Dreams
There were always new recruits, and they all followed the same pattern. The boys and young men waltzed about as if they not only were already bonded, but also knew every rock of the Blight intimately, and likely had Myrddraal for breakfast too. They would learn, of course. Every recruit had to learn.
To be accepted for training was a far toss from to be bonded. A very far toss. Especially for those who were accepted before their first shave.
Jored watched the youngest batch over the edge of his book. There were eight of them, still mere boys, now come fresh from a session in the practice yard with their grins wide and their moods high. Moments ago, a more senior group had trotted out to take their places. A group who had, at least, begun shaving.
They seemed to grow younger each year, Jored thought. Or perhaps it was he who grew older. He almost wished they could be allowed to stay that way, oblivious to darker realities. They likely dreamed of bonding Greens and having adventures. Let them dream a few years more.
Hadn't he himself come to the Tower at that age? He had been born the youngest of five boys. He and his brother Obein, the second-youngest, had been last in line to inherit what their widow mother could scrape together. So instead they had hiked to Tar Valon to bond Aes Sedai and have adventures. They were accepted for training and that had been that. Wooden practice blades in hand and the Tar Valon recruit's tabard proudly worn, they had been immortal and practically already heroes. The bards at courts all around the world were already tuning their harps to sing of the adventures of gallant Jored and his brother the mighty Obein.
Of course, they had been young, then, and hadn't known better. Jored didn't know if Obein had ever learned. He himself had learned after Obein was bonded.
A Green sister, just as they had always dreamed of. A queenly, proud Green who would lead Obein to adventure and fame… Jored had been so very jealous, but he himself – the Master at Arms had gruffed – had not yet been ready.
That Green had come back half a year later without Obein. Obein's brother Warders told sombrely of a hero's death, of saving that Green's life, but that hadn't brought Jored his brother back.
It had brought Jored an understanding of the bond's price. One day they would all have to pay it, and to hunt for glory was to pay it all that much sooner.
He had had all that in mind when he had asked his Aes Sedai to bond him. He had chosen an Aes Sedai he already knew, one he cared for, one who mattered to him. One he would have died for that very same day, had it proven necessary, bond or no bond.
He had perhaps been one of the few of the younger recruits who understood, before he took the bond, what it actually meant. Everyone learned, of course. But Jored had already known.
Of course, there was more than just the harsh reality of the bond itself to learn. More to learn, before the Master at Arms would even deem a recruit ready to be bonded. To begin with, the blade; but no one without potential to learn the blade well was ever accepted for training. Then there was self-knowledge, resilience, watchfulness, humility. Most of all, perhaps, humility. Humility towards your Aes Sedai, towards your duty, towards yourself.
One of the young lads stopped before Jored. He had dark curls over his entire head and practice yard dust over his tabard, and a pair of unblinking black eyes which… altogether lacked any trace of humility. Yes, much to learn. But not yet. Let the lads dream for a few more years.
"What's that you're reading, Gaidin?" asked the lad.
Jored studied him. A noble's son, apparently, judging from his stance and his peremptory question. He spoke the proper title, but the word was reflexive, not honouring. He must be a new arrival.
"You should keep your eyes open, lad," Jored said. "Read the title yourself." A noble's son could read, naturally. "Learn to see things and remember them. You should have noticed the title of the book and been able to recall it if I asked you about it in two weeks' time. A Warder may miss nothing, for what he misses may mean his Aes Sedai's life."
"Yes, Gaidin," the lad muttered, a tad sourly. He peered at the book as he spoke. His manner was much too self-possessed; the Master at Arms would have to put him straight, thought Jored.
"But why are you reading?"muttered the lad. "Shouldn't you be –"
"Because I enjoy it." Oh, there would be a lot of putting straight. Jored hardened his tone. "You are a recruit, lad, and I am Warder. Try a tad of respect."
"Sorry, Gaidin," said the boy instantly, but without as much as an abashed blink of his eyes. "So who are you bonded to, Gaidin? If I may ask?"
Curiosity, though, was not necessarily a bad thing. Not if it was coupled with manners. Jored decided to reply. Putting the young ones straight was not his task. "Jahra Sedai, of the Brown."
"A Brown?" the young noble exclaimed, his eyes growing wide. "Why ever would you let yourself be bonded to a Brown? They're – they're boring."
The only reason why the boy did not find himself heading head-first out through the nearest window – or perhaps even through the nearest wall – was because Jored was not hot-headed. Of course, the lad would never know his good fortune.
Jored knew, however, and was very proud of how his carefully cultured, even temper reined in his anger. He calmly set his book down, raised his wine glass, took a swallow, and considered his response. No matter what he said, the boy would not understand. Not yet. Not for many years yet.
But at the neighbouring table, the twins were less in control of their tempers. Their names were Vaston and Durrak, but even in the Warder barracks they were collectively known as just the twins, since not a soul could tell them apart. Now, they abandoned their game of dice and shot to their feet, to loom menacingly over the youth. When the boy made to scramble away, one twin seized his arm.
"Jored," said the twin, and his voice was icy, "are you just going to sit there?"
"This whelp," the other twin went on, "has insulted your Aes Sedai."
The lad looked angry. "I'm no whelp – and I didn't –"
"The whelp will be quiet," hissed a twin, and gave the boy's arm a jerk sharp enough to endanger the shoulder joint.
"Let him go," Jored said.
The twins stared at him in consternation, but Jored simply met the boy's gaze and said: "He did not insult my Aes Sedai. He simply vaunted his ignorance."
The lad frowned, but then – as if he suddenly understood – he had the sense to look abashed. A slow blush began to creep up his cheeks.
"Ignorance in two things," snapped the twin who held the boy's arm, which he gave a second jerk, as sharp as the first. The boy bit down on his lip to stop a whimper. "Firstly, lad. Taking the Ajahs at first glance is plain stupid. Judging a sister just by her Ajah is plain stupid. Somewhat like saying a trolloc has soft fur and naming it a puppy."
"Second," the second twin went on, and poked the boy in the chest with a sharp admonishing finger. "To in any way insult or even insinuate fault with an Aes Sedai where her Warder might hear is asking for a snapped neck."
"Now this time we won't cut your tongue out –"
"– this time –"
"– though we are tempted –"
"– because it's Jored Gaidin's Aes Sedai, and Jored Gaidin's choice."
"And because Jored Gaidin is right." The two exchanged a steady look, before snapping their sharp gazes back to the lad. "But in the future, you'd best keep your tongue civil, if you want to keep your tongue at all."
"And if you want to keep your head, you'd best keep your manners."
The boy began to grow decidedly pale. Jored took another swallow of wine. Oh, he recalled this part of training very well. Humility. Not an easy thing to learn while all those hypothetical court bards were surely already tuning their harps and all that. Not easy to do when you're young and immortal. But it had to be learned.
The twins went on, thunderous and inexorable like a pair of boulders tumbling wild down a hillside. "And until you cure yourself of that ignorance –"
"– the best way to keep a whole skin, is to keep wholly silent."
The boy grew paler by the word.
"Are we clear?" demanded the one twin finally.
"Y-yes, Gaidin."
"Are we superfluously clear?" demanded the other.
"Y-yes, Gaidin!"
"Have we apologized –"
"– profusely –"
"– to Jored Gaidin's Aes Sedai –"
"– and the entire Brown Ajah?"
"Not to mention," and here the twin raised a single finger in front of the boy's nose, "pleaded forgiveness?"
And so Jored endured listening to a half-coherent excuse, tidbits tossed in about ignorance and speaking in haste, and then watched the lad dart away as if he had Darkhounds at his heels, off to find the Master at Arms and report his misstep.
The twins nodded in satisfaction.
"Was that absolutely necessary?" Jored asked.
"No."
"But fun," said the twins.
"He would have learned to hold his tongue in good time."
"And now –" smirked the first twin.
"– he has learned faster," smirked the other.
Jored shook sighed, and set his wine down to retrieve his book. The boy would have learned in good time, but there was much to learn, and perhaps the twins were right; perhaps quicker was better.
But he would still have preferred to let the lad be young, let him have his dreams. Dreams faded when you grew older. Dreams faded when you learned.
Author's Note;
Remember "The Boy In The Library" and contrast. Jored has really grown up, hasn't he?