The Grey Tower

No amount of water or soap could scrub away black-green stains that had worked their way into the Andoran’s fingers; skin not dyed with dirt and plant matter was now indignantly pink. Even picking at sand lodged deep under ragged nails did little to improve the sight of her hands and for this she was sure to be chastised should an Aes Sedai or Accepted take notice. Sighing and giving up futile efforts, the Novice dried raw hands as she peered at her reflection in the water basin. Green eyes stared back at her above sun-pink cheeks whose freckles were nearly hidden beneath smudges of dirt. Meanwhile, the hair she had so painstakingly tied back that morning was a ginger rat’s nest inhabiting the top of her head.

Daring an audible “Mother’s milk in a…” which trailed off into a conspicuously proper bow as a Grey Sister glided by with eyebrows raised, Flora rushed back to the Novice quarters to mend her appearance. It was bad enough she was falling behind in classes because of this supposed Block that, after two weeks, remained solidly against her ever channelling saidar. The singer had no desire to add hours scrubbing pots to the endless reading and writing she was expected to do for being unable to participate in practical classroom assignments – and all because of some stubborn weeds and a magnolia tree with too-low branches.

Nimble fingers that had once danced happily across harp strings now hastily untangled leaves and twigs from matted red hair, twisting it back into some vague semblance of decency. The singer was still rubbing away what dirt clung resolutely to her cheeks as she left the room, stomach announcing loudly that the bells had rung out High minutes ago. Even if the rest of Flora Cecil was not entirely sure she had settled – or ever would – into the Grey Tower, her stomach had adjusted quickly enough to three square rigidly-scheduled meals a day: a luxury travelling gleemen had not always been able to achieve.

Slippered feet padded quickly down gleaming marble, following now-familiar corridors to the dining hall. After fourteen days, the singer barely spared a glance as she rushed by gilded artwork and various oddities that decorated the Grey Tower’s halls. The wonder at her surroundings that had at first overwhelmed Flora after arriving here was fading away quickly now, replaced instead with growing frustration at her inability to touch the One Power.

Pushing through heavy wood doors that barely contained the bubbling susurrus of some hundred chattering Novices, Flora’s eyes flitted intently around the sea of white dresses for one particular head of dark hair. Sun-reddened ears perked up at the familiar sound of her closest friend’s cackle and she moved toward the reassuring noise even as green eyes zeroed in on its source. Maria Cavardossa: the only person she called friend in this Grey Tower. With the exception of classes and chores, they were rarely apart; she had quickly taken the place of Flora’s family.

The red-haired girl collected bread, cheese, and a bowl of broth from the head table before carefully weaving through bustling white-clad bodies to her friend’s side. She found the Altaran woman sitting, laughing with a group of girls who shared several of Maria’s classes – or so Flora managed to gather as she squeezed herself onto the bench beside the dark-haired girl. Despite sharing a smile with her friend, who was characteristically mid-rant over this latest instructor, the singer quickly dropped green eyes to thin broth as they caught coolly appraising glances from Maria’s audience. How was it that the gleeman’s daughter felt no nerves entertaining a crowd of hundreds but terror tied her stomach in knots at the thought of socializing with a bare handful of women she hardly knew?

To be entirely honest, Maria was quite possibly the only friend she had ever made. A lifetime of travelling from city to city with only her family for company had not trained the Andoran to form lasting relationships; her own thoughts had proved companionship enough before arriving at the Tower. However, the stress of being thrust into entirely new circumstances left Flora isolated and unsure; thus, she clung charily to the first person that showed her more than passing concern. Luckily for the reeling Novice, Maria seemed content to have acquired a second – and nearly as taciturn – shadow.

Engrossed as she was in recounting every supposed slight incurred upon her by a certain Accepted, the swarthy woman paid little attention to Flora who sat outside the group of older girls purposely intent on her meal. It was not until one of the other Novices, a seemingly haughty Cairhien, huffed loudly that beryl eyes dared lift from their intense contemplation of oily bouillon. Another girl had joined the table, tall with the facial features unique to Saldaeans. While most of the young women assembled gathered together, chattering away happily in groups, she sat alone and deliberately focused on the act of eating – an attitude Flora understood all too well.

“What I would not give to be Tia Tomosan,” the Cairhien whispered too loudly.

Maria snorted derisively. “Why?”

One of the other girls, a Domani, indolently chimed in. “Because her mother runs the Warder’s Yard, her father is the Yellow Ajah’s golden boy, and her great-great-whatever-generations-removed-grandmother is the Amyrlin bloody Seat. The Mistress of Novices would never dare assign a penance – let alone strap Grey Tower royalty!”

Despite hissed words, conspicuous glances in the Borderlander’s direction made it all too obvious that poor Tia Tomosan was the topic of this less-than-tactful conversation. Flora had again dropped green eyes to the study of her soup bowl, cheeks burning as she tried desperately not to eavesdrop on the catty comments of these spiteful Novices.

“So?” The mortified Andoran risked a sideways glance at her friend whose disdain had risen clearly above the dining hall’s muffled din. “It is not that she has actual talent or ability – the girl has never had to work for anything in her life! The Aes Sedai were probably “oo-ing” and “awe-ing” the moment she lit a candle and it hardly matters that she does not have a whit of her relations’ potential. Bet you a hundred gold crowns Tia Tomosan Sedai will be a spectacularly mediocre Sitter ten years after she is handed her Shawl on a silver platter.”

The girls around Maria snickered cruelly as Flora bent lower over her last spoonfuls of soup. Her distress was only partly in sympathy to Tia’s plight – there was no way the Saldaean girl had not overheard at least snippets of snide remarks. Nagging doubt plagued the darkest most unhappy recesses of Flora’s mind, picturing her roommate spewing similar slurs when she was out of earshot and those paranoid figments warred with the saner self-assured parts of herself that were witnessing a distinctly less idol-like version of the woman she called friend.

“What does it matter if she is particularly skilled at saidar or politics?” the Domani girl drawled. “I would be perfectly content to be born into a place in the Hall without having to earn my way scrubbing on hands and knees.”

“That would be because “scrubbing” is not generally how she earns her way on hands and knees,” the dark-haired girl muttered, dropping her voice for Flora’s ears alone. “We should leave,” Maria announced, standing, “Accepted Irina only allowed us thirty minutes for lunch – it has been at least that and the obnoxious woman is already unimpressed with my behaviour.”

With no particular sense of urgency, the group began gathering their dishes and left the table. Maria, in spite of her warning, made no immediate move to leave as she took her time in stacking together bowls and plates. In this time, the singer had not glanced up at her friend, eyes focused on picking at the last crust of bread on her plate. When the other girls were some distance away, Maria laid a hand on the Andoran’s shoulder, voice guilty. “I am sorry we did not talk.” Green eyes remained fixed on the table. “Are you alright?”

“Fine.” The singer mumbled as her eyes flicked over to where Tia was sitting. Maria’s hand burned through white wool and Flora realized the compulsion to shrug away those concerned fingers sitting on her shoulder came from shame. Whether it was her own for not having spoken out on Tia’s behalf earlier or for being friends with the girl’s chief critic, she could not tell – no doubt some combination thereof. Either way, the red-haired girl had no desire for Maria’s continued presence. “You should go; lest you be late.”

The Altaran’s hand lingered a moment longer before its weight lifted leaving Flora’s shoulder curiously cold in its absence. “We will talk at dinner, I promise.” “Yeah.” she muttered equivocally. Though her head remained stubbornly bent over what had once been her meal, the singer’s ears strained to hear the soft sound of fading footfalls that bespoke Maria’s departure. Despite having moments earlier coolly urged the swarthy woman to leave, Flora immediately regretted her sullen temper. Sudden fear that she had damaged her singular important relationship overwhelmed former embarrassment over the woman’s behaviour. Thoughts swirled roiling through the singer’s mind, imagining how much more isolated she would feel should her only friend suddenly prefer the company of more chattier, more jovial Novices.

Self-aware enough to know she could not productively sort out snarled emotion in her current anxious state, Flora sought distraction. Unfortunately, the only soothing presence she had thus far discovered in this terribly lonely Grey Tower was currently causing her turmoil and lacking the privacy – and stringed-instrument – necessary to release frustration in song, the Andoran found herself bereft of her usual sources of stress-relief. Green eyes darted nervously around the dining hall at indifferent strangers, all preoccupied with this or that conversation.

All save one person.

Ignoring second thoughts, Flora slid down the bench toward Tia Tomosan. The red-haired girl opened her mouth before realizing she had no idea what to say. Always the singer had a buffer to begin and carry on conversation with new acquaintances so she could add comment or remain silent at her pleasure; never had Flora Cecil taken responsibility for the impetus of a dialogue upon herself. Traditionally, that onus had been taken on by her father or brother and since arriving in Hama Valon, Maria.

Her sudden approach and subsequent silence had certainly caught the Saldaean’s attention. Lacking anything more inspired to say, Flora simply blurted out “Hello,” and dared a tentative smile.

Though it was likely barely a moment, the weight of Tia’s silence preyed on her uncomfortable companion, pressuring the Andoran to continue. “I… uh…” Flora stumbled awkwardly, wishing she had simply kept her mouth shut – or better yet, stayed as far away from the Tomosan girl as possible. “I am sorry about those girls…” Light, she was making this so much more uncomfortable for both of them. “They can be… uh…” At this point, the mortified Novice trailed off; she had no idea with what her unconscious mind had thought it might conclude that sentence but surely it was worse than saying nothing at all. Creator blind her, but if the dark-haired girl did not respond soon, there was a good chance Flora might simply sprint from the room to save herself further embarrassment.

“Because her mother runs the Warder’s Yard, her father is the Yellow Ajah’s golden boy, and her great-great-whatever-generations-removed-grandmother is the Amyrlin bloody Seat. The Mistress of Novices would never dare assign a penance – let alone strap Grey Tower royalty!”

Tia focused on her lunch, well aware of the 'hushed' conversation at the other end of the table. It was nothing she hadn't heard before. It seemed most Novice and Accepted seemed to share similar views. Her roommate seemed to be an exception, for which Tia was extremely grateful. She was getting better at letting the insults and slurs roll off of her as if they didn't matter. The truth was, of course, that every single one of them stung. To be judged not for who she was as a person, but what family she'd come from? They knew nothing of her. . .of how hard she worked to prove herself just as worthy as everyone else to wear Novice White.

Yes, it was true she despised the dress, but the venom that came from girls like the group at the other end of the table made her determined to prove her worth. Unfortunately, it really didn't seem to matter what she did.

“What does it matter if she is particularly skilled at saidar or politics? I would be perfectly content to be born into a place in the Hall without having to earn my way scrubbing on hands and knees.”

“That would be because “scrubbing” is not generally how she earns her way on hands and knees.”

Tia Tomosan was somewhat naive, but not so naive as to not understand what the girls were hinting at, and she felt the heat rise on her cheeks and the tips of her ears. She'd recently been working to control her response to such emotions, as the last time she felt this angry, she nearly turned a bright blue sky into a broiling thunderstorm. She'd begun to understand the mechanics of what she'd done, and learned to recognize it so she could control it.

The anger she felt ran deep, and Tia wished she could lash out, but it would not do. . .and it would just play into their hands. Instead, she kept her eyes on her tray of food, and ate one bite after another. Part of her relaxed when the gaggle of women left, or when most of them left. She felt herself stiffen as one of them remained behind and slid along the bench opposite her.

The other woman was perhaps as young as Tia, and seemed at a loss for words until she attempted to apologize for what the others had said.

An apology? It was a first, for Tia, though she did know enough that the other Novice had not joined into the fray of insults 'whispered' about Tia. For the first time since taking her seat, Tia looked up and met the nervous glance of the woman across from her. To say the treatment she'd gotten bothered the other Novice was an understatement.

Somehow, Tia pushed aside the anger she felt, and offered the girl a small smile, "It is not for you to apologize for the bad behavior of your friends. They, and they alone are responsible for how they treat those around them, though I appreciate the thought." She set her spoon in the bowl of soup before her, "To be honest, it is not the first time I've heard people say things like that. They are not the only ones who feel I'm not deserving of a place here at the Tower, though none of them have the courage to actually say something to the Amyrlin Seat!"

It was perhaps the first time Tia'd ever used the position of her Great Memma in conversation with anyone, but as hard as she was trying to push aside the anger she felt when listening to the girls talk about her earlier, the anger seemed to seep in anyway.

Milliseconds stretched on into eternity as what remained of Flora’s stained nails bit down into her palms, straining with the tension of this awkward silence. The singer’s every instinct pleaded flight with fidgeting feet but fear of further mortification left her rooted in place. With the slight upturning of Tia Tomosan’s lips, Flora’s anxiety eased – enough at least that she could draw proper breath. Controlling the exhale enough that her sigh of relief was not audible, Flora could not restrain the sheepish shrug of her shoulders when it was insinuated that she was particularly familiar with their departed company.

“I...” she chewed her lip nervously, searching for words to explain her connection to the group. “I am not exactly friends with them – at least, not most of them.” Flora winced guiltily, unsure whether she was ashamed of her allegiance to the Altaran woman or else ashamed of the moment’s hesitation she took in claiming Maria.

“I am Flora Cecil, by the way.” The Andoran added quickly, realizing she had neglected to introduce herself. It was hardly necessary for Tia to make her own introductions, given the circumstances that had lead to the current – or at least attempted – conversation. Momentary silence sat heavily between the two girls before Flora felt a need to fill the lull. “I have only been at the Grey Tower a month; still getting settled in, I suppose. Hardly know what exactly it is I am to be doing at any given point – or what exactly is happening.” Aware she had begun to babble, the red-haired girl swallowed her next few sentences of meaningless drivel. Light, she hated small talk.

“So,” Flora stared again, hoping to turn the dialogue back toward her companion, “you are the Amyrlin’s granddaughter?”

Tia wasn't used to other Novices being nervous around her, and got the impression that Flora Cecil was not exactly at ease speaking with her. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Flora Cecil," she replied with her warm smile broadening a bit.

"I'm actually the Amyrlin Seat's great great granddaughter," she corrected as the smile turned to a grin. It wasn't often she could speak about her family and not feel judged. Given Flora was attempting to apologize for the other girls' treatment of her, Tia hoped she wouldn't be as judgmental as many of the other Novices. "My mother is her great granddaughter, and, as you heard, she's part of the Warder Yards. She came to the Tower initially wanting to become a Novice, but she didn't have the spark, so she joined the Yards," it was Tia's turn to ramble about her family. "When we came to the Tower, I wanted to join the Warder Yards, but then. . .somewhere in there, I apparently channeled without realizing it. My Great Memma was the one who realized what happened, and just like that, my dreams of a fancloak were dashed."

Tia looked down at her dress, and snorted when she realized it wasn't exactly clean. "Before becoming a Novice, I think I wore a dress on exactly three occasions. I'm still not used to the thing." When she looked up, she wore a goofy grin, "I've been at the Tower for just under a year, and in Novice White for a few months. I had the luxury of learning my way around well before I had to wear the dress, so I am pretty familiar with most parts of the Tower. If I can help you in any way, don't hesitate to ask."

OOC: A little short, I am sorry. Next reply will be much better, I promise!!

With every sentence Flora could feel tension melt away from her shoulders and she found herself nodding inconsciently to Tia’s remarks. Given how the Saldaean gushed explaining her family tree, it could be assumed they were equally starved for friends. However, it was the woman’s comment about dashed dreams that chafed. The singer – she yet claimed the term but it was little more than a hollow title, a nostalgic whim for the life from which she had been pulled – knew all too well what it meant to follow a path different than that for which one’s heart had yearned.

The Andoran’s wistful smile wanly reflected her companion’s droll grin. She dared a pensive sigh before dragging herself from melancholic reverie. “I was to be… or I was a gleeman. A good one too – or at least so I was told by my family, who actually knew something of the craft, and a whole lot of people who knew nothing about what made one singer better than another but sure thought they did.” Despite reservations, Flora continued, in part only because it seemed her turn to contribute to the conversation. “I was singing in Caemlyn when I apparently channelled – nearly killed half the crowd and myself with a lightening bolt! In any case, an Aes Sedai was nearby and knew what I had done and that was it: off to the Grey Tower I went. What I wanted or felt about it mattered nothing since I was “blessed” with the ability to channel. “An honour”! Even my father…”

Aware of the bitterness that was now painfully obvious in her voice, Flora trailed off moodily.

Tia's eyes went wide. She was about to reply about how cool it was that Flora was a gleeman, but seeing and hearing the bitterness that Flora's dreams of continuing on as a gleeman had been dashed, she thought better of it. With an understanding smile, Tia let go a deep breath, "The Wheel Weaves as the Wheel Will." She couldn't help but roll her eyes as she said it, "Given my family, I get it. . .the need to come here and learn to channel without hurting ourselves or others."

The Novice paused as she looked around the dining hall, "How many of us had other dreams we wished to pursue before it became clear the path we wished for ourselves was not the path intended for us?" She looked down to her mostly finished meal and pushed the plate away before looking back to Flora, "My Great Memma told me I could still learn weapon skills in the Yards while also learning to channel, so while I may not be a Warder, I can be an Aes Sedai who can take care of myself. She also promised me that once I become fully raised, I could wear what ever I wished...the dress was just temporary." She smirked, "I'm holding her to that!"

Tilting her head ever so slightly, Tia studied the other Novice across from her, "Once you are fully raised, could you continue singing? Perhaps be a channeling Gleeman? Think about the connections you could make as you travel. . .you could have a network of eyes and ears that might make anyone here envious!"

OOC: Soo sooo sooooooo sorry for the delayed reply. Real Life has been insane.

There it was.

The blithe reassurance she had heard again and again from each person in whom she dared confide her frustration. “Could you not sing in your free time?” “There will be time later when you have settled in.” “You can pursue hobbies as an Accepted.” “Perhaps you could be a channelling gleeman.” These suggested half-measures held no comfort for Flora. These consoling partisans did not – could not – understand how music had ruled every aspect of her life; it had been an obsession… an addiction. The euphoria of singing, of losing herself in emotion creating some impression of another time and place, it was the height of sensation that defied words.

Tia Tomosan could not possibly comprehend how the Andoran ached for… needed that release. Without it she was only half-present in reality, a prisoner of thoughts surging beyond control: drowning beneath mounting anxiety and profound grief, unable reconcile with her new future. The few attempts she had made to recapture her voice and that sense of peace it brought were pitiful imitations of the transport Flora sought; a lark with wings clipped, fruitlessly flapping about as the sky remained so far out of reach.

Green eyes, similar to Flora’s own, surveyed her curiously; the red-haired girl unballed fists pressed against the table – the only outward sign of a rant even Tia would not have patience for. Instead, she smiled and made some noncommittal gesture before again reversing the conversation. “You said “When we came to the Tower”, you did not grow up here?”

Tia got the feeling perhaps she said something that struck a nerve, though she wasn't entirely sure. Thinking back to her suggestion that Flora could continue once she'd been raised, Tia thought about it from a different angle as she remembered what her Memma said with regards to her initial desire to follow in her mother's footsteps. It didn't help, and just as the comment didn't put Tia at ease, she suspected her own question to Flora likely didn't put the other girl at ease. Well blast it, she thought to herself.

Fortunately, the other Novice moved on, seemingly not missing a beat, and asked whether she'd grown up in the Tower. Not so distant memories came flooding back to Tia as she thought to Duron, and playing in the fields around the little house she and her family lived in. "No. . .Mother and Father returned to Saldaea for a time. I don't know all of the details, or reasons, but they stayed on my grandparents' family farm for a while before traveling Saldaea to help those in need. Mother said they settled down in Duron once Einion and I were born, so that we had a steady place to grow up.

"Duron is a small hamlet with one inn, a small market, and a lot of farms," she finished explaining. "It was a fun place to grow up, though I think my brother would have preferred it if it had its own library. Books were kind of scarce, sadly. I wasn't to bothered, though. I preferred to be outside, running in the fields, working with the horses, climbing trees, and the like," Tia finished with a broad grin firmly planted on her face. "I miss it sometimes, and sometimes I miss it a lot, but we are here now, and I'm in this blasted dress, so make the most of it, I guess," she finished with a shrug.

Tia’s face lit up as she spoke of her childhood home. The Andoran smiled politely in return but her pleasant guise was merely a façade, thinly covering the sudden spark of jealousy Flora felt flare. What was that like to miss a place? Already the singer had spent as long in the Grey Tower as she had anywhere else in the world yet nothing about the place, from its cold stone walls to its lofty denizens, felt comfortable or safe enough to be labelled “home” – if anything she resented it. The only anchoring force in her life had been the three people from whom she had never before been separated and now… People made poor anchors: they changed, they aged, and they died. For all Flora knew, she might never see her family in its entirety again and certainly not the same as she had left them.

Places though, they remained static; houses and barns stood for years, rocks and trees for generations. It was that constancy and stability the singer envied: some place, unchanged and full of happy memories, to which she could return when she herself was unrecognizable from the girl who had sung for that crowd in Caemlyn.

Finishing her story with a shrug, the Saldaean passed the conversation again to Flora who smiled once more and prayed Tia could not read the envy in her eyes. The singer opened her mouth to speak but no words were forthcoming. Light, she had only been listening with half an ear to her companion’s reminiscences and Flora now desperately replayed Tia’s words, searching for some subject to comment on. Landing on their shared family structures, Flora blurted out: “So, you have a brother? Is he here as well? I also have a brother; though Tom spent far more time chasing women than reading books.”

Tia laughed softly and nodded, “I have a twin brother, actually, and yes he’s here a the Tower as well. He isn’t a channeler, though, so while he has to attend lessons and the like, his schedule isn’t nearly as full as our Novice schedules are.” She pushed her tray of food to the side, “Before I became a Novice, the two of us would wander the halls of the Tower, or the streets of Hama Valon together whenever he didn’t have his head in a book.”

The Novice found herself thinking about her brother chasing after women and found herself giggling, “I do not think Einion would be one to chase after women overly much. He is so sweet, but shy and soft spoken.” Part of Tia wondered if Einion considered the fairer sex at all, and would have to ask the next time she saw him. It didn’t matter either way, as far as Tia was concerned...she was curious more than anything. To be fair, she hadn’t really considered boys much at all, or women...or anything beyond friendship. Her ideal day wasn’t caught up in the games of dating, but in climbing trees, riding horses, and anything having to do with the outdoors.

In the distance, a bell started to ring. For Tia, it was notice that she had five minutes before she was due in class. She’d been enrolled in the class on Wards and Warding, and found it fascinating, if not a little challenging given her struggles with Fire. Despite the challenge, she looked forward to the class, and felt herself grinning as she looked to Flora, “I have to head off to my next class.”

Pushing herself from the table, Tia paused as she grasped her tray, “Thank you for...coming over to talk to me after that group were so horrible. I don’t have many friends here because a lot of people feel the same as they do. If you need a friendly face, don’t hesitate to come find me. It’s been nice getting to know you, Flora.” She offered a warm smile before she headed off to deposit her tray and rush off to class.