merrimanlyon | (no subject)

(no subject)

There are certain advantages to having experienced and taken part in warfare in many different times, places, and contexts.

In times of war, sleep is precious...but time itself is even more precious. The efficient and effective soldier will train his body to react with that principle in mind. Sleeping lightly and for short periods of time may make all the difference in one's ability to cope with the stresses and strains of warfare.

However, there are also disadvantages to this kind of experience and training -- one major disadvantage being the fact that former soldiers often revert to old habits when under stress. Sleeping lightly, for short periods of time.

In the days (or perhaps weeks?) since the Old Ones turned inward to safeguard the spells that help hold the Summer Country intact, Merlion has found it all but impossible to sleep or rest for longer than seven of the twelve 'off-duty' hours of the watch. The five hours left over have to be filled somehow, and he has had to find ways to fill them. The residual duties of his position -- keeping an eye on Bran Davies and the queen, walking the immediate grounds of the castle, taking food or drink if and when he remembers to do so -- fill some of that time.

At the moment, he happens to be filling in the time before his watch is due to begin by watching the dawn break from the easternmost parapet of the castle.

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As the strain upon the land grows, so does the strain upon those who dwell in the Summer Country-- in more ways than one, the toll upon those who hold the spells being only one of the more obvious.

For her part,the Aes Sedai continues to unobtrusively aid Bran as best she can, especially in the ways that his friend and adviser Will Stanton is less well suited for. She has taken to spending a great deal of time out among the court, easing tensions here and there with a murmured word or a light (if practiced) laugh, planting rumors of news heard from lands beyond, of new depth to the spells, of Bran's continuing strength-- at first surprising to some, perhaps, but after all, is it not only to be expected in the young man who is his father's son?

Little things, all of them, and yet critically important in their way, she knows. Moiraine Damodred grew up in the Sun Palace, in the court of Cairhien, and is all too well aware of how tension and fear can turn friend to foe, which in the end here would undermine and eventually destroy the intangible as well as the tangible which they all wish to protect.

In the process, she has kept herself apprised of the movements and habits of those she has a stronger and more personal interest in. As a result, this dawn finds her stepping from the stairway onto the top of the tower.

"Merriman. A good morning to you."

He half-turns at the sound of her voice, one hand still resting on the stones of the wall before him as he lets his other hand fall to his side.

'Good morning, Moiraine.' The corners of his mouth twitch upwards in a faint smile, partly for her benefit and partly out of gratitude at the prospect of not being alone with his thoughts at the moment. 'Does the day find you well?'

"At present, it does," she replies, with a faint answering smile. "The early hour notwithstanding, of course."

A pause.

"How are matters with you?"

It is delicately enough phrased to be a mere politeness, if he prefers it so, and at the same time subtly invites him to confide, should he wish to.

'Somewhat improved, now that the watches are in place,' he says absently, his gaze sliding slightly out of focus as he speaks. 'Dividing the days and nights does possess its own set of difficulties, so a few minor further adjustments may have to be made. Nothing that should affect the land or its regent, to the best of my knowledge, but they will have to remain under consideration at present.'

There is a moment's pause, and then he closes his eyes briefly and pinches the bridge of his nose.

'And that came out sounding rather more like a briefing than a proper reply.' He opens his eyes again, regarding Moiraine with a rueful expression. 'I am falling into old habits again, I fear -- and not necessarily the most useful ones, either.'

"It would not be exactly inappropriate, were it to be so," the Aes Sedai says. "I am no Old One, but we share the same interests in this, I think."

Moiraine moves forward, joining him at the wall, and glances up at him before she looks out over the land to the east.

"'He Who Comes With the Dawn,'" she murmurs to herself, with a wry twist at the corner of her mouth. "'Of the blood, yet not raised by the blood.'"

'We do, at that,' he agrees evenly. 'Though there are certain habits I would prefer to set aside, at least some of the time.'

From the parapet, it is possible to see the faint glitter of dew on the grass and the leaves of the trees. There is no mist on the ground or in the air this morning, nothing to obstruct the view of the rising sun.

Her murmured words make him tilt his head a little, gazing down at her. 'A prophecy? Or part of it?'

At his question she shakes her head slightly, as if trying to clear it, and turns back to face him.

"Yes, as it happens," Moiraine tells him. "'He Who Comes With the Dawn' is another name for Rand al'Thor."

A pause.

"Is there that which I might do to help you abandon these particular habits, then?"

His brow furrows slightly at her change in expression, but he lets it pass for the time being. He merely nods at her reply, and makes a note of it in the back of his mind.

'To be truthful,' he says, tapping one hand lightly on the stone wall, 'changing the immediate subject might be one possible course of action.'

Dwelling on Moiraine's battle to come does little to turn his thoughts from battles that may be raging elsewhere, even as they speak.

"That should be no great hardship, one might think," she observes.

Moiraine tilts her head, looking up at him.

"We might speak of books, or shared acquaintances, or any of a number of topics."

A beat.

"Your associate, Mary Greythorne, did not have time to enlighten me overmuch about your days in the Manor, after all, for some reason."

That, at least, prompts a twitch in one corner of Merlion's mouth. 'She certainly had sufficient time to impart any number of tales about me, so I hardly think it a great loss if she happened to leave out one particular incident.'

Not that he would have minded if Moiraine heard about the tailcoat.

'I should mention that she did wish for me to express her thanks once again for the conversation.'

"I should be interested in speaking with her again, at some point," she replies, tranquilly.

"It was very ... illuminating."

The absent-minded tapping of his fingertips comes to an abrupt halt.

'Was there anything in particular that she was able to shed light on?' he says, without any hint of a play on words.

"A number of things, as it happens," Moiraine replies, with a small shrug. "She has very decided opinions on certain matters."

Merlion lets out a small huff of breath, though there is no irritation in it. 'That is without doubt the most diplomatic evaluation of her I have heard in quite some time. She also has generally few qualms about making such opinions known, if she trusts her audience to be receptive to them.'

In spite of whatever Miss Greythorne might have said at the time, he had not been eavesdropping on them.

As he saw it, there would have been nothing to be gained by doing so.

'Her opinions and mine have often run counter to each other, in the past.'

She smiles, very faintly, as if at some private thought.

"I would not disagree with that, I am afraid."

'I would not expect those of the Circle to fall in line with my opinions all of the time. Or even the vast majority of the time.' He shakes his head a little. 'We spent most of our time in the world acting as individuals, all too often alone against the Dark.'

From the distance comes a thin trill of birdsong, and Merlion tilts his head slightly to listen to it before adding:

'Though Mary Greythorne's experience had a particularly solitary aspect to it.'

"Is it so?" she murmurs, watching him.

The tone of her voice clearly invites him to continue.

It will take him a moment to frame his thoughts, first.

'Greythorne Manor was one of the strongholds of the Light,' he says, thinking back to their interrupted conversation. 'An extra aspect of protection for the place where the youngest of the Old Ones, the Sign-Seeker, would be born. But through the work of a traitor, the Dark was able to breach that protection, and another had to be crafted in its stead -- not nearly as strong as the first, but strong enough to hold until the time when the Sign-Seeker would come into his power.'

His mouth twists with the memory.

'The task of holding that spell in place fell to the lady of the manor.'

"She mentioned something of the sort, actually," the Aes Sedai says quietly.

Perhaps too quietly. Her dark-eyed gaze is steady upon him, now.

"In the context of a certain book."

Equally quietly:

'That was indeed the crux of the matter.'

The warmth of the morning light does little to soften the deep-set lines of his face.

'Mary Greythorne was the lady of the manor, by law and by custom, and the hostess of the Christmas Eve party that I was present for and Will was brought back in time to attend. Hawkin was one of her guests, on that night.'

"Hawkin," she repeats.

There is a shadow in her glance, but she says nothing of her thoughts -- even as she carefully sorts through her words.

The last thing she would wish to do is give Merriman Lyon cause to believe that anyone would have betrayed his secrets, for any reason.

A pause.

"You mentioned a traitor...?"

They are both old hands at the Great Game of diplomacy. (Daes Dae'mar, as Moiraine calls it, and there are terms in the Old Speech that bear some similarity to that particular way of phrasing a rather complex idea.) Those who know the game best know that there is a very great value in feigning knowledge -- or ignorance -- of information.

There are also ways to sidestep those complexities, when the situation demands it.

'It is a long story,' he says, with a slight lift of his shoulders in something like a shrug. 'One that at this juncture is only tangentially relevant to the topic at hand. It does have some bearing on the outcome, but only insofar as to explain the seriousness of the committment required.'

The look he gives Moiraine is oddly business-like.

'Which is to say that we may pass over it, for the time being.'

She inclines her head to him, evidently deferring to his preferences in the matter, as she says,

"As you would have it, then."

He will come back to it. Never fear.

'When the protection was breached, a substitution had to be made. Doing so required the constant presence of someone who had the power to serve as a suitable guardian. But the simple fact that that someone was the lady of the manor made the situation slightly difficult to arrange.'

Dawn has well and truly come now, even if the sun is not quite fully clear of the horizon. The breeze carries the scent of early-blooming flowers, and dew on the grass.

'There are only a few things that would disqualify a young, well-bred, handsome, and wealthy woman from an appropriate marriage.' A pause. 'Physical incapacity is one of them.'

"So that is what she meant," the Aes Sedai murmurs, after a moment.

"I see."

'It was arranged,' Merlion says, with a small wave of one hand. 'A riding accident, in which her horse fell, and rolled on her. The sort of tragedy that might happen easily enough. She survived, of course, but the accident left her unable to walk -- unable to leave the manor house, for the most part.'

He lets out a breath, quiet and controlled.

'Even for an Old One, a hundred years may be quite a long time.'

"Particularly such a time of stillness, when one has been used to things being otherwise, I should think," she replies.

"The years remain the same length, even if one may move through them differently than others, do they not?"

'The length remains the same, yes. It is the perception of the length that differs. And added to that length and stillness is the time in which one is alone with one's thoughts, and only one's thoughts.'

It is a reason, if not an excuse.

Moiraine nods, very slightly, as if confirming something to herself.

There is something thoughtful about her glance as she watches him, but she says nothing.

'Of course, there is also the matter of why such a task was required of her in the first place.'

Absently, he flexes the fingers of the hand that is still resting on the stone wall.

'Though as I said, it is a long story.'

"I believe that I am aware of it, at least in part," Moiraine tells him, very quietly.

A pause.

"You realize that it was not your fault, Merriman, do you not?"

He flexes the fingers of his hand again -- a little more deliberately, this time.

She may have to strain a bit to hear his reply.

'What was not my fault, Moiraine?'

"Hawkin's choice," she says, softly-- gently, even.

There is clear concern in the dark eyes as she watches him.

'All your choices have been your own.'

He looks over at Moiraine as he says it, his gaze unfathomable even as he continues.

'I told him that, shortly before he died. I am not entirely certain if it was meant to be comforting, and if so, which of us it was meant to comfort.'

"That does not make it less true," she counters.

The line of his mouth tightens, twisting slightly.

'And still he chose betrayal. Twice.'

There is no anger in his voice as he speaks of the betrayal. If anything, his words have an almost fatalistic resignation behind them.

'I am not to blame for the decisions he made -- that much, at least, I know well enough. But am I not permitted to regret my own choice in asking him to become involved the first place?'

Dark eyes widen in surprise, then narrow as she focuses on him.

"Twice?"

There is a pause before Moiraine adds, quietly,

"You are, of course. And although I do not know him personally, having never met him -- I would venture a guess that it is not as though you suspected what would come."

A faint, wry smile.

"It is just such a thing that is often the hardest to bear, when one has taken up the responsibility for so much."

His pocket watch, to the best of his knowledge, is still safely in Henry Wellard's keeping. If he had it with him, though, he would have taken it out at this moment to hold the reassuring weight in the cupped palm of his hand.

'When all times co-exist,' he says reflectively, 'it can become somewhat difficult to determine what is memory, what is knowledge, and what is foresight -- and equally difficult to distinguish between one or another.'

His mouth twists again, though this time it looks less like a grimace and more like his own attempt at a wry smile.

'The distinction appears to be more muddled than usual, at the moment.'

There is a flicker of shadow in her glance, one that is quickly pushed away by the deliberate exercise of her will. Nothing of it shows in her voice.

"I should think it would be, at that."

A pause.

"Although, if you wish... I have some small practice at discerning and sorting patterns from confusion into clearer paths. If you think there is insight of any sort that I might be able to offer you."

Merlion opens his mouth, as if to reply, but a thought checks his initial response. Instead, his gaze goes to the position of the sun, which by now is well over the horizon and beginning its gentle ascent into the sky.

'Were it not for the lateness of the hour,' he says at last, turning back to Moiraine, 'I would most certainly consider your offer. But I believe I will have to beg to defer it, for the time being.'

There is more than a touch of real regret in his voice.

The Aes Sedai looks up at him and smiles, slightly.

"For the time being, then. I believe that you may find me easily enough, should you wish to at some future point."

He nods, and this time he finally manages a smile.

'Thank you, Moiraine. I shall, when the opportunity next presents itself.'

He pauses for a moment, thinking. 'Though come to think of it, there was something that I was wondering if you might do for me, when next you are in Milliways. Would you do me the great favour of checking to see if there are any notes or messages for me? I told only a very few people that I would be out of the bar for some length of time, and as a result it may well be possible that someone has tried to contact me since last I was there. I would not want to be too remiss in my correspondence, if I can help it.'

What he is not entirely willing to say aloud is that he dearly needs the reminder that this entire situation is only meant to be a temporary one.

"Certainly I shall," she tells him. "And it is not all that great a favor, as it happens-- it is no trouble, Merriman."

She gives a very slight, graceful curtsey as she adds,

"And since, as you mentioned, the morning's hour is growing later-- there are things to which I should attend, if you will excuse me."

Walk ever in Light, she does not say. Not to him.

There is no need.

He watches her depart, waiting until she has disappeared back into the interior of the castle before he lets out a long, slow breath.

There is work to be done, and at this point he is not entirely of the mindset to do it properly.

Standing alone on the parapet in the light of the rising sun, he closes his eyes and allows himself to find the bright, steady flame at the core of his being. It takes a few moments of silent, unmoving concentration, but before long he opens his eyes again. The strain of before has mostly left his expression...and for that matter, so has most any emotion that might have been there before.

The changing of the watch that morning goes smoothly, and without difficulty.

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