The Grey Tower

The room was a bit smaller than Saffiah had remembered, but perhaps it was because it was a far cry from the vast desert she had grown so accustomed to. She had the sense that the space was not her own- she had forgotten its peculiarities, which floorboards creaked when stepped on and which window was jammed, which side of the bed she had slept on. Her bags, which she had tossed in a corner in order to put off unpacking, seemed the only familiar things in that alien room. Saffiah wandered over to the oak bookcase next to the fireplace, running her thumb over the spines of texts she supposed were hers. Those that she recognized the most were the books on the Waste, texts that she had read in preparation for her journey. She tsked to herself and looked at the tops of her sunburnt arms- fat load of good that reading of hers had done. The girl she had once been had been quite fond of the idea of becoming a pioneer of the wilderness, but that girl had surrendered years ago.

Saffiah moved to the bed and ran her fingers over the grey throw, trying to reacquaint herself with the textures of her space. Even the bed had gathered dust- she would have to peel it from the mattress and shake it out before she went to sleep that night. Looking around, she found it a bit unsettling that Esmatal wasn't there. He had his own affairs to put in order of course, but having him fighting beside her had been a reassuring constant over the years, and suddenly he was gone, just like that. All she was left with was a vague sense of his absence and a hole at her side; they would still see each other, of course, but it wouldn't be the same. Idly, she wondered how long his scent would linger on the bags in the corner of the room before they started to smell like the musty tower or whatever closet she shoved them in.

Changes were coming, metaphorically and literally. Illyria was likely on her way to Saffiah's bedroom in the Green Hall at that very moment. Saffiah had sent a bird ahead of time so the Indigo would be aware of her return, and her friend had insisted on seeing her right away. Communication between the two had been inconsistent at best, a combination of Saffiah's seclusion and Illyria's own busy life, and they doubtlessly had a lot to say to each other. Illyria was not the sort to sit around idle, and had no doubt been running around like a chicken with her head cut off trying to get things done. Saffiah had missed her energy and quiet will, and having her come to the Waste with the party would doubtlessly have been easier for everyone involved. In the heat, tempers ran high, and Saffiah likely would have found herself in fewer spats if Illyria had been there to diffuse the tenser situations. And there had been times, in the middle of the night when Saffiah had too much to drink, that she needed the company of her fellow Aes Sedai to encourage her. Esmatal could do his best, but there were some things he could never fully understand.

If Saffiah could only remember where she kept the blasted tea cups, she would have put on a kettle to make the room look like it had some trace of life in it. The armoir? Maybe she had shoved them under the bed? Did she even own teacups? Saffiah snorted and flopped into a chair in front of the fire, scooting around in it to make herself comfortable. After a moment of unease, she got up and moved to the adjacent chair, which she realized was Her Chair, and felt much more comfortable. Perhaps some things would stay the same.

Illyria Malkom Cheap parchment crumpled easily beneath her fingers, oozing still-warm wax between her rings. The seal alone had been a perfect indication of its origins; though she knew for a fact that Saffiah Ella had access to the generic Flame of Hama Valon press, it did not surprise Illyria that she had stamped it with her Great Serpent ring, leaving a thick circle and tiny scaled indentations in emerald wax rather than a formal stamp. The Indigo stamped anything for personal, Ajah buisness, or in the capacity of the Mistress of Novices with her own flame press, in vibrant violet - but it seemed fitting that Saffiah would not bother.

Just as she has not bothered to correspond in several years. She walked slowly, sifting through her thoughts. A capable Accepted had been left in charge of her office as soon as the note had arrived on a silver tray. The maid carrying it had been wide-eyed, which was saying something for a woman that wore Tower livery. For any other summons, Illyria would have made the trek back to her apartments, retrieved her shawl, and a few dozen hair pins, but for the Green...

They had been novices together. Been switched by Zaephra Sedai together. Laughed, cried... Usually cried... Usually argued... They had been very different girls. And now, they were very different women. Saffiah had burst from the Third Arch and stumbled onto the Great Stair in what seemed to be the space of a heartbeat, while Illyria had stalled, lingered, struggled - it was only now that she preceeded the raising process that she understood why, but it did not quite soothe the sting of resentment. Saffiah had become Aes Sedai, taken up undesirable company, and then vanished from what seemed to be the face of the earth.

She looked down at the crumpled letter with a twinge of apprehension. How much has changed, and how much remains the same? An obsidian wedding band glittered dully beside her golden Great Serpent ring, her belly was fit to burst with child, and she was a far cry from the meek Aes Sedai that she had last seen Saffiah as. Has she even met Silas? Every returning Ajah member usually met with their Ajah Head at one point or another, but it was possible that Saffiah was unaware of who had taken the reins from her; she had been Captian-General when she left the Tower. And her letter had been addressed to Illyria Corinye.

I would have mentioned it if she had ever repiled, she thought sourly. An unconsious scowl settled on her features as she rounded through ancient hallways - novices seemed to step faster as she passed, pale blue skirts swishing heavily as she walked. Her husband had not had any advice to offer - if anything, Illyria was the one who knew Saffiah best. She considered seeking out the drunken Gaidin that kept her company, but if rumors were true - and they usually were when Esmatal Jalvir was concerned - he would be more tight lipped than anyone. He was peculiar, never taking a bond, but faithful to those he chose; two trainees and a second Gaidin had been shoved back through Gateways in the middle of the night, over the years, and the Mistress of Training had pried it out of them that they had not been able to stand Saffiah Ella Sedai or the Aiel Waste for another bloody moment.

They'd never said anything about whether or not she was well, once Illyria had been allowed to question them. But they were at least able to provide information on where to send concerned letters - which always were returned with curt replies, and never a response beyond that, even if Illyria sent a second or third. She could not risk revealing her location, she could not risk the bird dying carrying a letter with her handwriting, she could not risk any number of things, but she could risk silence and she could risk remaining unbonded.

She had not asked Silas if he would send her for punishment, but she nearly hoped that he did. But Light, would it feel good to switch the woman for what she had done to her.

By the time she reached Saffiah's rooms, she was nearly angry. Resentment simmered, along with a healthy dose of fear - Saffiah had always been able to out-shout her, and she had plenty of her own explaining to do - Why am I the one explaining anything? I've done nothing wrong. The thought did not quite resonate; Saffiah tied her in knots while untangling her all at once. She was relieved to know that she was safe, angry that she had not written, worried about what would happen once she knocked upon her laquered door... Her first hung awkwardly in the air, and she suddenly wished that she had brought a bottle of wine. No, she corrected herself, Oosquai.She's always liked harder liquor. It was a miracle she had not dropped dead of liver failure.

Her scowl became etched a little deeper before she wiped it from her counternance.

"Light keep me and preserve me," she muttered beneath her breath, and rapped three times on the heavy oak door. She had thought only a few hours ago that this pregnancy would be the end of her - now, it seemed Saffiah might end her before the babe had a chance to be born.

In spite of herself, Saffiah found herself rubbing her forefinger and thumb against each other in quick succession, her callouses numb to touch. She looked down at her hands, at the peeling, sunburned skin and plentiful freckles, and tore them apart. It was absolutely ridiculous that she was nervous, as if she were a young girl about to be taken to the Mistress of Novices for punishment. It was Illyria, Light, she had been mousy and slight when they had last been together, hardly more than a slip of a girl and not an angry bone in her body! What was she so anxious for? Saffiah must have been a head taller and forty pounds heavier, at the least!

Possibly, it was the threat of a good scolding that had Saffiah feeling threatened. And it wasn’t without reason; it had been nearly a decade since meeting face to face, and their letters were few and far between. Saffiah’s excuse had been that correspondence was dangerous, considering her line of work, but towards the end it had been less of a safety concern, and more of prideful frustration. At some point, it became evident that Saffiah was nowhere near close enough to a darkfriend nest to warrant her mail being peeked at. But she would not, could not, say that she had squandered away eight years of her life with sand in her teeth and eyes and hair, chasing ghosts and possibilities. Putting it in writing would be admitting it herself.

So Saffiah tore her fingers apart and adjusted her position so that she was leaning on one arm of the chair. That position felt natural; it was probably something she had assumed in her early days as an Aes Sedai, the only ones she had spent in her quarters. Her muscles remembered, but her mind did not. Light, she wanted a drink. What time was it? Was it too early to pull out the brandy? Did she have any brandy? Teacups surprisingly absent, brandy nowhere to be found. Useless. The woman snorted, hoping she would remember to slip down to Hama Valon and procure something hard and numbing. She would probably need it, if Illyria was on her way down to the Green quarters to tear her a new asshole.

As if on cue, three solid knocks came from the door. Saffiah paused for a moment. She really should have put on tea, Illyria would have been pleased with that. It would have shown the sister that Saffiah was actually exerting some small amount of effort and perhaps felt remorse for abandoning her for years. Saffiah didn’t feel any remorse whatsoever, of course, but Illyria didn’t need to know that. Saffiah rose slowly, careful not to strain the tears in her side, white claw marks that raked from her shoulder to her hip and, unfortunately, restricted her movement. But she moved a bit more slowly than she needed to, just to prolong the time.

She did, eventually, make it to the door, and opened it a crack. If it wasn’t Illyria, she didn’t want to see anyone, not even a novice come to do her wash. Through the open sliver, she could see streaks of copper hair and indigo fringe, signature features of Illyria’s outward appearance, and two things that she was relieved to see hadn’t changed. But when Saffiah opened the door fully, she was bombarded with unfamiliarity. Her eyes widened in shock as she realized that Illyria was huge. She looked like a bloody prize-winning pumpkin from a fair, ripe with seeds (or seed, rather). Saffiah gave a small, feeble, laugh of disbelief. It took a good deal to shock the Aes Sedai, but she was truly taken aback that Illyria had allowed any man under her skirts.

And married him, apparently. A small, dark band sat next to Illyria’s Great Serpent ring. She wondered what came first, the chicken or the eggs? The thought of Illyria and some Gaidin going to town in a broom closet was laughable, at best. No, Illyria was the sort who liked romancing and long walks in the garden at sunset, when the light was at its most flattering and romantic and the light bugs were just starting to appear. She had definitely been married first, and the lad was probably some tall, princely type from Andor.

Saffiah gave another chuckle of disbelief and shook her head. She supposed it was rather rude to leave the sister waiting in the hallway, but she put her hand on her hips and looked her over once more. She had predicted that the sister would be more grizzled or have a few grey hairs, maybe, but pregnant and married? It was probably because the Green had left the Tower that Illyria was able to have those things for herself. At any rate, Saffiah was pleased that she hadn’t had to see Illyria and the Mystery Man in their honeymoon phase. That would have been enough to make her gag.

“Well.” She began with a sly grin. She definitely should have hunted down some liquor for herself; Illyria clearly couldn’t have any, but Saffiah thought it was likely that the Indigo would want something strong by the end of their conversation. Freeing her arm from her hip, Saffiah gestured to the room to invite Illyria in. “You’ve been quite the busy bee, haven’t you?”

Illyria Malkom

It was difficult to not smile when she heard Saffiah's laughter - it was a sound that she missed. Green eyes, widened a hair by surprise, swept over her expansive abdomen, and she did not miss how they paused over her hand, which drew another peal of laughter. It is difficult to believe, I suppose. Last she knew, I feared saidin more than I feared her. She had come to accept male channelers as a fact of life, after a very long time, and by now, the greatest threat they posed was to her sanity. Far too many novices thought that their attention was desirable.

"Well," Saffiah said, a wry grin pulling the un-scarred side of her features into a twin smirk. The scars were thick, puckered, and had marred her beauty, drawn from temple to opposite chin, yet only defined and magnified her spirit. “You’ve been quite the busy bee, haven’t you?” Illyria faltered. Saffiah, always too serious about the things that were of no consequence and too nonchalant about the things that mattered greatly - would it be best to tread lightly, or descend with well-intentioned wrath? Periot irises gleamed with amusement. Keep her in good spirits, Illyria decided, but shout if she gives me reason to. I will not coddle her, she lied to herself. The Oaths bound only her tongue; she was welcome to pretend to herself all that she liked. Saffiah was the only Aes Sedai alive that she truly felt she could call sister, and she was not keen on dividing herself from her. She smiled back tepidly, as though too much expression would shatter the moment.

The Green swung her door open wide enough to allow entrance, and as Illyria and her belly squeezed by, it dawned upon her why the maid had been in shock. Saffiah reeked. Repugnant, repellent, grubbier than a swine in summer - it smelled as though she had not bathed since she set out from Hama Valon all those years ago. "Saffiah!" her name came out as nearly a squeak, syllables rolled off her tongue before she could stop them, "When was the last time you saw a bar of soap?!" The Green snorted, and Illyria only felt her horror climb; she recognized those breeches, and the stiff silk shirt as well! Of course, the breeches had been darned repeatedly, with what looked to be swatches of cloth from other silk shirts, and she'd venture to guess that neither had been washed in eight years.

She reached out and snatched Saffiah's wrist, and scrubbed a thumb across what she supposed had been a tan - it was actually grime, caked sweat and desert clay. Her eyes felt like saucers; her eyebrows were practically to her hairline. "You called me to your quarters, interacted with Tower personnel, and Light knows who's seen you..." She trailed off beneath her breath. Illyria avoided politics by remaining in undercurrents, and did her best to keep out of sight. Saffiah Ella blatantly waved her disregard for other's opinions and maneuvers like a banner, and it was likely to get her killed. "If I could channel, I'd douse you, and scrub you myself," she threatened, finally releasing the taller woman's wrist, "But I'm going to assume that you've brought something home that's worth your weight in gold, and that you're reliant upon that for your safety."

Illyria, though visibly jarred by Saffiah’s bluntness, entered with a slight but welcoming smile. Years in the Tower often meant years of only hearing words with two meanings and thinly veiled jabs. It was the way of an Aes Sedai to disguise curtness with flowers and bows, something Saffiah had no capacity for or interest in. She greatly preferred to speak her mind and put all of her cards on the table, and she doubted she had the words to be as secretive as many Aes Sedai were. She was nowhere near quick enough with her words and lacked the restraint that a patient tongue required. Thankfully, as a Green, Saffiah was not required to act with diplomacy. That was left up to the Greys, and she was grateful for that. It would be simpler if the world was upfront with their intents, but that was, of course, unrealistic.
Either way, Saffiah was pleased that Illyria hadn’t entered in a fury and immediately torn into her. The smile she gave was restrained at best, but that was preferable to a scowl. Illyria did, however, assume a look of shock upon entering, her lips parting slightly in surprise.
“Saffiah!” The woman all but squealed, for a moment sending Saffiah back into their days as Novices. Her name was often uttered in the same tone as she regaled Illyria with her latest exploits or narrowly escaped punishment. That time, though, it was difficult to tell what could possibly be the matter. Her room was neat because it had gone untouched for years, so that could not have been what had Illyria in such a fuss. “When was the last time you saw a bar of soap?”

Saffiah snorted and looked down at herself. She had gotten used to her own smell by that point, but the early days in the Waste were agony. Aside from the occasional Aiel sweat bath, she had gone largely uncleaned, as did the rest of her company, to avoid wasting the water that became their most crucial resource. Though she was never intent to look at her own appearance, Saffiah was incredibly glad that she hadn’t so much as seen a mirror in eight years, because she was certain that she looked a dreadful mess.
Illyria reached out and grabbed her arm, running her small thumb across a dark line in Saffiah’s skin. The dirt on her wrist smudged, leaving a brown-orange streak, and Illyria looked repulsed. "You called me to your quarters, interacted with Tower personnel, and Light knows who's seen you..." Saffiah couldn’t care less about the uppity Tower inhabitants seeing her in a state of dishevelment. They searched for reasons to look down on her, and they would look down on her whether or not she deserved it. It just so happened that Saffiah deserved it. She generally did.

“If I could channel, I’d douse you, and scrub you myself.” Illyria threatened, finally releasing Saffiah’s wrist. Saffiah had forgotten that pregnancy restricted channeling and raised her eyebrows a bit. That was likely an incredible stressor for Illyria, who had reveled in every opportunity to use the One Power, even for simple things like lighting candle wicks. She pitied the bloke who she stormed home to at the end of the day. Hormones couldn’t help the situation, surely. "But I'm going to assume that you've brought something home that's worth your weight in gold, and that you're reliant upon that for your safety.”

And there it was. Saffiah’s face fell into a small scowl as the woman moved towards the chairs. She noted that Illyria sat in the chair that Saffiah had not earlier discovered was her chair, and it was likely that the Indigo had remembered where she was supposed to sit.
“I didn’t have a bath on hand when I was in the bleeding desert. You get used to it honestly, I’d forgotten I smell.” She began, throwing herself into her chair and slouching into it. It dawned on her that she might be staining the furniture, but she ignored it. Esmatal had smelled horribly for a good bit as well, but the stench faded with time, she supposed. Did she even know what his natural smell was? “Not everyone spends their days lounging and drawing warm baths and falling into bed with handsome men. That would simply be you, specifically.”

“And if you must know, I’ve spent eight bloody years up to my ass in sand and have not a damn thing to show for it. Walked right in circles. Everyone in my company saw it except for me, that’s why there was only Mat and myself in the end.” Saffiah said with forced calmness, hoping not to sound as frustrated as she appeared. She had never been good at faking, and Illyria probably saw right through her guise. The Green would be shocked if Illyria didn’t see it immediately; the redhead was always able to tell what got under her skin.

Saffiah abruptly rose and paced around the room, hoping to distract herself from her anger. “I was going to put a pot on but I can’t find my teacups.”

Illyria Malkom

Saffiah's features fell into her legendary scowl, dark enough to frighten even the hardiest of the Yards, and this was one fierce enough to even make her feel taken aback - since when did Saffiah fail? The Indigo busied herself by settling in a squishy arm chair while Saffiah looked at her high-backed, cushioned rocking chair as though she might eat it for lunch. This is not going to be pretty. She tried to adjust her skirts, rubbed her palms across the tiny, puckered embroidery, and did her best to look just past Saffiah - she settled on somewhere between staring at Saffiah's earlobe and the clock that hung behind her on the wall.

“I didn’t have a bath on hand when I was in the bleeding desert," she snapped as she settled, and picked at a patch in her breeches," You get used to it honestly, I’d forgotten I smell." The Green looked very pointed at her, and she dared to meet her gaze for a short moment - “Not everyone spends their days lounging and drawing warm baths and falling into bed with handsome men. That would simply be you, specifically.” Ah... Wait until you learn that the handsome man is your Captain-General. Her cheeks flooded with color, which Saffiah was welcome to believe was embarrassment - more than anything, she felt harassed and tightly wound. But if anyone had a right to poke at her, it was Saffiah, and she didn't even know the full story.

If she'd known that he'd been a Dedicated at the time they bonded, that she'd kidnapped him for a solid six months shortly before that, and that they'd managed to carry out an illicit relationship until he'd been raised...? Oh, Saffiah would never let her hear the end of it. And she supposed that she did not deserve to hear the end of it, and that it was only by sheer dumb luck that it had not exploded in her face. You probably assume that I only fell into bed after I'd gotten my wedding ring, she thought, trying not to grimace. That was going to be an interesting conversation. Interesting meaning that it would have to happen after she was able to consume obnoxious amounts of alcohol.

“And if you must know, I’ve spent eight bloody years up to my ass in sand and have not a damn thing to show for it. Walked right in circles. Everyone in my company saw it except for me, that’s why there was only Mat and myself in the end.” Her voice was calm - if Illyria were to venture a guess, she'd say that Saffiah had closeted herself in the void. This should have had her in an unbridled rage; ten years ago, she'd slapped a boy that called her a darkfriend and been happy to do the penance. Forced herself to be happy. Saffiah Ella did not admit defeat.

"Hmm." It was a noncommittal noise, a safe noise: she acknowledged Saffiah's failure, admittance to her own blindness that had come from pride and foolishness - and now that it was out in the air, and that it had been accepted, it could be quickly forgotten about and never mentioned again. Everyone was going to be much happier that way. Silas preferred conversation and critique, while Saffiah was happy slapping a bandage on it and pretending it had never happened, and Illyria was all too happy to shift between techniques to suit the circumstance. Saffiah had learned, obviously, or she would not have admitted it. It was done, it wouldn't happen again, and she probably already had a plan for the next time.

But Saffiah did not look as though she was quite ready to forget that it had happened; she rose stiffly, and stalked to cabinets that she had probably already gone through. “I was going to put a pot on but I can’t find my teacups.”

"Does anyone know that you've returned? Your rooms don't look as though they've been prepared..." They were dusty and near empty. And if she had not contacted anyone else, that would explain why she was so... Blissfully unaware of how many things had changed. How exactly does one tell Saffiah Ella that you have married her boss? Alcohol. Saffiah would need alcohol. That or some hallucinogenic desert plant. She'd already had one blow to her pride and the order of the universe today. Illyria shook her head slightly, and sighed beneath her breath. "I can find a maid and have her bring a temporary tea set?"

The two had always had a sort of understanding about how the other dealt with emotional distress. Illyria would mull it over for days and let it brew and try to understand it, but Saffiah made a habit of immediately depositing all feelings in a waste bin and never discussing them again. And though they coped differently, they had always respected eachs’ ways. So when Illyria made a short, understanding noise in the back of her throat, Saffiah was not surprised, but it gave her comfort. She was reassured that she would never have to speak of the Waste to the Indigo again, and if she chose to, it would be on her own terms. Maybe Saffiah would be questioned by other Aes Sedai- she likely would, and the new Captain-General, whomever they may be, would have a bit to say- but at least she knew that she would never again be pestered by the one person who knew where to stick it where it hurt most.

For the time being, that would have to be enough.

But the Green knew that ceasing to speak of it would not wipe it from her mind, and that the creeping demon would be lying in the recesses of her mind for long afterwards. When Saffiah went to bed at night, she would still have to face herself. Perhaps that was why she had been so short with Illyria- something the other woman must have noticed, but thankfully let slide by.

She rifled through the cabinets that, in theory, held cutlery and glassware, half-heartedly searching for her missing teacups. The act was less about tea and more about trying to fill the empty space that still rested between Saffiah and Illyria, something that was bound to emerge after so much time apart, but was uncomfortable nonetheless. It would pass, but not without awkwardness.

"Does anyone know that you've returned? Your rooms don't look as though they've been prepared..." Illyria trailed off as Saffiah shoved several forks aside with a clatter. She closed the cabinets and turned her back to lean against them, allowing a direct line of sight between herself and Illyria. The other woman gave a small sigh and shook her head- was it out of disapproval, or was it a symptom of that unfortunate empty space? "I can find a maid and have her bring a temporary tea set?"

Saffiah had gathered her things and slipped from the Waste with no prior planning, leaving no word with the locals and neglecting to notify the Tower of her imminent return. She hadn’t realized she was returning until the moment she decided it and hadn’t given it a second thought. All it had taken was one look around the expansive stretch of sand that surrounded the camp, at the sun, which was obscured, in part, by more sand, for the woman to realize that there was nothing there for her and that she refused to spend one more day in the Aiel Waste. She had informed Esmatal that they were leaving, and he had the good sense not to question her.

“No. You, myself, and Mat, probably the stablehands and one or two of the Tower staff are the few who know I’ve returned. I don’t feel compelled to announce myself like I’m the bleeding Queen of Andor, and I’d rather not have some nosy chambermaid rifling through my things in the first place.” Saffiah said, twisting her Great Serpent ring around her finger in circles. Where it had rested on her finger for the last eight years was the only stretch of her skin that had retained its usual paleness and some semblance of cleanliness. Seeing her skin free of grime after a long, hot bath would be incredibly unusual.

“But enough of that nonsense; I see that you’ve had your share of activity here.” Saffiah began with a slight smirk pulling at the unscarred corner of her lips. She hoped to steer the topic of conversation to something less vexing. It was time for her companion to be put on the spot. “You look like an overstuffed armchair. Who’s the boy that’s managed to tie you down?”

Illyria Malkom Saffiah continued to rummage through her cabinets nosily, shifting around the three same pieces of glassware as if a tea-set would materialize on its own if she tried hard enough.

“No." she said finally, "You, myself, and Mat, probably the stablehands and one or two of the Tower staff are the few who know I’ve returned. I don’t feel compelled to announce myself like I’m the bleeding Queen of Andor, and I’d rather not have some nosy chambermaid rifling through my things in the first place.” Illyria struggled to keep from laughing; Saffiah's irreverence was always refreshing, once she had gotten over the initial icy shock.

"Well, if you'd bothered to tell anyone, you might not have to sleep on dusty blankets," she quipped, flashing a small, disbelieving smile. But she noticed that Saffiah had not extended the invitation to call for tea, and chose to take that as a warning; Saffiah Sedai did not want anyone in her business and she trusted Illyria to keep it that way.

“But enough of that nonsense; I see that you’ve had your share of activity here.” Here we go. Illyria did her best to keep an uncomfortable smile from her features, and though it flickered across her features, she was able to restrain it before Saffiah turned to face her. Smirking. Happily smirking. “You look like an overstuffed armchair. Who’s the boy that’s managed to tie you down?” She couldn't hide the grimace that time, and she swore that Saffiah laughed beneath her breath.

"If I'm going to divulge my personal life, I need to see your face," she said, hanging just off the edge of sour. "Take a seat." The rocking chair creaked loudly in protest as she settled, as a testament to how long it had gone without oiling. "You really ought to get someone in here, Saffiah. Your home is in disrepair." She only received a very flat look that informed her of her transparency: avoidance was not an option with Saffiah Ella. Illyria felt her face coloring with a rush of heated embarrassment.

"Silas." She said finally, "Silas Malkom. And I've taken his name." She let that hang for a few heavy seconds; oh, Saffiah was having a wonderful time, she was sure. I am certainly not. She felt like one of her novices, sent to the Mistress of Novice to explain why honey cakes had gone missing. And she was never able to hide from Saffiah, like she could from everyone else. She had let herself get too comfortable, she supposed.

"He's a few years younger." She said briskly, "Came to the Tower after you were raised to Aes Sedai. We trained together, and in a complicated mess, sort of turned into a thing after I was raised." She didn't bother mentioning when he had been raised and gave herself false hope - it wasn't as if she could actually slide beneath the radar, but she could always try. "Got married, now I've got... Well, we don't have any names picked."

"He's a Green," she said in a small voice, "Does a lot of Blight - type - stuff." Saffiah would learn he was her Captain-General shortly, but she could hide behind her last few secrets for a few minutes longer, surely.

Saffiah was having absolutely none of Illyria’s avoidance. The Indigo smiled with clear misery, she fiddled with her hands and blushed a bit, she continued to nag Saffiah about the state of her rooms, even though the Green had been living out of a bloody tent for the last decade and couldn’t give a rat’s arse if the pillows hadn’t been fluffed and sprayed with rose water as long as she had something to rest her head on.

"If I'm going to divulge my personal life, I need to see your face. Take a seat." Illyria said with an unmistakeable air of vexation. Saffiah couldn’t help but give a boisterous, short laugh at how defensive the other woman had become, and how desperately she avoided explaining herself. Saffiah humored her and sat back down on her creaky chair, eager to watch Illyria tip-toe around the topic at hand. "You really ought to get someone in here, Saffiah. Your home is in disrepair."

If you say one more word about my bloody quarters I’ll string you up on a clothesline with my dusty sheets. Saffron thought, only restraining herself because she was sure Illyria would take it as an opportunity to derail the conversation. Instead, she gave Illyria a flat, readable look that maintained the ‘get on with it’ message that she hoped to get across. And Illyria finally indulged her, once it became clear that Saffiah was willing to dangle her from the roof of the building to get it out of her.

“Silas. Silas Malkom, and I’ve taken his name.” Illyria said hesitantly, finally. Her words hung in silence as she let Saffiah suffer under the promise of more information. And only having his name was torturous to Saffiah- it told her absolutely nothing, and it didn’t embarrass Illyria, so it was hardly something worth knowing!

“Alright, get on with it! Light, woman!” Saffiah said impatiently. She was through with games and dancing around the details. Illyria seemed to notice that, and she acquiesced.

“He’s a few years younger. Came to the Tower after you were raised to Aes Sedai. We trained together, and in a complicated mess, sort of turned into a thing after I was raised.” She said. Saffiah laughed. ‘Turned into a thing’ was a significant understatement considering Illyria was married and pregnant. That noncommittal phrase must have been something that Illyria had picked up from Saffiah’s lexicon, because the words were certainly not her own. "Got married, now I've got... Well, we don't have any names picked."

Saffiah considered offering herself as a namesake for the child as a joke, but the concern that Illyria would take her proposition seriously was far too possible. One thing was for sure, Saffiah planned on being the one bestowed with the honor of teaching the child to drink and curse properly, because Illyria, and whatever fool she had married, were not likely to do so.

"He's a Green. Does a lot of Blight - type - stuff." Illyria said quietly. Saffiah’s face split into a grin. She’d likely be butting heads with him, then, if they shared an Ajah. She looked forward to the experience.

“Blood and bloody ashes! Clearly we Greens are excellent in bed. I thought it could have just been me, but obviously-” Saffiah gestured to Illyria’s swollen tummy. “This bloke knows what to do. I’m not sure whether I should pat him on the back or break his nose. Likely both.”

Saffiah gave another loud chuckle at Illyria’s face- likely she thought that Saffiah really would break her husband’s nose. And it was a definite possibility, really, so she wouldn’t have been wrong. Saffiah did like the satisfying crunch of a broken nose, but it might be good to have an ally within her own Ajah. She suspected that the new Captain General, whoever they may be, would not be pleased with her, and she expected to be summoned once word of her return spread.

“Really, I’m surprised at your current state. When we were last together, you were beating back boys with a broom handle. He must be a man of many talents. I expect you found something better to use the broom handle for?” Saffiah continued, positively hooting with laughter, at both herself and Illyria. The other woman’s face had cycled through every color in the rainbow. Saffiah slapped herself in the knee and rocked back in her chair. She wished that Esmatal had been there to witness her quips.

“But honestly, honestly-” She said again, between spurts of laughter. “I’m very happy for you, I am. Having a wee little lad or lass of your own will spare the rest of the Tower of your micromanagement. I’d like to shake this man’s hand. I’d like to present him with an amulet or a badge, on behalf of everyone on the Tower, for knowing how to pick the right one to stuff it in.”