A Night of Dancing
"And where are the two of you off to?" came a soft voice.
Kameela started at the sudden words, but Watene did not jerk about, and was not even surprised.
She had known that the sergeant who headed their small escort of Tower Guards sat in a far corner of the common room, waiting and watching. He didn't need much sleep, after all, and he was a watchful sort.
At least around her.
He was her little brother, burn it, and burn the Captain of the Guards back in the Tower for knowing that and for sending him with her when she had been assigned an escort. Like she and Kameela needed one.
Reports had come of a middle-aged farmer beginning to channel, and they were the two Reds sent to investigate. That was enough. Two fully trained sisters had no need for an escort. Light, it was not like they were heading out to battle an army and capture some False Dragon.
The man in question had hung himself in the rafters of his own barn before they even reached him, and they had been unable to determine if he actually had channeled or just had a streak of bad luck. She and Kameela had stopped to enjoy the seasonal festivities in a medium-sized city before heading back home. She cherished the chance to spend some time with Kameela, away from other Reds. One thing she could not understand about her Ajah was its disapproval to festivities of any sort. Especially if it in any way involved dancing.
She and Kameela needed some entertainment, after helping with the desolation in the small settlement – channeling or no, houses and storages had burned to the ground. Kameela, generous as always, had gifted the widow with gold from her own pockets to help her and the children.
And any excuse to dance was good enough for Watene.
But there was Dahlan, who spoke from his corner and interrupted Watene's good mood. He rose and came at them like a shadow out of shadows. He was tall and lithe and had begun to wear his hair in a single tail, tied with a leather cord at the nape of his neck. He looked much older than he had just a year ago; more serious, more weary, and more alive – alive in a feverish, desperate sort of way, a clinging on because he must, not because he wanted to.
"We're Aes Sedai, sergeant," Watene gritted, and raised her chin. "We're not required to inform you of our comings and goings. Besides, you –" She bit her lip and gave a vexed negating twitch of her head, before her tongue ran away with her. There were things she would not tell even Kameela. Her friend Kameela. Kameela couldn't be Black, just couldn't, not if there was any justice left under the Light. Not Kameela.
Kameela just smiled amusedly. She knew of the blood relations between Watene and the young sergeant.
He bowed to them. "Aes Sedai, I am responsible for your safety, and I beg humbly for pardon if I have offended you. I would simply like to know where you are going, so that I might see you safely there and returned."
"We're going dancing," Kameela announced. "You haven't noticed the festivities?" Her eyes sparkled with amusement, looking from Watene to Dahlan, and back again. She had too much patience, did Kameela, and she found amusement in the oddest things.
"I did notice," Dahlan said softly. "I just hoped the two of you had sense enough to keep put."
Watene fought down an urge to slap him. How dared he –!
He was going too far again. He always did. He thought that, just because she had… that, just because he was… he thought he had the right to –
"Anything could happen out there," Dahlan went on calmly. "Some drunk might drag you off into a dark alley, and that wouldn't be the worst of it –"
"We're Aes Sedai," Watene growled at him again. He did flinch back at her tone – or perhaps at the emotions spearing through her mind and out her eyes. "We don't let ourselves be dragged into dark alleys!"
"Of course not, Watene Sedai," he agreed in a consolatory murmur, and bowed again. "Still, it would ease my heart if you let me –"
"You're staying here," Watene broke him off sharply.
"Oh, don't be a grouch, Watene," Kameela smiled. "Sergeant, if it would ease your mind, you may accompany us. But don't wear your uniform. We intend to enjoy ourselves, not announce our livelihood."
He was clad in uniform, so he dipped in another bow. "I will return shortly."
As soon as he was out of sight, Kameela hugged Watene's arm, but her tone was admonishing. "You mustn't be so hard on him, Watene. He means well. And he might have fun, too. He needs that. Look at him! Growing all gaunt. Still, it's amazing to see that he's still alive, still functioning, considering that he was Gentled."
Watene flinched.
Kameela's look was comforting, her arm around Watene's shoulders supportive. Kameela had lost her father to Gentling – he had wasted away in only months. "How long's it been, now?"
"A year," Watene rasped, throat suddenly dry.
Kameela nodded. "I'm sorry to bring it up. It must have been awful."
Awful? Now there was a word, Watene thought.
"Still, you must be glad to see how nicely he's adapted."
Nicely? Oh, he was alive and functioning, but that was about it. He did what he had to, performed his duties for the Tower Guard as well as ever, but… she couldn't help but feel how he faded. More and more clinging on, less and less living. He was her little brother, and even if he got in her hair too often for her liking, Light help her, she had to look after him. But he was slipping away.
Slipping away, and she couldn't figure out what to do about it.
"I don't know how you've done it," Kameela went on amiably. "To make him live on."
"I… took a Yellow's advice." But had it been enough? Sure, he had lasted a year, but…
She did not want to think on this now, Light burn her! She wanted to dance and enjoy the festivities, and leave troubles like the Black Ajah, that bullying hag Rinette, and her fading little brother for later.
But she didn't dare be seen giving him too much attention. He had to remain just her brother, and the fewer who knew even that, the better. And she was Aes Sedai of the Red Ajah. She had little time for any man, brother or no, Gentled or not, her bloody burned bon–
She halted that thought before it began, as if it might scribe itself on her forehead if it was allowed to finish.
If only he could keep out of her way! It did neither of them any good. It flared her temper and got him yelled at. Didn't he have sense to know he needed to keep away from her?
Dahlan came down the stairs, clad much like a shabby blade-for-hire, with his sword at his hip. His grace betrayed him for more than he appeared, but only to a knowing eye. He looked as if he might attract as much trouble as he repelled.
She glared at him. She didn't know what to do with him, and she hated not knowing something.
Why couldn't he have stayed in Tar Valon? He would at least have been safe. Coming with her to hunt men who might be able to channel – the foolery! What if he had gotten himself killed? And now, coming with her to go dancing! His mere presence would effectively block her good mood.
"Let's go," she snapped, taking Kameela's arm and jerking her about. She did not precisely stalk to the exit and out into the streets, but she didn't glide serenely either.
Dahlan followed wordlessly, three precise paces behind them.
Kameela seemed subdued by Watene's mood, and for a while they wafted silent through the crowds of cheering and dancing people. Watene made herself not think about Dahlan, and did her best not to look at him – there was no bloody need, anyway, she could feel him following.
Kameela did glance back often, however, smiling at Dahlan as if at an old friend.
"Light, Watene," Kameela said into her ear, finally, and a smile was back on her face, "he acts as if he's your Warder. The way he's watching out for you."
"He's my little brother," Watene replied, careful to keep her voice neutral. "Aren't brothers supposed to watch out for their sisters?"
"Perhaps they are," Kameela grinned. "Anyway, he's as pretty as you are! May I borrow him later, dance with him?"
Watene felt her smirk – Dahlan hated dancing. He would blush and stumble over his own toes, and it would be a fitting punishment for insisting on coming with her. She heard a small, resigned sigh behind her.
Her bloody little brother knew her too well.
"Of course you may dance with him, Kameela!" she laughed, loud enough for Dahlan to hear.
Her bloody little brother sighed again, but made no objection.
Arm in arm with her friend – for Kameela was her friend, and she would trust her, no matter if she hardly dared trust anyone else in the Tower any longer – she continued down the street. Colours and music and joy swirled around her, people clad in their festive best and children laughing and running, as often getting in someone's way as not. Street vendors called buyers for honey meads, for sugared candies, for bright shawls, festive hats, for pastries and dried fruits, and gleemen and acrobats performed at corners or in the middle of the street, making the crowds pass around them.
She would miss this, once her face grew ageless. Oh, she would still be able to sweep out into the streets on festive days and go dancing, but she knew well that once she had the look of an Aes Sedai, people would not treat her the same. The easy companionship with handsome young strangers would vanish.
But behind her followed Dahlan, wary, unaffected by the mood in the street as a rock was unaffected by the churning river. People gave him a wide berth without even realizing it.
Watene hung on Kameela's arm and suddenly wished to make her brother smile. She bit her lip. When had he last smiled? He used to be so cheerful a youth.
Kameela bought dried figs and shared them with Watene, and with Dahlan, though he only took one, and cautiously sniffed it. Then he made to bow politely –
Kameela caught his shoulders to stop the bow. "Come now, Dahlan! None of that, now. Use your sister's name, for once, and call me Kameela, and don't let me see you bow or scrape your feet again before morning!"
Dahlan blinked at her, and looked uncertainly at Watene.
Watene shrugged uncomfortably – but decided to have a talk with Kameela later. He was a guardsman, after all. Guardsmen bowed, and that was the way of it. Even if he was her… her brother.
They reached an open square where paper lamps in every hung along strings over their heads, lighting the scene, and music played from the fountain in the center. People danced all around, and at once Kameela blinked at Watene and dragged Dahlan into their midst.
Dahlan was most uncomfortable with that.
Watene paused to watch the two, and bought herself some spiced wine. Kameela was near as tall as Dahlan, and they were easy to follow even when the crowd swallowed them. He would stumble the steps, and she would laugh and catch him and go right on as if nothing happened. Watene could see – she could feel – his discomfort fade. His watchfulness never did, though. He kept glancing at her, always right at her – he knew where she was –
A cheerful young fellow in a bright blue jacket took Watene's arm, and with an amateurish flourish of his cloak and a bow, he had dragged her in amidst the dancers. His cheeks were a tad puffed and his breath already smelled of wine when he leaned in to tell her how pretty she was, but he was courteous and danced well.
A handsome man with silver at his temples, in a fine velvet coat, danced with her after the first had been dragged away by his friends. He took her for a lady, asked for her name and house and she gave her name, doubting that he would be pleased to hear that her 'house' had reared swine for five generations, if not longer.
Her third partner was near a head shorter than she. He had feathers and pearls woven into his hair and he made her laugh.
The fourth and fifth were a pair of brothers who bickered good-naturedly with another as they vied for her attention, and she danced with them both, and their friend, and let them buy her wine and sugared fruits.
More men followed, and Watene enjoyed herself. Dahlan was off somewhere to the west, and she had lost sight of Kameela, but she was certain her friend was enjoying herself, too. Dahlan would look after her, and Kameela would certainly look after Dahlan. Kameela had such a good heart.
The handsome man in the velvet coat came back once more, and invited her to visit him at his manner the next day, should it please her to do so. She told him that she had business to attend to and had to leave early. He had manners – he accepted her excuse with a bow, and she did not see him again.
Others danced with her. She accepted more spiced wine – what did they put in it to make it taste so alluring? – and tried a mug of honey mead which she couldn't quite decide if she liked or not, but it was sweet and the man who bought it for her showed a set of lovely dimples when he smiled.
It grew late and she began groggily to weave her way back towards the inn, wondering in an off-hand manner if Kameela had returned yet. In this season, this part of the world, the nights were short and it would not be long before sunrise. Kameela was surely returned – she had more sense in these things than Watene herself, didn't let herself be quite so carried away by festivities. And Dahlan… Dahlan was happy. Perhaps Kameela had made him drink some of that honey mead. He'd always had a sweet tooth.
The two brothers she had danced with, and their friend, showed up beside her. They tried to convince her to stay, took her arms and attempted to lead her back. She was tired and the wine had made her tipsy, so she couldn't quite manage her normal haughty Aes Sedai countenance and tell them off. She didn't want to, either – this evening she was a young woman enjoying herself, not an Aes Sedai. She pulled her arms free when they took them, but couldn't help giggling at their clownery. She shook her head, but somehow she found herself herded aside from her path, pulled and prodded, and she didn't find it in her to do much about it.
A few more hours of dancing wouldn't hurt her.
One of them slung an arm about her shoulders and they followed the two others, heads together as he told stories and her giggles rewarded him. She hadn't been looking where they were leading her, but when the sounds of merriment from the nearest large town square began to fade, she looked up.
They were in a deserted side street. Watene blinked in surprised, began to pull free from the man. She was about to word a question, when suddenly he was kissing her.
He was bloody kissing her!
She didn't know if she should be furious or surprised, and was too shocked to react.
Shock kept its hold for another few moments, as the man's arms went about her. It was one of the brothers – the eldest, she thought.
But he was bloody kissing her. Without her bloody permission.
She set her hands firm to his chest to shove him, and he staggered away, surprise on his face.
"Now now, lass, don't be like that," grinned the younger brother and came towards her as if to snatch her.
She reached for saidar without thinking, readied a flow to seize him in his tracks, but then the third man was there, wrapping his arms about her from behind and dragging her down. Being tipsy combined with shock, and the flows disappeared. She thumped to the ground.
Burn it, I've channeled through worse than this –!
It must have been the wine. She felt a pang of fear. Had she ever tried to channel after drinking before? No, of course not. That would have been foolish. Wielding something so potentially dangerous with her head all scrambled, of course not.
But fear left her and suddenly there was only anger. She opened herself to the Source. Her body struggled against groping hands on its own, but inside, she was a rosebud, opening to the sun. She was –
She was going to bloody roast these fools alive, that was what she was going to do!
She lashed out with Air and three men tumbled away from her.
Well, maybe not roast them alive. Not really. Damn those Oaths.
Shakily, she got to her feet, reached into her belt pouch, and fished out her great serpent ring. With a studied nonchalance she set it on her finger, while three men in a heap against the wall gaped at her.
Watene steeled herself, and brushed her skirts straight with hands that were not – were not! – shaking. She reached for serenity and found it, of a sort, and if her voice trembled when she spoke, well, no one was perfect.
"Never," she said in her best Aes Sedai voice, with her best haughty high chin, "do that again."
The three were too baffled to even stammer coherently. She raised a hand to silence them. She found herself at loss. What to do with them? Call the guards? If she could even be bothered to find any, they would likely be as drunk as anyone else.
Watene didn't feel like doing anything but heading for her inn and her bed. A long night, and a bit too much to drink, and she would have a glorious headache in the morning.
She looked at the three men. They cowered. She had to do something, she realized – men couldn't be left to believe they could push an Aes Sedai into an alley without consequence.
Then Dahlan was there, sword in hand and looking like death incarnate. He took in the scene in a glance, took her arm – surprisingly gently, considering the hard look in his eyes. "Did they hurt you? If they hurt you –"
If the three men had been cowering before, now they were positively trying to sink down into the cracks between the cobblestones. So now, she thought, they were afraid? Just because of a man with a bloody sword? It was so unfair.
Watene shook her head. "I'm alright," she told her brother. She was bruised, but not harmed.
Dahlan faced the three men, and eyed them as if wondering which one to carve open first.
"Dahlan," Watene whispered.
"Which one of you –" her brother growled, ignoring her.
"Dahlan!"
"– dared to –"
"Gaidin!" she snapped.
He halted, startled, and looked at her.
Watene drew a deep breath. "You will leave these men alone," she told him softly. Softly, because her head felt like it would split open. Had it been banged to the cobbles when she fell? She couldn't be sure. She was still too focused on not trembling. Not trembling, Light burn her! "I know their faces, and in the morning we will take the matter to the guard." If, in the morning, she remembered to bother.
Dahlan inclined his head to her. So now he obeyed? Now he showed proper respect?
Watene turned to the three men. Perhaps she could make more than Dahlan obey. "In fact," she said to them, "you three are going to go to the city guards yourselves, at first light, and report this incidence yourselves." She set her hands to her hips and glared at them. "If I find out you haven't, I'll set him on your trail." She jerked her thumb at Dahlan. "And he's far from as forgiving as I."
Dahlan smiled. The three blinked, and – still staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed at her – began stammering excuses and reassurances.
Gibberish. To her, it was all gibberish. The louts had treated her worse than a dock-side whore, and now they were wasting her time with barely legible gibberish. It made her furious. It made her understand why so many Reds hated men, whether they channeled or not.
But more than angry, she still felt tipsy and tired. She shook her head to clear it – Dahlan's hand was beneath her elbow and for once she did not shove him aside.
"To our inn, Dahlan," she whispered. He began to lead her away.
She doubted she would ever hear of the three again, whether they went to the guards or not. She couldn't really bring herself to care. She should – but she couldn't. Perhaps in the morning.
And Dahlan's bond... there was nothing faded about him now. He was a whirlpool of emotion in the back of her head, full of anger and concern, full of affection and worry. A shame. Earlier, he had almost felt happy.
"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner," he told her softly. "I should have –"
"Did you enjoy dancing with Kameela?" she interrupted.
He blushed fiercely. "I – we – I mean – I – I'm just glad you weren't hurt, Watene."
"Has Kameela gone to sleep?"
Dahlan nodded. "At least, she's gone to her room. I – I would have come to look for you, but I thought you'd be angry with me if I did."
"I would have," she agreed.
"See?" her brother smiled. "That much I've learned. Now come. It's not far to the inn."
"Mmm." She leaned drowsily on his arm and let her eyes half-close as they walked. Her brother, at least, she could trust.
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Author's Note:
Oh, come on. Spend a moment to tell me what you think. The 'review' button is well trained and won't bite you.
