The Grey Tower

CRACK!

Debris exploded to her left, the Earth spewing gravel and dirt against which she threw up an arm, vainly trying to shield her eyes. The static discharge of the strike caused all hair to stand on end and the deafening crash of thunder rang in her ears, muffling subsequent rolls. Still she ran, soaked to the bone, her slippers sliding on slick grass; she lurched forward, knees crashing into the hard ground and fell forward catching herself painfully on trembling hands. Sharp pain in her wrist elicited a cry – was it broken? There was no time to assess the damage; throwing herself forward on three limbs, she cowered beneath pelting hail…

Flora Cecil moaned and rolled over on the mattress that creaked raucously beneath her scant frame. Eyelids fluttered against the strident light assaulting them and for the first time in what seemed eternity, she opened bright green eyes to blinding daylight. Her ears perceived bustle around the uncomfortable bed in which she lay but white curtains hung on either side acted as blinders so Flora could only see those who passed the foot of her cot. The young women rubbed restless sleep from her eyes that still struggled adjusting to the light. Yawning, she sat up against thin white pillows and peeled sweat-soaked sheet away from her torso.

At last awake, the singer took stock of her situation. Well-dressed women in aprons and black-coated men hurried passed the curtains, barking orders at girls in white dresses and young men in black uniforms. None seemed concerned with the young woman whose ginger mane lay slicked to her scalp with perspiration. Simple white curtains did nothing to muffle the sounds of distress on either side, nor did they shield her from the odour permeating the room. It was not a familiar scent, yet Flora recognized it quickly: the smell of sickness. She, herself, reeked of it.

Sunlight streamed in from the large window above her bed, warming it, much to Flora’s discomfort. Heat was the last thing she needed at the moment, already she felt like a limp bath towel hung out to dry. In spite of the white linen shift she wore, baring her arms and collarbone, moisture beaded on the singer’s brow. Discomfort notwithstanding, she had too much shame to remove the thin white sheet covering bare legs. Her stomach complained loudly, cramping with hunger. She stared down at it, startled by the sound and was surprised to notice how the underclothes hung off her thin shoulders. Flora could never have been considered plump but she had been healthy; currently she seemed only… sickly.

At the growling of her belly, one of the passers-by glanced over, alerted to her consciousness. The small woman strode over blank-faced, squeezing her subrotundness between the curtain and Flora’s bedside. The young woman stared at her; having spent nearly a week in the company of Aes Sedai, she knew the agelessness of this woman’s face unmistakably marked her as such. Then it dawned on Flora, perhaps a little belatedly, that she must have arrived at the Grey Tower. The singer could recall little of her journey after creating a tempest in the woods outside Whitebridge – just flashes of memory between fever dreams. How much time had passed since then?

“Good, you are awake.” She nodded weakly to the Aes Sedai. “And your fever has broken.” Without asking permission, the woman took Flora’s face in her hands. An icy sensation ran through the young woman like a tingle racing up her spine but encompassing the whole body. She shivered as this so-called Servant released her and the feeling vanished. Had the woman just channelled? Flora was not brave enough to ask. “It would seem you are out of the woods, child. You should be right as rain in a few days, the Mistress of Novices will be pleased. In the meantime, I will call someone to bring you lunch. It might seem much but eat all of it – though I imagine that will not provide issue.” The woman turned on her heel and was gone before the young woman could respond.

For long moments after the woman left, Flora sat dazed as her new reality slowly dawned into awareness. This was now her home; she would be a Novice in the Grey Tower just like the harried white-dressed women rushing past. By now the Cecil family could be anywhere from Tar Valon to Tear; their absence remained a dull ache that brought too-familiar tears to her eyes when she dwelled too long on the fact she very well might never see them again. The singer… Was she that anymore? For the first time in her life Flora could not point to the direction of her harp. Jordanna Sedai had made it clear that she would not be allowed her singular important possession until proving that it would not distract from the Tower’s rigorous studies.

The… soon-to-be Novice lay back against her pillows, staring up at the high stone ceiling. Green eyes followed intricate cornices that could only have been so expertly crafted by the Ogier. Flora had studied the beauty of their craftsmanship in Caemlyn, bowled over by the painstaking detail given to the most utilitarian of buildings – in the Andoran capitol’s Inner City, a simple stable was a work of art. Those gentle giants understood that even the most base tool or simple sentence did not need to be just that; a person could not live on function alone. All things should be imbued with a sense of aestheticism so that they might communicate the complexity of human existence in wordless conversation.

She followed the carved leaves of medicinal herbs with her eyes, taking comfort from this small piece of beauty in an otherwise stark, if well lit, infirmary. Whatever the Grey Tower might take from her, it could not steal that: she viewed the world as an artist, no matter what else the Aes Sedai forced her to become. Light, but stiff fingers itched to run themselves over familiar strings; instead, her thoughts traced the sculpted ivy above. Flora’s mind responded in song and she whispered the lyrics softly, transported to the Baerlon’s inn where Jon Cecil had taught her the tune.

But ivy is what I call that maiden
With soft words,
With the simple, bright hair,
Gently waving brown about her,
With brown, soulful doe's eyes,
Who so often stands in tears,
In her tears simply irresistible;
Without strength and self-consciousness,
Unadorned with secret blossoms,
Yet with an inexhaustible, deep
True inner sentience
That under her own power she can
Never yank herself up by the roots;
Such are born to twine
Lovingly about another life:
Upon her first love
She rests her entire life's fate,
For she is counted among those rare flowers,
Those that only blossom once.

Her mind heard in vivid detail each note of the harp accompaniment. Flora closed tearing eyes and allowed the sense of overwhelming loss to roll over her. It passed, leaving the young woman in a state of hollow melancholy. She lay in bed and willed sleep that would pull her to happy oblivion. However, the singer – for surely she still was – found herself lost in the contemplation of her future here. Flora could not push from her brain the memory of lying alone in dark woods, detachedly wondering if she would die there. Her last concern before succumbing to the disorder had been of being Aes Sedai: a legend worthy of her own ballad.

Was that truly what she desired: to turn away from her music and follow the path to becoming one of these Servants? The Wheel had given her the ability to channel, though to what degree or for what purpose Flora could not begin to imagine. Was this then her destiny? As a bard, the concept of fatalism rang true in her understanding. Yet if this direction was preordained, should she not feel more confident in embarking upon it? These questions would have no answers forthwith and Flora was forced to open her eyes to provide the distraction of sight from her whirling thoughts.

So she lay in her bed, staring numbly at the ceiling and tried desperately to push away visions of an uncertain future.

“Epheu” (Ivy) by Felix Ludwig Julius Dahn, set to music by Richard Georg Strauss, translated from German by Emily Ezust

Seth Arcuraim An entrance befitting a Gleeman Since being raised to the Keeper of the Archives, Seth hadn't been able to get out of his office very much. It upset him that he seemed to keep getting further away from his duties as a Yellow with each passing year. Since his raising to Asha'man, he had been made Master of Soldiers, First Weaver and now he was Keeper of the Archives. The thin, Yellow Stole on his shoulders was light to pick up, but weighed on his shoulders tremendously. He couldn't understand where the Tower denizens managed to get so much paper to write all of the missives that kept piling on his desk, and he was sure he had heard Carraidhin say much the same once before.

With a quick flourish, Seth finished signing off on yet another missive and rotated his wrist to relieve the pain. Standing up, he spied his harp nearby. He had brought it up with him from his quarters, in case he wished to play it. He picked it up and walked out of the room. The piles of papers could wait, but he knew nothing would cheer him up more than cheering up the people in the Infirmary, who the Creator knew could probably do with a smile on their faces.

Arriving at the Infirmary, the regular hustle and bustle slowed down as Seth swept in. He was still getting used to basically being the shared second-in-command of the Grey Tower, and because of that he had no idea if they were slowing down because of his station, or because they saw the harp in his hands. Whatever the reason, he soon cleared it up when he raised his harp and started plucking out a string of notes, which soon cohered into a softly lilting song.

All of the patients who weren't hidden behind curtains, and could, sat up in their beds to see the source of the music. Smiles gleamed from the faces of those who were capable of doing so without pain. It brought a broader smile to Seth's face to see so many people cheered up by his presence. The music didn't change pace as he paraded down the aisle between the beds. He heard someone humming nearby, and his music stopped as he tried to find the person. He was impressed to find a red haired woman lying in a bed behind a curtain, staring at the ceiling.

Seth stood at the foot of her bed, and queried her.

"Good day, young lady. I heard you humming as I came through the Infirmary, playing my harp. Would you mind telling me your name, and what tune you were humming to?"

Like the echoes of a distant memory, the soft ringing of harp floated through Flora’s desperate mind; its gentle chime did more to heal and assuage her anxiety than any trick of the One Power that could be performed by this Tower’s inhabitants. Her state of despondence was so great that the intoxicating melody seemed surreal – she half-wondered whether, like the storm, her longing had channelled it into being. However, she then perceived a mood change settle over the flurry of activity. Aes Sedai that before had shouted at passing initiates hissed their commands in hushed voices while the black-coated men gestured vehemently to nervous catechumen.

The young woman, meanwhile, pushed herself back up to a seated position as a man in the notorious ebon uniform appeared before her, strumming delicately on his harp. Despite the infamous title denoted by his sombre costume, Flora found he did not intimidate her. In all the stories, the Guardians were cruel maniacs, crazed by the Taint, trailing after the Dragon Reborn and his destruction. Yet this man with wild, blond curls beamed down at her with a glimmer in his eye that reminded the singer of her brother, Tom. He seemed younger than Flora could have pictured any of his brethren – and kinder. The golden tippet hanging from his shoulders marked him as Yellow Ajah: a healer.

Most of this information she had gleaned during her time with the delegation of Aes Sedai leaving Caemlyn. Jordanna and the others had begun treating their young charge as a Novice the moment they passed through the city gates, ordering her around and lecturing Flora at length about proper Tower procedure. All this, they said, so she would not embarrass them as being uncouth after arriving under their care. It was lucky then for everyone that Flora was a quick enough study that she retained the bulk of what had been spieled off at her. Thus, the singer knew enough to bow decorously as she could from her position as he addressed her.

“Good morning, Asha’man. My name is Flora Cecil and apparently I will be a Novice here.” The young woman did her best to hide the apprehension she still felt towards this institution. “That was “Ivy”, an old Amadician song my da taught me.” She sat up straighter, the sheet pooling on her lap. Suddenly, the singer became abashedly aware that she wore only a shift in this stranger’s presence. Face burning, Flora pulled the cover over herself as best she could. Her cheeks were still warm as she continued, “There are three other songs in the cycle: “Cornflowers”, “Poppies”, “Ivy” is the third song, followed by “Waterlily”.”

Flora’s eyes slid surreptitiously from the man’s cerulean stare to the instrument in his hands. Underused fingers itched to play it, fidgeting on the edge of her sheet in lustful yearning. The singer bit her tongue, vainly attempting not to overstep propriety but like an addict, simply could not help herself; an age seemed to have passed since last she played. Flora returned her gaze to his, politesse shrouding covetousness, and gestured to the harp. “May I?”

Lirievin Tesiva Liri rushed through the Halls, moving as fast as she could without running. She had just heard that she would be a mentor! She was happy to be able to help someone through this journey, but she also had found our that her mentee was in the Infirmary. For what Liri wasn’t really sure of and she didn’t stick around to ask questions, she felt better getting her information from the source instead of others. Plus Liri knew if she had just come to the Tower she would have felt really awkward if everyone already knew her story.

Liri was nearing the Infirmary now, and as excited as she was about being a mentor she was also anxious. She had never done anything like this before, so what if she messed up and gave her mentee the wrong advice? What if her mentee hated her? There were so many things that could go wrong, but Liri shoved all of those thoughts aside. If you always thought negative things were going to happen they would, one needed to think on the positive side.

Walking into the Infirmary Liri smiled at almost everyone there. When she had come back she spend an extended amount of time there so she got to know almost everyone who frequented there. Liri took a quick look around, she had been given a brief description of Flora, so she knew what to look for. It didn’t take long before her eyes rested on a young girl with copper hair. That must be her she thought to herself. Taking a deep breath to calm any nerves Liri walked up slowly trying to hide her limp, it was her least favourite conversation starter.

As she got closer, Liri noticed Asha’man Seth standing by Flora’s bed with an instrument in his hand. Their conversation had seemed to come to a pause and Liri looked at both of them before focusing on Flora.

“You must be Flora.” She said with a smile. “I’m Lirievin an Accepted here and I’m going to be your mentor.” she finished cheerfully. Her tone could have come off as annoyingly chipper but the thought only lasted a second before Liri pushed it to the back of her mind. “I’ve heard you’ve been here a while. How are you feeling?” She asked not really sure how to approach conversation with her. Most interactions started with people had something in common but she had no idea who Flora was or what she liked.

Seconds stretched on into eternity as the singer’s fingers trembled, twitching with anticipation as they longed once again to dance across catgut. She drew shallow breaths as her innards knit themselves together painfully, dreading the shaking of blonde curls that would deny her this necessity. The request was not entirely kosher: musicians, as a rule, were neurotically possessive of their instruments. Not to mention the fact that Novices – or whatever title she currently held – were likely not supposed to ask for things from Asha’man. These thoughts, though, floated ephemerally through her brain, barely registering before they were forgotten beneath the weight of her obsession.

Green eyes were locked so rabidly on the harp in Seth’s hands that the singer utterly failed to notice a slender woman approaching in banded white. Flora’s gaze snapped towards this stranger as the Accepted interrupted her monomania. Foiled desire screamed frustration that she dared not let escape her lips as the heady anticipation of moments ago crumbled away, replaced by sullen resentment that etched itself in the splenetic slump of bare shoulders. The blonde-haired woman introduced herself as Flora’s mentor – not that the Andoran had any idea what exactly that entitled. However, Lirievin’s cheery voice grated on her petulant acrimony.

Flora was not feeling particularly forthcoming. “I feel fine.” The singer shrugged and settled back into thin pillows, returning to her contemplation of the ceiling. A few moments of conspicuous silence passed, weighing uncomfortably on the young woman. Without returning her regard to the other woman she turned their conversation – if one could call it such, thus far – around on Lirievin. “So what does a mentor do, exactly?”

Seth Arcuraim Seth almost pulled the harp closer to himself as the young woman reached out, obviously itching to strum the strings. He knew that Flora must know how to play, and care for such an instrument. Though Seth had had the harp in his hands since he had been thirteen summers old. His mentor's harp, ashes in the Grey Tower's grounds, after the tragic disaster that occurred during Riven's raising to M'Hael. He idly stroked the redwood of his own harp as he thought about having to burn the harp his mentor had taken such pride in. It had been to save others from the potentially deadly strings, and the act had been pretty much the end of his naivety.

The arrival of the Accepted was a welcome relief though Seth hadn't shown any of his emotions on his face, as was expected. Instead, he stood stoically as Lirievin introduced herself to Flora. Seth didn't mind that the conversation he had been having with Flora was interrupted, it had come to a standstill pretty much as soon as she had asked to play his harp. He would have to make a note to ask Illyria about where the girl's harp was if she had indeed brought one with her. If she behaved well enough, she might get it back before she was raised to Accepted. Seth himself had kept his harp the whole time he had been at the Tower. Performing was rather difficult without one's full ensemble.

Seth stepped in when Flora asked about what a mentor does. Mostly so that mistakes weren't repeated. He looked down at Lirievin and responded with, "A mentor is there to ensure that you understand what is going on. To help you to classes, and with your studies. They are your role model while you are a Novice, showing you the proper decorum for all situations. Such as approaching a superior, by curtsying and acknowledging their presence with the proper honorific. Unlike what Lirievin here has done in her haste and excitement to meet her new student."

Seth gave a smile to both of the young women, showing that he wasn't entirely phased, but to show that it was important to do everything by the book, especially when you're the role model.

Lirievin Tesiva Liri's face flushed with embarrassment when Asha'man Seth point out that she had failed to curtsy and acknowledge him. She had been so excited and nervous about meeting her mentee that she had forgotten her manners. Curtsying deeply know Liri turned back to Asha'man Seth.

"I am so sorry Asha'man Seth, that was entirely improper of me and I can assure you it won't ever happen again". And she knew she would make sure it wouldn't. Although she had changed since coming here manners still mattered to her and she did still want to make a good impression. But she also knew that know that it had happened there was no use in beating herself up over ieveryone made mistakes and she was not immune to that, she would just have to prevent it from happening again. After all that was what mistakes were for. maybe I should just get out of my head more often, if I had been more focused on the present then worrying about maybes this may not have happened

Hoping that Asha'man Seth would accept her apology and not get her into too much trouble Liri focused back on her mentee, turning slightly so that her body was facing between Asha'man Seth and Flora. " I am here to do exactly what Asha'man Seth has said. If there is anything you need you can contact me and I will do my best to help you with you studies, and if there is ever anything I don't know I can send you to the person who would know best." Sensing that she may be a little too enthusiastic Liri smiled quitly then let her face go blank.

Like Anna Cecil’s chastening fingers twisting her ear, some deeply buried section of Flora’s brain castigated her for the petty glee she took in watching Lirievin flush as Asha’man Seth reminded the Accepted of Tower decorum. Off-putting as the singer found her mentor’s seemingly constant cheeriness, it really did not call for the level of malice Flora was currently aiming the blonde-haired woman’s way. Unfortunately for Lirievin, she provided an easy target for the anger her mentee otherwise would have turned inward on herself.

Thus, she listened impassively as the Accepted offered her enthusiastic aid. Flora was saved a response by the same portly Aes Sedai that had tended to her earlier and who now returned balancing a loaded tray so precariously arranged that half its content seemed at risk of decorating the yellow-tiled floor. By some miracle or unseen workings of saidar, the Yellow Sister – assumedly marked as such by golden daisies and buttercups freely embroidered on the cream-coloured dress she wore beneath a white work smock – squeezed herself and her burden between Seth and Lirievin, delicately placing the tray over Flora’s lap without displacing a single crumb.

Her stomach growled in appreciation as the Andoran resisted applauding her nurse’s steady hands – Flora wondered if the woman might have been a tavern maid long before donning a shawl. Warm aromas, smelling of fresh bread and beef stew, wafted off the tray and again her stomach voiced loudly its impatience; the singer, however, had enough dignity not to begin scarfing down her food while betters looked on. She was saved the need to await polite leave-takings though by her brusque saviour. Light, but the stout Sister was growing on her.

“The poor girl needs to eat. Off you go, Lirievin, I am sure you have a great many things to be attending to. Respectfully, Asha’man Seth, you know as well as I the toll Healing takes on the body. I will send her on to the Mistress of Novices when she is properly rested and fed.” Turning about on Flora, the Aes Sedai added sternly. “Take care to eat all of that, you hear?”

The singer picked up her spoon obediently, nodding deferentially to Lirievin and the Asha’man as they departed – sparing one last long look of wistful longing for the gleaming harp in Seth’s arms. At last alone with her meal, Flora greedily shovelled the hot stew into her mouth fast as she dared, wincing occasionally when it burnt her tongue. Blood and ashes, but the food was good and it felt as if ages had passed since last she ate. Using the warm rolls to sop up what remained of her broth, the red-haired girl leaned back on thin pillows, content. As the food weighed at her eyebrows, Flora felt the first few glimmers of what she could only call excitement about her new life.