The Grey Tower

Beron sat down on the small pallet, the rough wood digging splinters through the straw he slept upon. A small candle sputtered in the breeze coming through the gap in his shutters, the light soon to be blown out so he could sleep.

Sleep, wake and do it all over again he thought with a groan as his back protested the hard resting place. Still as he looked out the window and saw the moon rising over the growing grain, he couldn’t help but feel a little ray of joy.

It had taken two weeks of back breaking labour, the women who ran the farm taking advantage of a Ji’val’s penance to clear additional land. This meant pulling brush, burning grasses down and then falling trees. Hands made tough by endless practice still bloomed blisters. Though Beron bore it no ill will, taming the land was hard and it made sense to give his punishment more purpose than stacks of firewood. Eventually they realized he would not shirk or runaway, and the endless watching eased.

Then had come the unexpected, Beron had found a small group that diced. As they played for chores, Beron wasnt sure if it was secret or just allowed, he did learn that there was a Dedicated who traveled back and forth in order to aid the deliveries of grain and fruit. With that in mind, he had began conversing with Laerel Ganalin. While waiting for the wagons to be loaded each day, the Dedicated had used weaves to help smooth out the tougher spots to reach with oxen, stacking the rocks to help create channels that would help keep rainwater from washing over the field in a torrent. As the two men worked, they spoke of the Grey Tower and then one evening Laerel had given Beron a small pad of paper and a tiny ink pot. “I know you have someone you wish to write, I can deliver a letter and help ease their mind. I wouldn’t wish a penance here on anyone, and I owe you at least a couple of favours after the money you lent me,” Laerel said with a smile. Beron had told him of a small bank writ he had kept from his wages; when the younger Dedicated spoke of becoming indebted in a game of crowns with some of the well to do of Hama Valon.

And so as Beron blew out his candle, he unrolled the paper and quill from under the straw, and struggling in the moonlit wrote Isla.

Isla, there is so much to say, but I do not want to put it all to paper, in case. I hope Laerel proves trustworthy, he seemed sincere when he told me he would get this to you.

Isla, I am sure by now you have heard any number of stories about me. I’ve heard even here that Ravak and I stabbed each other in a rage fueled duel. The truth is both harder and simpler, Ravak came to my room to discuss the Bond, and while we were talking he demanded to know if I was in a relationship. I admitted to him that I had been pursuing a relationship, and after he demanded that I end it, along with some other comments I will not repeat. When I refused, he grew angry and we shouted, coming to the brink of blows. But
I admitted to him my feelings, and then after our tempers cooled I was sent to Riahana Gaidin.

She sent me to the Farm. I am here for months, as I would not tell them who I was giving my heart. I have still not uttered it, nor will I. I have been labouring here almost three weeks now. The farm is hard, the work long and endless. But as I remember a lake and rock in the Gardens, I perform my tasks with determination. I am not supposed to write, but I could not let months go by with no word from me. I think of all you must be learning, and I am glad I am here, while you can pursue your skills.

Beron

Beron looked at the blotches and ink spots caused by his messy writing and the poor light. He knew he had said too much, but could think of no better words to hide his meaning. Light, let Laerel be true Beron prayed to himself the next morning, watching as the Dedicated followed the last wagon to the Grey Tower.

Charcoal, I flaming hate charcoal, Beron angrily cursed under his breath as he wrestled the stacks of wood to the proper alignment. A forge had requested a delivery charcoal, and after he had been caught dicing with the others; Beron had been tasked with using much of the brush and wood he had cleared off to create the charcoal.

It was dirty, sweaty and lonely work, which Beron realized he had become unaccustomed to. He had been a scout, so the weather and outdoor sleeping bothered him little, it was the being alone with his thoughts after days of stacking wood. The earth moving had gone fast, a Dedicated quickly moving the soil over his stacks of wood. All that was left to do now was control the burning, poking holes in the packed earth to keep feeding air. Five or six days, babysitting lumps in the ground, Beron thought sourly as he finished his task and sat on the ground wishing he had his flute or something.

The thought of music brought him back around to what he had been trying to avoid thinking about, Isla. Had she received his letter, had she understood what he meant. Still there was little to be gained by wondering, twisting his guts with worry, and so he continued to work himself to the bliss of exhausted sleep claimed him.

——

A week later found Beron soaking in the bath, the Mistress demanding he clean himself off of the filth and charcoal dust he was caked in. Even though it was an open tub, the water was hot and welcome after days of sleeping rough. Scratching his beard, he knew he would need to find a glass and trim the hair back, but for now he soaked. “Beron?” asked a voice he knew from behind the wooden slats.

“Go ahead and come in Lealar, I’m decent,” Beron called out quietly. “Did you see her?” He whispered.

“I did. I can see why you’d risk more time here, she seemed excited to hear from you and brought a return letter. Read it here, burn it and I will be back in a couple days,” the Dedicated said kindly as he handed Isla’s note to Beron.

“Thank you friend, if I can repay you I will. I swear it,” Beron pledged seriously as he considered how much help Laeler had been.

“No need, we’ll have plenty of time to cheer and dance in Hama Valon.”

——

Beron splashed the water angrily when he read Isla’s letter. He hated that she felt like this was a punishment he had been forced to take because of her. He knew he had kept his mouth closed to protect her, and had gladly taken the time away from studies knowing her studies improved many lives. How to keep her from talking to the Mistress of Novices, he wondered as he towelled off. Feigning exhaustion that wasn’t far from the truth, Beron took a meal to his room and began to write.

Isla.
Do you remember what I said the day of my Test? I meant it then, and I mean it now. I made a mistake and offered information to a question that I could have lied to. I thought Ravak Gaidin knew about the Garden, our kiss and was testing me, and I chose to say what I said.

This is not your fault, and I cannot tell you how glad I am that you wrote me first. Isla, your work in the Infirmary is vital, I know you feel drawn to heal and build with the skills you learn each day. Let the Grey Tower take my sweat, force me to clear fields and burn charcoal. I smile each night picturing you enjoying the Gardens, or tending to a sick child. That’s where you need to be, I truly believe that.

I see no reason to say anything to the Mistress of Novices, but I will carry no anger or hurt if you do. I love your strength, your dedication and I will stand beside you always. I meant it, that day in the Garden, the kisses we shared feel seared into me. I miss you Isla, the Farm wears you down like a grindstone, and I think often of Hama Valon, enjoying the city with you. Do not feel like this is your fault, I made a mistake in telling Ravak and I will correct that.

Beron

Beron folded the letter, and placed a single flower he had found within it. He knew it was a risk, but letting her know was more important at that moment to him. Again Laeler met him at breakfast, and with a nod he walked through the Gateway later that day.

Beron flinched as the ointment was spread across his back, the Ko’di wrapped around him like a blanket to keep from crying out as the ointment seeped into the marks on his back. He had to admit the Aes Sedai had been deft, her invisible weaves breaking the skin without causing undue damage.

“Light I’m sorry Beron. When they cornered the wagon at the Travelling Yard I thought we were sunk. I managed to save her letter, but only by hiding it in a distraction. I honestly had no idea that the bag held kaf and tobacco,” Laerel said softly as he helped heal Beron’s back. He had been Delved and deemed healthy enough to heal on his own. The welts would hurt as they healed, but he would not be injured, a fair penalty for someone who was smuggling. Though in this case I was only doing so with a letter Beron thought to himself grimly.

“Peace Laerel, I know you wouldn’t have done anything out of harm. You risk punishment out of friendship as well. I owe you, I do not think I could stand the Farm without word,” Beron stopped with a grunt of pain as his shredded shirt pulled.

“I know what it’s like to love, but be denied. That is part of it. Here’s the letter, I have to go but I will try and swing back soon,” Laerel said as he stood and headed out the door. After he was settled, Beron read the newest letter from Isla.

Relief warred with pain as he read her words. His smile split his face as he read her words about her heart, their moments both remembered and to come. He couldn’t believe a chance afternoon had blossomed into something so wonderful. He kept reading, remembering their early conversations and her words on being raised a soldier made him wonder. How could a beautiful woman not know how she made him feel. He loved her, and when this punishment was over, he could take her dancing or simply spend time with her.

That thought landed him right back where he started, the twinge in his back reminding him that the rule Riahana had spoken of was one of the highest at the Grey Tower. Beron ground his teeth in frustration when he realized that they wouldn’t be able to enjoy each other’s company. Not freely, and that was a knot he couldn’t untangle. Succumbing to sleep, he drifted off.

When he awoke in the morning, Beron once again read the letter. As his back moved better, with less pain he realized that he knew what to say. The rest of the day passed without incident, he was given lighter duties to perform, and after a long day of working, he took
advantage of his room to sit and write.

Isla,

Your words are perfect, they were a balm to me in a trying time. I want you to know I have only ever seen you as the woman you are. From the first time I held you, it awoke something in me. I know from what you shared with me that you’re life was devoid of a lot of warmth and simple joys. That I can give you those now, makes my heart feel like it might fly from my chest.

You are right, the weeks have already added up, and time will march forward each day. I have so many things to say, or share but it does not feel like the time. I cannot wait to see you again, and I too have duties to live up to once I return. You took a man who thought he was destined to wield a blade, and defeat the Shadow as a finely honed weapon. Now I see I can do that as a man.

When I return, I know there is more to share, more to learn about each other. One thing Ravak Gaidin said that made sense, was that I need to know where I see my path leading once duties are mine to choose. I know what my heart says, I would know your mind on this.

Beron

Beron found Laerel the next morning, and after passing him the letter paused the other man for a moment. “Please wait to give her this. If she asks, tell her you are serving somewhere else for awhile..” Beron held his hand up for a pause, “I would write her everyday if I let myself. It’s enough to know how she feels. I need to give this risk a chance to cool down.”

The week of his self imposed exile moved like stagnant water through a ditch. While knowing that he would likely not hear from her for a long period of time, Beron found that Isla was never far from his mind.

A lot of that came from the mind numbing nature of many of the tasks on the Farm. With the contraband he was blamed for, the extra space he had earned by dedicating himself to the tasks was quickly lost. And so instead of clearing fields or burning charcoal, which at least let him escape the confines; he was forced to haul water or help with the laundry. He spent three days working with the carpenter to help repair fencing, and paddocks. A pleasant enough task, when your partner isn’t watching you out of the corner of their eye all day.

In the evenings, there was little to do but read the letters he already had, or sit and whistle simple tunes he remembered from chores or nights by the barracks. He would have written Isla, but that came with the risk of obtaining writing material. And the whole reason he had asked Laerel to wait a week was to ease the chance of discovery.

After the week was over, Beron heard that Laerel was rotated over to the citadel for practice there; and doing some quick math in his head Beron realized there was a very good chance he would see Isla before he had a chance to send her another letter. With that thought came both a sense of sadness, but also a sense of gladness. She would be a little risk of further trouble, and with her words of affection warming his pocket, he knew he could endure.

He did however quickly swipe a small clerks pad when he was loading the wagons, the pages were small and cramped with his poor penmanship, but he found relief in taking the time each evening to write his thoughts down.

Isla,
I know this letter will not reach you, but the silence in my evenings has been driving me mad. I am too used to the bustle and purpose of the Grey Tower. I tried to keep up with the swordforms, or to practice in my spare time, but they quickly found chores for me to do which ate that up. And the chores have become increasingly pointless or menial, which makes it worse somehow. I guess I’m just chaffing at the collar to begin something that matters again.

But I don’t want to put that on you, so I try to spend my time thinking of how your classes and hoping you enjoyed a meal or two with friends. I feel stuck in a circle here, and I worried my letters would drag you into it. As Riahana Gaidin had said before I left, the fancloak is close for me to obtain, and if the feelings are true they will survive until then..

Beron paused as footsteps walked through the hallway, and he hastily buried the pad in the corner. His heart beat felt like marching drums in his ears, the footsteps steadily working their way down the corridor until he let the breath frozen in his chest relax.

Lying down, his mind too filled with panic and anger to continue writing the woman he cared so deeply for. Instead, he stood and moved through the few stretches and fighting stances the room could allow. As he moved and worked his muscles, he drew the Ko’di around him tightly. Feeding his anger, frustration and to the Flame. Once he floated in the Void, there was no distractions and he worked himself till fatigue made him seek his bed.

The next day he spent working, the exertion and exercise with the Ko’di helping to calm his nerves and improve his temper. As the day progressed Beron found himself recalling the conversation with Riahana, and now that the anger and worry for Isla had worn off, he realized that the Mistress of Training had been lenient and had taken a lot of time to explain her worries.

That night, Beron simply began fresh, the letter he had written scrapped into the cookfire. With his mind and heart looking forward, he realized that he knew what he wanted to say.

Isla, when I last wrote you I asked you your mind and I realized I was not clear. I can only say that being here had me in a very scattered place.

Isla I love you, I will stand beside you and support your work in any way I can. That was my question, I would walk to the heart of the Blight with you, I just wondered if you knew the path you hoped to walk yet. I know my feelings have not diminished in the time we’ve been apart, and if I have to keep you at arms length until I can serve as Gaidin I can weather that to. I was told that friendship is allowed but no more, though I will cut myself on that knifes edge if I must, I can see in my own actions a little of what they warn against.

Beron went to crumple the letter, he did not intend to mail it, but it still felt good to have written his thoughts down, even if only the moon shared them. Some small part stopped him though, maybe he should keep the letter, Isla would appreciate that he thought of her.

The next morning dawned bright and sunny, Beron toiling away as they seperated the ewes for shearing. The ewes protested and bawled in the rising heat and dust but Beron was able to deftly grab one and pass her to the shearers. A familiar voice called over the noise, “When the songs speak of Saldaean sheperdess’ I don’t think you are what they had in mind,” Laerel teased as he sauntered past with a wave. “See you at the mess.”

The hours long shearing seemed to stretch two days as Beron felt tried to keep his focus on the task at hand. He knew the best chance to depart the Farm was to knuckle down and show them he had changed, and when the bell for supper finally chimed, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Beron sat with Laerel and a few others for supper, doing his best to enjoy the conversation and the satisfaction that usually came from completing such a large task. Eventually the supper was winding down, and as Laerel handed him a much larger bundle, he smiled. “Seems like she is as eager for your time here to end as you friend. I am gone for a few days, but I can grab a reply for her after that.”

“Thank you Laerel. I will keep in touch,” Beron replied as he headed out towards the pasture. He had offered to take a late watch over the animals, knowing that would afford him more privacy. Soon he was seated on a small outcropping that overlooked the sleeping flock, and with a small lantern he had grabbed, Beron began to read her letters.

As he read the letters, it became clear to Beron that Isla had been writing them as if to share a snippet of each day spent apart. The thought of her, taking the time to stop and sit beneath a tree in the Gardens, or after returning to her room after a long day; made him realize the depths of her feelings as well. He smiled as he read about her spending time with friends, and getting to enjoy Hama Valon. He recalled sadly that she had mentioned arriving in bad shape at the Grey Tower, scared and on the run from family that had turned on her, and so had not been able to enjoy the city.

As he reached the letter that spoke of her dreams; the dark turn of some of them and the fact that she had once cut and harmed herself out of a guilt over the past, he touched his cheek and realized they were wet with tears. Emotion spilled over him as he wished he had been there to comfort her, but as he read through the rest of her letter, he realized that she had kept from harming herself, and he was proud of her commitment to Gareth and honouring his help and advice.

The letter on losing a patient made him pause and stare at the night sky. He had not thought of the loss and suffering that would be part of working in the Infirmary. In his limited experience, the types of injuries Drin and Ji’val suffered were dealt with, the bruises and fatigue a small price to pay. But to have someone you had worked so hard to save pass away, would be akin to losing a patrolmate or fellow soldier. It truly is one of the more intimate jobs, they work with our very insides and life thought Beron as he listened to the cold night breeze.

The last letter made Beron realize that he had not made himself as clear as he should have. A hazard of speaking to someone days away, and with bad light and poor penmanship to boot. Still as he read the words that she hoped his heart belonged alongside hers, he once again felt joy, tears and emotion spill over him. Holding the letter to his chest, he settled in to watch the flock and knew he would reply the next morning as his day’s labour’s caught up with him.

After returning to the farmhouse, he ate a quick breakfast and was given the morning to rest as a thanks for his night shift. As the other’s stumbled out of their rooms, Beron waited until the hallways were clear, then took quill to paper.

Isla,

This letter will arrive only a day or two before myself, but I could not wait till then for the words that are singing in my heart. Isla, I cannot tell you how much the letters you sent to me meant. Did you ever figure out the tree? Why it would make you sneeze and get watery eyes? The thought of you being able to puzzle out the meaning behind that and so much more makes me smile, as you said the world is truly a wonder.

Isla, I am sorry if I was not clear before. I am glad your heart believes our paths to lie side by side. I know I would serve as your Gaidin to the edge of the world and beyond, I have learned some small piece of healing myself, and I know the strength and knowledge it takes. I would stand by you, aiding you, helping you, being your rock while you cure and build what only you can. I ache to hold you Isla, to be near you, to feel your lips once more and I know that we must hold and wait to express some of our feelings, but every moment I can have with you will be treasure after my absence.

Isla, I am sorry to hear of your dreams, the darkness and the pain that still bother you sometimes. I know it must have been terrible, and I cannot begin to imagine how it felt before Gareth and you spent the time together you mentioned. But I am glad you kept from harming yourself, and I am proud that even in the midst of all that you kept writing, studying and working hard. I know we have a mountain to climb, and life at the Grey Tower will never be as simple as if you and I were innkeepers; but I know with your love and support I will conquer it all.

Love, Beron

The next morning Beron found Laerel, and as he fussed with the other man’s tack and saddle, the letter to Isla was placed in his bag. “Thank you friend,” he whispered as the Dedicated rode away.