by Aira » Fri Oct 22, 2021 7:40 pm
A faint breeze came down the Spine of the World, causing the stalks in the wheat fields to weave and rustle. Aira was glad to see the land being used. Cairhien was struggling to support itself, even all these years after the Aiel War. Farmlands had been abandoned and grain had to be imported from Tear. At least there were some efforts underway to use the land again.
The hours passed quickly as they rode towards Cairhien and the landscape slowly changed. Small villages surrounded by farms with a few crops and some livestock gave way to larger estates. Vinyards became more frequent, as did traffic. Her con of a goat clutching two lightning bolts rose above her back, ensuring that anyone who saw her and Larry riding up gave way to them. Even if this deference made her uncomforable, it definitely made travel faster. She had loved designing her coat of arms. The goat signified practical wisdom and solving conflicts through diplomacy, while the lightning bolts referred to her past as a Child of the Light.
They rode on, letting the horses alternate between a walk and a trot, allowing them to catch their breath in between. Even if her horse would stay stabled in Cairhien for a few days, it was no use overexerting him on the ride in. Not to mention, you never knew what might happen and a fresh horse was better than an exhausted one. They topped a hill and Cairhien came into sight, its topless towers rising in a regular pattern like slender pinnacles, their jagged tops unfinished. One day, their steep, cone shaped roofs would be decorated with plated gold, turning the city into the Hill of the Golden Dawn once again.
The tilled fields gave way to rickety buildings as Aira entered the Foregate. Before long, they were riding across a broad, unpaved road that lead towards the Dragonwall Gate. Tall buildings lining the streets reflected the general din of the lively Foregate. The people from the Foregate wore bright clothes and had much less inhibitions than the people in the city proper did. Goodwives hung from windows, carrying conversations with eachother and people on the street below. The contents of a chamberpot emptied on the second floor narrowly missed a man on the side of the road.
Aira's thoughts drifted to another time she entered a city. She had been a few weeks shy of turning eighteen when she left her parents' sawmill. Her father had had an accident and she had gone to Lugard to get a job and contribute to the family income. Lugard. It had seemed the grandest city she had ever seen. Of course, it had also been the only city she had ever seen.
It seemed grand, until she learned of the dirty underbelly of the place. Aira smirked. She had finally found work as a tavern maid, starting out shy and easily intimidated, but the men's reactions quickly made her drop her reservations about quipping right back. Eventually, one such a man attracted her eye and that had been the start of a romance.
'Well,' she thought to herself, 'he had turned out to be a pig.' All had seemed well, but in hindsight he had tried groom her for a less than honorable form of employment. Even after all those years, she fumed quietly. When the proposition came, she had been absolutely enraged, to the point of her shouting admonishments, utterly embarassing him and attracting a crowd. A patrol of the Children had arrived, parting the crowd like a knife slicing through silk. Upon discerning what was going on, the officer present decided that her suitor was a threat to the citizens' morals and they tried to arrest him, but the sorry excuse for a man had bolted. When she had made a move to chase the pig of man, the Child officer had stopped her.
They reached the Dragonwall Gate and passed the end of a line of wagons and carriages that were waiting to enter the city. One of the officers at the gate made a note in a ledger when foreigners entered the city and asked them to return in twenty-four hours to let the guard know which inn they were staying at. Aira smiled. Not much had changed since her younger years. A wariness of foreigners was nothing new. Some, like Lieutenant Tavolin spoke with contempt about the Foregaters being corrupted by outland ways. It had not been any different when she first came to Cairhien, many years ago.
Aira and Larry nodded at the gateguards. Given her rank, Aira did not have to, but in her experience even the lower ranks wanted to be seen. Even though Cairhienin would read things into it that she never intended, such small things could matter in the future. The streets of Cairhien proper were much quieter than those of the Foregate. Some thoroughfares were busy, with merchant wagons, carriages and carts, but in here, she could hear the birds chirrup in the trees.
They rode up to the Palace Gates and handed their horses over to a pair of grooms. Aira walked straight towards a narrow archway, which lead to a maze of passages and ultimately, the barracks of the guard. Before long, the familiar sounds and scents of soldiers surrounded her. Laughter, dice, ale, sweat. It had been a long time since she had first spent time among soldiers. The Children had taken her to her camp to lay accusations at the Lugarder pig and she had been given a cot in a tent to sleep at. The day after, the man commanding them had asked her to deliver some letters, saying she could do so more inconspicuously than any of his men could. She spent a few days doing errands when the commanding officer had discovered she had a fine pen hand and him being less than enthused about all the writing, started dictating contents of letters to her.
One day, after the Children had rode north, into the southern reaches of Andor, she was delivering a letter a local minor noble. A patrol of young Andoran soldiers had noticed her and started jeering at her for being Murandian and surely a spy, or out to steal some sheep. She had continued walking and ignored them, but they had followed her. She had no memory of how it started, but she sure knew how it had ended - her lying on the ground, battered, bruised and beaten, more dead than alive.
She felt a hand grabbing her arm and she winced. The smells of sweat and sounds had made her remember. A jovial lord laughed drunkenly, his words slurred and talking about how pretty she looked. She excused herself, muttering 'Men and their drinks! Story of my life.'. At least the young commanding officer of the Children had been kind. Overcome with guilt, since she had been on one of his errands, he had let her stay with the Children until her wounds had healed, continuing her work as a scribe when she could. Eventually, the Children had reached Cairhien for some diplomatic mission or another. Aira had roamed the library. What a magnificent place. Her stay in Cairhien back then had been among the happiest periods in her life and the reason why she had returned, after she left the Children.
She turned into a room in the barracks, which was empty, save for one stout man. She greeted him before asking 'Donal, is your brother still in the blacksmithing business? I'm going to need some plows and harrows and such.'
A faint breeze came down the Spine of the World, causing the stalks in the wheat fields to weave and rustle. Aira was glad to see the land being used. Cairhien was struggling to support itself, even all these years after the Aiel War. Farmlands had been abandoned and grain had to be imported from Tear. At least there were some efforts underway to use the land again.
The hours passed quickly as they rode towards Cairhien and the landscape slowly changed. Small villages surrounded by farms with a few crops and some livestock gave way to larger estates. Vinyards became more frequent, as did traffic. Her con of a goat clutching two lightning bolts rose above her back, ensuring that anyone who saw her and Larry riding up gave way to them. Even if this deference made her uncomforable, it definitely made travel faster. She had loved designing her coat of arms. The goat signified practical wisdom and solving conflicts through diplomacy, while the lightning bolts referred to her past as a Child of the Light.
They rode on, letting the horses alternate between a walk and a trot, allowing them to catch their breath in between. Even if her horse would stay stabled in Cairhien for a few days, it was no use overexerting him on the ride in. Not to mention, you never knew what might happen and a fresh horse was better than an exhausted one. They topped a hill and Cairhien came into sight, its topless towers rising in a regular pattern like slender pinnacles, their jagged tops unfinished. One day, their steep, cone shaped roofs would be decorated with plated gold, turning the city into the Hill of the Golden Dawn once again.
The tilled fields gave way to rickety buildings as Aira entered the Foregate. Before long, they were riding across a broad, unpaved road that lead towards the Dragonwall Gate. Tall buildings lining the streets reflected the general din of the lively Foregate. The people from the Foregate wore bright clothes and had much less inhibitions than the people in the city proper did. Goodwives hung from windows, carrying conversations with eachother and people on the street below. The contents of a chamberpot emptied on the second floor narrowly missed a man on the side of the road.
Aira's thoughts drifted to another time she entered a city. She had been a few weeks shy of turning eighteen when she left her parents' sawmill. Her father had had an accident and she had gone to Lugard to get a job and contribute to the family income. Lugard. It had seemed the grandest city she had ever seen. Of course, it had also been the only city she had ever seen.
It seemed grand, until she learned of the dirty underbelly of the place. Aira smirked. She had finally found work as a tavern maid, starting out shy and easily intimidated, but the men's reactions quickly made her drop her reservations about quipping right back. Eventually, one such a man attracted her eye and that had been the start of a romance.
'Well,' she thought to herself, 'he had turned out to be a pig.' All had seemed well, but in hindsight he had tried groom her for a less than honorable form of employment. Even after all those years, she fumed quietly. When the proposition came, she had been absolutely enraged, to the point of her shouting admonishments, utterly embarassing him and attracting a crowd. A patrol of the Children had arrived, parting the crowd like a knife slicing through silk. Upon discerning what was going on, the officer present decided that her suitor was a threat to the citizens' morals and they tried to arrest him, but the sorry excuse for a man had bolted. When she had made a move to chase the pig of man, the Child officer had stopped her.
They reached the Dragonwall Gate and passed the end of a line of wagons and carriages that were waiting to enter the city. One of the officers at the gate made a note in a ledger when foreigners entered the city and asked them to return in twenty-four hours to let the guard know which inn they were staying at. Aira smiled. Not much had changed since her younger years. A wariness of foreigners was nothing new. Some, like Lieutenant Tavolin spoke with contempt about the Foregaters being corrupted by outland ways. It had not been any different when she first came to Cairhien, many years ago.
Aira and Larry nodded at the gateguards. Given her rank, Aira did not have to, but in her experience even the lower ranks wanted to be seen. Even though Cairhienin would read things into it that she never intended, such small things could matter in the future. The streets of Cairhien proper were much quieter than those of the Foregate. Some thoroughfares were busy, with merchant wagons, carriages and carts, but in here, she could hear the birds chirrup in the trees.
They rode up to the Palace Gates and handed their horses over to a pair of grooms. Aira walked straight towards a narrow archway, which lead to a maze of passages and ultimately, the barracks of the guard. Before long, the familiar sounds and scents of soldiers surrounded her. Laughter, dice, ale, sweat. It had been a long time since she had first spent time among soldiers. The Children had taken her to her camp to lay accusations at the Lugarder pig and she had been given a cot in a tent to sleep at. The day after, the man commanding them had asked her to deliver some letters, saying she could do so more inconspicuously than any of his men could. She spent a few days doing errands when the commanding officer had discovered she had a fine pen hand and him being less than enthused about all the writing, started dictating contents of letters to her.
One day, after the Children had rode north, into the southern reaches of Andor, she was delivering a letter a local minor noble. A patrol of young Andoran soldiers had noticed her and started jeering at her for being Murandian and surely a spy, or out to steal some sheep. She had continued walking and ignored them, but they had followed her. She had no memory of how it started, but she sure knew how it had ended - her lying on the ground, battered, bruised and beaten, more dead than alive.
She felt a hand grabbing her arm and she winced. The smells of sweat and sounds had made her remember. A jovial lord laughed drunkenly, his words slurred and talking about how pretty she looked. She excused herself, muttering 'Men and their drinks! Story of my life.'. At least the young commanding officer of the Children had been kind. Overcome with guilt, since she had been on one of his errands, he had let her stay with the Children until her wounds had healed, continuing her work as a scribe when she could. Eventually, the Children had reached Cairhien for some diplomatic mission or another. Aira had roamed the library. What a magnificent place. Her stay in Cairhien back then had been among the happiest periods in her life and the reason why she had returned, after she left the Children.
She turned into a room in the barracks, which was empty, save for one stout man. She greeted him before asking 'Donal, is your brother still in the blacksmithing business? I'm going to need some plows and harrows and such.'