Warder of the Blue Sister

Evain sat perched on the windowsill, her knees drawn up to her chest. It was near noon, but she was still in her nightgown, lost in thought. Her breakfast had been brought in earlier, but stood untouched. Her bed was still neatly made – she had not slept in it. Of course, Contair would have known that anyway.

He took an apple off the breakfast tray and sank his teeth into it. The Aes Sedai were always served better apples than Warders were in their own quarters. Contair had been taking Evain's for years.

"They won't go away just because you hide," he said through a mouthful of apple.

"Don't talk with your mouth full."

He chuckled. "Let me keep this one, bad habit. You've worked all the others out of me."

She made no reply. The bond remained thoughtful, distant, touched by fear. It had been for four days now. She had not left her room for four days. Her only visitor had been the Yellow sister, Talanee Sedai, who had been pleased at what she called a complete recovery.

Physically she might be well, but Evain had been hurt worse than that blow to her head. He could not, in all the years he had been her Warder, ever remember her sitting in her room doing nothing. Why?

Evain had not been killed, but the experience had frightened her.

Light, it had frightened him, too. It was difficult to leave her side, knowing that the Black Ajah might come to finish their work any moment.

For it had been the Black Ajah. Evain had no memory of the event, but Contair knew what the bond had told him – there had been no warning, no surprise, no preparing to defend herself. Someone else had woven that club of Air Talanee Sedai had mentioned – Light, a club was an offensive weapon! Someone else had woven it – and likely, it had been what had struck the back of Evain's head.

They did not know who cut Rill's wrists – for the man had not done it himself. Warders fell on their swords, or on the swords of others, if it came to that. He had never heard of a Warder cutting his wrists before. But Rill's death was not spoken much of. The sisters who had even known about him seemed all too content to accept that he was dead, and that was that. The Accepted who had been supposed to sit guard outside the corridor had been found in her bed, heavily asleep, and had no idea how she had ended up there, no matter how the Mistress of Novices raged at her.

In short, Evain and Contair did not know who had attacked her, and did not know if that attacker had recognized her, did not know whether or not they would come again. Whoever it had been surely knew that Evain had lived, since no Aes Sedai had been found dead.

Because of that they had to carry on as usual, draw no attention to themselves, which meant that Contair slept in his room in the Warders' quarters, far below the Blue rooms. He had spread the tale that Evain suffered from a sour stomach, and thus explained both her long stay in her chambers, and the visits from Talanee Sedai – some Blues might wonder why a Yellow came to tend one of their own, but let them wonder. It was not unheard of.

He even attended his usual morning sessions in the practice rings, but after that, he headed up to keep Evain company. He brought his sword. That, too, was not unheard of.

He sighed and wanted to sit down in one of the comfortable armchairs, well-padded and covered with blue velvet. But sitting down did not suit him. He was too edgy. He would be up again in a moment, listening at the door, memorizing the layout of the room – a room he already knew better than the back of his hand – and pondering if it was possible to climb down the wall outside one of the windows, should it become necessary.

He had slept even less than she had, and was weary to his bones. But that was irrelevant. Evain might be in danger, and the only reason he slept at all was because she had told him to. He obeyed, and forced a few fitful hours of rest in-between pacing back and forth in his rooms. Not even the hours in the practice yard, which usually put him at ease if only through exhaustion, could calm him.

He admitted that he loved his Aes Sedai more than was fitting, and they both knew it. Evain shared no such feelings, and they both knew that, too. That was simply how the Wheel had chosen to Weave, and Contair accepted it. He was her Warder, and that was all he would be, and that was enough.

He strode across the room, studied a painting of a much younger Evain mounted on a dappled pony, then strode the other way, and dropped the remains of the apple back on the tray. He stroked his goatee and sighed as he approached his Aes Sedai. With his hands set on the windowsill next to her, he leaned on his arms.

"We should leave the Tower for a while. Visit a farm or something. Take a vacation."

"I will not run."

"But you will hide?"

"I'm not hiding. I'm thinking."

Contair huffed. "You sure had me fooled."

She glared at him.

"You can't stay in here forever. That'll also draw attention. You're not a Brown, who comes out just about when everyone aside from her own servant has forgotten she exists."

"I don't have any place I need to go."

"It's not that you have any place you need to go – it's that you need to go someplace." From her window, he could see much of Tar Valon, and Dragonmount besides. Seeing Dragonmount had always made him wonder if he could climb the thing. He'd been born near mountains, and had roamed their winding ways as a child, before a familiar tragedy led him from his home, and eventually all the way to Tar Valon and Evain.

He still missed his mountains. Perhaps, if he could talk Evain into leaving the Tower, they might visit them… they would be safe there. No one in those regions recognized an Aes Sedai's ageless face, and no one would believe that nosy Evain Sedai of the Blue Ajah had ever ventured to so remote and tranquil a place.

Evain sat silent, and Contair stood silent beside her. If he pushed her, she would tell him to keep quiet, so he did not push. Moments passed, and he battled an urge to check the door again.

"You're right," she said finally.

"I know."

"I think I'll pay auntie a visit. Will that do?"

"That will do nicely. I'll come with you."

She nodded. He went to check the antechamber, and the door out of her quarters, and her sitting room, and when he returned she stood behind the dressing screen, donning a dress. Knowing it took her a while to make herself ready, he posted himself in the doorway to the antechamber. His eyes fell on the breakfast tray.

"You should eat before we go."

"I'm not hungry."

"Evain, please."

She emerged from behind the dressing screen, skilled hands pinning her hair up with the help of two matching needles. "You'll need to button up my dress," she said, turning her back to him. "And try not to pop any buttons this time. Dessie will have a fit if you do."

He obliged. Once helping her dress had made him blush – but no more. Evain's maid Dessie, however, would shoo him hastily from the room when Evain was to dress, or undress. But right then Dessie was at home, nursing a newborn babe, accompanied by her mother, a pile of presents and well-wishings, and the pile of Evain's dresses which Contair had popped buttons on.

Evain, who had had maid servants all her life, had complained about the lack – up until four days ago.

Contair found it just as well that the maid was away – he would have had to worry about her, too. Then again, Dessie was allowed to nag Evain about anything, in the manner of servants, but Contair was not. Dessie could have bullied Evain into eating, but he could not. So he did not mention it again. In any case, Evain's aunt would offer tea and something edible, and Evain would not refuse.

Finally, dressed and hair braided, Evain led the way towards the door, and was just reaching for the handle when it burst open and in –

Contair swept like a wind past his Aes Sedai, sword already in hand, and –

"Hold!" cried Evain.

– and in burst a tawny-haired Blue, who blinked and froze when she saw Contair bearing down on her.

He stopped his sword just in time and shoved it into the scabbard, flowing into a bow to hide his embarrassment. "Pardon me, Bryla Sedai," he croaked. "I'm… nervy… today."

"Then you already know?" Bryla breathed, already – thankfully – forgetting Contair's misstep and focusing on Evain. "You've heard?"

"Heard what, Bryla?"

"The Amyrlin. Murder –"

"The Amyrlin's been murdered?" hissed Evain, and the knot of emotions in the back of Contair's head suddenly resembled a honed steel blade.

"No, no no no." Bryla's words fled her mouth like birds did a cage. She grasped Evain's arm – Contair managed to not stop her. Evain trusted Bryla – they had been Novices together. Contair found the tawny-haired woman to be an incurable gossip, with a flair for exaggeration but none for subterfuge. "But it was in the Amyrlin's hall. While she wasn't there."

"What was?"

"Four – Yellows –" breathed Bryla, eyes wide. "Four of them, by the Light! Four! They were there to address the Amyrlin, and sent the Keeper running like a Novice to fetch her – fetch the Amyrlin, I mean – and – and –"

"Out with it, Bry!"

"And when they returned – the Keeper and the Amyrlin, when they returned, all four were dead." Bryla took a deep gulp of air. "Killed with the Power, they say. Not a mark on any of them, but all dead as drowned mice."

"May the Light shine on their souls," whispered Evain. Her free hand had grasped the front of Contair's coat, and pulled him closer – he obliged, grimfaced. Some firmness returned to her bond, which had descended into a whirl of fear and disbelief since Brylla had spoken. She kept her grip on his coat as if holding herself up.

"Which Yellows?" asked Contair. "Their names?"

It came out of Bryla like a well-rehearsed poem; "Yna Huirin, Paeva Coranth, Lorin Jaryss, Issay al'Trede."

Contair breathed relief that Talanee Sedai's name was not among them. But he knew Yna Sedai's Warder – Collen, a man with a steady stream of dry jokes – and wondered what had become of him.

Evain's bond was a knife's edge again. "Bry," she said softly to her friend. "Go and find Girthona. She'll want you."

Bryla nodded. "You're right," she agreed. "Light! She will. I'm going." She wheeled about and sped off, running like a chastised Novice.

Evain stood silent, stiff, and stared at the open doorway. She spoke in a whisper. "Issay al'Trede and Paeva Coranth. I heard them discussing that surviving Warder, that Rill… That was how I learned of him, and why I went to see him. Because… because he was raving of the Blacks. And I wanted to hear what he had to say."

"You mean..?"

"I'll wager they all nursed Rill. I know Paeva spoke of consulting Lorin. Why not also Yna? And…" She gave Contair's coat a little jerk. "Light! Talanee."

"Talanee doesn't believe in the Black Ajah," Contair reminded her – he had already told her of his slip of tongue, and of Talanee Sedai's reaction.

"But now she's in danger from them," Evain said grimly. "We'll make her believe that."

"And… your aunt?" he said quietly.

Evain held out a brooch for him to take. It was a silver thing, two swallows chasing each others tails in an eternal circle, and it had been given to Evain by her aunt, 'for emergencies'. Contair took it, and Evain said: "Send a Novice for her. I need to gather some things. I'll meet you outside the Blue quarters."

"I go." And he went. Out of her personal rooms, down the corridor, and out of the Blue quarters. There were few Novices inside them, but once outside, he found one quickly – one who was scrubbing the floor. He grasped her arm and jerked her upright. She squeaked, but he just held the brooch beneath her nose so that her eyes focused on it. "Take this to Lomiel Sedai of the White."

The girl blinked at him, unsure whether or not she was required to obey a Warder. A dilemma Contair was more than willing to straighten out for her.

"Take it to Lomiel Sedai," he repeated, looming over her. "Now. Or I will shove you down the corridors, kick you up the stairs, and throw you through her door. Move!"

The girl blinked, but then set her face, and began to straighten.

Contair reminded himself that there was a difference between Novices and recruits come to learn the blade. But there were other ways to make Novices jump…

"Must I remind you that I speak with my Aes Sedai's voice, girl? And you're not only being discourteous to my Aes Sedai, which will likely earn you a trip to the Mistress of Novices, but worse; you've been told to hop and you're not hopping –"

The girl turned and sprinted the other way, so fast that by the time Contair realised she had curtsied and somehow wrenched both the brooch and her arm out of his grip, she was already gone.

He shrugged, and steered back toward the Blue quarters. Evain was approaching, and the sooner he was beside her again, the better he would feel.

When he did rejoin her, some of the worry in her bond settled. Still, she came as near running as Aes Sedai ever did, and he kept pace with her, one hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes sweeping the corridors for dangers.

The corridors were mysteriously empty. Novices and servants ran to and fro, the odd Accepted rushed past – not quite at a run, but quicker than Evain – and a few Aes Sedai, thoughts caught in their own business, swept gracefully past without so much as exchanging a look with Evain. The Warders he saw looked edgy. News must have spread.

The only oddity was a Red accompanied by a young man, who walked leant toward her to listen as she spoke. He was not one of the glossy-eyed pretties that some Reds had heeling them like puppies, but an officer of the Tower Guard. Contair knew him for a former Warder trainee. What was he doing with a Red? Reds took no Warders.

Contair could not help glancing one last time at the pair over his shoulder. Had he not heard a rumour about that very boy? That he had been seized by the Reds and Gentled? A nasty rumour. Contair paid rumour no more mind than necessary.

"Auntie has the brooch," Evain reported, breaking through Contair's thoughts. "She'll be coming."

At the entrance to the Yellow quarters, they were stopped by four Warders standing guard. Evain immediately demanded to be let past – and was bluntly refused. All four Warders had their hands on their sword hilts, their expressions grave. Behind them stood a young Yellow sister, with more pearls draped about her neck and twirled into her elaborate hairdo than could be healthy. Evain took up her verbal battle with her, but the Yellow refused as blankly as the Warders.

But fortunately, Contair noticed, one of the Warders was Sarnon, who belonged to Talanee. He stepped up, hands spread to show them empty, and spoke directly to the other.

"Talanee Sedai is in danger," he said softly.

"Don't you think I know?" Sarnon gritted, his hazel eyes dark.

"Does she know?"

"She knows."

"Does she realise from whom? From what?"

Sarnon spoke in a voice of iron fury, worked between hammer and anvil until he could wield it like a weapon. "Even if she doesn't, I do. I thank you, Contair. But this is my battle. Get yourself and your Aes Sedai away."

Contair couldn't stop his smile. "Your battle? It's a battle I've been fighting for years. Tell your Aes Sedai, and let her make of that what she will."

Sarnon gave a curt nod. "Now, away with you."

Contair took Evain's arm, jerking her with him as he turned. "We go," he said. "I spoke to Talanee Sedai's Warder."

Evain gave him a sharp glance, her mouth half-open to begin scolding him. He decided to break that train of thought. "How about the brooch? Is it coming towards us?"

Evain frowned for a moment – then; "No. No, it isn't. Light. Go, Contair. Run."

Contair ran, and he heard her slippers patter the same pace, just at his heels. He steered directly for the White quarters, cursing each stairway he had to climb – not because it was particularly troublesome, but because it increased the distance to Evain behind him. She could not match his pace, nor stamina, for long.

But she had told him to run, so he ran. Stairway, corridor, stairway, doorway, hall, another corridor. No one guarded the entrance to the White quarters, and as always it seemed deserted. He rushed to Lomiel Sedai's door and burst inside without bothering to knock.

He burst inside – the smell of burnt flesh assaulted his nostrils, he caught a hasty glimpse of a bloody white-clad woman spread across the floor, and –

And out of nowhere, someone grabbed him, spun him, and landed him firmly facedown on the mosaic floor. The air fled his lungs at the impact, the knee that jabbed down between his shoulder blades threatened to break his spine, and the arm that was twisted behind him threatened to leave its joint. A hand, firm atop his head, pressed his face down.

"Release. I have him," ordered a woman's cool voice.

Human hands and knees left Contair lying, while bonds of Air replaced them.

"It's Contair," came a man's deep voice. "Do I kill him?"

"Quiet. Contair, listen to me. Has something happened to my niece?"

Contair's daze began to fade, and he recognized the voices; Haqon, and Lomiel. Then the woman on the floor was… "Wh-what?" he struggled to get air into his lungs and reply. "No, Aes Sedai. Evain's fine. Evain's coming. We thought –"

"Ah, yes. The brooch. And my promise to come at once. You worried."

Contair's face was still pressed to the mosaic, and he saw nothing but an out-of-focus white flower on a pale green backdrop.

"If I'm not to kill him," Haqon growled, "you might as well let him up."

With that, the bonds released Contair. He climbed unsteadily to his knees, looking up and around. There was a dead woman lying on the floor, blackened soot down her front, her face burned away… the 'blood' he had seen turned out to be red silk slashes in her skirt… but Lomiel looked perfectly at ease, folded in White Ajah calm like a lady in her fur cloak on a cold day. Haqon… Haqon was an odd man, who did everything thrice, as if on compulsion. But this day there was none of that; there was nothing but steel, as cold and bare on the sword in his hand as it was in his eyes.

Haqon would stop at nothing short of Lomiel's word. Truth be told, he had always frightened Contair. And today Lomiel frightened Contair just as much.

Evain was approaching. Contair held up a hand to pause Haqon as the man heard slippered feet and moved to the door. "It's my Evain," Contair explained.

Haqon glanced at Lomiel before he stepped back.

"Contair, thank the Light," Evain breathed as she rushed through the doorway, and at once threw her arms around his neck. "I thought I was about to lose you. What happened? Auntie, what's –" There she froze, in mid-sentence, her eyes fixed on the corpse on the floor. Slowly she straightened, but let her hands remain on his shoulders. The fingers knotted themselves deep in the silk of his shirt. He was still on his knees, flexing his arm experimentally, wishing his back had not ached as it did. Haqon had never been known for his gentleness.

"Auntie?" Evain prompted.

"This," Lomiel introduced with a disdainful wave of her hand, "was Keshil al'Daer. Of the Red Ajah – and the Black." Lomiel stood silent for a while. With her icy blue eyes, her white hair, and a face which had likely not been touched by the sun in years, she looked like a ghost as much as an Aes Sedai. She even wore white, like a death shroud, with just a slight touch of gold embroidery at the cuffs and the high neckline. Finally, she turned her dispassionate eyes to meet her niece's gaze. "I killed her. She asked me one question too many."

"You killed her?"

"Oh yes. Not that it was very difficult." Judging from Lomiel's tone, she might have been discussing correcting a faulty stitch in her embroidery. "See, Keshil has believed for decades that she had me nicely broken in. I chose today to prove her wrong, and didn't give her much of a chance to rectify her belief."

Contair rose to his feet. Evain let her hands leave his shoulders, but kept one hand on his arm. "You'd better explain this, auntie," she said. There was fear and worry in her bond, but her voice was soft as silk. Soft as a silk strangling cord. "From the beginning."

"Lomiel, shall I..?" began Haqon. Contair would have bet every gold coin in his possession that the man was somehow holding one of his damned knives, and was ready to throw, even though both his hands were visible and appeared empty.

When Haqon threw, he did not miss. Contair was glad that Evain remained slightly behind him, at least partly sheltered.

"No, it's all right, Haqon," said Lomiel. "Evain, Keshil and I met when she murdered a friend of mine. She planned to kill me as well, as I'd made myself a witness, and I was about to let her. I was young, and I was distraught, for I had just lost my first Warder, not to mention my friend. But she figured I would be of better use alive. I agreed."

Evain's fingers dug into Contair's arm until it almost hurt. It was his sword arm. He knew what she meant by it, and the very moment she released, he would…

He would get Haqon's knife between his eyes, and that would be it. He wondered if Evain realised that.

"You agreed?" Evain echoed frostily. "You knew she was Black, and you agreed?"

"I'm a practical person," Lomiel drawled. "I figured it would be easier to counterwork her alive than dead. So I agreed to her terms – information, small services – and took my time to consider things before I decided on a permanent course of action."

"Which was to keep being her pet?" hissed Evain, her voice shrill.

"Certainly not. But by the time I decided my life was worth less than what Keshil demanded, Keshil had found out that you were my niece. You were a Novice back then. She could have killed you easily, and made it look like your own untrained ability had been the end of you. So circumstances changed. I had promised my sister to look after you, you know. I protected you from the Blacks, and thus mostly gave up protecting the rest of the Tower. Illogical of me." She shrugged. "But now she asked the wrong question. She asked if you were the one to visit… she never gave me his name. Some remnant Warder or another."

"Rill was his name," croaked Evain. "And as I told you, yes, I went to see him."

"In any case. She said you were becoming too great a liability, and –" Lomiel broke off with a start. She glanced down at the corpse. "And thus it went. Silly of her not to shield me properly. She was always much stronger than I. She underestimated me."

Evain swallowed. "Auntie. Have you heard…"

"The four Yellows, yes. I know. But there's more to that than meets the eye. But first –I need to know… do you still trust me, my niece?"

Evain collected herself. She reined in her emotions and drew herself up. She was of a height with Contair, if half as broad. But she had hard eyes; hard enough that her physical stature was soon forgotten. She had eyes harder than the mountains, colder than winter, less open to reason and argument than the stormy sea. Those eyes were out now – the steely determination was back in her bond. She stared down at Keshil's burnt shape, and then up at her aunt. "Should I trust you?"

"You always knew I battled the Blacks," Lomiel smiled. "Did you think I did it by inviting them to tea and discussing philosophy?"

"I didn't think you ran errands for them."

"Which only helped me discover their purpose. What harm I have caused is weighed up by the good it has let me do. You were untouchable to them, Evain. Keshil guaranteed it – as long as I made myself useful, you were untouchable."

"She guaranteed it?"

"Keshil ranked high among them. I know it – and I've learned more from her than she could have suspected. Thanks to my interactions with Keshil, I've stopped some of their plots, and I've personally killed seven Blacks. Eight, now. And there's a new plot to stop. Those Yellows were only the beginning, my niece. Soon the news will begin to spread that the Amyrlin –"

"The Amyrlin?"

"Oh, yes. There's to be a riot in the Tower. Blacks among the Yellow sisters will accuse the Amyrlin of the four murders. Rather brilliant, actually. It will effectively split the entire Tower, stirred in every Ajah by the resident Blacks."

"But why?"

"The Blacks plan to put one of their own on the Amyrlin Seat. Now doesn't that sound like something we should put a stop to?" Lomiel's ghastly countenance was lit by a mad smile, and the exact same mad smile spread across Haqon's face.

Light, the man frightened Contair. He was glad Evain still clung to his arm as if it was all that held her up. If she had decided to let go instead… Light.

"Decide quickly, Evain. There isn't much time."

"I'd rather work with you, auntie," was Evain's retort, "than against you." It was a reply as true as any, but it promised nothing. It gave her time to think – Lomiel and her smile probably knew this as well as Contair did. Evain went on: "So… what do we do?"

Author's Note:

Thank you very much for reading! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it.

The "sequel" is in the works, and called "Aes Sedai". Guess from whose viewpoint it will be?

Don't you look eagerly forward to digging into the twisted workings of Lomiel's mind..? Or sifting through the tangles of Jahra's distractedness? And above all... what's going on in the Tower, and what will be done about it? Who'll live, and who'll die, who'll lose a Warder, who'll lose an Aes Sedai? Who's on Lomiel's list, and why, and will the Amyrlin survive?

And until I get to finishing "Aes Sedai", please entertain yourselves with "Warder tales".

Oh, and yes, please forgive me all this shameless self-promotion. The plot bunnies made me do it.