The Grey Tower

Elman’s Creek was a quaint little inn whose owner was both an honest and fair individual. Usually folk from the Tower stopped by if only to escape the business of their usual lives or there those that had just arrived in town and sought out a soft bed for a peaceful slumber before moving on. For whatever purpose the inn had become quite successful despite its serene ambiance. More people preferred the Band of Brothers Inn, aptly named for its raucous, lively tendencies, but Elman’s Creek had survived since the creation of the Grey Tower and still stood as a pivotal center of activity for the newborn city that sprawled around it.

During the day it was difficult for anyone to pass through the streets of Hama Valon unmolested by vendors of all items and delicacies, yet as the hour of Low drew the curtains on the day many a face secreted themselves to one of the many inns looking for anonymity and quiet. The Mountain Guard still remained vigilant in the event of a Trolloc attack though such thing hadn’t been heard of since the Dragon Reborn had begun waging his war against the Dark One afar. More likely the patrol stumbled upon runaways from the Tower who risked severe consequences for leaving without permission with either the intent to flee or to create mischief; either one held dire punishments.

Even so the number of Novices and Soldiers caught was never completely stymied; especially for those who weighted the palms of innkeepers just enough to make them worthy enough customers.

The dull murmur of conversation fell still when the door to the inn opened letting the rain and wind from the night storm outside. Suppertime had long ago past and the only souls still looking for trouble usually took themselves to the Band of Brothers by this time. Rain slick on his horse-hide cloak, Valadin entered surreptitiously trying to discover any guardsman that might be lingering about the inn in wait for him. So far he’d been successful in his forays to the city; his mourning over Cin making him fast friends with the innkeep who was wise enough not to ask prying questions save for how much more ale would he like on the eve. Noting the emptiness the common room Val relaxed ignoring the woman calming sipping something warm at the corner table as the storm hammered on loudly.

“Blood and bloody ashes,” he swore under breath, not caring whether anyone took offense to his vulgar language, “Seems like the Final Battle’s already begun.”

Megara, the only maid usually about during this hour, gave him a shy smile letting him know that she’d attend to him shortly before heading into the kitchen likely to retrieve what remained of the day’s batch of honeycakes. Unlike most Val had no qualms about eating fresh food; if it kept you alive it was good enough. Nodding to the innkeeper who returned the favor he made his way towards the hearth to melt the chill away. Soft candlelight stroked the polished wooden furniture in an appeasing light that made the atmosphere rustic after a fashion, but with a touch of a court's refinement. Boots clumping on the wooden planks Val picked out a seat on the opposite end of the room from the hooded woman who during all this had never once looked up from her mug.

I should probably only go a round or two; wouldn't want to have an issue like last time… Val thought sourly. The nickname ‘Naked Sword’ had already made its rounds amongst the Warders-in-training and even some Soldiers. Soon he’d have Novices referring to him by an epitaph that indicted him in punishable offense by an overhearing Aes Sedai or Asha’man.

Sighing contently as he flipped his cloak off in smooth motion before laying on the chair at a nearby table Val settled into his seat considering the day’s events. Megara emerged from the kitchen once more, her slim waist and wide hips making her passage across the room noticeable even when Val tried to ignore her. Of course that sway that she did without knowing it only made things worse.

“Excuse me, milady, is there anything else I can get for you?” she asked the hooded woman whose response Val couldn’t hear, but must have been dismissive because Meg bowed politely though as she approached Val her smile was tight. “And you, Vally? What can I get you?”

“Same thing as always. A pint of warm mead, a sprinkle of spices on top…and Meg…stop calling me Vally? I’m not supposed to be here yunno?”

As always the serving girl responded with a girlish giggle before floating away to fetch his drink. With that Valadin leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. For the moment all was quiet; an eerie sort of quiet that foretold of turbulent times to come…

Sighing as the warm brew slithered down his throat and warmed his insides Val felt himself relax for the first time since sunset. As midnight had drawn its curtain in full most in the Tower found their beds lest they risk catching the rough side of someone’s tongue. Tonight had been an especially hard escape since Sisters had gathered about the hallways and courtyard to observe the approaching storm, brows furrowed with concern. Only luck had it that no Gaidin were on patrol. Fodhr and the sentries had likely retired to the barracks, leaving only the two guardsman posted at the archway that opened into the main grounds.

Though he didn’t know them well, Valadin had seen that these men weren’t the sort to put duty over comfort. No sooner had the deluge come down were both men seeking refuge from the rain. Made it a full blasted year Cin. May the Light watch over ya. Hopefully I don’t meet ya too soon wherever ya are...

The commiserate sip in the memory of his first Tower friend went down bitterly, but Val didn’t complain. When he’d first heard the wily Soldier who’d joined the ranks of the Grey Tower only weeks before him had burned himself out and taken his own life, despair had nearly taken Val down the same path. Most nights were forgotten in a daze of blurred, drunken misery. One night he’d almost been robbed on the way back to his quarters. That was where he’d met Sergeant of the Mountain Guard, Fodhr.

Meg drifted by again, her skirt swaying invitingly as she patrolled the tables and asking after her patrons’ needs. She would tend to him last and have a chat; they’d built something of a rapport after he’d spewed on her skirts one evening and been forced to scrub dishes for the better part of the night. Master Elonid had his hide in the early morning for the poor display that followed the next day, but at least the innkeeper and Meg had never once outed him to any of Asha’man that passed by. Clutching his mug in both hands to catch any leftover warmth, Val studied the large man who’d given Meg a firm slap on her rear. Such things were commonplace at the Band of Brothers, but Elman’s was usually without such behavior.

Hopping forward in surprise, Meg blinked before flashing a winsome smile. Val couldn’t help burning at the recognition that passed between the two as she made her way over to his table and sat down with a sigh.

“Who’s that?” he asked, failing miserably at hiding his jealousy.

“Him? Dunno, really. Say’s he's a Gaidin though. Handsome, too. Tried taking me home many a’ night—even let on about askin’ after my hand. Can you imagine? Me? Married to a Gaidin?”

The loud slurp of his mead was answer enough to signify he didn't want to have this conversation. Like any good hostess, Meg sensed the need to transition, “So are we getting face-down drunk tonight? Or simply stumble-around-and-heave-my-innards-on-somebody drunk?”

“If I spew on anybody, it’ll be that fella over there,” Val groused. Already hot courage boiled in his stomach. That guy wasn’t that big and Warders were human too; he could take him.

Suddenly someone was filling his mug. The draught was steaming and without scent. Looking down Val found that he’d drained his original mug empty. Looking to the girl who’d brought the drink he asked, “How’d ya kn-know what I had—b-b-before?”

“Didn’t. The gents over there asked to share their pitcher with everyone,” the girl answered before heading off with the pitcher towards the large Gaidin's table. Val studied her backside before frowning disapprovingly.

“What?” Meg asked with a knowing smile.

“She…she…she…d… d…don’t look as g-g-g-good as you from the back,” he slurred before taking a long draw of the fresh drink. There was a hint of mint in the taste, but Val couldn’t decide he enjoyed the new concoction or not. Already he felt lazy and rested his head on the table. From far away he could hear Megara’s voice asking steal a sip from his mug. The innkeeper wouldn’t like his girls sampling drinks, but burn it all; she was a grown woman.

Besides maybe keeping her drunk would keep her away from that Gaidin. Something about him looked familiar, yet…

An overpowering fatigue dominated Valadin’s senses. He shook his head to gain some semblance of clarity without much success. Meg, sitting across from him, took a pull of mug. Immediately her eyes were low and she had to rest a hand on the table to remain upright.

“Light, that’s…that…must be that Aiel drink been hearin’ so much about…whe-when...”

Swaying in his seat, Val cast a look towards the men who’d offered their drink to the small crowd of Elman’s Creek patron. None seemed worse. In fact many looked as though they weren’t even drinking. Thuds sounded across the room as bodies fell out of chairs. Slowly the men rose, their dark colored garb appearing like shadows across their shoulders in Val’s daze.

Finally his eyes grew too heavy. I’ll just rest here an’ s’plain the rest to Master E…e…. As his eyes shut, the flash of light reflected on the steel of brandished swords was the last thing he saw before falling into darkness.