A Tale Written in the Stars, a wheel of time fanfic

In the wagons, there is a tale told; always it happened to your mother's mother's mother, or your mother's sister, and always, you are led to believe that it will someday happen to you. It is a tale told before the dances, in a soft voice, between young girls with laughter, between young men with heartfelt sighs. It is enacted in the dance, the wild spinning revels that start at dusk's first whisper of starlight and end with dawn's pale rays. It is always told under the moon, with the moon for a witness, her pale face forever bereft of emotion, for she is forever stone. The story is unique and yet the same, changing with its relator but always plucking the same plangent chord. It is the tale of the mar'ailen'shiar, the Patterned Lovers, the Ageless Hearts, the Entwined.

It happened many years ago, it happened yesterday, and the Light send it happens again tomorrow…

Oenone smiled down at the tale she was copying from memory for Athkatla Sedai, who had, as she herself put it, "a ravenous thirst for Tinker star-tales." Oenone herself did, as well, and the tale of the Entwined was her favorite. She had grown used to the Brown Aes Sedai, and did not take offense, as she once had, to the word, "Tinker." She didn't like it, and to her, it was still an epithet, but she had grown used to being called by it. She was far more likely to be called, "the Tinker Novice," than Oenone. And anything Tinker was garnering attention of late, with the new arrivals in the Ogier Grove…two or three bands of the Travelling Folk had set up camp there, to comb Tar Valon and the White Tower for the Song. The whole Tower was abuzz, and everyone wanted to know everything-likely why Oenone was up to her neck in requests for her time.

She longed to leave the Tower and see them, as some of the Accepted had, even over the Amyrlin Seat's declaration that the Ogier Groves were off limits. A group of the girls had just arrived back, their excited chatter coloring the dusty, dull Library with the bright banner of their chatter. Oenone hung on every word, sifting through it for truth and for information that she might use. Her pen moved steadily as she did, and she blessed her rote memorization of the tale of the Entwined, the pair of bright morning stars in the western summer hemisphere, that had once been lovers. She felt it was a travesty to tell this tale indoors, thought it was dishonest, a robbing of the pageantry of the tale. Tonight was Midsummer, the busiest holiday in the Wagons. Tonight there would be feasting, and dance, and the young women would dance under the moonlight…Oenone sighed. That was how her night should be, but she was a Novice of the White Tower; she'd not even hear a piper, much less wear bells in her hair.

It was late evening before she had produced a copy of the tale that Athkatla Sedai approved of. The statuesque Domani Brown read it, her serenity melting into fascination, then something that Oenone almost thought was wistfulness. When she'd finished, she peered up at Oenone with surprise, then out the window.

"Why are you still here, child?" the Aes Sedai asked, pursing her lips at the high, full moon. She emitted a vexed sigh, then dug out pen and ink. "Be certain you turn it into the Accepted waiting for you, child, and do manage your time better in the future…" Oenone nodded and curtsied, not wanting to explain to the tempestuous Brown that the entire scrape was her fault. The Accepted would understand, Athkatla Sedai did this to every Novice assigned copywork for her. Rumor even said she'd locked several in her offices, making them copy the night through, for lack of anything else to do.

The soft summer night welcomed her, blowing its playful breath into her long hair. It was late, but she could still hear the incessant clack and bang of wooden practice lathes from the adjacent Training Yard. She would never like that sound-it was the sound of souls being forever separated from the natural Way in which all creatures were meant to live. Her dark eyes swept over the shapes there, looking for one.

He wasn't there, hadn't been for months. She'd last seen him at the beginning of summer, the days the Tuatha'an called rose season, when all the buds began to press themselves up to greet the outside world. It had been early summer, yet he'd found a rose in full bloom, and she did not know by the din of what miracle or wonder he'd managed that. She had it still, dried in a book. Memories, she had, too. Most were hazy from pain, but some were vivid. Vivid enough to serve as a deterrent from Akuma Deathscythe…he was a lethal enigma, one that she simply couldn't unravel.

She spent far too much of her time looking for him; her well-concealed late night sojourns had never turned him up. Now, it was nearly autumn, and still, he was gone. Someone had spread rumors that he was again gracing the Tower halls with his indolent, insolent grace, but they looked to be more lies…but lies that made her heart race wildly in her chest.

Overcome with a sudden longing to forget a man who trailed a history of more lovers than there were stars in the sky, or so it seemed, Oenone turned her back on the White Tower, where her feet had been obediently carrying her to a bed she did not yet want. She chose instead the path between the Yards and the Water Garden, her slippers moving silently through the browning grass of late summer. The small breeze that stirred her hair and her white Novice dress was all that saved Tar Valon from being unbearably sticky and warm, and the trees to either side of her cut the breeze down to a occasional gusting puff.

She could taste lightning on the air, the kind that came with still heat, and knew that tonight, in the wagons, there would be exclamations at the beauty of the Creator's work. The thoughts hastened her feet. As she passed the Yards, the clacking died away, and her ears strained for the first notes of a merry melody. Unconsciously, she held her breath, letting it out slowly as her ears pinpointed a direction for her. She was careful not to be seen, mindful of the contrast of white and night; yet, she hurried. She would watch a short while, then return, none the wiser, to the Tower. Perhaps a few moments' worth of the fires of home would allow her to tend the Tower's fires with a lighter heart. Tuatha'an were not meant to be separated from the Wagons, but Oenone was here, caught forever.

Dark forest path gave way to a thin stand of fir and pine, scenting the air with their cleanness. Hanging in the air, as well, was the incense that the Tuatha'an women burnt to scent the camp, and the leftover aroma of dinner. Oenone's mouth watered; the Tuatha'an ate no meat, and her meals had been plain indeed for the most of a year she'd spent in the Tower. She usually made do with bread and cheese, or porridge, and both dishes had become tiresome to tastes accustomed to spicy vegetable stews, different at each fire each night. She parted the low branches, hanging well back to camouflage her slender, white-clad form from any eyes that might be peering her way.

She drank in the sight of home the way a starving man eats at a banquet; drank it in the way a fish drinks water to breathe. She'd come to the rear of the wagons, where laundry flapped amicably in the suddenly refreshed breeze. The soft sounds it made, snapping in the wind, did not detract from the lilting, high melody, nor the leaping flames sending sparks up to dance and die in the breeze. She slipped out of the trees, enchanted, and crept to the corner of a tall chartreuse wagon with yellow wheels to watch more closely. Her eyes flickered back to the silvery spire, reflecting the pale gold of the moon, and she considered leaving. Bright laughter and the jangle of bells kept her in her place.

She could not see the dancers, only their feet, and she longed to join them. Standing, she unbuttoned her Novice dress, and removed a blue skirt from the line. She fastened it over her shift, then pulled on a loose brown shawl. Neither were hers, but it was the Way to share, and she would not wear either long. Just the one dance…just the one dance under the Entwined, to ask their silent, frozen forgiveness for the trespass of telling their tale on paper, indoors, when she knew it was meant to be told in dance, around a campfire. Barefoot and silent as her sisters, she crept from her hiding place, and joined the women around the fire.

She was too eager, at first, to claim her birthright and her womanhood, to dance as carefreely as the other girls. Her skirts swayed, her hips shook, her arms waved with the rest, over the shuffling steps. She opened her shawl, soon tossing it in the grass with the half dozen others as the elder women intervened, teaching the steps, although none of them had been very bad at it. There was a loving amusement tinting the air as elder woman after elder woman joined the younger, and someone found a drum. Slow, steady beats, mimicking a heart, and the girls danced, attempting to prove to their mothers and elders that truly, they did know the dance. Innocent laughter rung out many times, and Oenone was among the giggling gaggle.

Something, though, prevented her from simply merging into the group, becoming the girl whom she might have been had she not channeled. She would begin to feel the music, begin to enjoy the dancing without self-consciousness, and the feeling of eyes on her skin would return. After awhile, as if her dolor infected the group, the girls fell away, falling into a soft huddle in the grass. From them, Oenone heard the beginning of the tale she'd scribed herself, earlier that day…the tale written in the stars, of a love that could not die, and lovers who had found an eternity together. Although she loved the tale, her attention was not on it-it was fastened high above herself, at the two entwined stars underneath the pale, cold moon.

Oenone

Moonless Night

Were they always lovers? No, they were once the bitterest of rivals…she fought him as he fought her. Neither gave the other a moment's peace, until they discovered that they had something in common. They each had a blazing passion for the nights where the moon hung full and golden, nights like this one. She loved to dance under the gilded beams and he…he loved to watch. He would secret himself away, and always, she would come. The more often the moon shone gold, the less he could bring himself to contest with her, and the less anger dwelt in his heart…soon, she was all he thought of, but still, she contested with him. And the moon saw this, and felt remorse for the nights in which the girl danced, and drew his attention, so she resolved not to show her face another night…

And the lack of the beloved moon caused the dancing in the wagons to stop, for there was no reason to rejoice at night…

She heard the tale begin to reach its familiar meter and tone, somewhat mournful, as her dark eyes scoured the sky. The moon was bright, this night, making the tale seem all the more plangent, and unreal. Perhaps it never had happened. Perhaps the Way was only a dream, and mar'ailen'shiar merely men and women. Perhaps now was her time to awaken from this slumber, and live as the Tower decreed. Now might be her time to say goodbye to the past, to the future she'd once embraced, and begin anew…and that would be for the best. She could divorce her hopes from those twin bright stars, and instead, concentrate them on the silvery spire so far below.

What was important to a Tuatha'an woman? Her home, her family, her band. What was important to an Aes Sedai? Her home, as a trainee of the Aes Sedai, was the Tower, vital to her. Her family, the Aes Sedai's, was her sisters, necessary to her well-being and survival in a hostile world. The Aes Sedai did not make families within their band, unless you considered the cliques and the occasional pair of Tower lovers. They were the same things, only divorced of the Way and shown in a starker light. She did not have to like the brightness, but she did have to keep it from blinding her, and leading her astray. She would never be a Tuatha'an woman again, never had been. She would be Aes Sedai. For her, eternity would be a moonless night, a night where the brightness came from the dim constellations of duty, responsibility, and what might have been. They'd be enough light for her to discern a path.

Having decided that, she frowned at the sights around her. The sweet familiarity of the fires was seductive, calling to her, trying to undermine fragile resolve. The tale being spun by the young women around her fell on deaf ears. She picked up her skirts and wandered away, wondering why she had come. In time, she'd have made these same realizations without risking being caught breaking a mandate from the Mother herself. She was a fool. Where had she left her dress? Peering about the camp, she remembered another lost dress, one that had yet to be connected to her…the dress she'd lost the night Akuma had spirited her away. Light, she still didn't understand the man. She still wanted to, but perhaps it was better that he had yet another new lover…it was safer for her shaking will to remain in the Tower.

The girls had finished their tale while she'd considered leaving. One caught her by the arm, her excitement evident. "They're," she said, meaning the elder women, "going to show us all the tiganza." Indeed, there was a great deal of scrambling for shawls, mostly from the younger set, and Oenone joined in, thinking that she might as well learn the dance while she was here. She'd never use it, but it was something that she'd always wanted to know. She could consider herself a woman once she knew it, and that in itself was worth a few moments. She forgot the odd sensation of being watched, stretching lithely in preparation to learn. She found a green shawl on the ground, and tied it around her shoulders, joining the tight bundle of girls around the older women, who were explaining the tiganza.

It was a slower dance than the earlier one, the string dance. That dance got its name from the jerking movements and the increasing speed. This one was infamous for its slowness, the dwindling speed of the movements, the jubilation present in every kick and sway. Men thought this was a dance of sensuality, but they lacked the understanding of the inherent nature of woman. This was never really meant for them to see, or comprehend, but they watched eagerly, letting the mysterious nature of femininity have what meaning it could for them. Oenone understood the core nature of this dance, celebration, but with that knowledge came the understanding that it simply didn't look that way to a man. All they'd see was the progression of swaying limbs and smiles…that was all they could ever hope to understand. A loss, for them.

The dance ended, at long last. One by one, the girls wandered away, arm in arm with men from the other wagons. Marriage wasn't something that was allowed between members of the same band, and finding two or three bands together was not uncommon. All of the other girls looked flushed and giddy from their successful lesson, and she could see budding romance. It was sweet to watch. A shy word there, an answering laugh here, innocent questions. So different from what she'd seen, what she'd felt. She wondered for a moment which way was right, the quiet coquetry of the fires or the more abrupt, strangely deformed version that she'd experienced. That had had neither sweetness or innocence in it, only his need and her ignorance. To her shame, she thought that he might still have a claim on her heart.

High above her, from behind lacy clouds, the moon smirked down at her, laughing at her secret shame. She passed her pale face behind a rising thunderhead, grey and malevolent, and the world turned from etched in moonlight to shadowed and dark, like her heart. The quiet chatter stopped, the bud of romance withered...

Gathering Shadows

In the darkness that overcame the Wagons, instead of the moon, a great cry was formed, and it reverberated from the broken hearts of the People. The moon heard, but she kept to her word. She knew in her heart that her face would only compound the young man's broken heart. Disheartened, she stayed far from her People, something she had never done before. Without her light, the girl sickened, pining for those nights where her beams had bathed the forests, and shed light for the dancing. The nights were too dark now to put fingers to guitar, too dark to risk a broken bone. The People grew dispirited. The camps were silent.

And with one voice, they cried unto the Moon, "Come back to us, and do not forsake us to go by night without your benevolence! We need you…"

There was no reply…not that night, and not many more. Sickness overcame the People, and the fires burned high to stave off the cold of her rejection. Longing words were on every pair of lips, and no longer were there songs, except of grief and betrayal. Sorrow cloaked the People and stole their bright armor away, leaving them to wander aimless, appearing less than they were. Perhaps the moon might have stayed away forever, then, but for a whispered word, in the gathering night's blue shadowed world.

"Love."

Oenone watched the shadows around the campfire dissolve into the night, leaving only her own slender form to feed sticks into the blaze. It was growing late, but she could not make herself leave. There was reason to-she was expected in the Tower, and likely, by now, the Accepted monitor had alerted every Mistress of Novices she could wake. Oenone knew that that would bode badly indeed for her, tomorrow morning, but it wasn't morning yet, and she…she wanted to stay in the night forever. Her eyes lifted to the moon, still hidden behind her lacy veil of thunderclouds, and fell, to the two pinpoints, so close they appeared to be part of each other.

There was really nothing left here for her; she was simply another outsider, welcomed for her brief stay but only on the outside. She stood, brushing grass off the borrowed skirt, and picked her path back to the tall chartreuse wagon that she'd doffed her dress behind. Pinning the skirt back up, with the borrowed shawl beside it, she hesitated in the moonless darkness. The feeling of eyes was far more apparent, here, and it was rather frightening in its intensity. She covered her exposed bosom with her arm, and tilted her head up, looking in the trees. She did not doubt that there were eyes somewhere, fastened on her.

Bending, she rummaged in the grass for her dress, her eyes not leaving the leafy canopy overhead. She didn't see anything, or anyone, but…Quickly drawing her dress over her head, she doubled her arms behind her and began to fasten the tiny buttons. Something about this night did not seem well, and she did not want to be out in it a moment longer. Scrubbing her damp palms on the white linen, she frowned, trying to remember the way she'd taken to get here from the Tower. She thought she'd come out over by the red wagon, so, quietly, she headed that way, keeping her eyes on her path.

As she passed out of the camp, the strange feeling of being watched receded. It had been disquieting, to say the least, and she was happy to feel it go. It did not return as she took the broad path from the heartsflame trees. The path ahead forked abruptly, and she hugged herself a moment, considering which fork her memory said she'd arrived on. Without the bright moon, it was difficult to see footprints, especially slippered ones. She set a branch facing the path she finally chose, and set off to see if it was the one she remembered. After a few forks and changes, she still wasn't certain. Forcing her heart to stay light in her chest, she stole on, wondering how far the Ogier grove could extend. Surely, the way back to the Tower had to be somewhere in sight.

To keep herself from worrying, she let her voice follow the familiar tune implanted in her memory. Humming softly, she turned around, meaning to follow her path back to the first forking, and try the other path. She should have done it much earlier. It was impossible to get lost if you knew your way through woods, and Oenone had been born Tuatha'an. She doubted fully trained Gaidin had her skill at woodscraft. What man, reeking of steel and death, could creep up to a rabbit warren and watch the inhabitants at play? What Gaidin could possess patience enough to coax wild birds from their nests? Oenone could. She had, as a child, and enjoyed it immensely.

Her path only became more entangled. Her branches were not at any forking she found her way to, causing panic to thump its way back into her heart. She thought that she recognized the clump of yarrow under the thick, gnarled bole of a cypress, but she couldn't be sure - how many clusters just like that had she seen? Perhaps she was in over her head. She was lost, and she had to admit it, bitter as it tasted. Almost now, she wished someone were watching, just so she could beg them to show her the way she'd come.

"Who?" came the cry from behind her. Oenone startled, turning around, eyes hunting through the thick canopy, but the cry was from an owl, her silvery-white wings wide as she glided across the dark sky.

"Anyone," Oenone answered, knowing her foolishness. "I'd be happy to see anyone, right this instant."

Night Chorus

Love, with its own light, drew the moon back to the wagons. Night by night, she grew larger, as the bitter rivals resolved their quarrels, and grew closer. On the night that the moon grew large enough to again hear the voices of her people, and cast light for the dancing, there was great revelry in the camp. A wedding...a union, a new beginning.

The camp itself was not so overjoyed. For even as the wedding fires cast great shadows into the trees, the trees sighed in sorrow, and the wind sung mounrnful tunes. She, who had once danced, could no longer even walk, and he, who had once boasted of speaking to the moon, had no voice from mourning. The moon had heard his cry, but she came too late...

But no-one, but no-one, croaked the frogs, from their faraway pond. is-yours... sang the cicadas in descant. "Who?" came again from the soaring owl, mockingly. Oenone whirled, stung by nature's cruel rebuff. "I know I'm alone," she sighed, drawing her arms back under her light cloak. "I know I am." Not even that admission stopped the taunting night chorus. It sang on, reminding her with every repetition.

She was alone. All the summer long, not a promised note had come. One night, one day, and Akuma had never called for her again. She supposed she should be grateful, but it ached in her. Had she been some kind of toy? Was she meant for nothing more than a single use, then disposal? She could not speak of what they had done, and, with no one to share her heart's burden with, it had grown heavier. Not even the gaiety of home had lightened it long. Already, sorrow had crept back to roost in her hair, humming its mournful tune in her ears. She tried not to listen, but it knew just which chords to draw her attention with, and awaken the pain in her heart.

The high, lacy clouds had completely obscured the moon now, and the twinned stars she had been using for guidance. Even that aid in navigation was gone. She was properly lost, and it looked as if Tar Valon were due for a summer rain. Surrendering to melancholy, she soldiered on, taking paths at random. Sometimes, she turned back quickly, feeling as she did again the eyes on her, but she never surprised a surreptitious spy. It seemed, after a few such startles and spooks, that the trees themselves watched.

She had no idea where in the Grove she was when she finally found a clearing. Dropping to her bottom, she glared up at the blank canvas of the sky, and peopled it with stars. Their twinkle was only imaginary, and it did nothing for her. The wind had risen and grown stiffer, signalling the rainstorm about to begin, and she couldn't even find shelter from that. She wasn't helpless, but it seemed that getting out of this accursed Grove was hopeless, and not even the serenity of the trees touched the restless anger in her spirit.

Soft rustles from behind her sounded, almost as if someone were deliberately shaking the bushes. Too angry to care, and too tired to investigate, she gazed upwards, remembering bitterly that this was how it had all begun...and it would be like Akuma to come now. Even though she was fiercely angry with him, her heart still gave a shudder in her chest as she thought on him. He confused her so, and she didn't know what it meant. Another soft sound came, a snap of foot on twig, then the whisper of boot in dried leaves. She looked about at last, and although she did not know where he was, she knew who it was.

"So, have you come back to me at last? Do you know how many moons I've spent waiting for you, Akuma? The roses are all dying now, and you came not once. Or do promises mean nothing to you?"

With a most irritated groan, Akuma sat up in his bed, shaking out spikes of golden brown hair, before swinging his legs over the side of his bed. Lately, sleep had failed him, and however much he enjoyed the darkness, the midnight, and just utter silence, he did need his sleep, slowly things were changing so that he could not get it during the day. He straightened, raising muscled extremities over his head as he stretched, a yawn escaping his tiers. With little else to do but try and sleep again and take a walk, Akuma dressed.

And as he did, pulling on a careless choice of matching trousers and tunic, he contemplated his choices of walking. Oddly enough, Ingrid was the first who came to his mind, but then, recalling exactly how she was changed his mind. She was most likely not in her room, if she had her way. And, most of the time, the fellow Darkfriend did. A wry chuckle, shaking his head as he pulled on one of his boots. He considered still, his options and thought of Oenone, then. He had written her, as often as he swore, but he'd received nothing in return.

Something told him that things were amiss, it didn't seem right that Oni would not reply much less acknowledge his letters. He told her he would write and thus he did. Was it his fault that they must not have reached her? It most likely was in her view. He sighed, wishing then that he knew exactly where she was then, so he could solve that problem, but a shake of his head and a firm stamp of his foot confined within his boot, before he emerged from his room, all silence and deathly grace.

He recalled quite vividly where they had met last, and while he had made several attempts at meeting with her, he thought their schedule's were a bit...off. Akuma knew Oenone would not be too happy, so on his way, he made a small stop, and gathered a few stem roses. He doubted that would help much, but it was as much a reminder to him as to her. Neither would forget, he knew for sure, and he would make Oenone remember. Aimlessly, he let his feet guide him, it was near habitual now, his trips back and forth from the Grove, which Akuma thought, had been closed off or something? The Darkfriend cared little for White Tower news and business when he did not have to.

He'd left his scythe in his room, but at his stop he'd picked up his staff, which was basically the former weapon just without the double blades. He held it in one hand, its length stretched across the underside of his arm, against his side. He moved along, furtively but without care, the night was alive with noises. Let the ones he made simply blend in. He must have been, however, louder than expected because as he emerged into the clearing, already currently occupied, he was greeted, if heatedly, but Oenone.

"You are harsh to someone who is not at fault, Oni. I've waited as long as you." He moved over, digits furling tightly over cloth wrapped stave as he moved to her side, peering down at her. "Not all of them," he murmured quietly, crouching to open her palm and press the thornless stems of the roses into her hand, before straightening and taking a seat under a nearby tree. "Promises mean a lot to me, Oni." He lied, figuring that was what she wanted to hear. Her greeting had not pleased him, and so Janus had been roused.

"But as I had said, I did write you. I gave them to that novice friend of yours," he flicked his wrist, canting his head upwards trying to recall a name of sorts, but failing to do so. Shrugging he pointed out that he was not at fault, and searching his pocket pulled from its depths a letter he'd meant to send, for proof of his innocence in this supposed crime. He

proffered it to her, neither rising to meet the alter and set it down on the grass, sighing barely.

"There might have been a mistake on my part, but I cannot say really..."

Forgivenesses

"Novice friend?" she wondered aloud. "I...I'll ask her for them." It was pointless to admit that she had none, that he'd likely only fueled a fire that already burned bright enough on hate. She was Tuatha'an-no, to them, she was a Tinker, and she was simply something less than human. Most of the Novices would rather talk to empty air than she, and a great many avoided her altogether. She puzzled over which group of laughing girls was reading notes meant for her, and wondered why her nocturnal ramblings had never been ceased. Someone out there had to know, but why had they not acted? What did they gain by waiting?

She twisted the roses in her hand, feeling slick damp smoothness where thorns had been pulled away. This strange attention to a tiny detail touched her; that, and the number. Five, one for every full moon he'd been away, plus once for each of the two times he'd been her lover. Had he picked a random number, or was he attempting to show her emotion? It was difficult to tell...this was not what she'd been brought up to expect.

He dropped the note on the grass before she'd a chance to come and take it from him. She was tired, and her moves were slow. Sleep had been hard to come by of late, especially with the rising sense of dread evident throughout the Novice halls of late. Something was coming, and it was a rare night that Novices did not stir in their sleep. Oenone herself didn't have a roommate, for no one who'd been in the halls for more than a week would stay in the same room as a "thieving Tinker," although Oenone had yet to be caught with anything not rightfully hers.

She plucked the letter out of the grass, wrapping it around the stems in her fist, and kept her position, almost close enough to touch him. It had been months, and she did miss him...forgiveness was a Wagon mandate, although she didn't feel very much of the Way this night. The Way seemed thin, an excuse for hiding in cowardice. Part of her was attatched to it, the peace and serenity of the Way, and part of her floated free, cynicism its shield and curiosity its questing sword. She set roses and letter down together, and crept closer, smelling crushed grass under her knees.

Forgive him or leave? She couldn't deny him anything...not that he'd asked for anything, aloud. He shifted, straightening long legs, and with a sigh, she clambered into his lap. In the moonless night, by only the pale light of the stars, he looked older, and more worn, than she remembered. Something had aged him, a little, and carved another line into his face. Her hand formed a fist, then, she extended her thumb, running the pad of her finger along the tattoo under his eye.

Drawing back, she watched his reaction-none that she could see-unblinkingly. This close, she could see tiny details she'd nearly forgotten, in the moons he'd been away. The depth of the vivid emerald of his eyes, the color of his skin around the vivid cerulean of ink. The way his lips curved. The feel of his skin against hers, and his fingers in her hair...when had she bridged the distance and kissed him? She certainly was kissing him now. He didn't seem to mind. He didn't push her away, so she deepened the kiss, longing for reaction.

She broke it at long last, when her skin began to feel too tight and her heart was racing along under the prim neck of her dress. "Where were you, gone so long? Or can you not say? And why are you in the woods?"

Akuma Deathscythe

By the Moon

"I can say," Akuma reassured, nodding as he trailed his fingers along her cheeks as she turned slightly under his touch, and danced fingers along her throat. "If only a little," came the alteration to his admission, an he gave a sheepish grin. "I had to aid a Sei'Tar in a task up in Shienar that required being done." A grin in recollection of the exact events that had occured with Ingrid...

He returned from his memories to glance at Oenone and, with a laugh he pulled her close, somewhere inside, touched by her concern, if careless as it might have been. Idly, Akuma watched the slight tension in his tattooed arm as he brought her close, muscles responding to the mental command, but lost his amusement in his anatomy, interested in anothers. "Why am I in the woods?" He repeated in an amused tone, lifting his gaze to peer about him. "Is that where I am?" He laughed shaking his head. "I could ask you the same thing, Oni dear.."

She seemed prepared to answer and he stilled her lips with another kiss. "I am in the woods because there is no other place to go. Gaidin or not, people on the Training grounds is not approved of. I would have walked the Tower, but that loses its charm after so long. And in the woods, well, it is quiet and peaceful." He freed his painted appendage to rub sheepishly at the back of his head, and roll his shoulders in unison. "And your excuse, my precious little Oni?"

"...I," was all she admitted from her lips of her carefully worded excuse, before he parted them roughly with his tongue. She restrained her response, keeping it far more subdued than her body or her heart demanded. She'd been going to lie, tell him she had every right to be here, but she knew he knew better. And, obviously, Akuma didn't care. If he cared a whit about the rules of the Tower, his lips would not be against hers, nor would his tongue be somewhere behind her teeth.

She stopped restraining her response. His hands moved lazily over her body, awakening feelings that she'd forgotten. When he pulled away, he left her dizzy, and breathless. Something else she'd missed, in the long moons he'd been gone... Her heart beat double-time under her breasts, against his fingers. His hands moved, falling away from her entirely, as if he expected her to stay without being held. And part of her wanted to stay, even knowing that she didn't mean anything to him. Part of her argued that it simply couldn't be true. He'd made love to her, held her close...surely he had to care.

"Quiet and peaceful?" she murmured, ignoring his question. "Do you really need to know why I am out here? Is it not enough that I'm here at all?" She raised an eyebrow. "If you must know...I wanted to see the wagons. You missed the dancing." Her voice took on a low, caressing note. "Funny," she said, her husky tone suddenly bitter, "I would have thought to see you anywhere where...perhaps one of your other lovers showed it to you, and you find it boring, now?"

He didn't react to her barb, didn't rise to the bait. Angrily, she stood, noting that he didn't try to restrain her. Didn't he know? Didn't he care? She supposed that was the real question...didn't he care? She turned away from him, wondering what it was about him that brought out the worst in her. Jealousy, anger, hatred...and something fiercely possessive, beating its dark wings where she had once had serenity and self-assurance. The emotions he inspired in her were a quagmire, and she could not stop herself from being sucked further in.

She came back, brain berating her heart for its capitulation. Creeping under his tattooed arm, she pressed herself against him, stretching toward his mouth. He didn't stop her from seizing his lips. Why would it? She knew it was all he wanted, and she would give it to him, eagerly...even though she'd weep later, when he had gone on, and left her alone. For these few moments, he was all hers, and she revelled in them. Tomorrow, he'd belong to another woman, but tonight, he was hers...unless he had changed.

Akuma Deathscythe

Dances

When Oenone's lips seized his, Akuma's hands found their routine stations easily, bringing her close, drawing her nearer. He could taste her, feel her, smell her, everything at once and it was quite a heady combination. Her breathing faltered, the first sign of the length of their kiss. Ruefully, Akuma applied pressure to her hips, easing their lips apart when it was

obvious how much of Oenone's breath he was stealing.

She sagged against him, nestling against his chest and he let a most contented sigh part those tiers, looking down at the small form he held in his arms. It was a pity, really, that she would be as innocent as he wanted her to be. And too bad, that his dark little secret threatened anything they might have had. Since leaving for Shienar, he'd kept loyal to the little girl. Even with temptations from Agrias, he'd meant to prove to Oenone he could be a faithful as he wanted. When he wanted.

"I've never taken a Tuatha'an lover," he said carefully, figuring she already knew more than he thought was rumored about him. An inner shrug as well as an amused grin. Figures. "But I have been tempted by these wagons of yours," a firm, emphatic nod, golden brown spikes swaying lightly. "This, supposed dancing, you wouldn't indulge me, would you Oni?"

Inherent Magic

She settled against his chest, fingers already busily pulling at the buttons on his shirt as he released her from her own kiss. He'd taken over, but she had ceded command gratefully, revelling in the ease with which he inspired a reaction in her. Already, her breath was coming quickly, and she could feel a delicious warmth spreading in her limbs. She tugged his shirt out of his breeches impatiently, tired of fumbling with the wooden buttons. Under the silky linen, his skin was warm, reflecting its gilded shade, and smooth.

How long had it been since anyone had touched her? Other than the slams and pushes of Novice life, no one had touched her since him. She reclined forward, feeling the warmth of his bared skin through her dress. His arms were around her tightly, holding her to him; she could almost swear he cared for her. She wanted to believe he did; why was she so cynical? She had no proof he'd done what he'd done with her with every woman in his history, and obviously, he had to have some chivalry...he had gone to help in Shienar. Truly, he was decent. She really didn't have anything cement to hold against him, and it could simply be that he didn't know what the emotions he had were...Anger dissolving, she ran her finger along the bridge of his nose.

"Never?" she murmured, her head on his shoulder, her voice and her breath together going into his ear. She felt his deep reflexive shudder under her, a great quaking that made her laugh, even as desire wormed its way into her. "What am I, then?" She drew back, raising a dark eyebrow, and was met with an answering quirk of his. Not yet done being taken aback by his idle talk, she considered his next request. Dance for him? She had thought she might, earlier in the summer, and had wanted him there as she had danced. She could...she would. Why not?

However, she didn't have to seem as eager as she was. "Would I," she asked, drawling the pronoun and moving her hips to either side of his, "indulge you." Her dark eyes considered his a moment, a tiny, amused smile at the corner of her mouth. She rolled her hips forward ever so slightly, and smiled at his reaction. Already, he wanted her...what would the tiganza do? Like a child with a sword, she wanted to draw blood, unheeding of the price that would come with the power she wielded. She didn't heed it and she didn't care, even knowing it.

"There's no fire, there's no music, and there's only me." she murmured, lips a bare fraction from his, her breath drying them as quickly as he could moisten them. "It will be a poor rendition, I'm afraid...but yes, I'll show you. You should have come earlier..." Her voice held a note of nostalgia. "But then, perhaps, you'd not be with me." Her hand cupped his chin, immobilizing it unless he pulled it away. Another finger traced the curve of his bottom lip, and she planted another moist kiss there before standing.

He did not react as she dropped her Novice dress into his lap, nor when she spun in a slow circle, peering up at the sky. "It is too tight in all the wrong places," she said, "and too warm." The night air was cool on her skin, and the breeze blew in her hair. She would prefer to dance unclothed-even the shift was cut wrong for what she was going to do, but indecency and sensuality were two different things.

Closing her eyes, she sought her blood for the native rhythm of this dance, trying to remember tiny nuances that she had only just learned. At least the hidden moon would conceal the worst of her flubs...and her memory was fresh. Nervousness ate at her, as she played the music in her memory. How did it begin? A shuffling sidestep, a wave of the arm, a roll of the hip. An arched neck, a bared throat, swaying arms.

She was nervous through the first tentative shuffles, uncomfortable until she lost her shoes somewhere in the high grass. Barefoot, she glided her toes through the soil, and her hands through the sky. Every so often, as the dance dictated, she would turn, or kick, or simply sway. At first, her movements were wooden, self-conscious, but soon, the remembered music and the surreality of what she was doing conspired, and she danced without care or concern, feet guided by another force and body swayed by the inherent magic of a moonless night.

She would have danced forever, feet going eternally ever faster, but for Akuma. She had been dancing closely, no longer caring what he saw, or how, and he had sprawled under the tree they'd been leaning against. She tripped on his outstretched feet, doing nothing but knocking the air from her lungs, and stunning herself. She came back to herself slowly, wondering about the moist warmth that suffused her shoulder, then her mouth. Reacting to his hunger with a fierceness of her own, she drew him to her, arms sliding around his shoulders as her lips fastened on his.

"Akuma," she breathed, as he pulled at her clothing and she at his. "Akuma, I do not care if you cannot say you love me and mean it..." Her kisses became desperate as he moved into her, strongly, but didn't speak. "Say it anyway, for I love you, Akuma, I love you."

Akuma

The Light in the Darkness

Akuma would have been content to watch Oenone's seductive dance for hours on end and however much a beginner she claimed at being, she was quite the incarnate of desire as she danced for him alone. Nevertheless, it would reach an end and he would be to blame as much as she but as to whether the cessation of her enticing twirling was for the better, it wasn't. Thanks to his sprawling position beneath the tree she would trip over his outstretched legs, pitching her forwards and atop him. She landed awkwardly and he caught her as much as he could; yet the loss of breath and control was there and Akuma pressed his advantage.

He did not fight the possessiveness of her arms and lips. Why would he when he wished to posses her body equally as much? His pale linen shirt, which lay open and undone, parted earlier by Oenone's eager and skilled fingers was Oenone's first focus, for a short amount of time. Akuma reciprocated as hungrily as she, his own practiced digits impatiently pulling at what remained of her thin clothing. A distant thought formed by the alter side of Janus made him pleased that he had decided to visit the grove, and because of his circling thoughts Akuma missed, not fully but most of, Oenone's breathless request and wish.

The dawning realization was slow but when it did sink in completely, Akuma's roving hands paused, stilled by her words. Why was the girl so intent on hearing those words? Akuma did not understand what she could possibly see in him. He attempted to ignore it at first; pressing himself against her as a straying hand found one of the roses he'd given her as a gift. Akuma pulled the silky petals across her delectable and bared skin from throat to abdomen, scattering moist kisses in the wake of the rosebud. And while his actions might have stilled her murmurs and words for a time, he heard still, the desperate and faint plea repeated again.

He knew he could not deny her what she craved, because doing so would be eliminate the majority of his reason for being there. And she had said so herself, that it was not necessary he mean the words. But what he didn't comprehend inside himself was his reluctance to utter the answering expression he had given time again to every woman before Oenone. Perhaps it was because he might truly feel for the girl? That was from Janus, but it was nonsense just the same and Akuma could not disagree fully either. Akuma

knew what he wanted, but so did Oenone and thus his decision. She wanted to hear them so? Fine. Great Lord, help him so that they both made it through this. Bloody hell. "Oh Oni," he sighed, looking down at her. She waited.

"I love you too.." Relief found Oenone and worry flared in Akuma. Emotions soared through him, mainly on account of Janus, who threatened to double him over with laughter, but Akuma easily shut that off. What scared him was the seemingly inevitable thought forming in his mind, Great Lord of the Dark, but I think I just might.

Oenone sa'Akuma

Three Small Words

Perhaps this was his way of saying he loved her, this incessant stroking, the play of his warm hands on her coolling skin. The summer night was not cold, but the ground beneath them was exhaling the last of its warmth in return for dew, and she was bathed liberally in that moisture as well as the light breeze that saved Tar Valon from being unbearably sticky. The combination made her shiver, even under him, where he had laid her at last, pressed against his smooth warmth. He did not stop from his manic explorations, and she wondered, tilting her head up at the moonless sky, what that meant.

Perhaps it meant that she needed to learn to express her emotions in the same way, but...her hands, once eager in their explorations of his increasing nudity, ceased, then stopped entirely. It was not that it did not feel good to touch him, but that it no longer felt right. She wasn't quite certain what to do, or how one continued, when she improperly desired a man who bore no love for her. As if he, too, sensed the inherent dilemma of their relationship as something indecent, something that would forever be unbalanced, his hands paused, too, in their rhythmic play.

Simply because he didn't say it, he did not love her? She considered that as his kisses moved daringly low, causing her to react in ways she was no longer sure of. If she'd kept her mouth closed, she could pretend he loved her, but the words had come out, and she knew he had heard them. After all, he had paused, and although she had not seen into his eyes, those deeply feral emerald eyes that he kept downcast, even now, she knew that he was ignoring her plea. That he would not even lie, simply say the words with none of the emotion, twisted in her heart, and removed the blossoming acceptance and esteem his caresses had instilled in her.

He cast the rose aside, its crimson head losing its petals in a shower of fragrant cerise tears. She knew that he had succeeded in forgetting her desire to hear those three simple words, and from the way he pressed against her, body taut and eager, he was willing now to simply forge ahead, creating a connection between the two of them sanctified by nothing except his need and her foolishness. The first time had been a mistake, yes, and the second, serendipitous fate. This third time would be indecent, wrong...it had all hinged on his simple utterance of three words, three syllables, that would make everything right again.

"Akuma, I love you," she whispered, again, her heart beating rapidly in her chest. She wouldn't deny him, but neither could she keep to her morals and participate with his abandon. He could lose himself in her depths, but she could not find fulfillment in him. Not without something to sanctify what they did. He might not love anyone but himself, but he could care for her, enough to lie...

She lay under him, knowing that she'd made the same mistake again, demanded something that simply wasn't there. Why had she not asked for something simpler? Friendship, understanding, his bond, anything...anything but his heart. His hand left the curve of her hip, where he had been slowly tracing the contour of the bone there, and slid into her hair. "Oh, Oni," he sighed, and she quailed. Yes, she knew she'd ruined what he wanted - the semblance of affection without its entangling emotions, emotions she already fought. They whispered at her to do what her mind knew was wrong, and to simply cherish what little of himself he knew how to give, while her mind demanded more.

He provided it, his emerald eyes sincere. She did not know if he were merely a good liar, well versed in seduction, or if he meant it. And it didn't matter. She had heard it from his lips, and could believe it. She'd promised that she would, and knowing that she had also formulated the escape that he was likely using did not ease the relief that coursed in her. Tears stung her eyes as her hands slid slowly down his body, tracing plains and curves with tender caresses.

"Akuma," she whispered, as he followed her impatient guidance, moving in her at last, cradling her against him, "thank you, love..."

Akuma Deathscythe

Thank You's

Akuma could not help but smile as he witnessed the visible change Oenone underwent as she heard his admittance of those words she had desired so. He shook his head softly, keeping his impatience reined as she slowly ran her hands along his arms. He noticed the tears abusing her darkening cheek and with a soft tsk, lowered his mouth onto the little trickle of saline. "Don't cry Oni," he said lightly, repeating the same procedure on her other cheek. Not for me.

Another, if more confused smile ghosted across Akuma's features, as she whispered quietly to him, a thank you. He nodded slowly, not fully comprehending why she would do such a thing, but at least, under his scrutiny, the tears had stopped. "Sssh," Akuma whispered in return quietly, hooking an arm beneath her arched back. "Your time now," and that smile deepened as he closed his mouth over hers, joining their bodies together.

Sometime later, when Akuma-Oenone as well- were sated and resting now, he lifted his head from her shoulder, his arms still sustaining his weight with a practiced grace. Stars still glittered in the sky overhead but it was no longer as dark as it once had been. Oenone's chest rose and fell in a deep pattern, her eyes were closed, but just the barest hint of a smile curled her lips. He knew his own smile resembled hers and gently brushed them against hers again.

"Oni," he let the kisses wander, pressing a warm one against her throat, "Oni, I need to get you home." He laughed softly, when she shifted, murmuring what sounded like refusal but made himself rise to dress them both. Oenone was less that cooperative, so he again dressed her in his garments, pulling on only his trousers. He straightened with an armful of Oenone and her clothing, and exited the grove.

Akuma was near capable of walking the Tower grounds in his sleep and thus able to find a route without protection that would place both he and the girl in his room. She had roused little since he had lifted her into his arms and the moment he set her onto his bed she seemed fully aware. Settling down beside her, he assured her everything was well, and leaned her back onto the mattress. "Goodnight..."

Oenone sa'Akuma

A Show of Gratitude

His soft plea for her silence was not what she'd expected to hear, but it was not unwelcome. His hands slid into her dark hair as hers rested on his hips, feeling the slight adjustments he made to align their bodies into a single unified whole. She liked the feeling of his skin, so smooth and muscular, under her palms, and wondered what he thought of the hair that his

fingers were clenched in while his mouth devoured hers. Did he like having the long strands around his fists? He seemed to.

He moved in her smoothly, despite her inexperience; his body guided hers and she followed him eagerly. She found pleasure in it, where she had not before, and did not restrain her small cries, although the night seemed to swallow them without a second thought. It seemed that it was all over far too quickly, and their bodies separate. She felt a fleeting sorrow at the loss of him, feeling profoundly empty in a more primal sense than she had had before. He was still close, though, his head on her shoulder, ear cool against the warm flush of her skin.

She felt comforted, although it was she who held him closely, and not he, her. Her mind darkened responsively, responding to his proximity, and her eyes closed. Since he had spoken, whether he had lied or spoken sincerely, she had not allowed herself to doubt what she'd heard. She believed he loved her, and was content with that. As her mind tumbled towards sleep, she felt the barest brush of lips on hers, and thought herself blessed indeed. A space for a single soft sigh, then blackness claimed her.

Or, so she wished. Her gritty mind registered damp warmth at her earlobe, then at her neck, and into the hollow of her throat. She opened an eye, then attempted to move out of his grasp. Sleep felt so good. "I don't want to," she murmured, looking again for the warmth of his tawny body.

It was nowhere to be found, and the grass swiftly cooling; she shivered, and felt something slip over her arms. Then, his arm pressed fabric against her back and under her bottom, and they were moving. Her hair dangled free, tickling his long legs. She heard more than one curse while they traveled, but sleep was happy to claim her, and her awareness was thin.

She did not come awake until some other sense recognized the sensation of feathers against her spine, and then, she only woke enough to discard his borrowed clothing and push the bundle off the bed. She thought she heard a laugh at that, but did not care; her whispered "Goodnight, my love," was all she had time for before sleep, and Akuma, folded her into their respective arms.

Oenone sa'Akuma

MRP(end): Mar'Ailen'Shiar

The moon heard his unspoken plea, and, in his thin dreaming, brought him her infinite sorrow. Within her sorrow was hope, if he had but faith. It was not the Moon's province to heal, nor could she turn back time, but she could offer him a new existence, a new hope, and her, as well. Her instructions were few, but explicit, and he was not lax in carrying them out. So certain was he of his faith...

The next night of the full moon, he carried his love to the place where she had once danced, and he waited, never doubting that the moon, in her infinite mercy, would come, and bring the promised deliverance. It was not a warm night, and his love cried out often in her pain, making him weep. As his tears wet the grass, he found himself doubting, and could not shed the dread sensation. It ate at him, turning his eyes from the brilliance. And so it was that he missed his miracle.

For many years, the one, pale star held sway against the moon's dark bosom, waiting in silence, waiting in faith. She never doubted that her lover would come to her, never stopped believing that the Moon was benevolent. After all, had she not taken her twisted prison of a body, and given her this ethereal form, in a place where she could watch her beloved?

He lived on, his eyes riveted on that single star, and the Moon, feeling shame in his weakness. If he had not doubted...would he be in her arms? Would the Moon cradle them both to her? He lay awake at night, and wondered. And then, in his aged state, he found the faith to return to the place where she had once danced, and he asked, he cried onto the moon:

"Oh, merciful one, have you forgotten me?"

And the wind rose, and stroked his hair, and he heard Her voice, and her voice, and together, they whispered, "Never...we have waited all these years to have you come home to us...it was you who forgot us." Cold, scintillating radiance bit into him, as he realized that they were right, and that in his doubt, he had forgotten them. In his fear, he had left them behind. And still, they waited, arms open, for him. He was not worthy, but still, he desired her divine deliverance.

He cried out then that he would never again forsake what he had been offered, and it was then that he knew the rapture of his lover's arms at long last, cradled as he was with her, against the ever-merciful Moon's bosom. And so it is that, all the summer long, you can watch the passion of true love's eternal first embrace. From the bitter winds of thirdmonth to the ice of tenthmonth, their ardor dampens every other light in the firmament of summer night, save Hers, the Moon herself.

Far below the night sky, on a cloudless, moonlit night, a young Tuatha'an woman knelt in the grass, four perfect roses in one hand, with a sheet of unread paper wrapped around them, and a handful of carefully collected cerise petals in the other. When she had every one, tucked away safely in her pouch, she turned her face upwards, and smiled at the moon. Her smile was sweet, tinged with comprehension, and touched with the bittersweet, but no less a smile for all of that. She said not a word, but anyone near her would have heard:

It happened many years ago, it happened yesterday, and the Light send it happens again tomorrow…