The Grey Tower

A lot of unfamiliar faces looked at Durent as he walked past all of them towards the M’Hael’s offices. They all recognized his pins and green cord signifying his rank and status. Most wouldn’t think anything of, or even notice, his custom gauntlets and greaves that had been a gift from Caden, his old friend, designed especially for his use in unarmed combat. Durent never went anywhere without them if he could help it. Most would assume they were decorative armor which was not completely uncommon to see on a Green, even in the Tower. Especially one that had seen as much action as he had.

He looked at the Aes Sedai and Asha’man he saw as he passed, noting the young age of so many of them. His eyes lingered a little longer on some of the Red shawls and cords. He’d heard about them, almost not believing it. ‘Red Asha’man, he thought. The world really is turning upside down as we approach the end of all things, isn’t it?’ he thought to himself. He shook his head, they were not White Tower Reds, which Durent had had the unpleasant fortune of meeting years ago.

Durent would take the time to meet many of them and get reacquainted with the Tower soon, but first things needed to be first. It was both customary for returning Asha’man, as well as Durent’s personal wish, to go straight to the M’Hael upon returning to the Tower. He’d had his few contacts remaining at the Tower tell him a good time to arrive when the M’Hael would not have any pressing engagements and should be at his office.

As he followed the familiar corridors through the Tower and the climbed the many stairs to his destination, Durent ran through in his head what he knew of the man. He, like the current Amyrlin, had been raised from the new Red Ajah. He was fairly young, but talented in the Power. Some were of the opinion that his being raised was a maneuver from older Asha’man, to have a leader they could control in dangerous times of flux in the tower. Jaryd seemed to be annoying them with his will and refusal, which granted him respect in Durent’s eyes. The Game in the Tower could be just as deadly here as in Cairhien.

Reaching his destination, he waved a hand at the Keeper of the Archives, someone Durent knew but not well, waving a hand as the man began to stand. “I’ll announce myself, Keeper.” The man’s surprise kept him halfway between standing and sitting, hand on his Keeper’s staff. The indecision lasted longer than it took Durent to reach the M’Hael’s office, which he opened and walked into the entry way.

He gave a deep bow, respecting the station of the man who he was talking to. “Father. I am Durent Asha’man of the Green Ajah. I am here to announce to you my return to the Tower.”

Jaryd stood at the window in his office, staring down at the lake that he had from that position. His coat had been tossed carelessly across the back of his chair, and the tea a nervous Accepted had served him sat forgotten and cold next to a stack of papers that he had not so much as glanced at since his arrival.

His entire being was focused on the coin in his hand. The gold thrummed softly against his skin, a reminder of who it belonged to, and confirmation that she still lived. The Tower did not yet know Carra was missing. He would not be able to maintain the illusion of illness for much longer, however, and if she did not return before then, he did not know what would happen. The Tower can burn, he thought angrily, clenching his fist around the bit of gold. His thoughts swam in hectic circles. Carra's face as she told him about Sean. Lirievin's limp, that Seth had told him would never be healed. Amadie's still form, so small and frail in death. Two figures wrapped in shadow...impossible figures, people who could not possibly be.

Someone rapped on the door. He shook himself out of his reverie, turning and opening his mouth to tell the wretched man they had forced on him as Keeper to burn in the Pit of Doom. He immediately closed it however, silenced by the appearance of an absolute stranger.

The stranger bowed. “Father. I am Durent Asha’man of the Green Ajah. I am here to announce to you my return to the Tower.”

Jaryd blinked. He knew that name. Durent had been M'hael, many years before. He had vanished from all records, and the Tower had presumed him dead. And yet...here he stood. The young M'hael hastily tucked the coin into his pocket. "My name is Jaryd Kosari, once of Altara, then of the Red Ajah, and now the M'hael," he said, wishing he were better at hiding his discomfort. The man bowed again, and Jaryd extended a hand. "Please, have a seat." He could not add "my son" to that statement, though tradition required it. He had no idea how old Durent was, but Jaryd suspected he could easily be the man's grandson.

The other Asha'man sat while Jaryd moved his coat to the hook it belonged on, and sat as well. "It has been quite a long time since you graced these halls," the Altaran commented. "What can you tell me of your travels?"

---

So Jaryd is quite young, but he has a fighter's grace and he spent his youth leading, so he's not totally clueless. He's just super uncomfortable as M'hael, especially when faced by someone who held the position before him.

Durent inclined his head at the M'Hael's offer of a seat. He undid the fastenings of his green cloak, folding it and laying it across the back of the chair offered and took a seat, though he sat up straight without really relaxing much. That was more of an unconscious habit in a place where he was still uncertain of many factors. As he sat, he tried to gauge the younger man's reactions and facial expressions but was having difficulty getting too much from him. Though young, the M'Hael was already seemed quite good at commanding his facial expressions. Durent was only able to notice the obvious surprise at hearing his name announced, which was to be expected.

Durent took notice of the man's obvious physical form and lithe grace that conveyed an obvious, to Durent anyway, training in some kind of martial fighting skill. Maybe we'll get the chance to spar someday, he thought idly.

As Durent took his seat, he noticed the M'Hael hastily tuck something into one of his pockets. It caught the light briefly. A gold coin? Durent couldn't make it out very well. He dismissed it almost as soon as seeing it, figuring it wasn't of much importance.

"Well met, Father. I hope you will not mind my directness in bypassing your Keeper. I didn't want rumors of my arrival to reach you and cause any alarm before we'd had the chance to meet. I know my situation and return are unusual, as most M'Haels either retire permanently or die in their position." Durent mentally cringed—his age, experience, and time away had brought with him a good amount of bluntness, which was showcasing itself right now. Durent would have to work on softening his approach.

"A lot has changed here since I was last here. A M'Hael raised from an Ajah that had not yet even existed. I take it our Reds don't hunt men who can channel," he joked, allowing a small grin.

"As for my travels, truth be told much of it is less exciting than one might think. I spent a few years at the Citadel before retiring to my estates Northeast of Elman's Creek. Training and preparing for whatever role I would play in Tarmon Gaidon."

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OOC: Apologies for the delayed reply. I recently got back from an extended vacation without much internet or a computer to type on. This week and last have been spent catching up with workstuffs.

Also, I'm not sure about our original plan to make enemies of Jaryd and Durent. Now that I'm writing him again, I feel like Durent might almost take a fatherly/mentor approach, if Jaryd would have him that is. I imagine a lot of fun messing with the 'gaggle' that think that Jaryd is their puppet.