Disclaimer: I don’t own the Wheel of Time
I get so angry sometimes. Furious at something that seems so small, so irrelevant. So angry I need to hit something, to
lash out, to crush something with my fist, to throw something just to hear the always-satisfying crash and feel the shattered
glass below my fingers.
Pain seems to dull the anger. Wine does, too, but nothing is so effective as pain. Glass pressed hard at the base of my
palm, an inch or less above where the vein pumps that keeps my life safe. I wonder what it would be like to cut that vein,
to feel the life drain out of me, to be weak and helpless.
I don’t ever remember being weak. Even when I was a child at my mother’s breast, I was strong. Even when Nerena
took me from behind, making me feel pain for the first time, I was strong. I persevered until the pain was pleasure, as she
had promised it would be.
I wonder what it would be like to be weak, to be meek. To be what I despise. Would I be any happier? I don’t know.
Nothing infuriates me more than making a Novice cry. To see them sobbing. I could hit them. Kill them, even.
I know I could kill. I often wanted to kill my father. When he took Nerena away from me – when he made her spend
the night in his bed, between him and my mother, whom he always made sure was in ailing health.
She enjoyed it, she said, sitting cross-legged on my bed, dress-half open, moving a game-piece on a board.
I was naked, I remember. “Why?” I asked curiously, as I rolled the dice, moving my piece two spaces.
“Its exciting,” She told me, with an amused smile. “Mother is lying there and he’s inside me, and
we’re trying to be quiet...” She let out a long breath, eyes closing slightly. “You wouldn’t understand,
“I think I do,” I didn’t, of course. He was a man, for one thing. And he was our father. Our own flesh
and blood...at the time, I didn’t know why that repulsed me so much. It didn’t seem to bother her or my father.
It was normal, I thought, it was I who was strange.
When I came to the Tower, I realised how abnormal my family truly where.
“They what?” Merean asked, eyes going very, very wide.
“Make love to each other,” I replied calmly, hands folded in my lap. That was the only expression I could think
of. Anything else was vulgar, after all.
Merean’s lips moved silently for a moment, until she came around the desk and enveloped me in a strong, bear hug
that pulled me from the chair.
Eirana laughed at it, of course. “I knew you noble folk got up to all sorts behind closed doors,” She said,
mirth in her eyes. She was a pig farmer’s daughter.
Even now, thinking back, my hand clenches around broken glass of a shattered goblet, tearing the already scarred-skin on
my hands. Pain flashes through my fisted hand, yet I squeezed tighter, urging all the pain to overwhelm me, daring it to make
me weak, to make me sleep dreamlessly for a time.
Its agony, of course, already tender skin torn again.
Has Alviarin made me weak? The thought is so sudden that I almost loosen my grip. To be made weak by another person...I
clench tighter, to defuse the anger.
“Elaida!” The voice is so shocked, so stunned, I turn in surprise.
Eirana, framed in the doorway, horror on her face. Once she would have appreciated. Once she would have asked me to continue
while she watched. Yet now she strode forward, bare feet stepping aside broken shards, nightgown loosely wrapped about her
shoulders, gently taking my hands in her own.
“Your hand...oh light...” She pried it open, staring down at the broken glass I had clenched in my fist, rivulets
of blood running down my elbow, staining my green silken robe. She looked up quickly at me, and then looked down, using the
cuff of her gown to dab at the wound. Little good it did. There was too much blood.
“Why do you do this?” She said in a soft, mild, almost conversational tone, the only way I could tell she was
angry was by the fierce way she dabbed, stabbing it, causing almost as much pain as squeezing the glass had.
She looked up, eyes furious. “Don’t you dare tell me this hurts,”
“Of course not,” I replied calmly.
She shook her head angrily. “I don’t understand you,”
I smiled. “No one does,”
She slapped me quite hard. Enough to make my head snap around and gasp slightly. “You are such a fool,” She
She turned then and headed back to the bedroom, not looking around. I stood there, staring after her, before slowly following,
trailing my feet.
It was dark in the bedroom and Eirana was curled up on the bed, her back to me, blanket pulled up, yet her bare shoulders
still showed. She had discarded her robe on the floor. I dropped mine beside it.
“Eirana,” I said.
Eirana didn’t respond.
“Eirana,” Now my voice was wheedling, pleading.
She still didn’t respond. I climbed onto the bed, gently touching her shoulder. She stiffened slightly. I lay down
beside her, wrapping one arm around her, pulling her in so I was hugging her from behind.
I kissed her ear and buried my face in her hair. I could feel her breath, warm on my arm. “You’re still bleeding,”
She said after a moment.
“Yes,” I agreed.
She kissed my hand gently, running her finger along the length of it. The bleeding was slowing and the wound was beginning
to heal. It had begun to ache steadily now, a dull throb. “Does it hurt?”
“I didn’t think you could feel pain now,”
That surprised me. “Why?”
She didn’t answer, only turning to face me, wrapping her arms around me and hugging me tightly, pushing her face
into my chest. “You worry me too much, Elaida a’Roihan,”
I smiled slightly. She wasn’t smiling at all, I knew. She was serious.
She looked up at me and frowned, before kissing me firmly, pushing her tongue into my mouth as though seeking assurance
that I wasn’t, in fact, dead.
She got all the assurance she needed when I pushed her down and climbed atop her, leaving a dark streak of blood on her
shoulder. She smiled then, as I placed dainty kisses the length of her jaw bone, butterfly kisses along her neck.
“So gentle,” She muttered, rolling her head to one side. A small smile crossed her face, reaching out to grip
I didn’t answer, leaning back suddenly and she looked up at me curiously. Neither of us where clothed and she raised
an eyebrow questioningly.
I touched my hand and then offered it to her. She smiled, amused, and took it, gripping it in her own hands and began to
kiss it, smearing blood over my fingers and over her mouth.
She fell back onto the pillow, a satisfied smile on her face. “Almost as good as the other blood,” She said
“Yes. Almost,” She snaked her arms around my waist and pulled me down, kissing me hard, biting down hard on
my lower lip.
She began to rub up and down my sides, trailing her hands over my stomach, and then further, rubbing her hand just over
my cunt, not going in.
“I thought I was supposed to be doing it to you?” I muttered, face flushing with heat.
“So did I,” She pouted, but slipped two fingers inside, stroking gently. I gasped softly, bowing my head into
her neck. She kissed my hair.
It didn’t take that much for me to come. It was mild, actually, and a look of disappointment crossed her face as
I rolled off her without so much as a gasp. She licked her fingers and propped her head up on one elbow, looking down at me.
She touched my cheek with her wet fingers and I turned my head, licking at them. She passed no comment as to why I didn’t
immediately turn my attentions to her, just wrapped her arm around me and pressed her cheek to mine.
We tried to go to sleep.