Thanks so much to everybody who reviewed!
This chapter isn't R, so if you don't like R stuff, you can probably read
this, just not in front of your parents......lol.
Special thanks to Ilona for letting me use Lyndha! I will use her, just
later on. Thanks a bunch! *hugs*
Chapter 3
Mazrim's first instinct was to kick the woman clinging to his boot. What a bother. But she was too pitiful to kick, and he might get his boot dirty......................it was already dirty. But that was beside the point; he just didn't want to kick her.
His second instinct was to leave her there. But he couldn't. The bloody Dragon kept a very tight law on the Black Tower, and she would have to testify against the bloody Soldier, or Taim could be convicted of murder. He sighed with annoyance, considering, and then picked her up. Her body rolled limply in his arms. She muttered to herself, twitching and panting for breath. Her eyes fluttered, cleared, and then clouded and closed again. There was something familiar about her. Suddenly realization hit him. He had seen her before. She couldn't be.......She was. He laughed. This was excellent. Very, very excellent.
He wove the weaves of Spirit, furrowing his brow as he tried the new pattern. Perfect. Now she was a bonded Gaidar. Bonded to him. Mazrim masked the bond. It would come in handy later on, but could prove awkward now. It was his secret trump card. He laughed again.
Her dress was torn, her hair matted, and she looked terrible, but he knew her. Light, what a stroke of luck!
As he heard footsteps approaching, he realized how much saidin he had been holding. It would have been like a beacon! Stupid, stupid, stupid things! But it was not the time or place to worry about that. In fact, he felt proud. Proud that his Asha'man were on guard. He had trained them well.
He wove a gateway swiftly. Not to the sickroom. Mirishaile and the other Asha'man would feel him arriving. What would he look like, coming back with a half-dressed woman in his arms? To his private quarters. Yes, that would be nice.
The slash appeared in midair, and he stepped through. The Gateway closed behind him. A warm, woody scent greeted him. He inhaled the clean scent of pine. His private quarters. They always smelled nice.
The woman began to twitch. Mazrim glanced down at her. She needed a bath. And rest. And probably food. He was the only one around. He would have to do it. And close his eyes. He didn't think he could keep especially strong emotion hidden. And lust definitely falls under strong emotion. He hadn't had practice with bonds before. Do the worst bit first? Yes. The Bath. Get it over with.
Gently removing her dress, he covered her with a towel and set her in the copper bathtub, heating the water with flows of Fire. He averted his eyes, and hastily poured soap in the water. The bubbles formed as he stirred it with flows of Water. A thick, foamy layer of soap bubbles covered her. Good.
The dirt and blood matted to her face and body floated off. He cleaned the water with more flows of Water, and then heated it again with Fire. Pulling out a different type of soap, he awkwardly washed her hair. She would have to trust him too, and small things would definitely help her to trust him. Oh yes, she was his weapon.
But for now, her hair was the most important thing. It was really dirty, and he cleaned it as best he could. Women were picky about these things. Why; he had no idea.
The wound in his stomach ached and twinged, but he ignored it. He had no time or patience for weaklings, and he was no hypocrite. Pain was a part of him, anyways, and he could handle it.
The Bath was finished. He had to get her out now. He turned his back, and using flows of Air, picked her out of the water and toweled her dry. He directed her towards his bed, and put her down on it, and tucked her in. He let out a slow breath.
He hadn't done that for years. Channeling with your back turned was all but impossible, but he had taught himself well.
He had to wait for her to wake up now. "I should inform the Lord Dragon." He muttered. Then he stopped. Light, he had sounded like an inferior! He tried again. "I could tell Rand."
Yes. Much better. Mazrim resumed his pacing. He had to mention it, sooner or later. The Dragon was angry if he wasn't kept up to date. Not the Mazrim cared, but he preferred to let the child think he served him faithfully. One day his power would equal Rand's, and then there would be a change of the title Lord of Morning.
The Saladean threw back his head and laughed. Oh yes, Mazrim Taim, Lord of Morning, the Dragon Reborn. That had a nice ring to it. And the woman asleep on his bed was his key to the Dragon's trust. He laughed until the sky darkened and thunder roiled, and long into the night. The wound in his stomach split and began bleeding, but he didn't notice.
Chapter 3
Mazrim's first instinct was to kick the woman clinging to his boot. What a bother. But she was too pitiful to kick, and he might get his boot dirty......................it was already dirty. But that was beside the point; he just didn't want to kick her.
His second instinct was to leave her there. But he couldn't. The bloody Dragon kept a very tight law on the Black Tower, and she would have to testify against the bloody Soldier, or Taim could be convicted of murder. He sighed with annoyance, considering, and then picked her up. Her body rolled limply in his arms. She muttered to herself, twitching and panting for breath. Her eyes fluttered, cleared, and then clouded and closed again. There was something familiar about her. Suddenly realization hit him. He had seen her before. She couldn't be.......She was. He laughed. This was excellent. Very, very excellent.
He wove the weaves of Spirit, furrowing his brow as he tried the new pattern. Perfect. Now she was a bonded Gaidar. Bonded to him. Mazrim masked the bond. It would come in handy later on, but could prove awkward now. It was his secret trump card. He laughed again.
Her dress was torn, her hair matted, and she looked terrible, but he knew her. Light, what a stroke of luck!
As he heard footsteps approaching, he realized how much saidin he had been holding. It would have been like a beacon! Stupid, stupid, stupid things! But it was not the time or place to worry about that. In fact, he felt proud. Proud that his Asha'man were on guard. He had trained them well.
He wove a gateway swiftly. Not to the sickroom. Mirishaile and the other Asha'man would feel him arriving. What would he look like, coming back with a half-dressed woman in his arms? To his private quarters. Yes, that would be nice.
The slash appeared in midair, and he stepped through. The Gateway closed behind him. A warm, woody scent greeted him. He inhaled the clean scent of pine. His private quarters. They always smelled nice.
The woman began to twitch. Mazrim glanced down at her. She needed a bath. And rest. And probably food. He was the only one around. He would have to do it. And close his eyes. He didn't think he could keep especially strong emotion hidden. And lust definitely falls under strong emotion. He hadn't had practice with bonds before. Do the worst bit first? Yes. The Bath. Get it over with.
Gently removing her dress, he covered her with a towel and set her in the copper bathtub, heating the water with flows of Fire. He averted his eyes, and hastily poured soap in the water. The bubbles formed as he stirred it with flows of Water. A thick, foamy layer of soap bubbles covered her. Good.
The dirt and blood matted to her face and body floated off. He cleaned the water with more flows of Water, and then heated it again with Fire. Pulling out a different type of soap, he awkwardly washed her hair. She would have to trust him too, and small things would definitely help her to trust him. Oh yes, she was his weapon.
But for now, her hair was the most important thing. It was really dirty, and he cleaned it as best he could. Women were picky about these things. Why; he had no idea.
The wound in his stomach ached and twinged, but he ignored it. He had no time or patience for weaklings, and he was no hypocrite. Pain was a part of him, anyways, and he could handle it.
The Bath was finished. He had to get her out now. He turned his back, and using flows of Air, picked her out of the water and toweled her dry. He directed her towards his bed, and put her down on it, and tucked her in. He let out a slow breath.
He hadn't done that for years. Channeling with your back turned was all but impossible, but he had taught himself well.
He had to wait for her to wake up now. "I should inform the Lord Dragon." He muttered. Then he stopped. Light, he had sounded like an inferior! He tried again. "I could tell Rand."
Yes. Much better. Mazrim resumed his pacing. He had to mention it, sooner or later. The Dragon was angry if he wasn't kept up to date. Not the Mazrim cared, but he preferred to let the child think he served him faithfully. One day his power would equal Rand's, and then there would be a change of the title Lord of Morning.
The Saladean threw back his head and laughed. Oh yes, Mazrim Taim, Lord of Morning, the Dragon Reborn. That had a nice ring to it. And the woman asleep on his bed was his key to the Dragon's trust. He laughed until the sky darkened and thunder roiled, and long into the night. The wound in his stomach split and began bleeding, but he didn't notice.
