Archive of Our Own

In the wake of the attack on the Sun Palace, Jahar feels lost, like a sheep gone astray, meandering, yet knowing that the wolves (or worse) lurk as it picks its way forward, trying to find its home and companions.

He is an Asha'man, trained at the Black Tower into a living weapon against the Shadow and all who would harm Rand al'Thor, the Lord Dragon. He grew up in Arafel, where men twine bells into their braids in defiance of the Shadow.

A lost sheep is the last thing he should feel like, he tells himself. Yet there it is.

~oo(0)oo~

"I miss Morr," Eben Hopwil says, speaking of their fellow Asha'man, Fedwin Morr, the only other one near as young as him, dead a week now in the wake of the attack.

"His was a better ending than many I've seen," Damer Flinn replies gruffly, but not unkindly, smoothing his hand over his thin fringe of white hair. Well, he would know, given his 40 odd years of service as a guardsman to the Queen of Andor. "We all stepped forward to be tested knowing for certain what awaited us if we passed, just not the when of it."

Death waits for every man, Jahar thinks. "We need a plan," he says. "We should be doing. Instead we bumble about like lost sheep in search of our shepherd. That's a sure road to nowhere."

~oo(0)oo~

In the end, the best plan they can come up with is to attach themselves to Cadsuane Melaidhrin and the Aes Sedai who have come to her. Jahar would sooner strip naked and fight a band of black-veiled Aiel with his bare hands, but this might actually accomplish something.

The other Aes Sedai in Cairhien are known quantities to them and to the Lord Dragon, but Cadsuane Sedai and her cadre are not. What is their aim in being here? Where do they stand in all of this? Trying to piece that out is the only card they have left to play, now that the Lord Dragon no longer trusts them like He once did -- and though Jahar knows that is the madness of the taint growing in Him, it still galls to have fallen from His good graces through no fault of their own.

And this way, when He returns, they might have something useful to tell him … if he will see them.

~oo(0)oo~

Days like this, Jahar half-regrets ever having opened his mouth with the idea. He should have foreseen that Damer and Corele Sedai would gravitate towards each other, given their mutual passion for healing. Most days those two are deep in conversation about ideas or techniques, or out and about in the palace or the city, tending to the sick and injured. Damer doesn't say so, but Jahar can tell that it wounds him when his offer of healing is refused, when people would rather stay sick or die, when they recoil with fear (or even revulsion) once they understand what that black coat and the pins on his collar mean.

Eben got snapped up even quicker. After few hours of his shuffling awkwardly about in the sunroom as the women talked, read, played stones, or sewed while Cadsuane held court, Cadsuane raised an eyebrow and glared pointedly, and the plump little White sister, Daigian, took Eben under her wing. When Eben's not helping her attend the other Sisters -- and Jahar cannot for the life of him figure out why Daigian is the lowest amongst them, she has done nothing to disgrace herself as far as he can determine, nor is she lacking in couth -- Daigian treats Eben like a doting auntie with her favorite nephew. Jahar bristles at the idea, but it seems to be what Eben needs. In the Borderlands, Eben would have been raised to be a man as early as his 14th nameday, his 16th at the latest, but that is not the case outside of the Borderlands. In places like Andor, one isn't a man until 18, or even as late as 25 in the case of Far Madding. Jahar still finds the notion shocking.

That leaves Jahar working double duty on Cadsuane and Kumira Sedai. Cadsuane probably suspects the ruse and finds task after task to send Jahar on that takes him out of the room, or she orders him about like a servant, calling him "boy" … but then again, she calls any man without white in his hair, even the Lord Dragon, "boy", so Jahar doesn't take offense … much.

Kumira Sedai … Jahar once overheard Cadsuane say that a Brown would climb into a box with a scorpion if she thought it would help her study it better. Half the time spent with her, she eyes him with those cool blue eyes of hers -- rare outside of Andor or the Aiel Waste -- like a specimen in a case, or they're running back and forth to the academy the Lord Dragon established, so she can talk to the instructors and inventors there, feverishly taking notes, or, she uses him as an extra pair of hands for her books and papers. The only plus is, being Shienaran, a Borderlander like him, she understands well the dangers of the Shadow, and treats him like a man. It's just as a Brown sister, her ideas about what men are for (when not fighting off the Shadowspawn, or beating back Aiel raiders) are … limited. She has no idea about what to do with him as a man who can channel that she is expressly forbidden from gentling.

~oo(0)oo~

One mid-morning as the Aiel Wise Ones file into the room, seeing that Eben and Daigian will be staying in the room, Jahar catches Cadsuane's attention and asks, "If you have no further need of me, Cadsuane Sedai, shall I go and train with the warders who have been paroled?"

She blinks at that, then says, "Yes boy, you may," as she makes a vague shooing gesture with her hand, her dark eyes already intently focused on the Wise Ones.

~oo(0)oo~

He pours the gall of being called "boy" into getting himself striped from neck to knee by Vitalien, Warder to Sarene Sedai (who only recently swore fealty to the Lord Dragon after her punishment by the Aiel for her part in his kidnapping).

Jahar likes to think he knew his way around a sword, given that many men in the Borderlands, not just the nobles, have one and are expected to know how to use it to defend against raids by Shadowspawn. Vitalien quickly schools him on the difference between having trained with a sword, and even being proficient with its use, and being a Blade Master. Jahar suspects that Vitalien was working off his own set of frustrations related to Sarene Sedai and her treatment by the Aiel Wise Ones. Had the blades been real and not wooden lathes, Jahar would have died many times over. As it is, he aches all over, because Vitalien pulled very few of his blows.

"Did you just stand there and let him hit you?" Asks Damer as Jahar strips his jacket and shirt so he can assess the damage. Eben tries to stifle his chortle at the remark, but there is sympathy in his gaze as he sees the full extent of Jahar's welts and bruises after Jahar strips down to his breechcloth.

Jahar groans and rolls his eyes in reply. "The man has moves like a panther, I'll have you know. I'd like to see how you two fare against him."

Damer chuckles and shakes his white fringed head ruefully. "When I was your age, maybe. But," he taps the leg crippled when he took a lance wound some years ago, "My days as a swordsman except out of necessity are well behind me. Though … " he raises one of his snow-white eyebrows, "Eben here will benefit with some more training, and warders are the best of the best -- even the Aiel respect them."

Eben's face, all ears and pimples, falls a bit at the idea of getting a thrashing like the one Jahar got, but then he squares his shoulders and nods in determination.

Jahar opens his mouth to suggest a time for training, but all that emerges is a gasp as the icy-hot shock of Damer's healing fills him.

~oo(0)oo~

The Lord Dragon has returned for the day -- he won't say more, having grown cagey about his plans -- and Jahar stands attendance on him, as they all do any time he meets with more than three Aes Sedai, or treats with various lords and ladies. As he watches Him deal with several courtiers and petitioners, Jahar considers the fact that before he became the Lord Dragon, Rand al'Thor grew up like him, in a small, remote village. Jahar's father was a cobbler and a smallholder, while the al'Thor farm produced sheep and tabac, and had a large vegetable patch. They both know what it is like to wage war against the weeds. The Lord Dragon is two years younger than Jahar, and yet, now, he's so much more. He speaks, acts, and maneuvers through the complexities of various political factions with a deftness and presence that Jahar realizes he needs to acquire. Jahar is already quite strong in the One Power, but more than one person has confirmed that when (not if, but when he insists to himself) Jahar reaches his full potential, he will not be that far behind the Lord Dragon … which is to say that he, too, will be powerful enough to challenge the Forsaken.

Jahar knows that power like this means politics whether he wants it or not. He thinks of a comment inked in the margin of a very old manuscript that made Min, the Lord Dragon's lover, give a rueful guffaw when she read it. "Who would sup with the mighty must climb the path of daggers." Well, she would know about daggers and the precariousness of supping with the mighty. Jahar is now destined to that same path, like it or not, and he quavers a little inside when he realizes he has very little idea how to climb it and not end up as mincemeat. Raw strength and his own dark good looks will take him only so far. He needs to learn what the Lord Dragon learned from His tutor in such things, Moiraine Sedai.

Only, she gave her life to save His, some months before the Battle of Dumai's Wells.

(And would she even have been interested in guiding him if she hadn't?)

Jahar needs his own Moiraine Sedai, but who?

~oo(0)oo~

It cannot be Cadsuane Sedai. Her agenda regarding the Lord Dragon consumes her, and he would end up being nothing more than a tool in her hands. One she was more than capable of using until it broke, and would toss aside once it did.

Worse, Jahar knows that cleaving tightly to her would put him at odds with the Lord Dragon, and he desperately wants to avoid that.

~oo(0)oo~

It cannot be one of the Aiel. None of them see past the fact that he is a Borderlander and a man who can channel. They respect him (some) as the former, but Jahar has overheard more than one Aiel mention that the Asha'man should do the honorable thing and head into the blight to hunt and kill as many Shadowspawn as possible before they overwhelm him.

He wants to ask, "And is that what the Car'a'carn should do?"

But he already knows how they will answer that: with silence.

~oo(0)oo~

It cannot be any of the Aes Sedai they fought against at Dumai's Wells, even if they've pledged themselves to the Lord Dragon. Jahar was at Dumai's Wells and saw firsthand what the Lord Dragon looked like after weeks of being beaten by them and stuffed in a box to swelter. He could never forgive, much less trust anybody who had abused him that way. Jahar knows this is political maneuvering, part of a much larger game on the Lord Dragon's part, but ….

Maybe if he better understood Daes Dae'mar, the Great Game of Houses, he would more fully understand what the Lord Dragon intends to gain from his mercy towards those Aes Sedai.

~oo(0)oo~

It cannot be Verin Sedai. Jahar is certain that some of the time her rambling on and getting lost in thought is an act, because she can suddenly be quite keen when it matters. However, if this is all his many hours of quietly standing attendance on Cadsuane Sedai and her faction has unearthed … he sighs heavily.

Besides, short, plump, greying-slightly Verin Sedai can move her way through the world in that way. It won't work for a tall, sleek, handsome young man like him. That is not his vanity talking, just facts.

Also, Jahar has always been inclined to silence, and key to Verin's way of doing is nattering on about anything that crosses her mind.

Still … in watching her, Jahar gleans some ideas about the value of being underestimated, of the power of artful misdirection. He just has to find his way of making that work.

~oo(0)oo~

Jahar rests between bouts of training with the warders, watching Eben doing his best against Roshan, Samitsu Sedai's warder, when he sees a strikingly tall and slender Aes Sedai enter the yard, flanked by two warders. Every eye turns to them, including Eben's, which earns him a hard crack across the hip from Roshan, when he is unable to get his guard back up in time.

Jahar shakes his coat out, thrusts it on and hustles across the yard towards them. He's sweat damp and rumpled with several straggly wisps of hair that have escaped his braids, but it is his duty to find out who this woman is, and with whom she has business.

She is taller than most men, more so with her dark hair pulled back into a severe braided knot high atop her head, fixed in place with two silver combs. Her ageless Aes Sedai face with its high cheekbones cannot decide if it wants to be handsome or beautiful, but is stunning nonetheless. Her dark green wool riding dress and hooded cape, while practical and simply decorated, also drapes elegantly, accentuating her slender suppleness. Jahar knows good tailoring when he sees it -- he's in the flaming Sun Court of Cairhien -- but something about the cut and style makes this go beyond mere tailoring … it's timeless, unique, a signature.

The two sharp eyed men behind her, one dark and squat, the other tall as many an Aielman, greying at the temples, and almost slender in build, also look like no other warders Jahar has seen before. Like the Aes Sedai, they have clearly spent the day in travel, and their travel stained woolens are eminently practical, but once again, their unadorned clothes are somehow a literal cut above anything Jahar has ever worn, and even some worn by High Lords. Nothing overdone, nothing flashy, nothing that would hinder movement, and yet, cut to accentuate the two very different physiques of each man.

Jahar intercepts them, and the warders snap to readiness. "Aes Sedai," he says, " What is your business here?"

Her eyes, a deep, steel blue -- so dark that he first thought they were black -- meet his. "Me, I am not in the business of answering to sweaty soldiers, " she replies in a thick Taraboner accent, and starts to move forward, clearly expecting him to stand aside to let her pass.

Seizing Saidin, Jahar holds up a hand to stay her and says in a louder voice, "Aes Sedai, I am Jahar Narishma, Asha'man. The Lord Dragon would know the business of any Aes Sedai entering the Sun Palace."

Instead of the usual fear (or even loathing) she barely reacts upon hearing she is speaking to a man who can channel, much less one she will not be allowed to gentle. Those blue eyes flick up and down, assessing him, and while her face betrays no outward disgust, Jahar is suddenly very aware of his rumpled and worn uniform jacket, of the sweaty straggles that have escaped his braids. "Very well," she says. "Merise Haindehl, I am, of the Green Ajah, here to speak to Cadsuane Sedai. My warders are Bassane and Nethan" Her voice is even and throaty, her accent making it almost a purr in places. "You will be escorting us, yes?"

He nods in confirmation, and turns. "Come with me." She falls in beside him while her warders follow behind.

She's so tall he doesn't have to shorten his stride as he takes her to the sunroom that Cadsuane has taken as her own.

He does not release the source until he sees her welcomed by Cadsuane.

~oo(0)oo~

An hour into watching the room with Merise, Cadsuane, and the other Aes Sedai, Jahar realizes that she might be the one he has been looking for. She defers to Cadsuane and clearly respects her deeply, but she is not in awe of Cadsuane the way the others are.

~oo(0)oo~

Three days in, as Jahar exits his room in the barracks, Nethan is there, impeccable as always, waiting for him. "I presume you will attend Merise Sedai again today."

"That is the plan, Nethan," Jahar replies coolly.

Nethan sighs and tisks slightly as he takes Jahar in, "Not like that, you won't." But there's a smile in his voice.

"What's wrong?" Jahar asks quietly. He took pains this morning to look as nice as he knows how, but his clothes are his clothes. "I asked Damer if I would pass an inspection, and he said barring a new uniform, yes."

"There is nothing wrong with you, Jahar," Nethan says with a smile, "But there's nothing particularly right, either. Don't think Bassane and I haven't noticed that you do what you can to show pride in your appearance, given your limitations. Merise Sedai wants you dressed and groomed to her standards, if you will be with her all day." A moment later he adds, "Being a warder is more than swordplay. I'll wager that should go for an Asha'man, too."

On the one hand, Jahar bristles at what is clearly a test of whether or not he'll take orders from her, but he'll be damned to the Pit if Merise Sedai can rid herself of him this easily. On the other hand, this is an opportunity to learn some more of how to be a gentleman.

Squaring his shoulders, Jahar meets his eyes. "Teach me, Nethan."

~oo(0)oo~

Those strong, sword-callused, yet well tended hands fingercomb a dab or two of fragrant oil -- sandalwood and roses -- through Jahar's locks, before brushing them with a small ivory comb, explaining that this will give his hair a shine, but also help prevent it from working free of the braids. Jahar seizes the power to rebraid his hair, swallowing hard against the vileness of Saidin's taint, and stays Nethan's hand as it moves to start a braid. "Just so you know, in Arafel, it's your mother, your wife, or your lover who ties the bells on --"

Nethan shrugs and arches an eyebrow, "Well, I wouldn't say no if you wanted. You are handsome."

Jahar loses the source in his shock. "But …"

Neithan picks up Jahar's bells, frowns thoughtfully, fishes out a small bit of chamois, and starts polishing them. "What?" he asks, when he notices Jahar's silence.

"But Merise Sedai … won't she --"

Nethan bursts out laughing. "It's not like that! Well, it is, but it isn't. Some Greens are near insatiable with their warders, some are simply companions," He shrugs. "Merise is somewhere in the middle."

Jahar's brow wrinkles in thought. "So, you are her lover …"

Nethan smiles, "Yes, when she and I want to. Bassane, too. But sometimes, there are others -- with Merise Sedai's approval, of course. She does not insist on exclusivity. She just … needs to know, is all. Wouldn't do to surprise her like that." A moment later he adds, "Or find yourself compromised by somebody looking to get to her." At Jahar's look, he adds matter of factly, "It happens."

Next he turns to Jahar's face, which Jahar washed that morning of course, as he shaved, but Nethan runs the back of his index finger over it, appraising, "You Arafellens don't grow heavy beards. You will need to shave the day after tomorrow, right?" At Jahar's nod, he continues, "Come see Bassane and I. We'll get you shaved proper."

Jahar works to be sure there's no dirt or grime under his nails and tries to keep them decently neat, but Nethan pulls out a small kit and shows Jahar a very fine file and then demonstrates how to use it to buff any hint of a ragged edge off. He finishes by putting a small dribble of oil, lightly scented with sandalwood, on Jahar's hands. "Just enough to keep the skin from getting too dry and cracked, but not enough to remove any callus needs to be there."

"Do you have another uniform jacket?" Nethan asks.

Jahar shakes his head and sighs. His current jacket has seen better days.

Nethan shakes his head and tisks. "Somebody should see to that. Does the Black Tower not give you a stipend?"

Jahar shakes his head. "Not a stipend. The tower provides for us, but ...I can't return there. Not now. There's a misunderstanding -- they think I've run away, and runaways and deserters have their heads put upon the Traitor's Tree -- the Lord Dragon says he'll clear it up, but -- "

"He's got other priorities, so you're here until he does." Nethan finishes. "Strip off your jacket. I'll show you a quick way to freshen clothes when you can't wash and press them." He gestures to a kettle bubbling away on the stove where he set it earlier. " We're going to steam and brush it."

Jahar grabs the source and in a moment, with a weave of air and fire, converts all the water in the kettle to steam. "What do I do with it?" He asks, pointing to the small cloud he has created.

Nethan blinks a bit, gathers himself, and continues, "I want you to pass your jacket slowly through the steam three times, and then I'll show you how to really brush it out."

Jahar forms another weave of air and passes his jacket through and Nethan shows him how to best work the brush. All but the most stubborn creases and rumples fall away like magic. He puts the jacket on and looks at himself in the mirror. "Am I ready?" he asks though he knows he looks good.

"As much as we can do, yes." Nethan purses his lips in thought. "We will talk to Merise Sedai. There are funds for the palace servants, for their livery. Perhaps that can be extended to getting you and the other Asha'man some additional uniforms. She will know what to do."

As they head out down one of the many hallways in the palace, Jahar asks, "How do you keep this up during travels, or in the field? You are old enough to have seen the Aiel War, or --"

"Yes, both Merise and I were there -- minus the grey in my hair. And in the field like that, or if you are traveling hard, you do the best you can." A skip-beat later he adds, "Doing the best you can … it gives you something to do, keeps your mind away from worries," a smile enters his voice, "and warders do have a reputation to uphold -- dashing heroes and all that."

"Then how do you pass unnoticed?"

"Haven't had much call to do that with Merise." Nethan laughs. "That might do for other Ajahs, the Blue and the Grey with their various missions, but Greens … no Aes Sedai chooses the Green because she's meek and retiring, and Merise has never been, and never will be, subtle in that kind of way. She's tall enough that she will always stand out, and she's also quite --" he snaps his jaw shut.

"Quite what?" Jahar asks.

Nethan flushes. "Forget what I was on about, I forgot my manners. My apologies."

~oo(0)oo~

When they enter the hall, Cadsuane Sedai arches an eyebrow and says, "You were right Merise, he does clean up nicely. Almost enough to wish I had a few less years on these bones," she chortles, shaking her head, the ever present ornaments thrust into her iron-grey bun glittering and flashing wildly with the motion. She waves her hand dismissively, "But I've my hands full enough with the other Boy. Trying to housebreak two of you might be the death of me."

~oo(0)oo~

Merise comes to the training salle more and more often as Jahar trains with Bassane, Nethan, and the other warders. They work him and Eben hard, and Jahar is proud of the progress he's making. Yes, he takes his fair share of blows, but Damer has less to heal each night, and he and Eben are getting in more good licks of their own.

"Jahar," Merise says, all but gliding across the flagstones towards him as soon as he finishes a set of sword forms, "I would like to try something with you. Put yourself on the edge of embracing Saidin. I want us to try linking."

He wants to say, you don't embrace it, you seize it. "I am ready, Merise Sedai." He adds the honorific only because he is Dedicated, not yet a full Asha'man. He figures it best that he be formal with her in public.

"My name will do me well enough between us, Jahar." He feels that gooseprickle that lets him know a woman is holding the One Power, then feels something reach through him and … he's holding Saidin, that glorious raging torrent of fire and ice swathed in the vileness of the taint, but something else is in there with Saidin, it's … as vast and powerful like Saidin, but it's not raging. It's placid, like the Alguenya flowing smoothly past past the Sun Palace, just easing along between its banks … "Is that Saidar?" he asks, voice thin and papery.

She nods, and it is then he notices that her complexion has a grey undercast and sweat beads on her forehead. "Is it … is it, Saidin, always that … bad?" She swallows reflexively several times.

"Yes," he replies.

"Now, gently reach out and take control of the link." She takes a deep, steadying breath after he figures out how to do it. "I want you to perform a novice exercise. Make small colored orbs of light: red, yellow, green, grey, blue, white, and brown." She dabs at her forehead with a linen handkerchief as Bassane hustles over with a dipper of cool water.

Jahar laughs mirthlessly. "Novice exercises at the Black Tower are a bit more … practical." He recalls using Saidin for chopping wood, boiling water, sweeping the streets, shattering and smoothing boulders to make pavers for the streets.

She takes a sip of the water, not that anything will wash the taste of the taint away, but Jahar understands. He's done it himself many times. Any man who can channel has, early on in his training.

He reaches to clench Saidar and mix it into the Fire and Air he's holding from Saidin, but it's like trying to grab a fist full of water. The more he starts to fight with it, the more it threatens to crush him. Merise reaches out, mopping the sweat from his cheek with her handkerchief. "No, not like that, Asha'man. You can no more fight Saidar than you can the river flowing past these walls. Fight it, try to make it do anything, and it will destroy you, yes. But if you guide it, work with the flow, you then can -- yes, that's the way." The balls of light spring up as he finally figures out how to meld the flows. He dances the little orbs around their heads. Her eyes glow with delight at his swiftness to learn as she smiles up at him.

"I can see Saidar," The words dribble from his mouth. It's so pure and bright, not the darkness of Saidin, a darkness that has nothing to do with the Taint, though he can see that, an oily slime that coats his half of the weaves, working to rot them, corrupt them, undo all that he tries to make. Nobody else can see the taint the way he does, he knows it's the way the madness manifests in him, it's not enough to feel the rot, he gets to see it, too, see it and feel such a sense of futility ….

He sucks in a deep breath and shakes his head to clear it. Better than seeing Myrddraal lurking in every shadow as some men do ….

"Me, I can see Saidin. Such darkness and yet…" she cocks her head, "intensity. I had always wondered what men's weaves look like, yes."

He alters the weave, calling on Earth, and now the colored globes take on a glassy sheen, like flames in a glass lamp.

"Very good. Now, let us, you and I, release the source. You have to release my --"

He does, figuring it best not to just drop the link, and lets Saidin go a heartbeat later, and the world goes back to being ordinary.

"How did you know how to do that?" he asks.

Her smile sharpens with pride. "I didn't." She chortles throatily. "Verin and Kiruna did talk about the possibility of linking with a man, of what bits we do know from the Age of Legends, about men and women working together with the power, and me, I thought, why not try it? The Last Battle, we will fight it, women and men, side by side, working together, yes? Best not to learn it on the same day it needs doing, it seemed to me."

~oo(0)oo~

With Merise smoothing the way, he practices linking with some of the other Aes Sedai who are willing to work with an Asha'man. The river of Saidar that Corele holds is respectable, but not nearly so mighty as he experienced with Merise, Kumira is less than Corele, and Daigian … and with Daigian it is a creek he can leap.

He realizes then that strength in the One Power plays a role in the Aes Sedai hierarchy -- it's not the sole factor determining these things he knows -- and that Merise is quite powerful, possibly one of the most powerful Aes Sedai in Cairhien at the moment.

~oo(0)oo~

The tailor and a team of seamstresses who handle making the livery for the upper palace servants show up one morning at the barracks, and a little breathlessly, the tailor explains to them that "Merise and Cadsuane Sedai say that I am to have new uniforms made for you. Three each. Two for every day, one for formal occasions, including shirts and breeches. Then to the cobbler for shoes and boots."

It all involves a lot of measuring, poking and pinning, but a few days later the results speak for themselves. The two uniforms meant for daily wear are the nicest clothes Jahar has ever owned, the jackets are deepest black wool, lined with linen, featuring blued-steel buttons stamped with concentric rings, and Damer grudgingly admits the uniforms are even a little better than what he wore when he was in the Queen's Guards.

Jahar gasps slightly when he sees their formal uniforms. They are made of a cloth the seamstress who makes the delivery explains is silk interwoven with finest linen. A line of silver buttons stamped with dragon heads march down the front. The collar and cuffs are velvet, not embroidered, but they feature a dark silvery-black piping, as do the edges of the pockets, the bottom hem, and the front edges where the coat opens. He strokes it wonderingly.

"Samite." the seamstress says by way of explanation. At his and Eben's blank looks she continues, "There's silver thread woven into the silk to give it that color." She shrugs. "There wasn't time to have these embroidered, so Merise Sedai suggested using piping to accent them. Very sharp eye for clothes that woman has."

~oo(0)oo~

Merise pronounces the new uniforms "adequate."

A few days later Bessane and Nethan present him with a gift from Merise, a dark blue coat of finest wool cut to her specifications. Aes Sedai wear clothing of any color. Nothing says Asha'man cannot do the same -- the Lord Dragon certainly wears many colors. He puts it on and fastens the sword pin on the collar to show that he is an Asha'man.

He can't help but linger a bit in front of the looking glass when he sees how fine he looks in it.

~oo(0)oo~

Jahar follows a respectful three paces behind Merise and Alanna Sedai, enough to allow them privacy, but near enough to be right there if they need him as they head down the hallway on their way to the sunroom. They have just stepped in from one of the gardens. It may be cold, and the days short and dark, but Jahar has to admit that the gardeners do know how to choose and shape plants so that the garden looks pleasing in all seasons. He walked these grounds yesterday and Merise explained and named the plants to him, telling him what each symbolized. He had no idea that there was a "language" to flowers. In the area around Tifan's Well, you picked what you thought was pretty and gave it to your mother, or to the girl you were sweet on.

"That may be all well and good in the hinterlands of Arafel," Merise said cooly, "But here in Cairhien, and in places like Tear and Andor, you might well insult somebody with the wrong flowers, in giving them, or in placing them as decorations, or you might cause them to misjudge your intentions, which can be just as unfortunate."

He's jolted out of the memory when Alanna gives a short, sharp cry and collapses. Merise, thankfully, catches her before she strikes the floor, and Alanna's warder, Ihvon, has her in his arms a moment later. Jahar feels the gooseprickle sensation of a woman channeling the power and knows that Merise is doing … something with Saidar. And it's not working, because Alanna is still out cold.

As soon as Ihvon has Alanna hefted in his arms, Merise says quietly but urgently, "I cannot rouse her! Quickly to the sunroom. Stop for nobody and say nothing. Fetch Cadsuane and Corele if she is there. Me, I will see her settled in the closest bedchamber. Go! Quickly!" She calls that last bit over her shoulder as she hurries to catch up with Ihvon.

He's off, flying down corridors as swiftly as his feet will take him, skidding around corners and nearly crashing into servants and courtiers. Opening himself to the source he forms the barest hint of a weave that the Aes Sedai call The Mirror of Mists -- just enough to project an aura of emergency/danger/menace to clear the halls before him.

Heart hammering in his chest, Jahar sees the door to the sunroom ahead of him. He reaches out and opens the door with a flow of air, wincing slightly as it bangs open. At last, he's in the room with everybody's eyes on him. He releases the source.

"Alanna's unconscious, Cadsuane. She just collapsed in the hallway. Merise had her taken to a bedchamber and sent me for you." He feels proud that he got that out sounding so calm when inside he's a bundle of nerves.

All activity stops.

"Corele, come with me," Cadsuane says with a calmness that is not reflected in her dark eyes. Turning to Sorilea, the ancient Aiel Wise One who happens to be in the room, she says, "I would appreciate any advice or insight you can provide."

Jahar notices that Verin joins them, unbidden, either wanting the chance to learn something new, or perhaps she'll have some knowledge to share.

Jahar wants to take off running back the way he came, but he knows he has caused enough alarm with his entrance, and besides if he ran, only Sorilea could possibly keep up with him, and she, tough as rawhide, would probably chide him to pick up the pace. Still he sets out at a brisk walk and they keep up, Cadsuane at his side.

He does not sieze the source again, hoping that his grim face and the speed of his walk will be clue enough to let people know they should not approach. It works on the servants, but not on Lord Dobraine, who stops and bows before Cadsuane. "Grace favor you, Cadsuane Sedai," he begins. And Jahar has a hard time focusing on what Lord Dobraine is saying over the sound of his heart hammering in his throat.

Light! Of all the time to give a bloody update about some Lord and Lady! Alanna Sedai needs help, and Merise will think he has dilly dallied instead of coming directly.

He tries the breathing exercises Bessane and Nethan have been teaching him. He does not want to seek the void, for that way lies the potential of seizing Saidin, and he knows not every problem should be solved directly with a show of force, and some problems will only be made worse by acting rashly. The last thing they need right now is an uproar in the palace and rumors flying. He asks himself how would Merise handle this in his place. He wonders if the Lord Dragon often feels like this -- anxious to be moving on, but delayed and unable to explain exactly why. Perhaps that is why he Travels so often ….

Just as Jahar feels he is about to burst with anxiety, or at the very least, cut in and explain that they really must be going … but in such a way as to not invite Lord Dobraine, or give any reason to speculate about the urgency of the matter, Cadsuane finally ties off the conversation and they are at last on the move.

He sees Bessane ahead in the corridor, while Nethan guards the door.

The first bedchamber Merise found turned out to be quite small. She snaps her fingers at him and points to a corner that keeps him out of the way as much as possible given the tight space, but offers a view through the doorway. He stands, draws a deep breath, and seizes the source, ready to take action or offer his strength in the power if needed. He has little skill in healing, but if he links with two of the women, they can guide the flows and he can lend his considerable strength to the weaves.

Ihvon chafes at Alanna's wrist, as he kneels beside the bed. "She seems afraid to wake," he says in baffled tones. "There's nothing wrong with her that I can tell, but she seems afraid."

Corele steps in and Jahar feels the gooseprickle as she embraces the source and cups Alanna's head. At last, she steps back from the still insensate Alanna, shaking her head.

"My skill with Healing, it may not equal yours, Corele," Merise says in a dry voice, "but I did try." She draws a breath and continues, "What do we do now, Cadsuane?"

Jahar watches the interplay between the women in the room. Sorilea's hard face turns even grimmer if possible, and Verin's face holds a look of near terror.

Finally Cadsuane speaks in a calm voice that belies the emotion in her dark eyes. "We sit down and wait for her to wake."

~oo(0)oo~

A series of shifts are organized to keep watch. He, Damer, and Eben agree that there should be an Asha'man nearby at all times. "A good idea, that," Merise says, when he tells her he has drawn the lot for the evening watch.

He is a little surprised when she joins him, even though Samitsu, a fellow Arafellen, and from the Yellow Ajah is attending. Merise visits briefly with Samitsu, then calls him in from where he has been standing watch outside with Roshan, Samitsu's warder.

"Samitsu and I," she says, "We have Ihvon's permission to try another healing, a more powerful healing, we hope."

"Healing is not so much a thing of power as it is of skill," Samitsu says, matter of factly, her bright hazel eyes meeting his. "As it also draws on the strength of the person being healed."

"We want to link with you, Samitsu and I," Merise cuts in.

"I have very little skill with healing, it is Damer you want," Jahar replies.

Samitsu shakes her head, the bells in her braids chiming softly. "We do not know much from the Age of Legends, but we do know that men and women working together was better than either working alone. And we do know that it wasn't always men who led when men and women linked."

"I could see no way to pass it to me that time we linked," Merise says.

"I am willing to try," Jahar says, "But if I can't pass control to you, we should get Damer." A moment later he whispers, "Aren't you worried about the, uh, taint?"

Shaking her head again, Samitsu replies, "Not for the few seconds this will take, no." To Merise she says, "I will guide the circle."

Jahar puts himself on the edge of seizing the source as soon as he feels the gooseprickles hit him. This time he can sense the power of Saidar, but he cannot reach it, for Samitsu has control of the link, and as they have discovered in the past week, since there are two of them to his one, a woman can control the circle, as opposed to when it's just him and another woman.

"Oh!" Samitsu gasps and swallows convulsively, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. "Is that --"

"Yes," Jahar sighs, just as Roshan, looking a little wan, sticks his head in the door and looks pointedly at Samitsu. She gives him a wave of her hand and he returns to his watch.

He feels her start to move towards the Saidin in him, realizes she's trying to embrace it and says, "You have to grab Saidin. Take it. Make it do what you will it do. If you try to use it like Saidar, and let it flow through you, it will destroy you."

"Treat it like a stubborn Warder, Samitsu," Merise says dryly.

Samitsu laughs at that. "The only good warder is a stubborn one."

Merise arches an eyebrow. "Mine are as tame as housecats, though it did take some doing."

"Ah," Samitsu replies a little archly, "But you did say cats, and not dogs." Merise laughs while Samitsu's brow furrows in concentration. "Delving, I think, is the best place to start. I know that Verin has Delved her, and she's as good as me with that, and better than many Yellows, but I am curious as to how working with both powers may aid …" Jahar watches as she melds the flows into an intricate weave and cups Alanna's head in her hands. A moment later she shakes her head in defeat. "There's nothing wrong with her, at least, nothing that a Healing can fix. Though," she bites her lower lip in thought, "I think she's had some sort of shock to her psyche. I have some skill with the mind, but not nearly enough to handle this." He feels Samitsu release the link and he lets go of Saidin a moment later.

"It was like when Owain died," Ihvon murmurs, "but without the grief and pain of death."

"Ihvon," Merise says, voice all business, "does Alanna have another Warder besides you?"

He hesitates several moments before replying, "She bonded Rand al'Thor, some months ago."

Jahar feels his eyes fly open in shock, "Is the Lord Dragon well?" he asks. "Is he sick? Injured? Does she know where he is?"

Ihvon shakes his head. "No, nothing like that, as far as I can tell through my bond with Alanna. And it is not death, nor serious illness or injury. And he is far enough away right now that she would have only a general sense of his direction."

"Ihvon," Merise continues, voice sharp, "tell me more about this bonding."

"No." He says flatly. "It is between them, and not for me to say."

Suddenly things snap into place for Jahar, the way that the Lord Dragon has treated Alanna Sedai, the way he gets angry at the mere mention of her name. "She didn't ask," he says.

Ihvon nods in affirmation, his face bleak.

"She what?!!!" Merise hisses in outrage, eyes flinty with anger, hands balling into fists, crumpling the fine wool of her skirt.

"She could be stilled for that." Samitsu says quietly.

"At the very least, she should be birched before the Hall of the Tower, yes." Merise says.

Jahar wonders what the Aiel Wise Ones would suggest as a punishment.

Cupping Alanna's hand in his, ever so gently stroking it, Ihvon says, "She swore fealty to him. If he asked her to remove the bond, she would have to, but he has not asked."

Samitsu's eyes flick up in thought. "The Wheel weaves as the Wheel weaves … that attack on him when he went to treat with the rebel faction out in the hills, perhaps it was her bond that allowed him to survive long enough for Damer to heal him."

Jahar looks at Ihvon and asks, "What does the warder bond do?"

"Has no one explained it to you?" Merise asks.

"I know only the tales of heroic warders," Jahar replies, "and what I have gleaned in facing them in the training salle." She opens her mouth to start, but he adds, "And with all respect, Merise Sedai, I think I should hear it from him, man to man."

Ihvon smiles crookedly at that and smooths a lock of Alanna's dark hair back from her face. "Those tales hint at the truth in some ways. A warder gains endurance and health … I guess is the best word for it, from the bond. You will get tired and hungry after a hard day, but you will be able to keep going long after others would have dropped from fatigue or injury. When the winter ague goes through, you will either not catch it, or it will be mild. When a Warder does become sick, rest assured, it is long after other men would have taken to the sickbed, and when a Warder is finally sick enough to need a bed, other men would have died by that point.

"As for the rest … you are never alone. A warder knows his Aes Sedai better than even the best and happiest of couples, and she knows you that way too." He brings Alanna's hand to his lips and kisses it. "Alanna would charge into the Pit of Doom if she had to, and not think twice of it." He glances up, and his eyes shine with pride.

"You are as aware of each other as you are of your limbs." He continues. "And yes, when you are close enough, you can easily track each other -- useful in a fight or a crowd if you have become separated -- or if there is an important message. With distance, it becomes less precise, but it is still there, and helpful.

"She can also guard your dreams against the Shadow, which may not sound like much, but given that we are on the path to Tarmon Gai'don, I am grateful for that.

"An Aes Sedai can also," he sucks in a deep breath, "compel her Warder, in a way, if she must, and suppress or mute the connection of the bond, if either of you needs privacy, or even for your safety, but these things are not done lightly."

"And what happens if one of you dies?" Jahar asks quietly.

"If there is not time to release you? She feels you die, and she grieves you deeply … a piece of her heart is ripped away, as with the death of a beloved husband. And many Sisters will not release a dying warder, because they do not want him dying alone, but want to comfort him right until the end.

"If she has more than one warder …" Ihvon's voice shakes with emotion, "the pain is shared in a way, but she also feels your grief for a loss of a fellow brother. If it is she who -- we are almost always filled with the battle rage to avenge her."

"There are ways to try and save a warder whose Sister has died," Merise says gently. "Some of us in the Green specialize in it, yes. Sometimes arrangements are made between sisters to pass a bond upon her death, but that can be complicated."

Jahar steeples his hand and thinks for several moments before saying, "If you had it to do again, Ihvon, would you?"

"Yes," Ihvon says, his dark eyes shining. "I have known sorrow, and frustration -- Alanna is a most stubborn woman -- and joy, and laughter, and I have seen wonders. I have also slept beneath hedges, been hunted by trollocs and fades, and Whitecloaks, and nearly died a dozen dozen times over keeping her safe while she performs her works. But never regret. No. Never that."

~oo(0)oo~

Alanna wakes the next day. According to Damer, she was ravenous with hunger and thirst.

~oo(0)oo~

By her request, he sits in the sunroom and watches Merise play stones with Sarine. He knows how to play -- the winter nights in the Borderlands are long -- and a small hourglass sits between the two women, forcing them to move with some swiftness. While Jahar does pay attention, he does not let himself focus too intensely on the game. A good Asha'man can and must focus, but not lose awareness of the world around him; that's a good way to get killed. As the minutes slip by, he sees that while in some ways, Sarine and Merise could not be more different, over the stones, they become very alike, even if they approach the play from a different angle. Their remarks and commentary as they place the stones is enlightening as they flip the hourglass to signal the next turn. Sarine approaches strategy and tactics from her skill in logic, and Merise uses her studies of battle tactics and strategy to determine the logical next moves. Neither loses her utterly cool composure despite their intense expressions … which he understands makes Merise somewhat unusual for a Green, who are notorious for their fiery emotions, and Sarine is famous for her acid tongue and quick temper, unusual for a White.

A short distance away Cadsuane sips tea with Sorilea, which is itself a thing, as Sorilea, like all Aiel, will not sit in a chair (those are reserved for Clan Chiefs, apparently) and Cadsuane refuses to sit on the floor. They seem to be meeting in the middle this time with Cadsuane sitting on a cushioned footstool while Sorilea sits on a cushion. The table between them is low, small, and simple, of Aiel make, and designed to be disassembled and easily stowed for travel. Given the scarcity of wood in the Aiel Waste, he can't help but admire the skill of the design and the obvious quality of the craftsmanship.

Near them on cushions, but not sipping tea, sit Verin and Kumira, each taking a turn reading a verse from the Karaethon Cycle, while the four of them discuss it, Sorilea from time to time quoting the relevant portion of the Aiel's prophecies, which she will not reveal in total, because that is only for Wise Ones and Clan Chiefs who have been to the holy city of Rhuidean to know. Apparently the Sea Folk were invited to this meeting to share from their Jendai Prophecies, but they refused, and quite rudely according to Daigian, who delivered the message.

It is a good thing that Merise and Sarine play stones with only intermittent remarks, because Jahar has never heard the Karaethon Cycle before. Just references to it, or bits and pieces.

"A shame that young Min is not here," Sorilea says in her reedy voice, as they finish talking about one verse and ready for the next one. "this would be a place for her to share her ideas. One gifted as she should apprentice under us."

"Oh, I would very much like to talk more with her," Verin says, voice dreamy. "I have so many questions about --"

"I'm sure you do," Cadsuane says drily and sets her cup down on the saucer. "Next verse, please."

"Now this passage has always intrigued me," Verin says, and Jahar laughs inwardly, because so far she has found all the passages interesting, or intriguing, or notable, or fascinating.

"Into the heart he thrusts his sword
into the heart, to hold their hearts
Who draws it out shall follow after
What hand can grasp that fearful blade"

He nearly falls from his chair. That's … him. Light! He's in the bloody Prophecies of the Dragon!

"... and yet, Callandor has been taken from the Stone, taken in the night, out from under the guard and delivered to Rand if the reports are correct, and yet, not by him, if the Prophecy is correct." He hears Kumira say.

"I wonder who has so earned his trust," Verin says, "given how … understandably cautious he can be of late."

Cadsuane snorts. "Phaw! Boy's as tetchy as a bear with a thorn in its paw."

"We have only to ask him next time we see him." Sorilea says.

They all chortle at that.

Cadsuane cocks her head thoughtfully after she catches her breath. "Right. Next passage."

A part of Jahar still wants to speak up, but a part of him says no, he already has enough of a target on his back. Plus, there are several Greens in the room. Rules against forced bonding or no, he might well find himself bonded (and perhaps even to Cadsuane!) before he can blink and that will not do.

~oo(0)oo~

Merise storms towards him just after he has finished a hard training session with Bassane and is putting up his gear. She looks impeccable, as always, in a silvery-grey dress with a wide green belt adorned with silver roses. The drape and sheen of her dress and matching hooded cape tell Jahar it's a blend of silk and wool, which is classic Merise -- elegant and practical at the same time.

Her ageless face shows none of the usual Aes Sedai calmness. A barely leashed storm rages in her eyes. "Walk with me." She points toward the exit of the salle. She does not wait for an answer, and her pace is so fast that he must move swiftly to keep up.

When they have reached one of the gardens in the palace, this one filled with beautiful sculptures and elaborately tiled pathways, she whirls, eyes still blazing with rage. "Cadsuane Sedai, she has all but ordered me to bond you," she spits the words out.

Jahar has no idea what to say to that, so he holds his tongue. He notices Alanna and Ihvon emerge from a small grotto a few feet away.

Merise draws in a deep breath. " But we do not have much time, me, I feel. The other sisters without warders and the other Greens, they defer to me regarding you … for now. But if I do not act soon, then …." Her voice trails off, but the look in her eyes does not grow a whit less flinty.

"Are you asking if I will become your warder?"

"Yes, I am asking that. And I had been meaning to ask this of you, but on my time. MY time. Cadsuane, I fear, has forgotten what it is like, why these things cannot be rushed, should not be rushed."

Jahar can't quite keep the smile out of his voice, "I assume that Daigian and Corele have gotten similar all-but-orders."

She waves her hand dismissively. "For them, it is different, yes. But you and I, how we have worked together is not like them. Nor do they have other warders whose needs and feelings must be taken into consideration."

Jahar clasps his hands behind his back. "I need to think on this, Merise. And I will only say yes if Nethan and Bassane agree to it. I will tell you in three days at most."

"I need to know, me, If there were another Sister here you would have, who?"

Jahar thinks about the question and asks, "And why would you want to know?"

Merise looks deep into his eyes and says, quietly, "Me, I could pull rank on her, and that is useful at times, pulling rank, but not if it ends with me bonded to a man who comes less than wholeheartedly. I would know so I can step aside and guide her to you, advise her, yes."

Jahar nods. "I am not thinking of any of the Sisters here, nor of any of those I know who are not present."

"If there is anything you need to know about me, you need only ask it."

"Why Green … why not, say, White, Grey, or Blue?" He asks as they idly saunter through the garden. The wind is icy and brings a pink glow to Merise's otherwise fair cheeks. Now that the urgency of training, and the rapid walk to the gardens is over, he feels the cold start to settle on him. He reaches for the void and lets the calm wash over him. If there is another trick to ignoring the chill or the heat, he does not know it. Saidin waits in the void, there if he wants to reach out and take it, but he decides to hold off for now.

She laughs, "You know me well enough to know that I would never choose Red. And my healing's not good enough for Yellow."

"You're the wrong temperament for a Brown," he adds.

She laughs again, "Oh, you'd be surprised how some Browns can be, one Sitter in particular is notoriously fierce and perhaps should have chosen the Green, but no, I'm not cut out for a Brown, nor do I have the patience required of a Gray for dealing with fools or stubborn folk, or both … but yes, I do enjoy seeing the world, though I do not aim to be a Jaim Farstrider.

"As for the White, I can think logically, even under pressure, yes. I can see the tactics that will need to underpin a strategy. I can plan for myself and my warders as a single unit, or how we will work with others. I have practiced thinking like my enemies and how to counter them. But the rest of what the Whites do? They are, in some ways, even more removed from the world than the Browns can be, yes, and me, I cannot live like that.

Her voice shifts, becoming thoughtful. "I nearly did take the Blue. And there are reasons that the Blue and the Green have been close allies in the Tower down through the ages. Blues are passionate about their causes, passionate about justice, and righting wrongs … but the Greys do have a point in saying that the Blues meddle in affairs best left to them, yes.

"But in the end," And a note of pride enters her tone, "Me, I decided that the cause I was most passionate about was taking the fight to the Shadow, and being ready should Tarmon Gai'don come. And here we are, and it is coming.

"And, for those Ajahs that bond warders … well, you cannot be a Green if you do not delight in men at some level, yes. Greens know that the best things come when men and women work together, and Bassane, Nethan, and I, we make a tight team. Yes, I lead and no question, but we are a team working towards the same goal. Taking the fight to the Shadow, and holding ourselves ready for Tarmon Gai'don."

He clasps his hands behind his back. "Thank you for answering my questions, Merise. I still need to think about this. I will attend you tomorrow, and if I decide I do not want to be a warder, I still think we should continue to practice linking, and also practice linking with other Sisters."

~oo(0)oo~

The barracks room he had been sharing with Eben and Damer stands empty.

Everything's changing he pouts to himself, then laughs at himself for such thoughts. Of course everything is changing, an Age is coming to an end. He left Arafel because he wanted to be a part of making that change, not just caught up in it and swept along.

On a whim he puts on the blue coat and decides to seek out Bassane and Nethan.

~oo(0)oo~

He finds them, oddly enough, out of the palace and in a tavern near the water where the air is blue with tabac smoke and a pretty young woman plays the dulcimer. Bassane and Nethan aren't the only warders there. Warders, like soldiers, get the occasional night off, it seems.

Before Jahar can speak, they wave him over, flag down the serving girl and order him a mug of ale, and tell her to bring an extra place setting, scooting over to let him sit at the table. He doesn't say anything, because anything he wants to say right now, he knows better than to discuss in open company.

A few minutes later a squat, buxom woman with a tan complexion and salt and pepper hair done up in a bun comes out with a platter of roast chicken and vegetables and sets it down, smiling warmly at Bassane. "And who's this then, Basse?"

Bassane returns the warm grin, "Auntie Ilisa, this is Jahar, Nethan and I are training him."

"For your bossy mistress?"

Jahar chokes on his ale, which causes the rest of them to laugh uproariously.

"What?" Ilisa says. "She is bossy. Turned you around, though, and got you set right, Basse, and your mother and I despaired of that ever happening." And with that she bustles off.

Bassane smiles at him as Nethan starts carving up the chicken -- it's a small bird, but it smells wonderful, and it makes Jahar miss his mother's cooking. "Yes, this is where I grew up," he explains, holding out his plate for Nethan to put his portion on it.

"Just the wings for me," Jahar says. He's hungry, but he's not about to butt in on Bassane's getting a good portion of home cooking.

The food opens the floodgates and, with carefully chosen words, they talk about their childhoods and the longing for meaning and adventure that has brought them to where they are today.

"So," says Nethan when the serving girl has carried away the plates and Bassane has gone to bid his auntie and cousins a good night, "did she ask you?"

"Yes," Jahar replies, "and I'm thinking on it." A moment later he adds, "May I bed down with you two tonight? I think it might -- you learn a lot about people when you bunk with them."

Nethan laughs. "Indeed you do." A moment later he adds, "You are a good man, Jahar, and yes, Bassane and I would be happy to call you our brother."

~oo(0)oo~

Nethan and Bassane have a small bedroom with a tiny dressing room attached, which is clearly meant for a lady's maid in the suite of rooms allotted to Merise. Though small, the room is fancier than the barracks room that he had been sharing with Eben and Damer, much better than what he'd had at the Black Tower, and which would have been considered quite fancy in Tifan's Well. Still, the room's not really meant for two people, much less three, and to take a place on the floor would mean being stepped on at least once or twice in the night.

As he eyes the space, Jahar half wonders why he, Eben and Damer never thought to ask for a suite. The answer comes to him a second later. Because you are a soldier, and soldiers sleep in barracks. Yes, he thinks back to himself, But why did we never think to ask for an officer's quarters? Then he thinks about some of the lordlings in those officers' quarters and is glad that Damer thought like a sergeant. Still, Jahar wonders what other assumptions about his life and his place he hasn't thought to question.

They're discussing where to put Jahar when Merise enters, looking quite tired.

"Those Aiel Wise Ones -- " she begins before she sees Jahar and brightens. "Does this mean --"

Jahar shakes his head and Nethan answers, "He wants to see what it's like living with Bassane and me."

She frowns for a moment. "Me, I would say put him in the sitting room, but he is too tall for the couch, yes."

Jahar straightens and says, "I am perfectly well to sleep on the rug." I slept on the ground in a captured Shaido tent with Eben after Dumai's Wells and on the trek back to Cairhien he leaves unsaid, because doubtless Nethan slept much the same way many times during the Aiel War.

At some point in the night he hears the door that joins Nethan and Bassane's rooms to Merise's open and sighs, rolls, and pulls the blanket over his head. The floor, like a tent, is drafty, even though he's not that far from the small stove whose banked coals keep the room from becoming completely frigid.

And, life in the Black Tower and Sun Palace barracks, and those weeks in the tents taught him one very important lesson about life lived close: provided what you hear neither picks a pocket nor breaks a nose, you need to ignore it.

~oo(0)oo~

By the evening of the 2nd day, after an afternoon spent in practice linking to Merise and a few other sisters, all of them taking turns passing control and melding the two halves of the One Power, Jahar has made up his mind … mostly.

He sits across from Merise in her sitting room, while Nethan and Bassane play a game of stones in their room. Her hair is down, for once and falls in a gleaming dark wave down her back and over her shoulder.

She looks up, slight puzzlement in her face, from the paper he handed her a few moments ago. "A passage from the Karaethon Cycle, I know it, yes." As an afterthought she murmurs under her breath, "We must work on your penmanship."

"Because that is me," he tells her. "I was the one sent by the Lord Dragon to retrieve Callandor, that 'fearful blade', from the Stone of Tear and bring it to him."

Her eyes fly open in shock. But she quickly composes herself.

"If I am to be bonded to you," he continues, "I will need your word on a few things before I can accept."

Her eyes flick up in thought. "That is very unusual, yes, but you would not be the usual warder. Go on."

He draws a deep breath. "The Lord Dragon trusts me as he trusts few others. I would not have the bond be used in any way to undercut the faith he has put in me." She nods in understanding, and he continues. "If bonded to you, I am still an Asha'man, and the Lord Dragon may have commands or duties for me. There are things that, if he calls, I needs must answer, just as you cannot refuse the Amyrlin.

He draws another breath. "I am very powerful, Merise, and I still have not hit my full potential, and I am not ready for the responsibilities that will come with that power. I need you to teach me, Merise. I need to learn how to dress, move, think, and act, so that when the day comes, and people look to me, I will know what to do and how best to do it. But I also need to know how to avoid the wrong kind of entanglements. You do all of these things, here in Cairhien, and you make it look as easy as breathing."

She smiles dryly. "You credit me with much more than you should, perhaps. Me, I have been Aes Sedai for over 150 years now, and right now, more than I have in a very long time, I feel as if I'm making it up as I go along. I'm glad it shows so little, yes.

"You know I am stern and demanding, but I think yes, that is what you need right now. Somebody who will hold you, and hard at times, to a high standard. As for the other … we will need to talk about each situation as it arises. The Lord Dragon is ta'veren, bending and shaping the pattern of the age even as he puts his boots on in the morning, and me, I am strong-willed, but I am as nothing before that.

"I agree that I will release you if you ask it, if following his will puts us at odds. Or if you need me to mute the bond for some time, that, too can be arranged. Is this acceptable?"

He nods. "There is one more thing I must ask." The words come out in a croak, "If the madness starts taking me, or the rotting sickness comes, will - will you make it swift?"

Tears glisten in her eyes at that. "Absolutely, though it break my heart," she whispers as she dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief. When she has gathered herself, she asks, voice soft and velvety, "Jahar Narishma, I would bond you as a warder. Will you accept my bond?"

Gooseprickles crawl across his body as she embraces the source.

He can't quite keep a tremor out of his voice. "I will accept your bond."

It's like a shock of icy water for a heartbeat, and when it passes he is aware of Merise, there, in a corner of his mind, and then ….

…. He's not reading her mind, they are not sharing thoughts, but he knows. A pure and bright joy surges through the bond that he accepted her offer; she had been nervous that he would not. She looks at him with a deep rooted pride and admiration. She likes him, and he gets the idea that she started liking him the first day they met and he so boldly challenged her.

Nethan and Bassane stand in the doorway to their room and look at him, grinning in delight. "Welcome, brother," Bassane says, and Nethan echoes him a heartbeat later.

He feels as if his heart will burst with joy when Merise shares their pleasure at his becoming their brother warder with him.

He is no longer that lost sheep wandering in the wilderness, desperately searching. He will never be alone, abandoned, or an afterthought again.

This is his family now, and he has finally found home.