A/N – I've always loved making up stories for the minor characters, and they don't get much more minor than this! I realise that the formatting is messed up, but I can't work at all... be glad if you have paragraphs!
Disclaimer – I own nothing. The Wheel of Time and any characters you recognise are the property of Robert Jordan, the Creator. May the Light shine on his next book (and make it come out faster).
Summary – It takes exceptional talent to become an active Imperial damane. We peek inside the head of one such, Charral, one of Tuon's six best, seeing how she got to where she is, and her thoughts on The Daughter of the Nine Moons.
Rating – PG (references to violence)
Protect and Serve
The damane now known as Charral knelt on the floor of her tiny kennel. She might have been praying, so still was she. Her only movement was the steady rising and falling of her chest, and the occasional flicker behind her eyelids.
She was not, in fact, praying. Behind her closed eyes images floated lazily, chronicles of a lifetime that spanned centuries, and which culminated in these past few years. This was her ritual, reminding herself of how far she had come compared to what she might have been. It soothed, calmed and focused her, and right now she needed that more than ever.
It takes true talent to be an active Imperial damane. Oh, not just being owned by the Crystal Throne – fully nine out of ten damane are Imperial property – but serving the Imperial family itself. Charral had always found it ironic that, born of the Blood though she had been, she had travelled much higher, and much more safely, to the heights with the grey dress than she ever would have with a veiled face. As a citizen Charral might have attended the Court of the Nine Moons a handful of times in her life, but she would never have stood guard outside the door of the Empress herself, never come within miles of it. Charral firmly believed that being found to be damane had been one of the best things ever to happen to her.
Charral had been born privileged, the last child of a woman of the Lower Blood. This entitled her to an education – history, the Old Tongue, etiquette, geography, economics and finance, and of course, politics, in spite of having seven older siblings before her who would stand to inherit her Father's name and position when he died. Charral absorbed these lessons quickly, and greedily, to the delight of her tutors. She had a sharp, inquiring mind even then.
They were not a particularly affluent branch of the family, yet lived in a luxury that would seem unreal to Charral in later years. They did not own damane, though; they were not rich enough for that.
On her true-name day the child was named Gefeva Pardiium, a name she bore until her fifteenth year. Even the Blood are not immune to the yearly Testings, though they are done privately to spare the family the shame. And shame them Charral did, when the damane passed over her four sisters only to point at her. The look of horror on her favourite sister, Sohrel's, face had stayed with her for a long time. That was the last day she had been called Gefeva; her name, for the next thirteen years, anyway, had become simply Ceena.
Gefeva was clever, and Ceena no less so. It took her three days to realise that she could either sulk and suffer for it, or try to make the best of her changed circumstances. So Ceena applied herself to learning all she needed to know to be damane, with the same diligence that had so overjoyed her tutors when she had been a citizen. And it worked. In three months she was the model of damane obedience and willingness, pointed out to the more recalcitrant and intractable as an example. In six, with the careful teachings of the sul'dam, she touched the True Source for the first time, something that impressed everyone – a great many damane took closer to a year, and longer when they were young, as Ceena was.
And from that day on she began to show her true worth.
Ceena had the gift of picking up almost any weave at once. She learned at a rate that astounded her sul'dam, and made other, less talented damane jealous. When she spun a weave it was done in half the time expected, and her mind was quick enough, and her Power strong enough, to enable her to spin four or five weaves at once.
In two years she had mastered the arts of killing, the battlefield weaves known to every damane with the strength. It took another three before her trainers were convinced of her ability in weather-and-water weaves, telling the future, and the more standard skills, like tracking, endurance and dealing with new damane. Ceena was disappointed when she could not make a'dam – it would have meant a very comfortable life indeed – but more than made up for it by excelling at performing the Sky Lights, her speed, strength and agility creating a work of art that dazzled.
Ceena was Imperial property for the next eighty-nine years. She served in garrisons and on ships, alongside rough soldiers and sailors. Her name changed several times, as she was assigned to new sul'dam. She travelled the length and breadth of the Empire, from the searingly hot, half-civilised desert country, to the icy cold extremes where no people lived at all. She hunted down men who began channeling fearlessly, and marath'damane with only trepidation. She hurled blood, gore and death around her in battle, surrounding herself and her sul'dam with heaped bodies and scorched earth. She won the admiration of her sister damane and the respect of her sul'dam, who found no fault with her – in all respects but one.
A good damane is able to read any situation at a glance and behave appropriately. The best can take in everything at once, making lightning decisions, and rightly. Ceena – or Metty, as she was by then – could do both of these things, but did not stop herself there. Her childhood training was never excised, the habit of sizing up politics and working out motives based on scanty evidence. She probably knew more about what was going on in the kennels than any other single person, and when she was too free with her tongue, one time, she came alarmingly close to having it cut out. Ever after the sul'dam watched her with a wary eye, feeling uneasy around her, knowing that she was however unintentionally picking up on their unconscious cues, learning about things they never meant to say. And the other damane, following the lead of their sul'dam, withdrew from her.
It taught Metty one of the more important lessons of her long life – discretion.
It was clear from the beginning that Metty was going to go far as damane, but her one astronomic rise owed as much to luck as to Metty's considerable skill. Had Midgrek the Mad (as he was later called) had not put together an army with a considerably higher-than-average number of damane in it, and tried to attack Seandar itself, Metty would never have been assigned to the army that rose in defence. For all the dexterity and skill she showed in battle, a stray arrow at the wrong moment could have ended it all, either by killing her or her sul'dam. Even a damane as powerful and proficient as she would have been overwhelmed by the four others she faced, had backup not arrived in the nick of time. For many weeks afterwards her sleep was troubled by these thoughts, of how it could all have gone wrong, how blackness could have stolen over her thoughts for the last time that day.
Yet it did not. And for the skill she had shown she was assigned to the personal guard of the Imperial Family itself, the highest position a damane could dream of holding, short of being one of the Empress's own guard. Metty's knees shook as she was presented in the Court of the Nine Moons, prostrated flat on the floor, eyes tightly closed, praying with all her strength that she not make the slightest mistake. The dizzy knowledge that the Imperial so'jhin had spoken directly to her sul'dam concerning her – concerning her! – had made her feel faint, the blood rushing in her ears so that she could not even hear her own new name, and had to ask the sul'dam afterwards. It was the most frightening experience of her life, akin to seeing the face of the Creator.
She ceased to be Metty and became instead Kesa, a name she treasured like a necklace of heartstone. She joined four other damane in the defence of the third son of the Empress. He was never going to take the Crystal Throne, yet in one year she fought off eight attempts on his life, one by the skin of her teeth. She grew sister-close to her sul'dam and sister damane, all frighteningly talented and ferociously loyal, and for the first time truly felt like she belonged.
Kesa never left the Imperial guard. When the Empress died, barely forty years old, Kesa and every other damane wept for many a night. When her daughter claimed the Crystal Throne as her right by blood there was such celebration, such joy as is hard to imagine. 'Hail to the Empress, and may she live forever!' was cried in the kennels, all attempts at propriety forgotten.
And thus do decades pass. Kesa was not renamed, but was moved around the various members of the Imperial family at their whim, many times. She stood guard for men, women, children and babes, and though the duty was often onerous she performed it with joy in her heart, for she truly felt that this was what she had been born to do.
There were moments of tearing grief. Damane are blessed, or cursed, with unnaturally long life, a side-effect of their use of the Power. Kesa would live many lifetimes, and it always hurt when the child you had stood over and protected was killed, as an adult. Almost worse was the steady decline of the Holders of the Leash, as young firm skin loosened and wrinkled, and a once strong grip faltered. In the Imperial guard a sul'dam and damane could serve together for decades. When, fifty-eight years after Kesa was appointed to the Imperial guard, the universally adored sul'dam Redanna, succumbed at last to the one enemy she could not fight, the weeping was heard throughout the kennels for two moons.
The first four deaths each tore a piece out of young Kesa's heart, and this taught her the second important lesson of her life – that damane are outside of time, and to love too deeply will inevitably lead to misery. A great number of damane have wasted away, living in a dream of the past, and Kesa never intended to be one of them. In her one hundred and forty-sixth year Kesa determinedly closed her heart, permitting respect, admiration, loyalty, but never love.
Decades became centuries. Years seemed to blur past, as days once had. Kesa never forgot anything, but as the years flew past all but her earliest and most precious memories became foggy and indistinct. Even damane age, albeit slowly, and her shiny black hair lost its gloss and turned grey and brittle. Her limbs became stiffer, her endurance shorter, and to compensate Kesa turned her considerable self-discipline to her own mind, training herself and her thoughts, and honing her keen intelligence to a knife-edge.
It was three hundred and seventy-eight years after Kesa had been born that the Empress birthed her second daughter. Kesa never permitted herself to think of the Empress as the 'current' or 'present' Empress, and when she uttered or thought the words 'May she live forever', she meant them completely. But this birth affected her strangely.
It was presumptuous to even think in this way, but Kesa could not help feeling inconceivably blessed that this daughter had been born on the same day as she herself, all those years ago. While of course it was nothing more than chance Kesa found herself with a special regard for this little daughter, whom she had never seen.
By now Kesa was almost used to the cut-throat fight for survival among the children of the Empress. Over the years she had been assigned to the protection of many Imperial children, and could say with clear conscience that none had ever been assassinated when it was within her power to prevent. Yet when she heard of the efforts to have this particular child killed she felt sick, sick as she hadn't felt for centuries. She disciplined herself, tried to control the dangerous emotion, but every time she heard of another attempt on her young life Kesa's heart stilled, and worry filled her.
She could honestly say she was surprised that the child had lived long enough to reach her true-naming ceremony, and be gifted with the name Tuon Athaem Kore Paendrag. But as she stood guard, unobtrusive at the very side of the great room, she saw the tiny figure, solemn, dignified and wary, from below her lowered lashes, and felt her heart ache for her.
Sul'dam are capable of feeling the general emotional state of their damane, though they cannot tell individual thoughts, so Kesa was not surprised when Jenali asked her what was wrong when they reached the kennel that night. Guilt and loathing were tearing at her insides, and she felt sick at her betrayal, even if it was only in her own thoughts.
Kesa had caught herself wishing fervently that little Tuon would survive the challenges thrown at her, that she would succeed and excel in spite of them. Kesa had wished for Tuon to take the Crystal Throne when her mother the Empress died, and while the Daughter of the Nine Moons, the Empress's chosen successor, lived, that thought was treason.
She confessed this all to Jenali, tears flowing down her sunken cheeks, and did not watch the face of her Leash Holder, knowing that it surely held disappointment and incredulity. Afterwards, with every inch of her skin still stinging from the a'dam-inflicted punishment that she had begged for, she felt relief that she might have atoned for her wicked, treacherous thought, but when she closed her eyes that night to sleep, the tiny figure would not stop passing across her mind.
Tuon did survive, and flourish, and none of the mental disciplines Kesa possessed were able to rid her of the devotion she felt for her. She came to realise that she wanted nothing more than to serve this young girl, to protect her from all harm that might come to her, whether she took the Crystal Throne or not. But damane are not like the Deathwatch Guards, property though both are, and cannot choose whom they serve. If Kesa was to serve Tuon, it would have to be at the behest of the latter.
Even as a child Tuon was interested in damane. Those who guarded her chambers spoke of how the girl would talk to them, ask the sul'dam about them, showing much less distaste and much more interest than most members of the Imperial Family. And when she was given permission to choose damane of her own, not just for her protection but as her own personal property, Kesa knew that her chance had come.
Every day the damane practised their weaves outside in a great courtyard. It was vitally important to keep their skills sharp – the most important people in the world might live or die by the skills of a guard-damane. This particular day was cold and biting, but none of the damane let it bother them. All were tough and hardy enough despite a largely indoor lifestyle that a little cold wasn't going to affect them. Kesa found it invigorating.
However the damane were all tense, jumpy and nervous, for Tuon stood by the side of the courtyard, watching, a der'sul'dam beside her, and not but one of the damane didn't know why she was there. The Imperial Family was a large one, its women fecund and its children, even after all the assassinations, numerous. Today would the damane be chosen for the highest honour, the most coveted position, for Tuon would one day, the Light willing, be Empress of all Seanchan.
Kesa knew that she would have precisely one chance at this, and that failure was not an option. She would have to impress today, have to stand out among the best damane in all Seanchan.
The weaves were routine, but Kesa focused on them like they were the last she would ever make. Every thread was laid perfectly, every weave made swiftly, with not a single error permitted in any aspect of her demeanour, behaviour or channeling. She did not allow herself to concentrate on the weaves made by the other damane, even to see them, lest they distract her. She fought her stomach-churning nervousness into submission, keeping her thoughts as clear as glass. And it might have worked, for the der'sul'dam bent her head to murmur in Tuon's ear, and Kesa felt the weight of those dark eyes on her. She prayed, as she finished her last weave, that it was enough.
Kesa heard nothing for days, though the question of her being chosen chewed and gnawed at her. She belatedly realised that she had opened herself too much, allowed hope to take too strong a root, but until she knew acceptance or rejection for sure, Kesa could not bear to crush it. Nothing in Kesa's long life had ever felt like this and she didn't know what to do. The other damane commented on her preoccupation and bad temper, and Kesa in return couldn't believe how calm they all were about it. When she thought about not being chosen she felt sick, but there had been a hundred damane in that courtyard, and the chances for her were exceedingly slim. Kesa began to look pale from lack of sleep, and the sul'dam started getting concerned.
Not a concerned as they might have been had they seen Kesa's face on evening three nights after the test, though. She was alone in the kennel, contemplating sleep, when the little door opened. Kesa turned and began to kneel automatically, as one did when a sul'dam entered, and froze halfway through the action when she saw just who had entered the room.
Young Tuon, alone but for a single Guard, had just entered a damane kennel.
When Kesa's mind caught up with reality she almost fell the rest of the way to the floor, prostrating herself flat, and cursing inwardly for her inane display of shock. By the Light, she was three hundred and seventy-eight years old, not a ten year old child!
When bade to rise Kesa did so, as far as the full-kneeling position, the next-most-deferent. She dared not look up at the dark face, though her every nerve was shredded at not being able to read the wishes of the girl who had just entered.
Tuon was remarkably patient with the stunned damane; Kesa soon found herself half-kneeling, a position generally only ever taken with a familiar and indulgent sul'dam, while Tuon stood. The purpose of the visit seemed to be nothing more than talking, Tuon sizing up the damane for suitability as one of her own. Kesa would have been desperately glad to take any cue that might indicate what Tuon wanted from the conversation – damane had to be able to conform to their owners' wishes, Kesa being very good at it, with her ability to read people – but the dark girl gave none, simply watching with her inscrutable eyes and asking questions that had no logic behind them that Kesa could see.
The questions ranged from the banal – opinions on the Empress, to which there was only one answer, that it was not her position to think, and that she revered her absolutely – to the obscure; of what possible relevance was a preference for silver to gold? Some were probing, some challenging, some seemingly casual. Kesa was wise enough to treat the latter with the most caution.
It was when the conversation moved to philosophy that Kesa slipped up; she had been hiding the degree of her intelligence, something that her many sul'dam had made clear they did not appreciate, but when she made a comment that was a little too well thought out, slightly too profound, she saw Tuon narrow her eyes in the first display of emotion that Kesa had yet seen. Her heart sank.
Tuon said nothing, but her questions turned more and more intellectual, and she made it clear without a word that she would not tolerate any more deception from Kesa in regards her intelligence. Kesa found herself answering questions that challenged for the first time in nearly four hundred years, but answer them she did, and when finally Tuon delivered a query that Kesa was unable to reply to, the girl's dark eyes gleamed and she fell silent. Kesa wished she could take back the whole conversation. She had not enjoyed such discourse in centuries, and knew it was going to cost her the thing she wanted most in the universe, service with Tuon.
So it was a quite a surprise when Tuon bent down, her small, dark hand tilting up Kesa's chin and looking into her face. Kesa tried to look at her eyebrows, or cheek, but was drawn inexorably to her large, dark eyes that saw so deeply. Her heart was racing, yet she felt cold all over.
"You shall be called Charral. If your mind is truly as agile as your spinning, Charral, we shall work well together. Sleep now; I shall have the der'sul'dam informed of your new duties before you awake."
Stunned, feeling like she had been hit very hard by something very soft, Charral remained, kneeling on the floor, watching the door that Tuon had left through, unable to process all that had happened. She didn't move for many moments, until cramping in her calves made itself felt. When she did rise she felt the corners of her mouth rising, too, stretching into as wide a smile as she had ever smiled.
Tuon was like no other Mistress Charral had ever known. Clever, wise and compassionate, she made it her mission to get to know all her damane as though they were heart-friends. Not a day went by when she didn't ask after their wellbeing, leaving each damane feeling special. She was also the first Mistress that Charral could remember whose personal standards of discipline were as high as her own. Charral never saw her sleep past dawn, nor disregard her duties, self appointed or otherwise, in the smallest regard. Three months into her service Charral realised that she was serving a Mistress whose mind was far superior to her own – which impressed Charral tremendously, for she had been training her mind for over a century, and her Mistress for less than a decade.
Tuon required a guard wherever she went. She rarely left the grounds of the Imperial Palace, it being far too dangerous to do so, yet even within its sacrosanct walls came threat to her life. Not a month went past without an attempt to have her assassinated, sometimes many times that – while she bathed, while she slept, while she walked the corridors that were her right by blood. Eight times poison was put into her food, the quick, painful death of the food testers being proof of its efficacy, and once someone crushed glass into her morning meal. The agonising, lingering death of that particular tester haunted Tuon, Charral knew, and she was heard to murmur that she might start learning how to cook her own food, something Charral doubted anyone in the Imperial Family had done for well over a thousand years.
Tuon chose six damane. There was Charral, two sisters called Dali and Dani, identical as two blades, and far more deadly. A damane with lazy, drooping eyes, called Mitsi, was quick as a cat, already spinning while others were still processing. Young Sera, exuberant and ever-cheerful, was the strongest damane Charral had ever known, and also the most irritating. And finally there was Laka, who almost never spoke, but saw and heard everything, and never forgot a word. She was also one of the best at foretelling the future.
Every one of these damane shared one thing in common, and that was their zeal to defend their Mistress from the smallest harm.
And defend they did. The first time that the smashing of glass from within the chambers of their Mistress announced trouble Charral was already moving, not waiting for the sul'dam to direct her. A figure stood but feet away from Tuon – who had jerked awake, and rolled off the bed – about to throw a blade. It was crushed to dust, and the man wielding it shredded, in a fraction of an instant. Such hate did Charral feel at that moment that she truly regretting killing him so quickly and painlessly. She resolved to make the next one suffer more.
Mitsi could be particularly vindictive. Charral heard of a time when she wrapped an assassin up in bonds of Air and ripped out his fingernails, his tongue, strips of his skin, and finally his eyes. She was punished for it – he might have been able to say something, alive – but never regretted it. If she had done, perhaps she would have lived. One night the assassins came in pairs, and no sooner had Mitsi immobilised one than another flung a poisoned knife at her. Her death was neither quick nor painless.
After three consecutive nights, each of which brought attempts on Tuon's young life, it was decided – between the der'sul'dam, Tuon's Guardian Selucia and the commander of the Mistress' Guards, that Tuon would no longer sleep alone. She was nearly ready to be presented as an adult, to take the position Daughter of the Nine Moons, which meant assassination attempts by her siblings were reaching a peak. Tuon listened as the three informed her of their intentions, and perhaps realising the futility of arguing, compromised. She would have no soldiers near her while she slept, but would accept a damane and a trained woman killer. It was agreed.
Laka and Charral were most often picked for this task, as it suited them well. Laka was quiet by nature, rarely speaking much even when it was permitted, so a task requiring silence was not difficult for her. Charral liked it for the same reasons; the silence gave her time to think, and she enjoyed the task of disciplining herself to remain utterly still and silent for hours, without ever letting her mind drift.
Sera was chosen once and never again. She did not speak, but twitched, shifted and fidgeted for most of the night. Tuon got no sleep at all, finally sending Sera out with a snapped order. Dali and Dani weren't much better. They worked best together, and didn't really know what to do when separated. Mitsi had not been replaced; Tuon still grieved for her.
So Tuon survived until adulthood.
The ceremony which named her Daughter of the Nine Moons, and adult, was a great success. All her damane were in attendance, not for honour but to symbolise that she was capable of protecting herself now, that she was strong enough to bear the title Daughter of the Nine Moons. Charral was amused at the greedy glints in the eyes of the assembled Blood when Tuon presented her maid Selucia with the traditional gifts, sacks upon sacks of gold, more than they were ever likely to see again in one place. And for some reason they all looked surprised at Selucia's decision to continue serving her Mistress, though Charral and the damane had expected no other choice. Certainly none of them would ever choose to be anywhere else.
Casting her eyes around the room Charral wondered if any of her great-great-great-great-great-great-great nephews or nieces were here. They were not her family now, of course, as she was no longer a citizen, yet she would be curious to see those whose veins held the blood that had once been hers. Charral looked around but didn't see anything that might indicate the presence of the Family of Pardiium. Perhaps they had been eliminated from the Game. Charral did not much care. She remembered the name Gefeva, but little else of the child she had been, and her heart had no room for loyalty for anyone but Tuon - the Daughter of the Nine Moons.
The attempts on Tuon's life did not end, but reduced to the point where she was getting to sleep most nights. She needed it. The Daughter of the Nine Moons has duties far above that of the Imperial Children, and Tuon was not one to reduce her own labours just because others had been added. It amazed the damane that she found the time to do everything, and surprised them more when she still remembered to pat a head and smile encouragement.
Charral only failed in her duties once; it was after Tuon had been named Daughter, and Charral freely admitted that she had grown complacent. The assassin appeared in her room like smoke, but the arrow he sent towards Tuon's heart was quite real. Charral had fallen into a daze, tired, and had not even had a chance to channel before the arrow hit with a dull 'thunk'. It hit the wall behind Tuon, not the Daughter herself, the Light be praised, but that was entirely because of the defence of Miranda, the woman killer who always had weapons to hand. Charral had not channelled a spark. And when she saw the rip in the thin silk nightgown, darkening with blood, Charral realised she had failed, failed utterly, and knew despair.
It was little more than a flesh wound, one that healed in days. Tuon had suffered far worse. But behind Charral's grey eyes was the image of a more accurate shot, the blood, the pure, sacred Blood, pouring out, staining the bed sheets crimson, and the dark, deep eyes filming over in death. Charral had seen plenty of death, caused much of it herself, and knew what it looked like. It was so easy to imagine what might have been…
She wept uncontrollably for days. She refused to leave her kennel, refused to eat, just curled up on her bed, or sat on her unswept floor, staring. The sul'dam tried sympathy, punishment and manipulation, but nothing worked. Charral had failed, and now she wanted to die. At least then her place might be taken by a damane worthy of it. In the end it took Tuon herself to snap Charral out of her depression.
When Tuon entered her kennel Charral nearly buckled under the wash of guilt that filled her at the sight. She fell to her face, never mind that Tuon insisted on them half-kneeling. If she was to be sold she would let her Mistress know of the depths of her sorrow, first. She could not stop the tears that wound their way down her face, dripping onto the dirty floor.
"Charral." Tuon sounded like she always did, warm. And concerned. Charral felt sick.
"Mistress…" the reply was choked with tears. Tuon did something amazing, then. She bent down and stroked Charral's grey hair, bidding her to rise, and then tilted up her chin to look into her face, as she had done a few years ago. How can she bear to touch me?
"Laka is tired, Charral. She has guarded my sleep for these last three nights, and fears she will fall asleep if she must again tonight. Would you have me unguarded, Charral?"
Charral knew where Tuon was going with this, and between sobs she reasoned that any damane, even flighty Sera, would be a better choice than she. Never before had any of the damane permitted harm to come to their Mistress, until stupid, lazy, complacent Charral. She deserved to be sold to a fisherman, and used to scrape mud from his keel!
Tuon would hear none of it. Would Charral, she asked, ever let her mind wander while on duty again? Charral could only answer a fervent 'no'.
"You have saved my life thirty-one times, Charral. This one exception has taught you a valuable lesson, which you will be grateful for in time. I will expect you before I sleep." And with a smile that Charral could only blurrily see through her tears, Tuon left.
Receiving forgiveness where she had expected condemnation turned Charral's loyalty, devotion and adoration into genuine love. Tuon was sunk into all the nooks and crannies of Charral's mind and heart, irrevocably. If she had been willing to die for her before, now she would face the death of ten thousand tears with a smile. She would pluck out her own eyes at her Mistress's whim; kill any person she named, whether that was her favourite sul'dam or the Empress herself. Even this thought, treason of the highest order, could not damp her euphoria.
That night, and every night thereafter, Charral guarded Tuon's bedside as though all the armies of Seanchan were about to come against it. If they had, Charral would have fought them, not stopping until they were turned back.
One of the most controversial things Tuon ever did was when she tested for sul'dam. She had not done so before because she knew that Selucia, who disapproved of the closeness between Tuon and her damane, would have forbidden it, and before Tuon came of age Selucia would have had the right to do so, being her appointed guardian. As an adult only her mother the Empress could forbid her anything, and no word came down from the Crystal Throne to that effect, so Tuon went ahead.
It profoundly unnerved the damane, at first. Tuon, the der'sul'dam and Dali were all that were needed to do the Testing; all that was needed was for Tuon to put on the bracelet. She said that, yes, she could 'feel' Dali, and though of course she was not going to actually become a sul'dam, it meant she had the talent to learn.
The first few times when Charral saw Tuon completing a damane she felt very uneasy. Damane were on the bottom rung, the lowest form of life, save perhaps da'covale. For Tuon to be linked to something so unworthy, like a common sul'dam, was like seeing her embrace a filthy urchin child. All the damane agreed, and whenever Selucia happened to see it her lips pursed into a thin line.
It takes a lot of practise to become a sul'dam, time that Tuon did not have. She was able to complete her damane, and they could channel when she wore the bracelet, but she could not cause them sensation, at least, not reliably. Normally a sul'dam-in-training would spend several months getting it right, but Tuon did not have that luxury.
Nonetheless, she made a point of completing all her damane now and again.
Charral remembered the first time she had done so with her, quashing the sharply uneasy feeling and trying to focus solely on loyalty, and trust, knowing that Tuon would feel it, yet being unable to completely hide her disquiet.
The link between sul'dam and damane is a close one. The Leashed One does not have the privilege of knowing her Leash Holder's emotions and sensations, but when actually channeling, the bliss of the Power is shared between both. It is hard to feel anger or resentment to one who you share this with. So Charral found that when Tuon commanded her to make lights, whirlwinds or other harmless things, the pleasure that they both took in the channeling soon dissolved her unease about the circumstances. The Source filled her with light and happiness, and an echo of it made itself known on Tuon's face, her dark eyes gleaming. The more they channelled together the more natural it felt, until Charral forgot how unworthy she was, forgot everything except the intimacy of two minds working as one to channel the Power.
Channeling is the least part of what a sul'dam should be able to accomplish. After all, it is not the sul'dam but the damane doing the actual channeling. The best sul'dam are far more than just conduits to enable their Leashed Ones to channel; they are trainers, carers, healers and confidants. Tuon herself employed not just sul'dam, but many der'sul'dam, the Master Leash Holders, experienced and skilled in all these things, and more. Yet when the tiny, sickly damane Mylen was bought by Tuon on a whim, every one of the Leash Holders said she would not live long, and Tuon proved them wrong.
Mylen had been leashed very recently, all the way across the ocean, with the Corenne. Not only had she been marath'damane, she had been Aes Sedai, a name reviled and cursed in the Empire. The first time Charral saw her, she could see the strange too-smooth look of her face that set those marath'damane apart. Charral kept her distance. Safely leashed she might be, but she was not properly trained, and who knew what one who had once been Aes Sedai might be able to do?
Mylen did little at all, really. She was half-dead when bought, and though she was persuaded to eat, she never put on any weight, nor did the dull, dead look leave her eyes. Charral tried to avoid her; Mylen frightened her more than a little.
Tuon spent months with the damane, sometimes an hour per day, sometimes only a few minutes. All the other damane, save Laka, were jealous, missing the attention that had once been bestowed on them, and resented the tiny damane. Laka herself was cryptic about her reasons. The most Charral could get out of her was that Mylen would never be any threat to her. Charral supposed that she would know, as she was the one who could tell the future so well.
The most astonishing thing was that it worked. All the sul'dam were amazed when they saw Tuon walking Mylen, the latter with eyes wide and childlike, over the grass that the damane walked on. She was weak as a chick, but she was trying.
Tuon gave her back the will to live, and from there on it was just a process of training, like for any damane. There were hitches – Mylen was useless as a weapon, bound against violence by some sort of oath that Charral didn't understand. She could defend herself, but not anyone else, unless it was a sul'dam linked to her, and could not attack with a weave that could harm.
But Mylen knew other things, weaves that the damane had never heard of, never imagined. Who knew that the Power could heal, heal miraculously, as well as kill? Who would have imagined a way of severing a damane from the Source forever? Some of the weaves she knew seemed pointless, but some were unimaginably useful.
Tuon had grown very fond of Mylen, and though she was not able to kill, Tuon kept her anyway, finally filling the space left by Mitsi. The other damane got to know Mylen more, and while Charral never really liked her, she did trust her, for it was clear that Mylen held Tuon in such esteem that she might as well have been the Creator. No harm would ever come to Tuon if it was in Mylen's power to prevent, even if all she was able to do was attack them with her fists.
When the Empress commanded Tuon to go across the ocean, to claim her rightful lands as Daughter of the Nine Moons, all the damane insisted on coming with her – save Laka. Charral didn't know what she said to Tuon, but Laka was left behind in the Imperial Kennels, and a young, impetuous future-teller called Lydia was chosen instead. As Lydia had never foretold anything of importance it seemed an odd choice, but such things were not for Charral to question.
The new lands were strange, and yet familiar, the people odd, yet decipherable. The amount of newly-leashed damane amazed Charral, and she found herself very distressed over those who were having troubles adjusting. She went out of her way to befriend such with success, and she was happy.
Until the day when the six of them – they knew something wasn't right when this six were picked – were taken out of the city for 'exercise'. Until the day that the hard faces of the Deathwatch guards and the stone ones of the Ogier Gardeners stood testament to the worst news of Charral's life. Until the day that she learned that her Mistress had been kidnapped out of the city, stolen away like a sack of gold, by those monsters called Aes Sedai. Such fury, rage and terror Charral could not remember ever feeling, and though she hid it well she could see it reflected on every face around her. Mylen wailed, harsh, ragged shrieks that stabbed through the air, dropping to her knees and tearing at the earth with her tiny hands, and that one action made Charral's heart freeze – for Mylen had been Aes Sedai, she knew what they were capable of, and if she was reacting like this…
Charral would kill them, and take pleasure in it, when they finally found Tuon. Assuming she was fast enough that the other five did not destroy them utterly first. And when her inner voice asked, in that cruel, cold tone, asking what she would do if she found a lifeless body instead…
Die. Charral would die if Tuon did. She had fallen into the trap she had sworn to avoid, loved so strongly and so deeply that she would never be able to go back. Should a corpse be waiting for them at the end of their search Charral would never leave it, though the years past and her bracelet passed on with them. She might live for another two hundred years, at least, but that would only be her flesh. Her mind and heart would always rest with Tuon Athaem Kore Paendrag, wherever she might be.
Charral rose stiffly, her muscles protesting at the long immobility. As always the nightly ritual calmed her to the point where she was able to sleep; even exhausted she couldn't slumber until her mind was clear. It was not a proper kennel, just a stable used for the purpose, but there were blankets to curl under, and the hay was an adequate mattress. Charral wondered, for the thousandth time, where her Mistress was, and if she was well.
Looking down at the sleeping Mylen, who had been crying silently yet again, Charral moved close to her, offering warmth as some comfort. Charral was much more tolerant of Mylen now, was even beginning to like her a little, and as the childlike damane moved closer to her Charral whispered, "We will find her, Mylen."
The tiny damane clutched convulsively at her blankets, but the words did seem to help, for the flow of tears stopped. Charral stared up at the wooden roof, and wished she could believe her own words.
That's it! Hope you liked it, please review, I'd love to know what you thought of it, good or bad.