Muireen could scarcely believe that Hama Valon had once been a city.
The devastation that the Seanchan had visited was of an unbelievable, ungodly magnitude; clearing away the wreckage and rubble and carnage would take months alone. Rebuilding seemed like an insurmountable and overwhelming task. Surely, by the time the Mountain Guard was a city again, she would be cold in her grave. Muireen had not seen much of the city when she had arrived as a noblewoman who sought superficial vengeance, and she regretted that she had not lingered before arriving at the Tower. None of its grandeur remained. Nothing remained but husks of burnt buildings and weeping people.
Many of the citizens took refuge on Tower grounds while the efforts to rebuild began. The Warder trainees were placed on rotating shifts; some days, some of them cleaned while the others trained, and some days, everyone cleaned, and some days, no one cleaned. The Amyrlin, M'Hael, and Mistress of Arms had plans to rebuild the city and their workers were sent accordingly. Sometimes all she did was stack rubble in a corner, and on other days, she and several men and women in grey would hoist away gigantic pieces of rubble on pulleys. The occasional novices and soldiers passed through with guidance from Aes Sedai and Asha'man, and Accepted and Dedicated channeled away a great deal of the mess with invisible weaves of the One Power - but it was still so much.
Long days didn't seem to make any sort of a difference.
Muireen trudged back to the Tower with a heavy heart and a heavier sigh. All those people, she thought. And for what? Truth be told, the drin'far'ji had no idea what the Tower had accomplished. She had no rank, which had suited her just fine before the siege and before the Oaths had been lifted, but now she wished that she knew what happened behind the sealed doors of the Hall of Sitters. Would there be a strike on Seandar? Would they do anything about the devastation that had been visited upon them? Or would they sit idle like a duck with its wings clipped?
The Amyrlin and the M'Hael were supposed to have as much power and respect as any King or Queen of any nation. That meant they had treaties, somewhere. Allies, somewhere. Wasn't the rest of the world terrified of Seanchan expansion? Even if they are, Muireen thought sourly, No one would bother telling me. She would not know a single thing about the future of her home until she had earned the privilege of owning her very own fan-cloak. Oh, certainly, she could try to eavesdrop on Ravak Darrow's business meetings, but his office was as silent as the grave. Either he never spoke, or his sister had installed a ter'angreal to keep pesky secretaries out of earshot, thin walls aside. Both options were equally plausible.
Muireen looked up at the Tower, her Tower, somehow still standing despite all that had happened. "Light help us," she muttered. "Even those of us that do not deserve it." The stone walls shone softly in the pink, cloudless sunset, ethereal and eerie: the world had burned around it, and it stood untouched, thanks to an M'Hael and Amyrlin and Ajah Head that had unsworn their Oaths. Perhaps they Hall had been right to remove the Oaths, and no one dared suggest that anyone without a pin was a darkfriend, now. What darkfriend would attempt to save the Tower?
The entire world had been set on its head in a span of time that felt shorter than a heartbeat - it was dizzying, and Muireen could not decide what to make of anything, anymore. Bitterness sat in the pit of her stomach like a festering wound; all of this, and she could glean no greater meaning from it. The Wheel was weaving the same story that it always wove, using the same threads that it always did, but never before had she felt so.... Unattached to her own thread and purpose. What was next? Rebuild, they said. What happened when the Seanchan returned? It'd likely be the same bloody answer.
Muireen kicked the gravel savagely as she trod back to her dorm, and she pointedly refused to look at the empty space where a stable had once been. What's the point, anymore? I might as well go back to Mindea.
The devastation that the Seanchan had visited was of an unbelievable, ungodly magnitude; clearing away the wreckage and rubble and carnage would take months alone. Rebuilding seemed like an insurmountable and overwhelming task. Surely, by the time the Mountain Guard was a city again, she would be cold in her grave. Muireen had not seen much of the city when she had arrived as a noblewoman who sought superficial vengeance, and she regretted that she had not lingered before arriving at the Tower. None of its grandeur remained. Nothing remained but husks of burnt buildings and weeping people.
Many of the citizens took refuge on Tower grounds while the efforts to rebuild began. The Warder trainees were placed on rotating shifts; some days, some of them cleaned while the others trained, and some days, everyone cleaned, and some days, no one cleaned. The Amyrlin, M'Hael, and Mistress of Arms had plans to rebuild the city and their workers were sent accordingly. Sometimes all she did was stack rubble in a corner, and on other days, she and several men and women in grey would hoist away gigantic pieces of rubble on pulleys. The occasional novices and soldiers passed through with guidance from Aes Sedai and Asha'man, and Accepted and Dedicated channeled away a great deal of the mess with invisible weaves of the One Power - but it was still so much.
Long days didn't seem to make any sort of a difference.
Muireen trudged back to the Tower with a heavy heart and a heavier sigh. All those people, she thought. And for what? Truth be told, the drin'far'ji had no idea what the Tower had accomplished. She had no rank, which had suited her just fine before the siege and before the Oaths had been lifted, but now she wished that she knew what happened behind the sealed doors of the Hall of Sitters. Would there be a strike on Seandar? Would they do anything about the devastation that had been visited upon them? Or would they sit idle like a duck with its wings clipped?
The Amyrlin and the M'Hael were supposed to have as much power and respect as any King or Queen of any nation. That meant they had treaties, somewhere. Allies, somewhere. Wasn't the rest of the world terrified of Seanchan expansion? Even if they are, Muireen thought sourly, No one would bother telling me. She would not know a single thing about the future of her home until she had earned the privilege of owning her very own fan-cloak. Oh, certainly, she could try to eavesdrop on Ravak Darrow's business meetings, but his office was as silent as the grave. Either he never spoke, or his sister had installed a ter'angreal to keep pesky secretaries out of earshot, thin walls aside. Both options were equally plausible.
Muireen looked up at the Tower, her Tower, somehow still standing despite all that had happened. "Light help us," she muttered. "Even those of us that do not deserve it." The stone walls shone softly in the pink, cloudless sunset, ethereal and eerie: the world had burned around it, and it stood untouched, thanks to an M'Hael and Amyrlin and Ajah Head that had unsworn their Oaths. Perhaps they Hall had been right to remove the Oaths, and no one dared suggest that anyone without a pin was a darkfriend, now. What darkfriend would attempt to save the Tower?
The entire world had been set on its head in a span of time that felt shorter than a heartbeat - it was dizzying, and Muireen could not decide what to make of anything, anymore. Bitterness sat in the pit of her stomach like a festering wound; all of this, and she could glean no greater meaning from it. The Wheel was weaving the same story that it always wove, using the same threads that it always did, but never before had she felt so.... Unattached to her own thread and purpose. What was next? Rebuild, they said. What happened when the Seanchan returned? It'd likely be the same bloody answer.
Muireen kicked the gravel savagely as she trod back to her dorm, and she pointedly refused to look at the empty space where a stable had once been. What's the point, anymore? I might as well go back to Mindea.
