#jasnah x shashara

[cosmereplay]

Day 15: Haunting

Rated General, Jasnah/Shashara, Jasnah & Shallan, Rhythm of War spoilers. Also posted on ao3

Shallan approached cautiously, hoping to catch Jasnah’s attention without interrupting her. Her former mentor sat in a comfortable armchair she’d moved beside the window of her study. There were sheets of papers on her lapdesk, and she had a pen in hand, but her face was propped against her safehand as she leaned to the side, looking out over the mountains surrounding Urithiru with a sad expression. Jasnah made a lonely figure against the diffuse light from outside, as if her dark silhouette were etched into the glass of the window. The woman was a mountain herself; eternal, resilient, impossible to move.

She stood in front of Jasnah, then leaned to the side, trying to catch her gaze. She smiled as she leaned. It wasn’t like Jasnah to be daydreaming, and she was eager to tease her for it.

Jasnah’s eyes caught hers, though she didn’t move her head right away. She seemed to melt, emerging from wherever her mind had taken her. Shallan’s smile fell as she saw a longing in Jasnah’s eyes.

“Even though the rain is below us, it does still affect us sometimes,” Shallan said, her original reason for seeking her out forgotten. “Are you missing someone today?”

Jasnah smiled wanly. “I miss quite a few people. But yes, I suppose I am.”

“This isn’t your usual missing though. You have a desperate look to you.” Shallan’s eyes lit up. “Do you have a crush? Is it Inadara? You can tell me.”

The Queen scoffed. “Certainly not. Her work is middling at best. Besides, I am already in a relationship. Even if I had such feelings, it would be unseemly to admit to them.” Her hand moved subtly, resting on top of a page.

“Ah ha! So you admit you have feelings for someone!” Shallan exclaimed.

“I literally just said I would not admit such feelings, if they existed,” Jasnah said, but she was starting to smile.

Shallan paced, considering the options. “You said you suppose you are missing someone, which means it’s not a usual type of grief. Someone you’ve never met, perhaps. One of the great men of your studies?”

The older woman’s face turned to a mask, and Shallan knew she was on the right track. She glanced down at the desk, noticing a piece of art. “Is it an artist?” Shallan asked eagerly, making a show of looking. “I don’t recognize it.”

Jasnah squirmed! Oh yes, Shallan was on the right track. “I’m somewhat embarrassed to admit this,” Jasnah said, tapping her fingers on the page she was hiding, “but I’ve been trying to appreciate the arts more, and I found this piece to be quite inspiring.” She proffered the art–a reproduction of what must have been a much larger painting. It showed a figure in the midst of battle, very clearly a woman. She was holding up a sword, and the soldiers surrounding her seemed to be reaching for it. There was a strange darkness to the sword that made Shallan feel like she was being sucked in.

“It looks like the Assassin’s Blade!” Shallan said. The sword bled black smoke, much like Szeth’s.

“I believe it’s the very same. In researching that damnable sword, I discovered a fascinating scholar. Glorysinger, also known as Shashara. The sword still speaks of her as if she were still alive. She was brilliant. Clearly an artifabrian of the highest calibre, and an exceptional scientist. In the end, she was also a warrior.”

“Kind of like you,” Shallan mused as she leaned in closer, examining the painting. She looked up to meet Jasnah’s eyes. “Though I hope your time as a warrior isn’t your end.”

“After good training, there is only hope,” Jasnah said. “I’ll certainly try to be careful.”

For you maybe. I can also pray, Shallan thought, and determined to write a glyphward for Jasnah’s safety that night. She nodded to the page Jasnah's hand was covering. “So, what are you writing? Notes on the painting?”

Jasnah tapped the page in a manner Shallan was starting to recognize as embarrassment. Pattern buzzed delightedly from her skirt.

“Are you writing poetry, Jasnah?”

“Don’t act like that. I’ve written poetry before. For your wedding, in case you need a reminder,” Jasnah snipped. 

Shallan just grinned. “No, this is different. Are you writing a personal poem for your beloved Shashara? Inspired by a painting? I must see it!”

“You have no authority here,” Jasnah said, too defensively. Shallan knew she had her. 

She grabbed it faster than Jasnah could react. “We’re peers now, and any good poet requires an editor,” she said, taking a step outside of swiping range.

Jasnah rolled her eyes and huffed, then looked back at Shallan with a suffering expression. “This is why I don’t take wards,” she drawled. “If you must read it, provide me some actual critical feedback. You aren’t reading this for fun.”

“No, no, of course not,” Shallan said absently, already scanning the page.

We cannot be. Yet  you turned your words into touch. My hand on ink,  you, ink in hand. My touch into words.  Your turn. Yet you are not.   …can we

Shallan could feel the distance all too easily. She thought of the months writing her brothers, only able to convey her support through a spanreed. She thought of the beauty of old art, remembering a time she had seen a precious original that Dandos the Oilsworn himself had painted, and the feeling of connection through time to a distant master. She thought she could understand a little of Jasnah’s feelings.

“This is beautiful, Jasnah,” she sighed. “It shows a mingling of minds, and yet it’s an unfinished conversation. That ‘can we’ hangs in my mind, like last note when I wasn’t ready for the song to end.”

Jasnah nodded, taking the poem and looking at it. “It’s the nature of studying ancient scholars. In a way, they always have the last word. This Shashara, she haunts me. More than anyone else that's gone before, I wish I could speak to her.”

“Thank you for showing me,” Shallan said sincerely. She looked outside, over the white mountains peeking out over dark, roiling clouds that even the sun couldn’t penetrate. “And don’t worry, I won’t tell Wit you have a crush on a dead woman.”

Jasnah rolled her eyes again. “Thank you for your critical feedback,” she said sarcastically.

“No wait!” Shallan took the page back, reading the poem over, two, then three times. “How about this–you wrote ‘words’ here, but you use it to mean the scholar’s internality, right? ‘Words’ is a little detached. A little intellectual. What about replacing it with 'self’ or ‘experience’? Something more intimate.”

The Queen leaned back with her eyes closed, considering. When she opened them again, she appeared confused. “What could be more intimate than one’s words?” she asked.

That’s so very Jasnah, Shallan thought, and felt a fondness at what amounted to Jasnah’s admission of a deeper part of herself. That was something precious, too. “You know what? You’re right,” Shallan said warmly. “In that case, it’s perfect.”