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hoodwinkd1 · 4 years ago

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Your Eyes Whispered Ch 4-7

Fic Summary: After Eris becomes High Lord, there's only one thing on his mind, now that his father is dead and he can finally leave his horrible façade behind. A slow burn romance featuring the misunderstood prince of flame and his mate, a powerful teacher who can't seem to step out of her small town life.

Chapters 1-3 here! Ch 8-10 here.

Some fuffiness, some angst, some drama, and a cliffhanger!

Chapter 4: the lingering question kept me up

"What was it like?"

The question sat between them, as tangible and heavy as a bottle of wine. A tense silence fell, after three hours of lighthearted conversation.

Rhia blushed, absolutely mortified that the question had slipped between her lips. "I'm so sorry, that was wildly intrusive of me. Pretend I didn't say anything."

They had been trading stories like playing cards when Eris had mentioned Beron, briefly and without emotion. And yet Rhia could hardly stop herself before blurting out that damned question. She silently berated herself. What kind of heartless bitch asks about patricide without prompting?

She watched him grin without humor, his eyes turning blank when they'd been alight before.

"I suppose that's quite a normal thing to wonder about," Eris replied, in a tone that sent a small shiver down Rhia's spine. "How does a person feel after murdering their father, after premeditating the act for decades."

"No, really, I'm horrible for asking," Rhia pleaded. "You shouldn't answer that, especially not for someone you barely know." Anything to get that cold stare off his face. She took a sip of wine.

Eris seemed to catch himself, rubbing a hand over his face and also reaching for his drink. "I wish I could answer. I still don't know what I feel or how I should feel. If there's anyone I would wish to tell, it would be you."

Rhia let out a small sigh in relief that he wasn't about to storm out of her kitchen. "You don't have to feel a certain way. I can't imagine how difficult it must be to balance family and duty to the rest of the Autumn Court." Afraid of pushing too far, she hesitated a moment before adding: "Every citizen I know is grateful for what you did."

He laughed. "I doubt most Fae believe me to be any better than he was. Not after centuries by his side, doing basically nothing."

"Most Fae don't know what to think," she argued. "You were never overtly cruel or kind. Honestly, I'd thought you quite shy before...this."

"I've been cruel countless times, to countless people," Eris snapped. "Maybe not to Autumn Court citizens, but certainly to other High Lords and their close ones."

Rhia sat straighter, determined to get her point across clearly. "None of us have a clue about what happens between the nobility, especially not across Court borders. Forget their opinions and focus on what we think." He opened his mouth to respond, but she wasn't finished. "I've already heard rumors about your changes in the capital and I think they'll go a very long way towards gaining favor."

She wasn't just saying that to make him feel better. Eris had restructured the tax system to account for old-money families hoarding obscene amounts of wealth, funneling most of that money to finishing repairs from the war. He'd also banned the practice of arranging marriages for children, mandating that both Fae consent after they'd passed the age of maturity.

"I shouldn't consider the opinions of other Courts?" he questioned, ignoring her other point. "Even your idol, Feyre Cursebreaker?"

Damn him. She'd made all of one comment about how incredible Feyre Archeron's feat against Amarantha was and Eris had labelled her a fanatic.

"What does she care about your leadership? Haven't we always allied with the Night Court?" Rhia had had enough of Eris' self-deprecation and obsession with what others thought.

He looked distinctly uncomfortable, moreso than she'd thought the topic warranted. "All of Rhysand's Inner Circle hate me, deservedly so. But you were asking about me murdering my father, apologies for getting off-topic."

Rhia gaped at him. "What could possibly be so uncomfortable to speak of that you'd rather discuss murdering your father?"

Eris looked down at the table. "Something for another time."

The tension was back.

"I keep asking horrible questions," Rhia said softly, attempting to catch his eye again. "You know you never have to answer me, right?"

Eris spun his glass around a few times. "I wish I wasn't afraid to tell you."

"There are things I'm afraid to tell you," Rhia blurted out. Truly, she had almost told him about that dreadful night several times now. Every time she tried to push the words out, her lungs seemed to stop working and her head seemed to start spinning. There was something incredibly terrifying about looking into someone's eyes and giving them the darkest part of herself. Even if it wasn't her fault, Rhia couldn't stop the rush of shame that overtook her whenever she thought about it.

"I meant it when I said I'd take any part of you, in any way." Eris straightened in his chair, meeting her eyes now that he felt the compulsion to comfort.

The Cauldron was either brilliant or damned for putting the two of them together. Two Fae incapable of holding normal conversations without trauma ruining an otherwise lovely evening.

"I've made things terribly awkward," Rhia scrambled for something to fill the silence. Eris smiled at her lame attempt.

"Truthfully, I thought this conversation would be much worse," he appeased. "No one's in tears or injured, so let's count 'awkward' as a win. Tell me more about your students."

And so the conversation and evening continued to be lovely.

They met four more times over the next four weeks. Each time, Eris got a bit closer to naming his emotions about becoming High Lord and Rhia got a bit closer to attempting physical contact. Not that the other ever picked up on it.

A particularly hostile thunderstorm and cold autumn wind hit the town that night. Rhia couldn't wait for Eris to arrive, mostly because his ability to heat a room far surpassed hers. She cleaned the studio after her last class, worrying about which families had firewood and whether anyone face the storm unprepared. The door slammed, jerking her back to her body.

"Sorry to startle you," Eris apologized, snapping his fingers to dry out his clothing. He continued to enter through the door after the first night, refusing to break her wards even if he was fully capable of putting them back in place. He frowned, noting the chill in the room, and sent a warm breeze through the house.

Rhia smiled. She loved watching the flames in the fireplace jump in his presence, like a puppy excited to see its owner.

"How are you?" A loaded question, if he chose to answer truthfully.

"Much better now," Eris replied cheekily, winking at the flush that spread across her face. He never missed a chance to flirt with her and she never missed a chance to blush like a teenager. "I actually slept well last night, but my morning was immediately ruined by one of my brothers' return home."

Rhia didn't know much about the princes, but she doubted they had good intentions. "Which one? Not that I know any of them personally."

"Auster." Eris shrugged off his coat and started heating up the tea kettle. "He is...not the worst brother I have left."

"What a charming description." Rhia finished locking up the supply closet and started to join him in the kitchen, before a frantic knock at the door stopped her in her path. Eris whipped his head around and both of them sent a tendril of power to sense who it was.

"Oh fuck," Rhia swore, turning around to walk towards the door. "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck."

"Who is it?" Eris asked, his tone a bit panicked at her reaction.

Rhia shushed him. "Just--I don't know, just sit down and don't say anything." He did as she commanded, but continued sending her concerned looks.

The knocking kept up until Rhia swung open the door.

"Were you going to keep me out here all night?" Sofine demanded, shoving her way into the house. "It's pouring, in case you hadn't noticed."

Rhia tried to grab her best friend's arm before she made it too far into the room. "Sofi, hold on one second--"

But it was a second too late. Sofine had inhaled, recognizing the scent of another person, a male, in the house and froze.

"Who's here?" she asked, in a tone far too tense to be casual. Rhia grimaced. This was certainly not how she planned to make introductions.

"I, uh, you see, well a few weeks ago," she stammered, her brain refusing to produce an actual sentence. Eris chose that moment to speak up.

"Hello! You must be Sofine, I've heard so much about you." He walked towards the two females, his hand outstretched. "I'm Eris."

Rhia had never seen Sofine stop talking, but in this moment she was utterly speechless. She shook his hand, without saying a word, before spinning to face Rhia again.

"You have the High Lord in your kitchen."

"Oh, that reminds me I put the kettle on. Would you like some tea?" Eris asked.

Sofine shot Rhia one last glare, silently demanding a full explanation as soon as they were alone, before joining him in the kitchen. Oh shit. In all her worries and hopes about her burgeoning relationship with Eris, she hadn't even considered how he would fit in her life, or how she would fit in his. If that were even possible.

Chapter 5: these are the words I held back

TW: mentions of past sexual assault, nothing graphic. I put "XXX" at the start and end of it, please please skip it if that could possibly harm you. I will never, ever write anything graphic or specific about sexual assault, pinky promise.

Beron’s shot of flames slammed the side of his face before Eris could duck out of the way. Hissing in pain, Eris tried to ignore the feeling that half his face was now on fire. His father kept coming with the attacks, pushing him back until he could feel the stone of the bedroom’s wall on his back.

“I’m going to kill her next,” Beron taunted, slowing his attacks now that he saw his son fully cornered. “She’s given me nothing but useless heirs, disgusting upstarts who think they can overpower me.”

Eris tried to look around the room, but there were no other options. No final play, no additional power to grasp from. Why had he thought he could overpower his father?

He grasped at his wrist to find it empty. Where was the damn bracelet?

Eris stood alone and alone he would fail.

Beron continued to taunt him, sending flames to match each word. “I could always take another wife. Someone more beautiful. I’m utterly bored with your mother’s face.” The tyrant stepped even closer so Eris could see the utter hatred in his eyes. “Maybe even that pretty little mate of yours. What was her name again? Oh right.” Beron cackled as he prepared his final blow to murder his son. “Rhia.”

Eris woke up gasping for air, his father snarl still ringing in his ear. He ran a hand over his face. He’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead. The refrain calmed his breathing and slowed his heart rate, like it did every morning after nightmares haunted him every night. Neither tonics nor working himself to the bone had helped bring Eris a restful night of sleep.

Hearing his mate’s name in his father’s voice had been a particularly effective type of torture. Eris had done everything he could to avoid even thinking about her while his father was still alive, especially after that horrible incident with Lucien’s first love. Jessminda had done nothing except bring one of Beron’s sons happiness, and yet she paid the ultimate price.

He’s dead. He’s dead. He’s dead.

The rest of the day continued in a similarly joyful manner. One of Eris’ advisors, an ancient male named Julius, had attempted to undermine the latest efforts to modernize the royal court by poisoning the newest Minister of Finance for daring to be a female. Leanna had recovered quickly, given Julius’ ineptitude at everything except for being a misogynist, but Eris still had to handle his punishment. He then missed lunchtime because one of his spies had to give him an update on Auster’s movements, which still did not reveal the prince’s intentions or goals. Finally, Gerwin absolutely demolished him in the afternoon training session, shoving him into a weapons rack and giving him a lovely bruise on his forehead. The headache that manifested during dinner felt like a fitting way to end the day.

“Are you even listening?” his mother admonished, though her smirk suggested she was anything but annoyed. “I would rather not repeat myself for a third time.”

Eris put down his wine glass, feeling as though alcohol would only make the day worse. “Sorry. Horrid day. What were you saying?”

The Lady of the Autumn Court placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Dare I hope that the cause for your distraction is a happy one?” At his hesitation to respond, she added: “I know the walls have ears and you keep your secrets close. But come to me when you’re ready. I hate seeing you handle so much on your own.”

“I have happy reasons to be distracted, but no, today I’m simply tired,” he replied, turning his palm face up to grab her hand. “I wish I could say more and I hope I’ll be able to soon.”

His mother smiled, appeased for the moment. Eris wanted to tell her more than anything, let her know that he was happy and in love. Shit. He was in love. The thought made him cringe, because surely no undamaged person fell in love so quickly and easily. Surely only someone deprived of affection and wounded as he would consider 5 nights of conversation enough. No, Eris reasoned, he probably wasn’t in love, but the horridness of the day and the bitter taste of his nightmare had twisted his mind into thinking so.

He couldn’t tell his mother because he would not subject her to his heartbreak if Rhia decided she only ever wanted his friendship or no longer wanted him at all. She already had to watch Lucien, the true joy of her life, suffer without a true home and without love from his mate for so many years. Eris would not add to her burden, even as merely her second-favorite child.

“Go to bed early tonight,” she declared, giving him a look that made him feel like a child again. “I’ll oversee Julius’ imprisonment tonight and send word if anything goes astray.”

Eris nodded and kissed her on the head as he stood to head to his bedroom. If nothing else, murdering his father had been worth it just for his mother to live freely. If she was capable of finding her freedom once again.

Luckily, one tiny thing went right for the High Lord of the Autumn Court that awful day. The glowing piece of parchment in his top dresser drawer might as well have been a star coming down from the night sky, shining bright enough to scare away the dark. Rhia had written to him.

I’m glad you didn’t think it was terribly awkward two nights ago. Sofine can be quite abrasive, but I think she may have liked you. She worries about me, you see, even if she can’t argue with the High Lord. I’m very glad you met her though. I have a silly thought for you when you reply.

Eris couldn’t remember a single thing on his to-do list. The only possible thing he had to do was reply and reply quickly.

Let her know she is allowed to argue with me any time. I’ll probably regret saying that. My day was absolutely horrible and your silly thought is the only thing that might bring me joy again. Please share before I perish from curiosity.

She took a few minutes, either caught up in cleaning her house or making him wait on purpose. Masochistically, he hoped it was the latter and she enjoyed playing games with him.

If you mock me for this, I will, well I don’t know what I’ll do but it won’t be pleasant.

After you both left, I thought about how I might never have had the courage to introduce you or include you in my life. But then, I thought about how relieving it was that Sofine knew about you. Because that makes it real. I can’t back out now and I don’t want to.

No one was watching, so Eris could deny that a few tears pricked the corners of his eyes when he read that. Yes, Rhia was often withdrawn and overly cautious with him, but she was still moving forward. The two of them were still progressing into something, something more beautiful than anything Eris had ever experienced before.

That’s not silly. That’s a wonderful thought that I enjoyed immensely. Can I share a silly thought with you now?

Please. If only to make me feel less alone in my mortification.

You’re so easily mortified. Have you considered that I’m much more desperate and embarrassing than you are? Here’s my thought:

He hesitated, wanting to write so many things. He could write three dangerous words, but knew it was much too soon. He could ask her for permission to tell his mother, but knew that might bring more danger and scrutiny than could be prevented. He could even tell her about the worst mistake of his life and pray to the Mother that she wouldn’t see him like Mor did. Instead, he added:

I think once a week is ridiculous. I think about you too often to only hear your voice once a week. How would you feel about twice a week? If we’re feeling reckless, three times?

Infatuated, but not damaging enough to push her away.

I’m amazed this Court continues to run if you truly are thinking of me so often. If it will help the High Lord function, two-three times a week is acceptable to me. (more than acceptable). When should we start this crazy, reckless plan?

Not to upgrade the recklessness to outright foolhardiness, but tomorrow night? Unless your social calendar is full.

You know I have one friend, don’t be rude. I’ll see you tomorrow night. Bring food and wine.

She always did love trying the foregin cuisines he brought from the capital, offerings that weren’t available in more rural areas. Eris enjoyed nothing more than watching her try a new food cautiously before digging into it enthusiastically. Rhia’s face had seemed unreadable when he first met her, but he had begun to understand her expressions the way some scholars learned new languages. Food certainly helped soften their relationship, as indicated by the way her eyes narrowed when she saw something interesting and her lips quirked upward when she discovered a new favorite flavor.

Eris frowned as a realization swept over him. He was thinking about her lips, yes, but not at all in a sexual manner. This fact alone was not troubling; Eris only felt sexual attraction rarely and towards Fae he had some sort of prior connection with. However, Rhia was his mate and he thought he could be in love with her; desire surely should follow. Yet it felt as though some boundary stood between them and intimacy, as though sex was not even on the table at this moment. Too exhausted to unpack that strange feeling, Eris decided not to question the best thing in his life. Sexual desire would come or it wouldn’t.

----

Rhia had another bad night. One step forward, two steps back, her thoughts ran like an angry river towards an endless sea. She could feel the Mother laughing at her predicament.

XXX

As Rhia started trusting and liking Eris more, she thought about them as a couple. Every time she thought about them as a couple, a cold wave of terror rushed over her at the thought of being intimate with him. Eris could overwhelm her without a second thought, his power ten times her own. Even with Rhia’s strongest gusts of wind or quickest winnows, she would not escape him.

He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t do that. He wouldn’t do that. Her constant refrain did nothing to quell the anxiety that followed any time she thought about sex. The logical side of her brain screamed and yelled that he had not even touched her yet, had observed every boundary she set, had made no move to pressure her forward. Unfortunately, logic did not win out against trauma.

Rhia gripped her bathroom sink, staring at herself in the mirror like she always did when her thoughts grew too loud. Looking into her own eyes and seeing that she’d survived that night, survived her fucking rapist, slowed her heart rate back to normal.

Cauldron, this stupid problem only existed because she wanted him. Rhia had wanted him the moment she laid eyes on him. She thought about kissing him every time he stepped through her doorway. But males never stopped at kissing and Eris might walk away if he understood how truly fucked up she was.

You’re not the first female to ever get attacked. Pull yourself together. Rhia screamed at herself until her inner voice was hoarse. Do you know how much worse others have it? Can you even imagine what his own mother went through for centuries?

A voice that sounded eerily like Sofine’s challenged her back. Just because others have it worse does not lessen your burden or your worth.

Rhia breathed in, then out. In, then out. She would hopefully be able to fall asleep soon, this panic attack lasting less time than last week’s.

XXX

Exhaustion finally came, crashing over her as she finally felt her body relax. Rhia gave herself one last, long look in the mirror before coming to a decision.

She would not let herself ruin this relationship before it even had a chance to start. If it took jumping off a cliff and telling Eris about the worst night of her life, that was a small sacrifice to pay for potentially finding happiness. Smiling at that unusually optimistic perspective, Rhia washed her face and grabbed her silk bonnet, hoping that tonight’s dreams would carry her towards that mysterious, happy future.

Chapter 6: shifting eyes and vacany, vanished

TW: mentions of past sexual assault. same thing as last time, absolutely nothing graphic, will put an XXX before and after.

Eris had just grabbed his cloak, preparing to winnow to Malefic, when he heard a sharp knock at his door. He grimaced, imagining some sort of bureaucratic nonsense that could have undoubtedly been saved for tomorrow morning.

Instead he found Gerwin, nervously pacing the hall outside of the High Lord’s bedchambers. The weapons master rarely brought Eris news directly, and wouldn’t disturb him at night unless it was absolutely urgent.

“Come in.” Eris stepped back into the sitting area, tossing his cloak on the back of the nearest chair. “How long do you think this will take?” He’d rather send a quick note to Rhia then leave her waiting for hours.

Gerwin remained standing. “Not long, but I suspect you’ll want to take action after you hear this. One of your spies was found dead last night. We suspect Auster figured her out.”

“Who?” Eris mentally ran through the five Fae he had employed to look into his brother, shocked and hurt at the prospect of losing any of them.

“Mellie,” Gerwin responded, naming the air wraith who could walk as silently as the wind. Eris could only imagine how his brother had caught her and what detestable things he had done before killing her. “Jyn found her body an hour ago and we’ve covered the area up so none of the other staff will find out. How would you like to proceed?”

I’ll be a bit late tonight. Would you rather reschedule?

No, I want to talk to you and I’m afraid I’ll lose my nerve. Come when you can.

That message from Rhia certainly didn’t calm Eris’ anxiety.

The two males debated and strategized over the next hour, going back and forth on how to manage the prince. Since he surely left no evidence behind, Eris couldn’t arrest or prosecute his brother without possibly inflaming any support Auster had. They didn’t want to send any more of the spy cohort after him, since he’d proved tragically capable at sniffing them out. Unfortunately, the best move at the moment was to wait for Auster to make another move or present his purpose. Eris strengthened the wards around the palace, including extra alarms for anyone entering or leaving Auster’s chambers. It was an infuriatingly small response to Mellie’s death.

Eris had one person he considered asking for help, but she wasn’t in the Autumn Court and he didn’t like the idea of his familial problems becoming gossip across Prythian. Another thing I should probably discuss with Rhia , he mused, as he finally gathered his cloak and set off for her house.

Eris winnowed and raised his fist to knock, but Rhia flung the door open before he had a chance.

“Hi.” She sounded almost out of breath, but looked stunning as always. Her dark curls were pulled back into a low ponytail, with several strands escaping in the front. Eris could have looked at her face forever, her smile illuminated by the lantern above her door.

He stepped inside after her. “I’m sorry for the delay. Sometimes I actually have to do work as High Lord, contrary to popular opinion.” The joke fell flat, his anger at Mellie’s death darkening his tone.

Rhia placed the tea kettle and two mugs on the table, gesturing for him to sit. “Would you like to talk about it?”

Eris grabbed one and poured some of the tea, smelling cinnamon and honey. “I believe you had something you wanted to talk about first. I’ll tell you after; I don’t want to ruin the evening too quickly with my melancholy”

Rhia laughed. Eris frowned, his remark hadn’t been humorous.

---

Rhia laughed. She couldn’t help it. Eris had said didn’t want to ruin the evening, as if he imagined she had something funny, endearing, or whimsical to share. He shot her a confused frown, which only made her laugh harder.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she giggled, pouring herself a cup of tea and attempting to find her composure. “This isn’t funny at all.”

“I would never deny you an opportunity to laugh,” he replied, smiling a bit at her oddity. “But would you mind letting me in on the joke?”

She took a deep breath and a sip of tea, forcing herself to calm down. She often laughed when nervous and she hadn’t realized how nervous she truly was until this moment.

“I’m sorry,” Rhia said one more time. “It’s just, you said you didn’t want to ruin the evening with your news, but I’m afraid my topic of conversation is quite unfortunate. Also, I laugh when I’m nervous,” she finished lamely, looking down at her mug instead of his face.

“There’s nothing you could tell me that I wouldn’t want to hear,” Eris encouraged.

She only wished encouragement was enough.

Rhia took another breath. “I don’t quite know where to begin. I guess, well, I’m sure you had some sort of expectations for your future wife.”

Eris interrupted. “I told you, I don’t have any expectations for you. I just--”

She placed one of her hands on his instinctively. “Please, don’t interrupt me. I know you have no expectations for me and I appreciate that so, so much.” She tried to continue, but her tongue seemed to stick to the roof of her mouth. He had gone completely still.

This was the first time they had touched. Their eyes locked.

Rhia couldn’t help herself. She let out another giggle. Eris grinned at the sound of her laughter and at the absurdity of the situation.

“We’re quite useless, aren’t we?” She looked down at her hand on his again. “Two Fae over a century old who can barely hold hands.”

Eris flipped his hand so his palm touched hers. “I’ve told you time and time again the effect you have on me.” His fingers ever so slowly interlocked with hers. “We’re either extremely touch-starved or incredibly pathetic.”

Somehow, the small action of holding hands spurred Rhia to continue. She felt grounded and calm, trusted and trusting.

“I knew you were pathetic, but I had no idea I was also so wretched,” Rhia replied. “This sort of adds to my point.”

She allowed herself one more breath before continuing.

“I’m aware you have no expectations for me, but we both know what a mating bond or a marriage usually entails. I want to tell you this because it affects both of us, our relationship. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to have an intimate relationship with you.”

Eris, to his credit, stayed silent. Rhia didn’t sense any shock or strong emotions coming off of him, so she took that as a sign to keep going.

XXX

“Halfway through Amarantha’s rule, while myself and a few others were warding Malefic off from the outside world, a group of males somehow broke in. Everyone else was left unharmed, except for me. My power was depleted from maintaining the constant security, and one of the males had enough magic to keep me still.”

Her story was definitely not clear or easy to follow. Rhia couldn’t find the energy to make it make sense.

“And, well, that’s that. I’m...well I’m improved. I thought I was back to normal. I usually don’t have a problem with intimacy and I’ve had plenty of sex since then.” She glanced up. “Sorry, is that too much information?”

Eris cleared his throat. “Rhia, if you think that your sex life is at all one of my concerns with this conversation…”

“Right, the trauma is probably more important.” She realized she was still gripping his hand and loosened her fingers a bit. His fingers opened, as if to give her the space to back away. She didn’t take it.

“If I have my full strength and I know the male isn’t powerful, it’s really not a problem.” She looked up at him. “So it’s really fucked up that the only person I can think about now is the most powerful male in the damn Court.”

XXX

His face was still frustratingly unreadable.

A wave of anxiety hit Rhia. “You can talk now.”

“I love you.” Eris swore under his breath. “Fuck, that’s really not how I wanted it to come out. I know it doesn’t fix anything and I know I can’t fix anything, but I am just so incredibly honored you chose to share this with me. And it doesn’t change a damn thing about wanting to be with you however you want me.”

Rhia breathed in his confession like a drug. Love won’t fix trauma and a romantic partner won’t fix a broken person. But it felt undeniably good to have someone there, someone who wouldn’t look at her differently or see her as less worthy.

“That wasn’t a good response,” Eris continued. “Let me try again. Thank you for sharing your story with me. I am so sorry that happened to you. What can I do to make you more comfortable?”

“Both responses were good, you idiot,” Rhia sniffed once, a little more emotional than she thought she would be. “Stop it or I’m going to cry.”

“If you cry, I might also cry,” Eris warned. “And then I’ll feel guilty for the rest of my life for crying and taking the attention off of you.” He slowly placed his other hand on top of hers and squeezed once. “We definitely do not have to continue this conversation now, but I would appreciate knowing how I can help you feel comfortable and safe.”

She didn’t reply, but gave him a weak smile in response. “Tell me about your thing now. I’m emotionally fried.”

“Are you sure?” When she nodded, Eris added: “I feel a bit silly now, complaining about my brother and his mysterious intentions.”

Rhia let go of his hand briefly, only to stand and walk over to the kitchen. “I’m sure it’s not some trivial matter if you were late tonight.” She grabbed a bottle of dark brown liquor from a cabinet above the sink. “And please, anything to change the subject.” She poured a splash of liquid into each of their teacups, causing Eris to grin.

“Nothing like alcohol to dull the ache of familial drama. I actually found out one of my spies died tonight, surely at Auster’s hand.” His expression quickly morphed from amused to solemn. “Mellie. She was absolutely brilliant and I wasted her life on pure suspicion. I should’ve investigated him myself from the beginning, instead of risking my employees for a personal cause.” Eris finished this thought with a few large sips.

Rhia also took a drink. “Is it truly a personal matter? If your brother is willing to kill someone, it sounds like he’s actually a risk to your entire court. And I’m very sorry to hear about Mellie.”

“Thank you,” he replied automatically. “That’s...I hadn’t thought of it that way, but you’re right, murder wouldn’t be the typical response to finding a spy. I just wish I knew what he hoped to accomplish.”

“Tell me more about him and I’ll take a guess,” Rhia offered. “It’ll be poorly thought out, but another perspective can’t hurt.”

So Eris began to describe his younger brother. Auster had been a quiet child growing up, never as violent or hostile as the other Vanserra siblings. Youngest only to Lucien, Auster hadn’t even bullied his younger brother to the extent the middle brothers did. However, once they had all reached maturity and especially after the Jessminda incident, Eris suspected that Auster’s quiet demeanor had more to do with remaining unnoticed than introverted tendencies. After two of the brothers died and one escaped Beron at Tamlin’s hand, Eris had investigated the remaining three brothers to maintain his role as Heir. Morian and Dedus were idiots, all brute force and horrible manners. While those characteristics endeared them to Beron, the former High Lord kept the twins far away from the capital and wouldn’t risk giving them actual power. Auster, on the other hand, seemed to have half the staff on his payroll according to financial analyses.

Eris had his own casual spies in the palace and began a more formal cohort, led by Gerwin, at this point in time. Auster never seemed to take action, but Eris suspected he had a role in revealing secrets of multiple political rivals. Beron had also put him in charge of punishing any traitors accused of treason, allowing Auster to demonstrate his cruel tendencies.

Months before Eris had taken the throne, Auster had simply disappeared. Beron had never addressed his missing son and they received no news of his death. Eris had spent those months clearing the palace of anyone with ties to his brother and hired new staff completely loyal to him. Only weeks after Beron’s official funeral, Auster had returned and pledged his support to his older brother. He had spent the time since holed up in his room, without any obvious communication to the outside world.

“Sorry, that was a bit of a rant,” Eris finished. Both Fae had finished several cups of tea-and-liquor during his explanation, and Rhia could feel her cheeks heating up under the alcohol’s influence. But she attempted some logic and reasoning for Eris’ sake.

“He sounds horrible and manipulative. Just the kind of male to come back in the picture only when it suits him,” she theorized. “If he hasn’t spoken to anyone outside the palace, maybe he’s trying to get some of the staff under his control again. Or one of them is sneaking messages out for him.”

Eris nodded, eyes drifting off into the distance as he considered her words. “I’ve been lazy. I’ve put up wards, but that would only detect magic or Fae who don’t belong in the palace. He could have easily snuck out paper messages with one loyal servant.”

Rhia wanted to help out, she really did. But his fingers had been unconsciously playing with her, lightly skimming her wrist and forearm, as if they had a mind of their own while he spoke. Distracting, and devastatingly tender.

She stood suddenly, concerned about where her thoughts might take her. Eris’ gaze snapped back to her face.

“It’s late,” she offered as a clearly fake excuse for her behavior. “I feel terrible, keeping you up when you’ll have to deal with all this in the morning.” Not to mention, she had a group of children coming in for a class in less than six hours.

Eris stood as well, grabbing his cloak. He seemed so hesitant, so unwilling to leave, staring at her face as if to memorize it. “I don’t know if it’s a good idea for me to come back here for awhile.”

Rhia’s heart dropped to the ground. “What?” He saw the panic, noticed her heart rate elevate and immediately corrected.

“Not because of you! Not at all because of tonight. Tonight was everything to me,” he emphasized, holding out a hand between them. “Because of Auster. If I start seriously investigating him, I worry he’ll try to follow me. Or figure out my weaknesses. Rhia, I only introduced myself to you because I thought you’d be safe after I became High Lord. If my brother were to ever try to harm you, I don’t know what I’d do.”

She breathed a bit easier. “How long?”

“I’ll write to you. The paper is safe, enchanted for only our eyes.” Eris shook his head. “Hopefully a couple weeks? I wish it were simple, but Gerwin and I decided to wait for his next move. So it’s difficult to know.”

The idea of not seeing him for a couple weeks hurt. It hurt so much more than Rhia wanted to admit.

So she decided to be brave. She stepped close enough to him that she could feel his breath on her face. She grabbed each of his hands in her own and pulled them up to rest on his chest. For a moment, she swore their hearts beat in synchronization.

“I don’t think anyone would miss him if you had to kill him,” she said, her voice steadier than her thoughts. “Just handle him quickly.”

Eris laughed lightly. “I am very motivated, trust me.” He kissed her knuckles. “Good night.”

Eris gathered his cloak and winnowed back to his palace. As he drifted into an uneasy sleep, he wondered how it would feel to fall asleep somewhere he felt safe, somewhere full of good memories, with someone who cared about him.

Funnily enough, Rhia fell asleep wondering the same thing.

Chapter 7: until I see you again

After five days of silence, Rhia was about ready to lose her mind. Eris hadn’t written or called her in any way, and there wasn’t even any new gossip about him from the capitol. Her mind wandered off at inopportune moments, imagining him dead by his brother’s hand or finally deeming her unworthy of him and moving on to someone else.

“RHIA!”

She jumped, startled at the high-pitched squeal that cut off her most recent vision of Auster chopping off Eris’ head. One of her students, Raquel, stood outside one of the studio windows, banging on the glass.

“Shit,” Rhia swore under her breath, glancing at the clock above the wall of mirrors. Her next lesson was starting now and she hadn’t set up anything.

She jostled over to the door and opened the door to see Raquel standing with two of their peers. This group was one of her favorites, three young Lesser Fae who manipulated nature and lived right at the edge of the forest. Raquel was the certified leader of the group and took that role seriously: they made sure Leyora and Aliar always arrived on time.

Rhia usually loved all the sass and attitude that came with this trio, but today she was close to strangling the little jerk.

“Come in, come in,” she said instead, herding the children into the room and helping them with their coats. “I must’ve forgotten to unlock the door. How’s everyone doing today?”

“We were having a good day until you left us in the cold for so long,” Raquel grumbled, their cheeks pink from the frosty air. “I screamed your name four times before you noticed me.”

Leyora nodded. “Raquel was very loud. You really should answer your door faster.” She looked extremely serious after the minor inconvenience, in the way only children can.

Rhia finished hanging the coats and walked over to her supply closet. “Well I am very sorry that I ruined your morning. Blow breezes at each other while I set up.”

As they sent blasts of air at each other, the children soon forgot their anger and quickly turned to laughter, describing their breakfasts and every little detail of the walk over. Rhia tried to be engaged and charming, like she usually was, but kept glancing at the empty piece of paper sitting on her counter, yearning for it to glow.

An hour later, and after several very close calls with fire and her curtains, Rhia stood staring at the paper again. She’d tried, she really had, to give Eris time to deal with his brother and let him write her first. The last thing she wanted was to distract him while he was potentially fighting for his throne. Well, he could always ignore her if he didn’t want to respond, so she might as well write something.

Just let me know you’re okay.

---

After five days of hunting, Eris was ready to lose his damn mind. He’d returned home to find the palace in complete chaos, with the staff fleeing and his mother missing. Gerwin gave him the quick update as he sprinted to her chambers, sure his brother was to blame.

“Thirty minutes ago, we found half your mother’s guard dead and her rooms empty. Whoever it was left the damn bodies in the kitchen , like a maniac, to scare everyone away and cause all this.” Gerwin gestured to the general panic and disarray. “We’ve already searched for your brother and he’s long gone. I don’t think he came anywhere near here”

Eris ignored him and burst through the door of the bedroom. Indeed, Auster’s scent was completely absent.

“We found a note and left it untouched for you,” Gerwin explained, pointing at a delicately embossed letter sitting on the coffee table

An oathbreaker is not fit to be High Lord. Relinquish your title before the week is up.

“Shit,” Eris swore. “This is bad.”

Gerwin glanced at the note again. “What does it mean?”

Eris scrambled for a plan, an idea, anything that would fix this mess. “It means the Court of Nightmares knows I broke the alliance.” He grabbed a piece of stationery off a random dresser, scrawling out a quick note. “Auster found himself an army of bastards, willing to help bring me down.”

I need your help. Come to the palace immediately.

With a flick of his fingers, Eris sent the message to the only person who might be able and willing to help him.

“The advisers are waiting,” Gerwin said hesitantly. “I know they won’t have anything useful to say, but I believe it best if you appease them tonight.”

“Fine,” Eris growled, in no mood to handle the overly emotional politicians.

As expected, he could hear the arguments and heated debates from down the hall. Entering the main conference room, Eris shot a wave of power across the room, silencing the chatter.

“My mother is missing. Don’t waste my time.” He glared directly at Moris, one of the ringleaders and most vocal on the council.

To his credit, Moris inclined his head in respect and kept his tone calm. “My Lord, I cannot imagine how stressful tonight is for you. We only wish to help you come up with a strategy.”

“The note is quite concerning,” added another male. “Could you elaborate on the meaning of ‘oathbreaker’?”

Eris let out a breath. “I don’t have time to explain everything to you all. Clearly, my brother had some hand in this, and I believe he had foreign aid.”

“That’s quite a claim,” Moris responded thoughtfully. “Without evidence, however, how can we take action?”

“ You won’t be taking any action.” Eris resisted the urge to snarl. “I don’t remember seeing any of you hunting down fugitives in the past few centuries.” Gerwin snorted behind him. “I’ll track down my brother and bring him back to stand trial.”

The room erupted into discussion. Beron would have never taken on such a task himself, leaving the throne empty and the palace unruled. Eris ignored every one of their complaints,

He couldn’t recruit anyone else from the Autumn Court for this task, or he would risk revealing the secret that threatened his legitimacy as High Lord.

“Well that could have gone better,” Gerwin remarked, following Eris away from the conference room. “At least you didn’t set anyone’s hair on fire.”

“I thought about it.” Eris stalked into his bedchambers, waving the door closed behind his weapons master.

Gerwin stiffened. “Eris, someone’s in here--”

Eris cut him off. “Hello, Carina.”

The infamous Heir to the Night Court stepped out from the shadows. Dark haired, dressed in all black, and heartbreakingly beautiful, Rhysand’s daughter winked at him.

“Already trouble in paradise?” she smirked.

Gerwin grabbed Eris’ arm. “This is your idea? Bringing in the Night Court again?”

Eris shook him off. “If Keir is involved in any capacity, then her family will need to know about it.” Gerwin opened his mouth to argue, but Eris continued. “Besides, she’s already helped me more than anyone can know.”

He looked at the female who might be his only other friend. They’d grown close after Eris had called in his deal with the Inner Circle, demanding they support him in overthrowing Beron. Carina had convinced them to take it one step further, providing magical bracelets that let two Fae share power, to ensure that Eris could actually defeat his father. She had lied to her parents and mate when she had actually worn the bracelet herself, letting Eris use her strength to kill Beron.

If anyone found out, the advisers could use the information to call for Eris’ resignation. The Court could likely agree with them.

“Can I see the note?” Carina asked. Eris handed it to her. After inspecting it for a moment, she gave it back. “It stinks of Keir’s right-hand male, Toren. I’ll have Azriel look into him.”

Eris sighed in relief. Finally, a small clue into his mother’s location. “Thank you. I already owe you so much--”

She waved his gratitude off. “It’s what friends are for. I do enjoy extravagantly expensive dresses, if you must know. What else can I do?”

“I can’t ask anything else of you,” Eris insisted. “Just--anything you find from the Hewn City.”

“Of course,” Carina smiled. “We’ll find her, I promise. Absolutely do not give up the throne.”

And so Eris had spent the next four days across the Autumn Court, running into dead ends and even a few traps. Gerwin returned to the palace after two days, promising to keep any nobles from attempting a coup.

Carina had sent a message, letting him know that Keir remained in the Night Court and no one had seen any sign of Auster. Azriel had assigned several Fae to watch everyone in the Court of Nightmares, and had begun sifting through all their communications. If they are working together, they’ll have to discuss at some point. Her words did not inspire much confidence.

The High Lord was exhausted. He missed Rhia every second of every day and wished he’d thought to grab their parchment before leaving. The logical side of his brain screamed at him to return home, get some rest, and request help from his spies. The guilt fueling him, however, demanded that he never put someone else in danger again, that he alone murder another family member to keep his Court safe.

Eris shook some leaves from his hair and splashed cold creek water onto his face in a lame attempt to wake himself up. He was outside a small town where Auster’s scent lingered, but found no actual trace of the murderous prick. There were no other trails, no further moves to make.

He closed his eyes for one moment, gathering his composure to winnow back to the palace as a failure. Eris woke up several minutes later to a sword at his throat.

“What in the name of the Mother are you doing?” Lucien demanded. “Falling asleep in the middle of a random forest like a vagabond? Our fucking mother is missing.”

Eris shoved the blade away and got to his feet. “I’m searching for our fuck of a brother, you bastard. And looking for her. Why are you here?” As the question slipped out of his mouth, he suddenly remembered that one of the only Fae Lucien still loved had been stolen in some twisted plot.

The younger Vanserra looked even more exhausted, if that were possible.

“Trying to find you.” Lucien tucked his sword away. “I was hoping you’d have tracked him down by now or have found some new information.”

“Nothing,” Eris groaned, running a hand over his face. “This was all a huge mistake. I shouldn’t have let Auster run me around the Court like a fool.”

Lucien snorted. “Your savior complex is going to kill you one day. I have news from the Night Court, if you’re awake enough to listen.”

Eris hated accepting help, especially from his youngest brother, but took the hand Lucien offered anyway. They took turns winnowing back to the palace, as Lucien gave him a summary of the last few days.

Keir had thrown a massive temper tantrum when members of the Inner Circle appeared in the Hewn City and demanded to search his palace. After failing to link him directly to uprisings in Illyria several months ago, Carina had done everything in her power to find evidence that Keir was working with Auster.

“She’s bitter,” Lucien noted. “They all are. This is the second time this year that Keir has attempted some sort of terrorism or treason.”

Eris ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I’m just grateful for their help, even if it has nothing to do with me. Did Carina find anything?” Only one more jump and Eris would be in his chambers again. He almost cried at the thought of a nap in an actual bed and a chance to contact Rhia after days of silence.

“Yes and no,” Lucien continued. “Azriel tracked down the messenger who connected Auster and Keir in the first place, confirming our worst fears, but no sign of Mother.” The male sighed, preparing to winnow them the final few miles home. “I’m concerned that there’s something else going on, some other plan that we aren’t seeing.”

“I agree,” Eris replied. “Auster’s trail was authentic; I knew for certain he had visited the places I tracked him. But I think he set it up weeks ago, before staying in the palace.”

Lucien didn’t answer immediately. He grabbed Eris’ arm and vanished them, landing directly in the High Lord’s chambers.

“Fuck,” Lucien swore, looking around the room. “I can’t believe you sleep in here. Lovely decorating, though.”

Eris couldn’t agree more. He hated living where Beron had abused and fought him. “I wish I had a choice. If I remained in my old rooms, the advisers would’ve pounced on my weakness.”

Gesturing to one of the large couches, Eris continued. “You’re welcome to stay, rest for a bit, if you don’t want to announce your presence to the entire Court.”

Lucien looked taken aback at the offer. “I--That would probably be smart, yes.”

Eris barely heard his agreement. Mumbling something about a bath, he stumbled into his bedroom, stripping off his disgusting jacket and pants. Cauldron, he was an idiot for letting Auster wear him down so thoroughly.

Eris sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the door of his bathing room, debating whether he shouldn’t skip the bath in favor of falling asleep immediately. Something glowed in the corner of his vision, dragging his gaze to the nightstand.

“Rhia,” he breathed, snatching up the parchment. He read the message, drinking in her words like a life-saving potion.

Just let me know you’re okay.

Magicking a pen, Eris scrawled back as quickly as he could.

I’m so sorry to have worried you. I’d like nothing more than to rush to your side and never leave again. Unfortunately, I do not have any good news. Lucien is with me now, and we’ll resume our search after I’ve rested. I’m back at the palace, so I can promise my safety for the time being.

When she did not respond instantly, Eris put down the pen and took off his undershirt. She would know he was alive and back home, without a reason to worry for at least the next few hours.

With that thought comforting him, he leaned back on the pillows. His eyes fluttered shut a moment before his head hit the soft fabric, meaning Eris did not watch the massive blade appear above him and stab him through the heart.

#eris vanserra #eris #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #sjm #acosf #autumn court

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successionsideblog · 5 years ago

Text

you know what, if you want a taste of the tomgreg i’m writing here ya go. i’m not spellchecking this and it has no title. here is your taste

The fallout unravels in a series of afters.

Fifteen seconds after the press conference ends, Kendall rips up his approved statement and tosses it behind him to the ubiquitous uproar of the roomful of press. He has just killed his father on national television, a new wave patricide for the twenty-first century, and Greg, well, Greg gave him the gun.

Thirty seconds after the press conference ends, Greg follows Kendall down a stretch of hallway like a rescue dog abandoned by the train yard having attached itself to the first person who threw it a bone. His hands are clammy against the yellow manila folder, making sweaty fingerprints against the cheap, Office Depot paper. The skin of his thumb pulls away from the nail with his incessant fidgeting and it stings like hell. Kendall is walking too fast despite his much shorter stride. Jess and Karolina crowd his side, but Kendall barrels past them.

Colourful language is exchanged. Phone calls are made. Greg can barely hear what is being said with the blood rushing from one side of his head to the other. His ears sound like oversized conch shells that swell with the shutter of every flashing camera that follows them past the podium.

“Sorry.” Greg offers them an uncomfortable wave, or what was supposed to be a gesture of apology. “Sorry for the—uh—inconvenience.”

“Alright, Greg, my comrade in arms,” Kendall says, holding out his hand, making a grabby motion. He looks composed, not even a decimal place to the right as nervous or overwhelmed as Greg is. “Sauce me the docs.”

“Right,” Greg says and surrenders them without protest. It feels good to finally let them go after they had been eating away at the argyles in his sock drawer for weeks. “Sorry, um, about the sweat. It’s my flight-or-fight response. I guess my body thinks I might be dying.”

Kendall ignores him, then passes the documents to an assistant so haphazardly that Greg almost wants to cry out, or at least make everyone in the room go through a strict vetting process before the manila folder can disappear from his sight. His worries are quickly quashed, however, when the folder is ripped open and the distribution of dozens of photocopies begins amongst the Kendall approved reporters waiting in the wings.

One such reporter, who must have seen Greg hand over the folder, pounces on him, blonde and plasticky in that white-midwestern-Fox-News-anchor sort of way that immediately waives his interest. The foam headed microphone she poises in front of his face is uncomfortably phallic.

“Your name?” she asks.

“Uh, Gregory—”

“Roy?”

“No, Hirsch. I was, um, the one who fucked up—sorry—my testimony in front of Congress? You might have seen me on the front page of Reddit. Wait—are you broadcasting this?”

He gives a statement, then he and Kendall are ushered into another room, stale with the smell of dispensary coffee and complimentary pastries, then a second room where a legal team made up of people Greg has never met pulls Kendall aside. Their conversation is hushed, their faces pinched and wrinkled like globs of malformed Play-Doh.

Greg stands in the corner, ignoring the urge to lean his forehead against the spackle wall and find his breath. He was privy to Phase 1 of the plan and only Phase 1: get in a helicopter, get on a private jet, transport the super-secret documents, attend the press conference, give Kendall the super-secret documents, watch Kendall hand over the super-secret documents, et cetera. By now, they must be at Phase 2: try not to poop your big boy pants in front of the Wallstreet Journal.

Afterwards, Kendall pats him on the back and tells him to “gear up for the clusterfuck,” so Greg does. They get into separate cars, pulled in separate directions by the tailing reporters. Greg watches the second black car shrink into a dot behind him: Phase 3, which Greg isn’t destined to be a part of, apparently.

Greg holes up in his apartment with his phone readied and ATN on mute. He waits for the word from Kendall, but it never comes. He paces, showers the corporate stink off him, and changes into sweats. As he towel dries his 100 dollar haircut, his phone pings, then pings again, again, and again. It vibrates against the custom-made coffee table with such force Greg thinks the glass might shatter.

He snatches it up. A text from Gerri, from Tom, from Shiv, Roman, Karl, Frank, all spouting a thesaurus worth of expletives and a row of question marks, as well as several emojis Greg has trouble deciphering in this context. At the top of his lock screen is a notification for the New York Times article Kendall warned him about yesterday, then the statement he gave to the tabloid in all caps, bold Helvetica font.

“Oh, okay, okay, okay, shit. Shit!”

He puts his phone on silent and goes to the balcony to smoke a joint, realizes reporters are swarming his building like worker ants in camera-ready makeup and drugstore hair gel, and hurries back inside. He flexes his fists, chews up his lips until they look like a crime scene. He knew what he was getting into when he handed over those two sad, crumpled pages he saved from certain Wambsgans branded death. But maybe not to the extent of being called out for it, or having to face the ridicule of a family he just settled into. He was supposed to be the backup, a co-conspirator behind the scenes, not the second fall guy. He texts Kendall “Hey man, I’m kind of freaking out right now” but gets no reply.

Kendall is persona non grata. As far as Greg knows, he could be holed up in a Soviet-era Siberian bunker somewhere, eating beans from a tin can and waiting out the aftermath.

Greg kicks himself. He should have thought of that.

Ten hours after the press conference ends and five hours after the media shitstorm hits peak shit, Greg hears a knock at his door. Half-asleep from a nap he was unaware he was taking, he instinctively reaches for his phone again. The sun is setting, shrinking behind the eyesore of an office building that blocks his view and decreases the property value of his apartment. He grumbles as his phone screen illuminates, stinging his dilated pupils.

(15) Unread Voicemails from Tom Wambsgans.

“Shit.”

The knocking continues.

“Hey, Greg, open up,” Tom shouts, sing-song in a threatening sort of way. His voice is muffled by the door, the knob twisting back and forth. Greg half-expects an ax to come flying through the wood and plaster. “Greg, I swear to God, open this door or else you are dead to me.”

Greg stumbles over himself, nearly tripping over the edge of his Sherpa rug as he turns on a light. He unlocks the door and yanks it open. The smell of tropical suntan lotion and Armani cologne immediately wafts into his nose, like a bowl of fruit salad left sitting on a department store perfume counter.

Tom stands there, his fists balled up at his sides like a petulant child waiting for his mother in a long line at the supermarket check-out. His skin is tan and slightly sunburnt around his nose from their time spent in Greece, but his loose-fitting yacht clothes have been replaced by a stark white button-down and an Yves Saint Laurent suit jacket. Greg tries not to notice.

“What the fuck did you do?” Tom asks.

His eyes wide, his affectation intensified by his disbelief. He looks angry, jaw jutting out. For a second, Greg thinks Tom might hit him like he has other times Greg has told him something he doesn’t want to hear. But the scale is much bigger, with implications that extend far beyond extramarital activities and open business relationships.

“I, uh, well.” Greg finds his words then loses them, then finds some new ones. “I mean, is it bad?”

“Yeah, Greg, it is. It is very bad.”

Tom pushes past him into the apartment. Greg hesitantly shuts the door behind him, trying not to shrink in on himself. Meanwhile, Tom appears to be near hysteria, halfway between laughing and crying like he was when he first dragged Greg into the death pit. Tom glances out the window where a few straggling news crews remain, then turns to face him.

“Do you have anything to say to me?” Tom asks.

“What?” Greg avoids his eyes. “Like—like an apology?”

“Yeah, like an apology.” Tom lets out a humourless, near sociopathic chuckle. “You fucked me over, Greg! You fucked me!” Every consonant is especially harsh when Tom says his name. He pinches his thumb and forefinger together. “We were this close to all of this going away and poof! Fucking front-page news. I feel like I got caught with my pants down and everyone is laughing at my junk.”

Greg tries not to let the off-colour simile faze him. “Look, Tom, to be fair, I kind of fucked us both.” He takes a step forward to close the room width of space between them. “I mean, I implicated myself as much as I implicated you. But Ken said he would take care of it.”

“Oh, he did, did he? So, what, are you his bitch boy now? First comes corporate scheming then comes marriage?”

Greg makes a face at him, ignoring the jealousy uncomfortably sandwiched between every word. Sometimes he thinks Tom forgets that Shiv, Roman and Kendall are his cousins, like a baby who lacks object permanence for Fortune 500 surnames.

“Uh, not sure I would use that term but okay.” Greg tries not to pace. “Come on, this is what you wanted in the first place. To come clean, get it all out in the open. Like, it was the right thing to do, right?”

Tom raises his eyebrows, mouth falling open. “You are unbelievable.”

“What?”

“Jesus, Greg. I know it was you.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You were the one who told Gerri I wanted to hold a press conference, you piece of shit.” The hurt that lines Tom’s face catches Greg off-guard. Tom tries to hide it with a self-satisfied grin, seemingly for having figured it all out, but Greg can see it in his eyes, festering. “So, now you want to claim the moral high ground? You lied to me through your fucking teeth.”

Greg had almost forgotten that had happened. It feels like it was years ago, not months. He was a fish out of water back then—he still is—but he thought it might allow him some wiggle room, help him avoid being caught in the clean-up net, gutted, then served on a platter if cruises ever came out. He supposes he could play the “I was oblivious” card—because he was—but that might not fly considering he just blew a big, shiny rape whistle on Waystar senior management.

“Look, Tom, I’m sorry, like really, I am, but you told me not to trust anyone, least of all you, and then you trusted me? It was your own advice!” Greg raises his hands as if to deny culpability. “So, you know, that, uh, that sounds like a you problem, dude.”

Something shifts in Tom’s expression, the hurt turning to resentment. “Is this unassuming nature of yours, this fresh-scrubbed sincerity, all an act?” Tom asks, gesturing to Greg and all Brobdingnagian six feet and seven inches of him. “Have I been duped, bamboozled, hung out to fucking dry? Again?”

Greg knew Tom would be upset, but this is something else, something that runs deeper than possibly facing jail time. Tom has never been especially easy for Greg to read; he masks his sincerity with deceit and covers up his deceit with generosity, trying to play at the Roy game by Roy rules until his intentions pervert into some sick joke only he’s in on.

Would you kiss me? What if I asked you to? What if I told you to?

At best, Tom is unpleasant to work for and borderline abusive to his employees. At worst, he’s strangely endearing. If Greg really wanted out from his clutches, he would have used the documents as leverage a long time ago. But Greg feels oddly attached to him still, like a pair of Siamese Twins held together by their liver: an organ that could be severed in two if need be, but Greg would likely miss the feeling of working so close to Tom by virtue of needing to keep their heads above the water before cruises sank them completely.

“Tom, come on—I just—I want you on my side.” Greg feels pathetic as he inches closet to pleading with Tom, but for what? Forgiveness? Understanding? A second chance? He’s not so sure.

Tom scoffs. “Why? Because I present a tactical advantage? Did Kendall ask you to recruit me?”

Greg would be lying if he said he hadn’t considered nudging Tom over to the Kenstar Gregco team, but Kendall had never given him the rundown on how this was going play out, or which factions the family might divide into. Truthfully, Greg didn’t think that far ahead when Kendall laid out the initial plan. There had been no time for that.

“Kendall has nothing to do with this,” Greg says, motioning between them. “The documents were a favour. I was just doing Kendall a favour.”

“Yeah, sure.” Tom grits his teeth. “You used me, Greg. You were a featherless chick, trying to fly from the nest, and I took you under my wing! Now you want to significantly alter the pecking order?” He shakes his head. “All you Roys are the same. Like a piss of leeches in cashmere turtlenecks and cable-knit sweaters.”

Greg feels the urge to tell Tom he’s technically not a Roy, but it would be fallacious. Tom isn’t one either, not really. They’re both nameless actors on the outskirts of the freak show, one of them a clown that married into the circus, and the other a clown that has trace amounts of circus in his blood. This was their choice.

“I’m indebted to you, Tom, I really am.” Greg reaches out and lays a hand on his shoulder. Even though they’re barely touching, he can feel his body heat radiating from beneath his primly ironed Oxford. “Look, what can I do?”

Tom goes quiet, glancing at where Greg has made contact. For a moment, Greg naively thinks they have reached some sort of understanding. His hopes are quickly dashed.

“Alright, Greg,” Tom says, his performative smugness returning. “You can tell me where Kendall is for starters.”

“Kendall?”

“Yes, Kendall. Come on, where is our quasi-Dmitri Karamazov? Has he gone AWOL or is he out roaming the streets covered in blood with three thousand rubles clutched in his tiny fist?”

Greg narrows his eyes at Tom, dropping his hand from his shoulder. “Okay—um—no? And I don’t know where he is. He kind of went dark on me.”

“Oh, so you two are in cahoots but not really in cahoots?”

Greg ignores how pleased Tom sounds. “Is everyone back yet?”

“We flew in a couple of hours ago.”

“And?”

“Oh, they’re beyond pissed. Your balls will be in a little brass box on Logan’s desk come morning.”

“Makes sense, I guess,” Greg says but he doesn’t really believe it. Tom is just playing the game again, trying to intimidate him with lowbrow banter fit for any fraternity hazing ritual. It only signifies that Greg has passed the threshold of what is expected of him again because, in actuality, Logan is in a worse spot than anyone. Except maybe Kendall who has to deal with the consequences of putting him there. “So, where do you stand? In all of this.”

Tom snorts, but he looks unsure. “Oh, please. Stop with this which-side-are-you-on bullcrap. You sound like a fifth-grader picking teams for kickball.”

“Hey, I’m being serious. Like, what do you owe Logan? What do I owe him? I mean, I owe you more than anything,” Greg says and the compliment makes his back teeth ache. “I want you there—here—like, I want you to play on my team. Or you could, maybe, play both sides. You know, do a little undercover. It could be like a James Bond, Q type situation.”

“Greg, you’re being ridiculous.”

“How? How is that ridiculous?”

Tom just shakes his head. The sadness Greg had taken note of before returns to his face. Greg knows Tom has a responsibility to Shiv, and whichever way Shiv goes he has to follow. Greg was just hoping their alliances had yet to be decided, but it sounds like she has made up her mind, so Tom has too. No game plan, no strategizing, no conspiratorial comradery. Greg feels stopped in his tracks, pushed to the outskirts by someone who has always tried to bring him in.

Tom heads towards the door, removing his phone from his back pocket. “Keep in touch.”

It sounds like a threat and a promise rolled into one.

#i am not tagging this #it is a sneak peek for subscriber only

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neuxue · 6 years ago

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Wheel of Time liveblogging: The Gathering Storm ch 48

It’s like reading a reaction-gif summary of the previous chapter except every gif is just pain and also made of words instead. With bonus prophecy.

Chapter 48: Reading the Commentary

Min sat in Cadsuane’s small room, waiting—with the others—to hear the result of Rand’s meeting with his father.

Yeah about that.

A low fire burned in the fireplace

And a much less low (bale)fire burned in Rand’s hands…

Mix that with Min’s discomfort around Rand lately

The fact that even Min feels ‘discomfort’ around Rand is uh. Telling.

Though perhaps, just maybe, he turned a corner of sorts in that last chapter. Via attempted patricide, but whatever works.

Then again, maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part and he’s gone off to incinerate someone else instead.

But the pattern of the narrative points more towards the former, I think.

Min’s uncomfortable about Rand, and a very different sort of uncomfortable about Cadsuane—or perhaps ‘ambivalent’ is a better word. Cadsuane does not make for an easy ally, but she does have her talents, and their aims do align even if just about everything else about them differs.

So Cadsuane’s planning and Min’s reading commentaries on the Prophecies of the Dragon. This ought to be interesting.

One line in [the Commentary] teased at her, a sentence mostly ignored by those who had written commentary. He shall hold a blade of light in his hands, and the three shall be one.

OH OKAY PROPHECY INTERPRETATION TIME. HERE WE GO.

The blade of light seems like it has to be Callandor, especially given Rand’s own musings about it last chapter.

And the three shall be one…the first thing that comes to mind is the fact that Callandor can only safely be used in a circle of three. Which Rand currently sees as a box, as strings tied to him, as a trap…but flip that around and it’s an image of balance and unity and trust. So that’s definitely an option.

Or maybe it’s something else entirely; maybe the ‘blade of light’ is another reference to ‘he shall slay his people with the sword of peace’ and the three that shall be one are…maybe the three major groups of people? The Aiel, the Seanchan, and the ‘wetlands’? That feels like a bit of a reach; the three people in a circle to use Callandor safely seems more likely.

Though apparently various scholars fall more on the nations side of things and tend to think it’s about three major cities or kingdoms. In that case I’d side with my own choice of three rather than just three wetland nations, but either way if that’s given as the default opinion in the text it’s almost certainly wrong, so I guess we can throw that one out.

Min, no, you’re not useless.

And what of Min’s own relationship with Rand? She was still welcome in his presence; that hadn’t changed. But there was something wrong, something off. He put up walls when she was near—not to keep her out, but to keep the real him in. As if he was afraid of what the real him would do, or could do, to those he loved…

Rand, fix this. Min Farshaw deserves better.

But now he has been brought directly to that point of crisis, to looking down at his own father and weaving the balefire that would erase him from existence, and thinking, truthfully, that it is no more than I’ve done before. His own fear of that exact fate brought him to that point—so was he right to be afraid? Or is it the fear that made it into a near-reality, as he fought so hard to deny it or prevent it that he ended up in a war with himself that made it into not just a possibility but a near-inevitability?

It’s perceptive of Min, though, to recognise that he’s not keeping her out but trying to hold himself in. Even Rand can’t quite see it that way, because he is in effect locking himself into a box of his own making and calling it liberation.

And it would be so easy for Min to be hurt by it and think it was directed at her, think that he was indeed trying to wall her out; that’s a pretty common response from anyone who’s being kept at a distance by someone they care about. But Min is Min, by which I mean she’s fucking incredible, and so she sees past that and to the truth: that this isn’t about her; it’s a war of Rand against himself and she is a casualty, not a cause. And not just that, but she sees the reason why, and sees much closer to the truth of what it’s doing to him, and instead of being angry or offended she’s trying to find any way she can to help him.

Again, Rand, Min deserves better and you should thank her profusely when you uh…sort some of your shit out.

He’s in pain again, she thought, feeling him through the bond. Such anger. What was going on?

Do you really want to know?

Still, it’s more than the flat nothingness he’s felt when committing atrocities in the past. Because that’s what that last scene was: a shattering of the ice, and a point of collision of everything Rand’s tried to hold at bay, a collapse of all those walls and barriers and a flood of the feelings he’s tried to suppress. But hopefully it’s an implosion rather than an explosion; Rand’s been externalising his pain without really…acknowledging that he’s doing it for so long, when what he needs to do is actually deal with it and with everything else about himself he’s been trying to ignore or suppress.

She had to trust in Cadsuane’s plan. It was a good one.

The sad thing is that it really is a good plan. By which I mean it has—on paper—a good chance of succeeding at Cadsuane’s goal of getting Rand to re-learn laughter and tears (well, a better chance than just about anything else at this point), but it also is simply good for Rand himself. He needed to see Tam, and Tam is someone who can offer him the kind of help and support and love he so desperately needs but can’t ask for. And Tam, as his father, is going to see him as Rand, the boy he raised, rather than as the Dragon Reborn who owes salvation to the world. It’s a good plan because while there is of course a motive outside of simple concern for Rand’s wellbeing, it’s not a trick or a trap even if Rand sees it as such. It’s just…something good for him. Something he and Tam both want and need and should get to have.

And the fact that it fails precisely because it’s Cadsuane’s plan is sort of a cruel twist and yet at the same time a fitting case of catastrophic consequences.

Cadsuane and Rand get along like oil and water. Or perhaps like flint and steel, striking sparks when they interact simply because of who they are.

Cadsuane’s intentions are good—she wants to save the world and she has, at a few points, actually said out loud (and she cannot lie) that she is trying to do what is good for Rand, not for her or for the White Tower or anyone else. She’s trying, in the best way she knows how. And she’s right about so many things: that he needs to relearn laughter and tears, that he cannot face the Last Battle as he is now, that in many ways he still is just a boy and he’s lost and without direction or guidance, that like it or not he carries the task of saving the world, that he’s becoming too cold, that balefire is dangerous, that he needs to see his father.

Her aims are good, and even some of her reasoning for how to accomplish them is fairly solid. She tries putting Rand off-balance and making it clear that she is not going to be cowed by the simple fact of who he is…which again comes very close to being exactly what he needs. If she fears him he will not respect her, and if she doesn’t push him he will never listen to her.

But it falls apart when it comes to her specific methods. She means well, and her follow-through is almost what he needs…and then veers off in the opposite direction. It’s part of why I appreciate her so much as a character, I think, because that’s such a fascinating dynamic to watch. And it’s a fascinating way to show absolute failure: by anchoring it in very good reasoning and insight and perception and logic, and letting it come very close to something that will work, and then just…swerving away at the last second. It’s frustrating and agonising at times and yet feels so much more real than if she were just hopelessly misguided from the start.

Instead, it comes down to personality and communication and trust, as so many parts of this series do. It’s a conflict of personality and a misunderstanding of motive and a lack of communication; two strong personalities shouting at each other across a room and refusing to budge, rather than taking a step towards where the other stands and meeting somewhere in the middle.

So when she fails it doesn’t feel like the cheap failure of a plan that was stupid and doomed from the start, the way you often see in fiction. Instead, it feels like the frustrating failure of an intelligent, capable woman who tried her best and executed a plan that could have worked but that fell apart because of a chance word and a clash of personalities and a problem of methods.

Though I wonder.

Did she fail? I’m framing it as if she had, but in a way…she was right that Tam was, probably, exactly the person Rand needed most to see. The one person who might be able to get through to him, and force him out of the mindset he’s in one way or another. And…well, he sort of did, I think. Could anything else have brought Rand to that point? Would anyone else have survived that moment where he came closer to that last line, to repeating Lews Therin’s last deed? Would anyone else, watching Rand weave balefire in terror, have caused him to question, and at the last moment make a different choice?

It’s certainly not the precise outcome Cadsuane might have intended or expected or hoped for, but…was it really a failure?

And the other side of the question is: if this does work, and if the result of all of this is somehow Rand coming back to himself (or some version thereof), does it really matter who gets the credit? Would it be Cadsuane, for orchestrating this, or Tam, for being exactly who Rand needed and also just an all-around excellent father, or Rand himself, for holding back, or anyone else all the way along the chain of causality?

In the end, can any one person take credit for what ultimately has to be one man’s choice?

I guess we’ll just need to see what the actual aftermath of that last chapter looks like. After all, Rand made…I think…the right choice in that moment but what comes next? Does the collapse continue, and can he pull some of himself out of it intact? Or will he turn away again and drag those walls up again and set another city on fire? Personally I lean towards the former but we’ll see.

What were Rand and Tam discussing? Would Rand’s father be able to turn him?

That’s…still an open question at this point, I think. But it looks like maybe yes. Kind of. Perhaps. Just about. Indirectly. By way of balefire and internal crisis and memory of the worst moment of his last life. You know, as you do.

“Cadsuane,” Min said, holding up the book. “I think the interpretation of this phrase is wrong.”

Round of applause for Min! Imposter syndrome who?

Seriously, stating outright disagreement with the opinions of a well-respected scholar when you’re the equivalent of an undergrad is hard. Especially when your audience is Cadsuane.

Beldeine seems to take the standard view that Min is an undergrad and therefore has no idea what she’s talking about. Well, Beldeine, unfortunately for you Min is on the protagonist side of the narrative so she’s probably right.

Nobody could humiliate one more soundly than an Aes Sedai, for they did it without malice. Moiraine had explained it to Min once in simple terms.

That alone is astonishing: an Aes Sedai explaining anything in simple terms is practically unheard-of.

Aes Sedai would be very good at the icily professional business email of shame.

“And why,” Cadsuane said, “is it that you think you know more than a respected scholar of the prophecies?”

“Because,” Min said, bristling, “the theory doesn’t make sense. Rand only really holds one crown. There might have been a good argument here if he hadn’t given away Tear to Darlin. But the theory doesn’t hold any longer. I think the passage refers to some way he has to use Callandor.”

“I see,” Cadsuane said, turning yet another page in her own book. “That is a very unconventional interpretation.” Beldeine smiled thinly, turning back to her embroidery. “Of course,” Cadsuane added, “you are quite right.”

So while we’re on the topic of Cadsuane’s methods…

It’s a harsh challenge to Min, especially as it plays directly into what she must know are Min’s insecurities about her position as a young self-taught scholar. At the same time…actually, I think the main reason I don’t have any problem at all with this is because I’ve had professors like this. The ones who push you in precisely the places where you’re most uncertain because they want to see if you can create a strong argument against the exact challenges you’d get from the field as a whole. It’s a case of ‘this is what you’re going to face if you publish this, so you’d better be prepared for it and have a sound argument’.

Does Cadsuane have to say it the way she does? No. But in a way, this is her giving Min a fighting chance to prove herself. Cadsuane is old and competent and walks a line between highly confident and arrogant, but she does listen to young people and unconventional ideas when she genuinely thinks they have merit. It isn’t always easy, and she absolutely has her biases that prevent her from being fully open-minded, but she is capable of changing her mind. So she’s giving Min a chance here, because she believes in giving people what they deserve. She’s not going to dismiss Min on the same basis Beldeine did; she’s going to credit or dismiss Min based on how sound her ideas are.

Cadsuane’s methods often centre on challenging people, and pushing them in directions that make them uncomfortable, and yeah there are all kinds of problems with that and she sometimes comes down on the wrong side of it. But at other times there’s value in the way she does it. It’s just that, like anything else, taken to extreme or excess it’s a problem, and it’s not a one-size-fits-all solution, and she’s a flawed person like most people so sometimes she fucks up by letting her own confidence/arrogance carry her across the line from challenging and somewhat abrasive into unnecessarily harsh and somewhat abusive.

Anyway, Min seems to have acquitted herself well in this mini thesis defence here, but…it makes me wonder if it’s too simple a win to actually be correct.

“Through a great deal of searching I discovered that the sword could only be used properly in a circle of three. That is likely the ultimate meaning of the passage.”

As soon as a character says ‘that’s probably what it really means’, I begin to doubt. Especially because there’s sort of a rule of threes, here. We get the first explanation from the scholars’ interpretation, which is there to be proven wrong. Then you get the protagonists’ first interpretation, which is usually closer but ultimately also either wrong or incomplete. And then at some stage you get the third and ‘true’ explanation, in which everything comes together.

Sanderson holds to this particular rule of threes in his other work, so the pattern seems especially…likely, here.

So what else do we have three of? Past, present, future would be an interesting one. There’s the trio of Elayne, Min, and Aviendha but that doesn’t seem to fit here. There are far more than three people in Rand’s head at this point or else I’d have posited an outside guess at Rand, Lews Therin, and Moridin.

There are a lot of dualities in this series, but fewer trios than one might expect from epic fantasy. I blame the gender binary.

But seriously, there are so many opposing or balanced pairs—Light and Shadow, Creator and Dark One, saidin and saidar, salvation and destruction, White Tower and Black Tower, men and women, what hand shelters, what hand slays?, chaos and order, Rand and Lews Therin…it’s a series that deals with this idea of balance, and of what happens when one side of a balanced system is thrown off, and of how to find that balance between opposing or antagonistic forces without erasing one or the other. Which is fascinating and all, but right now I need sets of three.

I guess there’s technically the True Power along with saidin and saidar.

Okay actually that’s interesting. Rand has channelled the True Power, after all. And according to Lews Therin, his attempt last Age failed because ‘we used saidin, but we touched it to the Dark One. It was the only way! Something has to touch him, something to close the gap, but he was able to taint it.’

And Rand touching the True Power, while it certainly served to turn that scene into…*waves hands wildly in the direction of everything That Scene is*…that, seems like yet another of those things, like Callandor, that should have some further purpose. What good does dragging your character to that point of absolute horror do, if it can’t then be flipped around later into some kind of key?

Well, I mean, it causes great pain and suffering for the character and thus for the readers, which really is plenty of purpose in and of itself and I’m sure as hell not complaining, but. My point is. That right there is a loose end that, used correctly, could be part of a really satisfying twist or tying-off.

But then how does that relate to Callandor? Unless it’s just that he needs to be in a circle of three, and thus allowing flows of saidin and saidar to be controlled, and then he separately but alongside that channels the True Power as well? Hmm. When I try to put it all together it doesn’t fit as well as I thought it would. So either I’m wrong or I’m still missing something.

But it would fit with the rule of threes I was playing with earlier (first answer characters come to is wrong, second is closer but incomplete or slightly incorrect, third is a late realisation that brings it all together) in that it would allow Min and Casuane to be partially but not completely right: Rand needs to be in a circle but there’s more to it somehow.

Maybe.

Nynaeve is in the room as well, being Nynaeve. In case anyone was wondering.

And…what was that vision that was suddenly hovering above Nynaeve’s head? She was kneeling over someone’s corpse in a posture of grief.

Min was just thinking about Lan so that seems like the connection we’re supposed to make here, which of course makes me doubt it. I also am still holding on to my certainty that Lan is going to live (denial? What are you talking about?). And the fact that this is appearing suddenly, given that we know exactly what’s happening in another part of the palace, suggests that it’s related to something Rand has just done or decided, something that has tipped the future towards this outcome.

And that makes me think of Egwene’s own dreams, and Min’s other viewings, of Rand and corpses and funeral biers or pyres, and mourners. Which of course brings us back to that whole question of what happens to Rand? Thanks, Aelfinn, for your clear-as-mud answer on that topic.

At one point, when all the Forsaken were coming back in different bodies, I thought maybe Rand had a chance of something similar, especially as there are definitely some lines that seem to point in that direction…but so far that seems like the Dark One’s domain, so now I’m not so sure. Maybe to live, you must die really does just mean he has to die in order to be part of the cycle of rebirth again. Or maybe he could be reborn immediately, and given a chance to live in peace in the world he has bought with his sacrifice? Or, with Egwene’s dream of a funeral pyre, some sort of phoenix-like death-and-rebirth healing or renewal of body and soul? It would fit the Fisher King theme we’re working with: the land renewed and changed and maybe healed, and so the Dragon getting the same, through some kind of cleansing fire type thing. Rising from his own death, finally healed of the wounds he has carried and thus taking part in the renewal, but no longer recognisable as who he once was, because this will be a different Age and the man who had to play that role is effectively dead (at peace), allowing Rand al’Thor to have a life?

I don’t know. I predict metaphysical fuckery, and beyond that I give up.

“Cadsuane,” she said. “This is still wrong. There’s more here. Something we haven’t discovered.”

“About Callandor?” the woman asked.

Min nodded.

“I suspect so as well,” Cadsuane replied.

Well at least they agree with my little rule of threes.

Oh hi Tam.

“What have you done to him?” he demanded.

Cadsuane lowered her book. “I have done nothing to the boy, other than to encourage him toward civility. Something, it seems, other members of the family could learn as well.”

“Watch your tongue, Aes Sedai,” Tam snarled. “Have you seen him? The enitre room seemed to grow darker when he entered. And that face—I’ve seen more emotion in the eyes of a corpse! What has happened to my son?”

Oh, Tam.

He’s furious here, and it’s directed at Cadsuane, and perhaps rightly so…but I think there’s another layer to this, which is that he has just seen his son, who seems barely alive and is surrounded by darkness and Tam had to stand there and talk to him and still feel powerless to help. He’s grieving.

And it’s an excellent counterpoint to the Tam we saw last chapter, because it’s a way to almost watch the scene again through his eyes. We saw him filtered through Rand’s, and we saw him careful and gentle and offering anything he thought Rand might take. He pushed Rand a bit, towards the end, but even then he was absolutely the father trying to help his wounded child.

Here, though, we see Tam’s side of it. We get his impression of Rand, we get his shock at the darkness that surrounds him—a shock he absolutely could not let Rand see.

We see his pain now, when he tried so hard to hide it in that last scene for Rand’s sake.

Tam al’Thor is a good parent and this hurts.

And I also really like how the love that pushes Rand to this breaking point, to the point of repeating but then rejecting Lews Therin’s past, is the love between parent and child rather than, say, the love he feels for Min or Elayne or Aviendha. And it’s not even the second cliché of a mother’s love; it’s the bond between an adoptive father and his son. I mean sure, that comes up plenty in the genre as well, but it’s just nice that that’s the tipping point. It’s something a little different and it’s lovely.

Tam took a deep breath, and the anger seemed to suddenly flow out of him. He was still firm, his eyes displeased, but the rage was gone.

Tam was the one who taught Rand the trick of the flame and the void, after all. And he’s using it here because now he’s feeling more than he can deal with; it’s all too much all at once. But he knows, too, how to steady himself.

“He tried to kill me,” Tam said in a level voice. “My own son. Once he was as gentle and faithful a lad as a father could hope for. Tonight, he channelled the One Power and turned it against me.”

I am emotionally compromised.

And he’s not even angry at Rand for that, because it’s all so wrong, and so instead it’s just pain. Pain for Rand’s own pain, shock at what Rand has become, grief for the boy he was who—by his own words and Tam’s acceptance—may as well be dead now, and something almost like disbelief that they could have come to this. I think he even knows that it’s not really personal, but that doesn’t make it better. This is his son except he’s so lost and broken that Tam doesn’t know how to bring him back.

Because at this point Rand is the only one who can do that. If he chooses to.

The words brought back memories of Rand looming over her, trying to kill her.

But that hadn’t been him! It had been Semirhage. Hadn’t it? Oh, Rand, she thought, understanding the pain she’d felt through the bond. What have you done?

This is precisely the distinction I tried to make last chapter, but it gets harder and harder to hold those things separate, and now Min has to wrestle with that and face what Rand has just done of his own volition, and that’s twice now that he’s almost killed those he loves most, and the first time he was controlled by Semirhage, but what does it mean that he almost did the same now?

Does it help, Min, that he’s asking himself that exact same question? What am I DOING?

There’s so much pain in these chapters it’s overflowing the book and I’m FINE.

Of course Tam went immediately off-script. That feels like a genuine flaw in Cadsuane’s plan; she shouldn’t have given him a script at all. She should have known that wouldn’t help, that Tam and Rand needed to be able to just…talk.

“I don’t know what you did to him, woman, but I recognise hatred when I see it. You have a lot to explain to—”

On the one hand, Tam does certainly have cause to be angry with Cadsuane. On the other hand, Rand’s state of mind is not Cadsuane’s doing, any more than it’s any single person’s doing. It’s the result of two years of torment and responsibility and trying to endure the unendurable.

But then, can you fault Tam for being angry, and looking to any target he can find? This is his son, and what he’s just seen is horrific, and he has to do something.

In short, we’re all emotionally compromised.

Except Rand, who has simply compromised his emotions.

Cadsuane calling Tam ‘boy’ is…grating. Though she does have several centuries on him. Still.

“Cadsuane!” Nynaeve said. “You don’t need to—”

“It’s all right, Wisdom,” Tam said.

HE CALLS HER ‘WISDOM’. I mean, with a second or so to think about it, of course he does. But given all she’s struggled with, and her entire character arc of growing beyond Wisdom of Emond’s Field and finding her strength and authority in a world so much larger than her village, and learning to make her place and claim respect in her own right…it’s just really lovely for her to get this nod from Tam. To him, she is still Wisdom, and he accords her that respect without even a moment’s hesitation.

It’s like Rand said: Tam is one person who hasn’t changed. He’s a fixed point in a world where so much is uncertain and so much is shifting.

Tam stared [Cadsuane] in the eyes. “I’ve known men who, when challenged, always turn to their fists for answers. I’ve never liked Aes Sedai; I was happy to be rid of them when I returned to my farm. A bully is a bully, whether she uses the strength of her arm or other means.”

…fair enough.

And it’s good to see someone challenging Cadsuane on that point, especially someone like Tam who can sustain that challenge. He’s like Gareth Bryne that way: he’s damn near unflappable, and she can’t get a reaction out of him through her usual tactics. It’s the sort of thing a character like her needs to run into sometimes, because the thing with Cadsuane is that she’s been on top for so long, and in the Aes Sedai power structure that means no one challenges her. And so there’s no check on arrogance that can so easily creep in to what once was simply confidence, no pushback when she takes something too far. That’s not good for anyone.

“Didn’t we warn you that Rand had grown unstable?”

“Unstable?” Tam asked. “Nynaeve, that boy is right near insane. What has happened to him? I understand what battle can do to a man, but…”

Ow ow ow this hurts.

(I feel like the whole second half of this book, and especially the last several chapters, have been basically just…[not pictured: me, trying to walk quickly across hot sand sprinkled liberally with broken glass and burning coals, mostly failing and going ‘ow’ a lot]).

One thing that stands out here is how differently Tam responds to Rand’s…‘instability’…than so many other characters do, or would. Because once again, he responds entirely as a parent, above all else. He doesn’t shiver in fear of what this might mean for the world, or simply stop at stating that Rand hardly seems sane as if that’s all that needs to be said, or suggest a course of action. No, he just asks, calmly but with this undercurrent still of loss and something like desperation, what has happened. He hasn’t seen Rand in years and now he sees this, and he wants to know what has hurt his child.

It stands out especially given that Cadsuane’s next statement is to tell him that’s irrelevant. Because she is one who looks to the world first, and the person second. (And I’ve said this before, but her viewpoint absolutely has its place as well, but it’s that as well that’s important. You also need people like Tam or Nynaeve who look to the person first).

Tam knows what PTSD looks like and this is something else, and he’s angry, yes, but mostly I think everything about his response in this whole scene is just a manifestation of…shock and grief and confusion and pain at seeing his son hurt in a way that he doesn’t even know how to identify, much less help.

I am not a parent, so I could be completely off-base about all of this, but this seems like it has to be right up there with a parent’s worst nightmare: to see their child so hurt and so far gone and to be helpless to do anything at all to save them. I mean, Rand outright said that the Rand Tam knew, the Rand Tam raised, was dead. And Tam just had to stand there and take that, and again I’m not a parent but even I know that no parent should have to bury their child, much less stand there and watch him bury himself.

And that feels like the root of Tam’s responses here: his gentleness with Rand; his pushback when he thought he had just enough of Rand’s attention that maybe, maybe Rand would listen; his horror at watching Rand weave balefire because I think he was just as afraid for Rand as of him in that moment; his uncontrolled anger at Cadsuane when there’s no other way to release what he’s feeling; his shock and confusion now as he tries to figure out what has happened to his son.

This is not Tam al’Thor’s best day, is what I’m getting at here. He rescued an infant from the slopes of Dragonmount, only to find that some part of that child never truly left that mountain and everythign hurts and nothing is okay and I would like ten million more chapters of this please.

“If you’d explained to me how he regarded you,” Tam said, “it might have gone differently.”

He’s probably right, there. That’s one she really should have been more open about.

But she has a point, too: there’s no use going over the woulds and shoulds and maybes. And…I have to wonder if there was really any way for that conversation to end other than it did. If it hadn’t been the mention of Cadsuane, it could just as easily have been something else that set Rand off. A rage in him fit to burn the world, and he holds it by a hair. That’s more true now than it was even when Cadsuane first said it; he is unstable for all that he thinks he is cold and controlled, and he has almost no limits on what he is willing to do (except perhaps one), and that whole conversation was, in retrospect, a time bomb.

Because at this point, given how far he has gone, I don’t think anyone could truly just…call Rand back in a single conversation. I think it has to come from him; and I think with all the walls he’s built and all the damage he’s done to himself, with this war he’s been fighting against himself as much as on the field, a violent moment of crisis might really have been inevitable, and possibly the only way to force him to face that.

So passing blame around like a hot-potato is…an understandable part of the process, because they’re human (silly mortals), but ultimately probably not going to accomplish anything.

“This is what we all get,” Min said, “for assuming we can make him do what we want.”

The room fell still.

Okay so.

On the one hand, this is a great line, and to a certain extent I agree…

But. On the other hand, it feels a bit…I don’t know. Cheap? Simplistic? Not quite true? Because at least three of the people in this room are among those very very few who do actually look at Rand as a person, as the person he was, rather than as the Dragon Reborn, saviour and destroyer of the world. Nynaeve followed him out of Emond’s Field, with the others, and followed him into a dream battle and said ‘at least let me heal you’ because there was nothing else she could do. Min has stood by Rand through most of the series purely because she loves him, and when so many other people’s perceptions of him were changing, she told him ‘I see you, Rand. I see you.’ Tam al’Thor is Rand’s father, and hasn’t had a chance to do much for him directly, but he hiked to Tar Valon to try to find him, and then specifically stayed out of his way because he thought that was the best thing he could do for him.

These are not people who have been trying all along to manipulate Rand into doing what they wanted.

And even this…this is an intervention, more than anything else. When your friend, lover, son, former babysittee, whatever is willing to annihilate cities, I think it’s fair to step in.

What help would they be to him if they just stood by and watched his descent this entire time? What good would it do anyone—Rand included—for them to never push back when they thought he was going too far, to never question his decisions? It’s like I was just saying above regarding Cadsuane: it’s not good for anyone to live unquestioned and unchallenged, especially if they hold that kind of power, authority, or influence.

And when talking to someone stops working, when reasoning with them stops working, when begging them stops working, and when, again, they’re ready to annihilate entire cities…yeah, you’re going to have to look at other options.

But none of them started at that point, and they’re some of the few who really haven’t been manipulating him to their own ends in general, and so this feels a bit…unfair, I guess.

I love Min, but I’m not sure I completely agree with her here. It would be a very true and very fair statement if made in just about any other company, but to Nynaeve and Tam? Not sure I buy it.

That said, in light of everything happening, I think everyone’s entitled to a bit of unfairness and anger and shock and all the other emotions flying around because hell, I’m emotionally compromised and I’m just the reader.

“He opened one of those gateways right on the balcony. Left me alive, though I could have sworn—looking in his eyes—that he meant to kill me.”

It has to mean something that he stopped himself. That has to be the turning point we’ve been waiting for. It’s too perfect a mirror/inversion of The Last That Could Be Done for it not to be…right?

Also someone please just sit Tam down with a giant mug of hot chocolate. This genre is not easy on parents even when they survive the first chapter, as it turns out.

“I’ve seen that look in the eyes of men before, and one of the two of us always ended up bleeding on the floor.”

Wow, okay, uh, sure, that’s…a line. Damn. There’s a whole conversation to be had here about swords and ploughshares and men who have seen too much and yet find a peaceful life for themselves in the aftermath but I don’t have much more than an ‘in this essay I will…’ for that so I’ll leave it for now.

But I think, in that exchange, it’s Rand who is left bleeding.

That moment tore open the wound he’s been trying to stifle and ignore, the gaping wound in his past life that led him to his own suicide once and that he is now forced to remember but has never been able to process. How the hell do you even begin to process something you never did, except a past you did do it, and suddenly you get that just…dropped into your brain and it’s yours but not yours and is it any surprise Rand has ended up where he is?

It tore that wide open by forcing Rand to face it head-on (no more than I’ve done before) and face it as himself rather than as a memory of a past existence that he can try to shove away. And it tore down his walls and threw emotions like knives at the shields he’s been trying to hold up and even if he’s not bleeding physically, he is absolutely bleeding.

And so is Tam, if we’re talking metaphorically here. That conversation was not without casualties.

“Ebou Dar,” Min said, surprising them all. “He’s gone to destroy the Seanchan. Just as he told the Maidens he would.”

But that would mean closing down anything that might have come of that conversation and realisation, shoving it all away back behind those walls of ice, and I’m no more a therapist than I am a parent but I’m pretty sure genocide is not a recommended coping mechanism for…uh…anything.

“Light preserve us,” Corele whispered.

Rand’s been evoking that reaction a lot, lately. It’s become something of a repeated chapter ending the way ‘Tarmon Gai’don’ echoed throughout Knife of Dreams.

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