked around, and did her best not to take a deep breath. The place smelled of stale ale and pipe smoke, something the woman was more than used to, but still knew better to breath too deeply. When her eyes met those of the barkeep, she held up two fingers and then nodded to a table near the hearth. The fire was going and kept the chill out of the air. She looked to Alrim and motioned for him to follow, “Tell me. . .if you find the ranks of our fellow Drin so boring, why did you sign the books?”

As the pair took their seats at the table, the barkeep came over and set two mugs full of ale down on the table, “In a bit early, ain’t ye, Paks?” His question meant Alrim would have to wait to answer hers.

Flashing the man a smirk, Paks answered easily, “What can I say, I missed yer ugly mug, Briar. Couldna keep myself away.” The accent wasn’t her own, but one she’d take on when telling stories, and one she knew Briar felt comfortable with.

The bear of a man laughed and gave a solid pat to Paks’ back, “Ah lass. Ye still on to entertain at week’s end?”

“So long as I can get away from the Tower, as always,” she replied. “Though, given we left without finishing our work, there’s a chance I might be muckin’ stalls instead of singin’ ballads and tellin’ stories.”

Briar laughed, then added, “An’ drinkin’ my ale! Fair enough. Have fun ye two. . .oh an Paks? Ye might want to avoid Aliah. She knows ye were with her twin, and she is havin’ none of it.”

Paks laughed as the man turned away, then looked back to Alrim, “Ah...I may be pushing my luck a bit far these days.” She held up her mug, “Anyway. . .your story, Alrim!”

Paks listened to Alrim tell his story, and while his wasn’t exactly like hers, there were similarities. So many of the other Drin she met came with the intent of becoming Gaidin and wearing the Fancloak. Some of her peers spoke freely about bonding an Aes Sedai or Asha’man and heroics of saving them from a Darkfriend, Whitecloak or some other deadly enemy. The talk seemed so. . .pretentious to Paks, not that she didn’t respect the desire to be honorable.

Alrim would have done well with her friends and group of traveling bards. He had a flair for the dramatic, but with a twist to get a laugh, and the timing to match. She laughed softly, “Aliah is not here, no. She’s blond, stands a hand shorter than me, and has a fire that would drive any man insane. She also has a twin sister, and they look the same except their hair. Where Aliah’s is blonde, her sister’s is red.”

Pausing to take a sip of her ale, Paks shrugged, “As for me and how I came to wear Drin grey? Short story, I took a fancy to a Magistrate’s wife, and she to me. He was offended I could please her in ways his little mind couldn’t, and thought to get his revenge. My friends and I were a group of traveling bards, and thus had swift fingers, which meant he had enough to toss me to a jailor, but offered me a choice. Jail or the Grey Tower. The catch?

“I have to finish at the Tower, or if I fail, or leave, still serve out my sentence,” she finished the story, not giving it the flare she’d been known to give it in the past. She flashed her smirk, “I have a roof over my head, and three square meals a day. I’m doing well compared to that troupe of mine. Too many times, we’d sneak into a barn and sleep with the cows or horses and get chased out by the farmer well before a respectable waking time.”

After another sip of ale, she set her mug down, “The hardest thing for me to adjust to is the fighting. Before coming to the Tower, the closest I got into a fight was avoiding town guards. The idea of engaging in combat? Well, it took some getting used to.” It was a big admission from her, though she didn’t add to it that part of her was still haunted by the sound of cartilage and bone crunching beneath fist and foot. Instead, she turned to the one constant since the Seanchan attack, her ale, and took another sip.

Her fellow Drin seemed to fire comment and question after comment and question, though it provided Paks with a bit of a buffer from those things she might not want to delve into. She snorted, “Paks Liard does not need a shining knight to carry her off anywhere, thank you very much.” Her smirk and tone suggested amusement at the very thought more than anything. It took a great deal to irk the wayward Drin.

Taking a gulp from her mug as she listened to Alrim discuss what happens once they become full rank, part of her wondered if she’d ever actually earn the Fancloak? She was such a misfit, was it even possible? Would they even trust her to guard the Aes Sedai and Asha’man of the Tower?

Not one to let a conversation go too serious for too long, Paks smirked, “I certainly don’t mind the lifting skirts aspect of life after the Fancloak. In truth, I haven’t given the future much thought. Perhaps I should, but to what end? Why worry about the future when you can enjoy yourself today?” With this she raised her mug and took another long pull of her ale.