Disclaimer:
This story is based on the world and (some) characters of Robert Jordan's *The Wheel of Time* series. My main character, Nemi Sedai, on the other hand, is taken from a Norwegian comic *Nemi* by Lise. My Nemi is by no means the same character as the Nemi in the comic-book, but has some of her traits (recognizable). Some of my jokes here are actually not mine. I mostly take them from *Nemi* by Lise and *Calvin&Hobbes* by Bill Watterson. If there is another source, I'l make a reference to it. Also, I do not say there will be MANY jokes here - I'm trying to be a bit serious for once;) But from time to time they jump out before I notice them... Silliness is hard to defeat, especially if you were born with it and couldn't get rid of it ever since :D :D :D :p
Oh, and don't mind my spelling. I'm not a native English-speaker. Sometimes I'm kind and industrious & stuff - so I use a spell-check. Sometimes I just don't have nerves for it. So there. Don't mind me :)
This scribbling of a story is there only for fun - no literary pretences, to be sure. Yet, if you have something to say - critics are always welcome. I love feedback, so review and make me happy (otherwise I may jump out of the window - without opening it first - and that would be YOUR fault!). Besides, if you review, you might get some free whiskey!!!
Yours in Linguistic,
Cynewulf Sedai of the Orange Ajah
Note on the Orange Ajah:
Similarly to the Black Ajah, the existance of the Orange Ajah has been toroughly denied for hundreds of years. Like the Black, The Orange has existed in secret, and members of the Orange Ajah are also members of one of the officials seven Ajahs.
There, however, the similarity with the Black ends - and it is not too much to say that the Oranges have been the most stubborn fighters against the Black.
The controverse thingy there is the WAY of fighting the shadow. The Orange Ajah believes in fighting the Dark One by humour. We consider laughter one of our chief weapons - the others are irony, sarcasm, and cynism. Preserving sense of humour in the world and ability to laugh in the face of danger are our main goals.
Many of the Orange sisters are officially Yellow, and they try to help Gentled men and Stilled women by making them laugh like hell. They believe it as effective as Healing, and definitely more fun. However, the both ways are most often used together.
Rumours about the Orange Ajah (also known as The Mocking Ajah) blames us to be incorrigible dreamers - and we do not deny it. We are proud of it! Next to preserving the worlds sense of humour, our goal is to preserve the feeling of Wonder in humankind, as the best (and sometimes only) way of staying sane in difficult situations. We do it trough fairy stories and legends, that we mercilessly spread trough the world... Sometimes think them up, even... Therefore, we often bond gleemen.
Orange Ajah is my creation (mine! mine!), but I might let you use it if you ask nicely :D
I don't think Orange Ajah would be mentioned in THIS story... Yet, who knows...
Have fun!
Cynewulf Sedai
The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose in the great city called Tar Valon. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.
To the north the wind blew, rising clouds of dust, slamming shut the windows of an inn in the city of Tar Valon...
Nemi Sedai woke up to the sound, terrible headache ripping her head apart. Too bad one can not heal herself, she thought. Seeking another sister wouldn't do either: she just couldn't go through all of it once again - snickers that usually followed her on the mornings like this would eventually drive her crazy. Youghurt will have to do. It usually did, anyway. She rubbed her head, wishing that someone would bring her fresh water...
It was a blessing that there was no mirror in the room. She simply DIDN'T want to know how she looked like this morning...
She didn't feel up to standing up as yet, so she continued staring at the stained ceiling, ornated by years of leaking water. It was a luck that the guy wouldn't say anything. About her looks, of course. She simply COULDN'T stand another "Nemi Sedai, are you feeling well? Those bags under your eyes..." But this one wouldn't say it, not this one. He was such a nice guy... gallant... brave...real gentleman. They could travel a bit together. She could even ask him to be her warder. Strange as it may be, she hadn't found a warder yet (but, hey! she was still young!). Yet this one...this one might do. She pictured his penetrative black eyes, the coppery skin of his face, his noble chin and somewhat unperfect nose. She pictured the lower parts of him as well, and sighed contendedly - she wasn't a Green for nothing, after all.
And his swordsman skills as well! She hadn't met such a swordsmen in YEARS! Such easy, catlike movements, that it almost looked as if he danced, while he slaughtered the enemies...
And, what a play of destiny has it been?! This very guy was lieing by her side, still asleep but as handsom as ever!
"What are you sighing for, gal?" she heard a harsh voice from the left side of the bed. "You woke me up with that sighing of yours! You sick, or wha? Just don't throw up on me, fine?"
Nemi Sedai turned to the left, and measured the man with an ice-cold eye.
"Can you shut up for a moment, you bloody horsehead?" she snapped. "I'm trying to DAYDREAM!"
"Whatch your tongue, little lady", he grunted and turned back to sleep, stripping her of the blanket. The sour smell of his days (she hoped it was not MONTHS!) old sweat filled her nostrills, and she shivered in disgust. He was a blond, almost transparent skinny guy, five or six years years younger than herself. Probably an apprentice to someone, or something like that. He may have told her that last night, but she didn't quite remember... More accurately, she didn't remember at all. She remembered very little of what happened last night, except that the whiskey was rather bad... (and that's where the headache came from!)... and that the sex wasn't particularly good either. She had picked him up somewhere (apparently she had already been quite drunk, or she would have chosen a handsomer one, at least); she had bought him a couple of drinks (and more than a couple for herself, for sure; she had not counted), and then dragged him off to bed. A mistake, obviously, but not an unusual one for her. She'll have to drink less... She'll have to drink something of a better quality, at least... And if she DID drink that trash again, she'll have to do it alone. Or with a handsom man...
"Oh, it's tiresom!", she snapped at herself, as she jumped out of the bed. Well, not actually jumped. Crawled was the more accurate descripton of her painful movements, as she tryed to move her head as little as possible.
"Wherechoo think you are going, gal?" the guy growled, and pulled her back. The smell of his breath was making her sick, even more sick, if that was possible at all. She shook away his hand with disgust and stood up.
"Hey, I hoped for some morning excercise", he whined, as she pulled on her black silk dress (now in a rather sad state).
"You can go on hoping," she said coldly, giving him one of her well-known Aes Sedai glares.
He faked a grin.
"A lady with a temper you are! Last night I thought you'll scratch my skin off! Why don't you come here, gal?"
She stared at him, untill he lowered his eyes.
"I will scratch off more than your lousy skin if you do not shut up!"
"Fancy some breakfast?" he shouted after her, as she hurried out of the room, and down the stairs.
What I fancy is a bath, she told herself, a nice hot bath, and a coffee afterwards... She has almost become addicted to that strange, bitter drink that originally came from Sharra. Coffee!!! But, first: a youhurt. Youghurt youghurt youghurt youghurt!!!
"A youghurt," she told the innkeeper, who snickered at her knowingly. She iced him with her eyes (which were still rather unfocused, actually).
"At once, Aes Sedai!" said the innkeeper and bowed slightly, but she could notice he was still holding back a grin. She'll have to choose a new place to wake up at, she thought...
Nemi was 27, rather handsom when the bags under her eyes were not THIS purple, and she has been Aes Sedai for somewhat more than two years now. Her raven-black hair and dark, slightly tilted eyes were a proof of her partly Saldaean origins, but she couldn't tell you more tha that. She had lived in the White Tower longer than she could actually remember. Laras, the mistress of the kitchens and her particular friend, had told her that she had been found on the streets of Tar Valon at the age of three, and, as the most of the female orphans of the city, she had grown up in the White Tower itself. She scrubbed the pots before she could speak clearly, and by the age of ten she had got the fame of the laziest, messiest and the most impolite kitchen girl of the century.
"How did you SUCCEED in growing up in such a mess if you were raised by the Aes Sedai?" people used to ask her. But it was not the full truth, she had not been raised by Aes Sedai. It would be more accurate to say that she was raised by kitchen maids and servants, by coachmen and the drunkards... She listened the idle talk of kitchen maids since she could remember, and at the age of 9 she could say she knew EVERYTHING about the men - in theory at least. When she was 12 old Rhodnar taught her how to smoke a pipe. And it all lasted untill she was tested, and it was decided that she could learn to channel. She sometimes thought about first fourteen years of her life as a heaven of freedom, despite the strict rules (that were there in order to be broken, right?) and punishments that she endured without a tear. But after she became a novice everything changed and...and stayed changed. She was free again, now. She had been officially free for two years now, ever since she earned the shawl. But when she finally did, when she nocked on the door of the Green Ajah and was let in, she suddenly realized that she din't have a slightest idea of what she wanted to do with her life. Until then, her only goal seemed to be becoming Aes Sedai and becoming FREE again. But when she finally WAS free, her freedom seemed to bind her more than release her. She was drinking freely, yes; and she was smoking on the meetings of her Ajah, to the disgust of even the most free-minded green sister. But was it all there was to it? Was THAT all?
She climbed the seemingly endless steps of the White Tower. She hadn't been there for months; one evening (now it seemed so long ago!), when she wasn not actually sober, she decided to pack her things and leave for a while. She wasn't sure where she was going, she only knew she suddenly felt an irresistible urge to travel, to see new faces, to feel actual rain on her face. She was simply sick of White Tower petty (and great) intrigues, of the painfully orderly city of Tar Valon; even the thought of another day there made her sick... and she went, not telling anyone. She was an Aes Sedai now, she had all the rights to be where she wanted without accounting every step to anyone.
She saw Caemlyn, with it great plazas and narrow smelly streets covered in dead rats, Caemlyn with its grandious shining palace and not so shining crowded inns that smelled of sour beer and sweat. She met nobles and beggars, merchants and sailors...but she liked company of gleemen best. They told all the fascinating legends of Birgitte (she loved those!) and of Elmindreda (she liked those somewhat less, but still...); they sang heroic songs, and sad songs, and drinking songs that would make most women blush (she knew all of those by heart)... Gleemen traveled so much, she could talk to them in ages and never get tired of it. And they could drink...REALLY drink, drink in the way she drank. Some of them considered drinking a part of their profession and took it seriously.
Nemi Sedai had met a number of various people during her stay in Caemlyn; but, smart or stupid, rich or poor, they disliked her; no matter whether she wore her serpent ring openly or she pretended she was a 'normal' woman - they disliked her. They despised her smoking habits, they were irritated over her arrogant behaviour, they considered her drinking abominable; but, the most important thing, her ice-black eyes made them afraid. She was Aes Sedai from head to heels, no matter what she wore (THAT was mostly black) and what company she was in. Well, they disliked her - and she disliked them back, double so much. Small, worm-like people, with narrow minds and petty lives. Nothing like Arndell the Red, nothing like Arthur Hawkwing, nothing like Birgitte. Nothing like Nemi Sedai herself, she though.
Only, gleemen seemed to enjoy her company, and she was pretty sure that it wasn't just because she used to buy them whiskey by pints (literally speaking)... They laughed together, and before that Nemi had had only two persons she could really lough with: and Alanna Mosvanni and Jeaine Caide of her own Ajah.
But now she was on her way back to The White Tower, and the way seemed long - and steep. She has always disliked those stairs that just went up and up, with no visible intention to end. The Sun was maliciously burning her back - she was sure it did it deliberately - and the utter blackness of her once-nice silk dress didn't help either. She sweated like an Illianer.
Nemi had not particularly wished to come back to the Tower at once. Although she hadn't been quite sure what she wanted to do next, she had had some vague plans about continuing north to the Borderlands... in hope to find a warder or two, actually. There MUST be someone appropriately brave and strong there, if they fight Trolocs every other day - she thought. They must be harder man than the soft southerners, anyway...
But her plans (if they can be called so) were disturbed by a message from the eyes-and -ears of Green Ajah - Myrelle, the head of the Ajah, wanted all the green sisters back to The Tower at once... The message didn't say why, but Nemi had heard all sorts of strange rumours: from Amyrlin being a darkfriend and Aes Sedai uniting with the Whitecloaks to Coming of a Dragon Reborn (again, Nemi thought and rolled her eyes) and the heroes tied to The Wheel fighting in the sky over Falme...
It was the sure thing that Nemi did not believe every drunken fantasy she heard in an inn... But, filtered and under the scalpel of logic, rumours usually bore a cramb or two of the actuall truth. She couldn't be sure what that truth was - if any... But the situation in the east and west was deterriorating. The world is changing, she thought...
And so she came back to The White Tower, to find out what Myrelle wanted and why so urgently - and maybe to find out something about the happenings in the east... In order to come to the Tower, she had to climb the steps. And so she climbed and climbed and climbed... and climbed and climbed and climbed... and climbed and climbed and...
"Whatch where you are going girl!" someone growled at her. Her head HUUURT! She raised her eyes and looked into the beautifull red haired woman, with piercing green eyes on her ageless face.
"It's Nemi, Sheriam, remember?" Nemi grambled. "The name is Nemi. Nemi Sedai. Nemi Montoya Aes Sedai."
Sheriam just grinned at her. The grinns of that woman were more dangerous than most people's swords, but Nemi actually liked her.
"And, no need for shouting, Sheriam!"
"I was certainly not. It's your hangover again, I assume?"
They have been trough this same conversation numerous times, and Nemi knew very well what was coming next.
Sheriam snickered.
"Want me to find a Yellow for you?"
"Thank you so bloody heartily, but NO! Oh, and nice to see you to, I'm very well, thanks for asking."
"And Nemi?" Sheriam shouted after her, as she continued climbing the bloody flaming stairs. "You have some youghurt on your dress!"
A dark eyed Accepted that was tugging at her braid violently met her on the way to her chamber. The name was Nynaeve, she remembered, a wilder with a noticable strength but with an uncontrollable temper. Nemi had held some lessons for her, and wasn't quite sure if she wanted to repeat the experience. Nemi rather liked the woman, though, but had a vague impression that Nynaeve Accepted was in a way CHANGED. Her eyes were still flamy-brown as ever, but now they mirrored a strange amount of experience that Nemi could not explaine. It must have been hard time in The Tower, she thought. Nemi Sedai remembered her own time as Accepted too well to doubt it. And yet... All the Accepted had to pass through THAT. Maybe it was harder for wilders, she thought. Her best friend Jeaine, once a wilder herself, hat told her most terrible things about braking of one's blocade...
Anyway, Nemi's head hurt from thinking, and she wasn't in the right mood for conversations with acquaintances at the moment.
"What?" she growled at the Accepted in a way that could be called 'not- too-friendly' only if the author were in a VERY good and positive mood.
"You should have come LAST NIGHT, as I was told. I've been running after you all DAY!" the Accepted snapped at her. And then she remembered her manners. "Aes Sedai" she added, curtsying slightly, as if she was spitting an offence. "The whole day from the very dawn! You were not in your chambers, you were not anywhere to be found, and THEY told me to continue looking until I found you! As if I were some under-aged woolheaded..."
"Blood and bloody ashes!" Nemi snapped back, to tired to think of her Aes Seai composure at the moment. "No I was not in my chambers, and it's not your concern where I have been, ACCEPTED! What is the bloody problem?"
Nynaeve glared at her, as if she was going to CRITICIZE her language, but didn't say anything at the matter (luckily for her, Nemi thought angrily).
"The Amirlyn summoned you," she replyed icily. "She said that you were to come AT ONCE. That was HOURS ago!"
Nemi rolled her eyes and turned on her heels, mumbling something about "the bloody flame of Tar Valon" and "people can't take a bath in peace". The accepted hurried after her, and Nemi felt the flaws being woven behind her back. She turned instantly, embracing the source. The Accepted could channel only when angry, everyone knew that about her. But when actually able to channel at all, Nynaeve was stronger in One Power than anyone in the Tower. Nemi was painfully conscious that, drawing in as much as she could, she was still about two times weaker than this Accepted. And if those rumours were true... Really, if it was true, anyone could be... But certainly she wouldn't dare, not in the middle of The Tower... And yet... These half-thoughts flashed through Nemi's painful head, as she embraced the source. Only one thing was sure: she would not be able to fight this Accepted - and survive.
This story is based on the world and (some) characters of Robert Jordan's *The Wheel of Time* series. My main character, Nemi Sedai, on the other hand, is taken from a Norwegian comic *Nemi* by Lise. My Nemi is by no means the same character as the Nemi in the comic-book, but has some of her traits (recognizable). Some of my jokes here are actually not mine. I mostly take them from *Nemi* by Lise and *Calvin&Hobbes* by Bill Watterson. If there is another source, I'l make a reference to it. Also, I do not say there will be MANY jokes here - I'm trying to be a bit serious for once;) But from time to time they jump out before I notice them... Silliness is hard to defeat, especially if you were born with it and couldn't get rid of it ever since :D :D :D :p
Oh, and don't mind my spelling. I'm not a native English-speaker. Sometimes I'm kind and industrious & stuff - so I use a spell-check. Sometimes I just don't have nerves for it. So there. Don't mind me :)
This scribbling of a story is there only for fun - no literary pretences, to be sure. Yet, if you have something to say - critics are always welcome. I love feedback, so review and make me happy (otherwise I may jump out of the window - without opening it first - and that would be YOUR fault!). Besides, if you review, you might get some free whiskey!!!
Yours in Linguistic,
Cynewulf Sedai of the Orange Ajah
Note on the Orange Ajah:
Similarly to the Black Ajah, the existance of the Orange Ajah has been toroughly denied for hundreds of years. Like the Black, The Orange has existed in secret, and members of the Orange Ajah are also members of one of the officials seven Ajahs.
There, however, the similarity with the Black ends - and it is not too much to say that the Oranges have been the most stubborn fighters against the Black.
The controverse thingy there is the WAY of fighting the shadow. The Orange Ajah believes in fighting the Dark One by humour. We consider laughter one of our chief weapons - the others are irony, sarcasm, and cynism. Preserving sense of humour in the world and ability to laugh in the face of danger are our main goals.
Many of the Orange sisters are officially Yellow, and they try to help Gentled men and Stilled women by making them laugh like hell. They believe it as effective as Healing, and definitely more fun. However, the both ways are most often used together.
Rumours about the Orange Ajah (also known as The Mocking Ajah) blames us to be incorrigible dreamers - and we do not deny it. We are proud of it! Next to preserving the worlds sense of humour, our goal is to preserve the feeling of Wonder in humankind, as the best (and sometimes only) way of staying sane in difficult situations. We do it trough fairy stories and legends, that we mercilessly spread trough the world... Sometimes think them up, even... Therefore, we often bond gleemen.
Orange Ajah is my creation (mine! mine!), but I might let you use it if you ask nicely :D
I don't think Orange Ajah would be mentioned in THIS story... Yet, who knows...
Have fun!
Cynewulf Sedai
The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose in the great city called Tar Valon. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.
To the north the wind blew, rising clouds of dust, slamming shut the windows of an inn in the city of Tar Valon...
Nemi Sedai woke up to the sound, terrible headache ripping her head apart. Too bad one can not heal herself, she thought. Seeking another sister wouldn't do either: she just couldn't go through all of it once again - snickers that usually followed her on the mornings like this would eventually drive her crazy. Youghurt will have to do. It usually did, anyway. She rubbed her head, wishing that someone would bring her fresh water...
It was a blessing that there was no mirror in the room. She simply DIDN'T want to know how she looked like this morning...
She didn't feel up to standing up as yet, so she continued staring at the stained ceiling, ornated by years of leaking water. It was a luck that the guy wouldn't say anything. About her looks, of course. She simply COULDN'T stand another "Nemi Sedai, are you feeling well? Those bags under your eyes..." But this one wouldn't say it, not this one. He was such a nice guy... gallant... brave...real gentleman. They could travel a bit together. She could even ask him to be her warder. Strange as it may be, she hadn't found a warder yet (but, hey! she was still young!). Yet this one...this one might do. She pictured his penetrative black eyes, the coppery skin of his face, his noble chin and somewhat unperfect nose. She pictured the lower parts of him as well, and sighed contendedly - she wasn't a Green for nothing, after all.
And his swordsman skills as well! She hadn't met such a swordsmen in YEARS! Such easy, catlike movements, that it almost looked as if he danced, while he slaughtered the enemies...
And, what a play of destiny has it been?! This very guy was lieing by her side, still asleep but as handsom as ever!
"What are you sighing for, gal?" she heard a harsh voice from the left side of the bed. "You woke me up with that sighing of yours! You sick, or wha? Just don't throw up on me, fine?"
Nemi Sedai turned to the left, and measured the man with an ice-cold eye.
"Can you shut up for a moment, you bloody horsehead?" she snapped. "I'm trying to DAYDREAM!"
"Whatch your tongue, little lady", he grunted and turned back to sleep, stripping her of the blanket. The sour smell of his days (she hoped it was not MONTHS!) old sweat filled her nostrills, and she shivered in disgust. He was a blond, almost transparent skinny guy, five or six years years younger than herself. Probably an apprentice to someone, or something like that. He may have told her that last night, but she didn't quite remember... More accurately, she didn't remember at all. She remembered very little of what happened last night, except that the whiskey was rather bad... (and that's where the headache came from!)... and that the sex wasn't particularly good either. She had picked him up somewhere (apparently she had already been quite drunk, or she would have chosen a handsomer one, at least); she had bought him a couple of drinks (and more than a couple for herself, for sure; she had not counted), and then dragged him off to bed. A mistake, obviously, but not an unusual one for her. She'll have to drink less... She'll have to drink something of a better quality, at least... And if she DID drink that trash again, she'll have to do it alone. Or with a handsom man...
"Oh, it's tiresom!", she snapped at herself, as she jumped out of the bed. Well, not actually jumped. Crawled was the more accurate descripton of her painful movements, as she tryed to move her head as little as possible.
"Wherechoo think you are going, gal?" the guy growled, and pulled her back. The smell of his breath was making her sick, even more sick, if that was possible at all. She shook away his hand with disgust and stood up.
"Hey, I hoped for some morning excercise", he whined, as she pulled on her black silk dress (now in a rather sad state).
"You can go on hoping," she said coldly, giving him one of her well-known Aes Sedai glares.
He faked a grin.
"A lady with a temper you are! Last night I thought you'll scratch my skin off! Why don't you come here, gal?"
She stared at him, untill he lowered his eyes.
"I will scratch off more than your lousy skin if you do not shut up!"
"Fancy some breakfast?" he shouted after her, as she hurried out of the room, and down the stairs.
What I fancy is a bath, she told herself, a nice hot bath, and a coffee afterwards... She has almost become addicted to that strange, bitter drink that originally came from Sharra. Coffee!!! But, first: a youhurt. Youghurt youghurt youghurt youghurt!!!
"A youghurt," she told the innkeeper, who snickered at her knowingly. She iced him with her eyes (which were still rather unfocused, actually).
"At once, Aes Sedai!" said the innkeeper and bowed slightly, but she could notice he was still holding back a grin. She'll have to choose a new place to wake up at, she thought...
Nemi was 27, rather handsom when the bags under her eyes were not THIS purple, and she has been Aes Sedai for somewhat more than two years now. Her raven-black hair and dark, slightly tilted eyes were a proof of her partly Saldaean origins, but she couldn't tell you more tha that. She had lived in the White Tower longer than she could actually remember. Laras, the mistress of the kitchens and her particular friend, had told her that she had been found on the streets of Tar Valon at the age of three, and, as the most of the female orphans of the city, she had grown up in the White Tower itself. She scrubbed the pots before she could speak clearly, and by the age of ten she had got the fame of the laziest, messiest and the most impolite kitchen girl of the century.
"How did you SUCCEED in growing up in such a mess if you were raised by the Aes Sedai?" people used to ask her. But it was not the full truth, she had not been raised by Aes Sedai. It would be more accurate to say that she was raised by kitchen maids and servants, by coachmen and the drunkards... She listened the idle talk of kitchen maids since she could remember, and at the age of 9 she could say she knew EVERYTHING about the men - in theory at least. When she was 12 old Rhodnar taught her how to smoke a pipe. And it all lasted untill she was tested, and it was decided that she could learn to channel. She sometimes thought about first fourteen years of her life as a heaven of freedom, despite the strict rules (that were there in order to be broken, right?) and punishments that she endured without a tear. But after she became a novice everything changed and...and stayed changed. She was free again, now. She had been officially free for two years now, ever since she earned the shawl. But when she finally did, when she nocked on the door of the Green Ajah and was let in, she suddenly realized that she din't have a slightest idea of what she wanted to do with her life. Until then, her only goal seemed to be becoming Aes Sedai and becoming FREE again. But when she finally WAS free, her freedom seemed to bind her more than release her. She was drinking freely, yes; and she was smoking on the meetings of her Ajah, to the disgust of even the most free-minded green sister. But was it all there was to it? Was THAT all?
She climbed the seemingly endless steps of the White Tower. She hadn't been there for months; one evening (now it seemed so long ago!), when she wasn not actually sober, she decided to pack her things and leave for a while. She wasn't sure where she was going, she only knew she suddenly felt an irresistible urge to travel, to see new faces, to feel actual rain on her face. She was simply sick of White Tower petty (and great) intrigues, of the painfully orderly city of Tar Valon; even the thought of another day there made her sick... and she went, not telling anyone. She was an Aes Sedai now, she had all the rights to be where she wanted without accounting every step to anyone.
She saw Caemlyn, with it great plazas and narrow smelly streets covered in dead rats, Caemlyn with its grandious shining palace and not so shining crowded inns that smelled of sour beer and sweat. She met nobles and beggars, merchants and sailors...but she liked company of gleemen best. They told all the fascinating legends of Birgitte (she loved those!) and of Elmindreda (she liked those somewhat less, but still...); they sang heroic songs, and sad songs, and drinking songs that would make most women blush (she knew all of those by heart)... Gleemen traveled so much, she could talk to them in ages and never get tired of it. And they could drink...REALLY drink, drink in the way she drank. Some of them considered drinking a part of their profession and took it seriously.
Nemi Sedai had met a number of various people during her stay in Caemlyn; but, smart or stupid, rich or poor, they disliked her; no matter whether she wore her serpent ring openly or she pretended she was a 'normal' woman - they disliked her. They despised her smoking habits, they were irritated over her arrogant behaviour, they considered her drinking abominable; but, the most important thing, her ice-black eyes made them afraid. She was Aes Sedai from head to heels, no matter what she wore (THAT was mostly black) and what company she was in. Well, they disliked her - and she disliked them back, double so much. Small, worm-like people, with narrow minds and petty lives. Nothing like Arndell the Red, nothing like Arthur Hawkwing, nothing like Birgitte. Nothing like Nemi Sedai herself, she though.
Only, gleemen seemed to enjoy her company, and she was pretty sure that it wasn't just because she used to buy them whiskey by pints (literally speaking)... They laughed together, and before that Nemi had had only two persons she could really lough with: and Alanna Mosvanni and Jeaine Caide of her own Ajah.
But now she was on her way back to The White Tower, and the way seemed long - and steep. She has always disliked those stairs that just went up and up, with no visible intention to end. The Sun was maliciously burning her back - she was sure it did it deliberately - and the utter blackness of her once-nice silk dress didn't help either. She sweated like an Illianer.
Nemi had not particularly wished to come back to the Tower at once. Although she hadn't been quite sure what she wanted to do next, she had had some vague plans about continuing north to the Borderlands... in hope to find a warder or two, actually. There MUST be someone appropriately brave and strong there, if they fight Trolocs every other day - she thought. They must be harder man than the soft southerners, anyway...
But her plans (if they can be called so) were disturbed by a message from the eyes-and -ears of Green Ajah - Myrelle, the head of the Ajah, wanted all the green sisters back to The Tower at once... The message didn't say why, but Nemi had heard all sorts of strange rumours: from Amyrlin being a darkfriend and Aes Sedai uniting with the Whitecloaks to Coming of a Dragon Reborn (again, Nemi thought and rolled her eyes) and the heroes tied to The Wheel fighting in the sky over Falme...
It was the sure thing that Nemi did not believe every drunken fantasy she heard in an inn... But, filtered and under the scalpel of logic, rumours usually bore a cramb or two of the actuall truth. She couldn't be sure what that truth was - if any... But the situation in the east and west was deterriorating. The world is changing, she thought...
And so she came back to The White Tower, to find out what Myrelle wanted and why so urgently - and maybe to find out something about the happenings in the east... In order to come to the Tower, she had to climb the steps. And so she climbed and climbed and climbed... and climbed and climbed and climbed... and climbed and climbed and...
"Whatch where you are going girl!" someone growled at her. Her head HUUURT! She raised her eyes and looked into the beautifull red haired woman, with piercing green eyes on her ageless face.
"It's Nemi, Sheriam, remember?" Nemi grambled. "The name is Nemi. Nemi Sedai. Nemi Montoya Aes Sedai."
Sheriam just grinned at her. The grinns of that woman were more dangerous than most people's swords, but Nemi actually liked her.
"And, no need for shouting, Sheriam!"
"I was certainly not. It's your hangover again, I assume?"
They have been trough this same conversation numerous times, and Nemi knew very well what was coming next.
Sheriam snickered.
"Want me to find a Yellow for you?"
"Thank you so bloody heartily, but NO! Oh, and nice to see you to, I'm very well, thanks for asking."
"And Nemi?" Sheriam shouted after her, as she continued climbing the bloody flaming stairs. "You have some youghurt on your dress!"
A dark eyed Accepted that was tugging at her braid violently met her on the way to her chamber. The name was Nynaeve, she remembered, a wilder with a noticable strength but with an uncontrollable temper. Nemi had held some lessons for her, and wasn't quite sure if she wanted to repeat the experience. Nemi rather liked the woman, though, but had a vague impression that Nynaeve Accepted was in a way CHANGED. Her eyes were still flamy-brown as ever, but now they mirrored a strange amount of experience that Nemi could not explaine. It must have been hard time in The Tower, she thought. Nemi Sedai remembered her own time as Accepted too well to doubt it. And yet... All the Accepted had to pass through THAT. Maybe it was harder for wilders, she thought. Her best friend Jeaine, once a wilder herself, hat told her most terrible things about braking of one's blocade...
Anyway, Nemi's head hurt from thinking, and she wasn't in the right mood for conversations with acquaintances at the moment.
"What?" she growled at the Accepted in a way that could be called 'not- too-friendly' only if the author were in a VERY good and positive mood.
"You should have come LAST NIGHT, as I was told. I've been running after you all DAY!" the Accepted snapped at her. And then she remembered her manners. "Aes Sedai" she added, curtsying slightly, as if she was spitting an offence. "The whole day from the very dawn! You were not in your chambers, you were not anywhere to be found, and THEY told me to continue looking until I found you! As if I were some under-aged woolheaded..."
"Blood and bloody ashes!" Nemi snapped back, to tired to think of her Aes Seai composure at the moment. "No I was not in my chambers, and it's not your concern where I have been, ACCEPTED! What is the bloody problem?"
Nynaeve glared at her, as if she was going to CRITICIZE her language, but didn't say anything at the matter (luckily for her, Nemi thought angrily).
"The Amirlyn summoned you," she replyed icily. "She said that you were to come AT ONCE. That was HOURS ago!"
Nemi rolled her eyes and turned on her heels, mumbling something about "the bloody flame of Tar Valon" and "people can't take a bath in peace". The accepted hurried after her, and Nemi felt the flaws being woven behind her back. She turned instantly, embracing the source. The Accepted could channel only when angry, everyone knew that about her. But when actually able to channel at all, Nynaeve was stronger in One Power than anyone in the Tower. Nemi was painfully conscious that, drawing in as much as she could, she was still about two times weaker than this Accepted. And if those rumours were true... Really, if it was true, anyone could be... But certainly she wouldn't dare, not in the middle of The Tower... And yet... These half-thoughts flashed through Nemi's painful head, as she embraced the source. Only one thing was sure: she would not be able to fight this Accepted - and survive.