[center][h1]Ellisande, Last Queen of Manetheren[/h1]
[h3]Manetheren: An Early Day of Spring, Late Morning[/h3][/center]

Golden hair lay in clumps on a stone set floor, gentle locks falling like leaves in the early autumn. Soft metallic sounds, the shears as they clipped, echoed in the otherwise dead hall. Eldrene stared in the mirror, watching as her handmaiden snipped away, as the curls for which she was so well known fell away from her face, leaving behind a short style, cropped to the level of her chin. She maintained a cool and calm expression, her eyes following the movements of the scissors. She wore her undergarments, an untied corset, while her skirt hung over the back of her chair. Her headscarf laid across her lap, a brown silky cloth, with little flowers embroidered across its expanse. She played with the cloth, pinching it between her fingers, more out of habit than nervousness. Feet fixed in a wide set position, as though she was about to stand, the woman seemed quite distracted. Her mind wandered off.

The handmaiden finished her job soon enough, and cleaned her scissors with a little cup of water. Silent, wearing an apron and a frown, she kept casting glances towards her mistress, who stared at the mirror on her vanity still. Eldrene did not appear to notice, too preoccupied in her thoughts, whatever those were. A minute or so passed before the handmaiden cleared her throat, and spoke.

"My lady, can you?"

"Oh, yes, yes, of course."

Eldrene stood, towering over the girl, and shed her remaining clothes. The underclothes and corset fell to the ground, and Eldrene stepped out of the pile of cloth and metal. It was only then that she took note of her appearance, and that of the hair on the ground. Half of the hair and clothes were drenched in brown and blackened blood, the white cloth marred by dirt and grime and human remains, her own skin covered in marks and bruises, in some places, her own blood mixing with that of both enemies and friends. The handmaiden averted her eyes, not from Eldrene, but from the blood. Despite the fact that she had seen so much of it before, she cringed, nauseated at its implications. The girl gathered up the clothes, and as much hair as she could fit into the pile, and, pinching her nose, left the room. Another girl soon entered.

Drawing a bath, pouring buckets of water into the tub, this handmaiden stared downward. She whistled something under her breath, a song whose words discussed the beauty of a never ending sea. Eldrene smiled, and closed her eyes, picturing such a sight. Water that lasted as far as the expanse of the Aiel Waste, even greater than the Aryth Ocean. Calm, unaffected by the storms and the moon, empty of life and ships and interference. Something entirely impossible, yet so easy to visualize. Simple. Like a breath of air. 

In the bath, Eldrene pondered further. She could run away, out to the sea. Manetheren was not too far from the coastlines, and there were vast continents that were likely unaffected by this war. Even if they were all overtaken by the Shadow, the entire sea could never be conquered. She could happily live on a little boat, the rest of her days in the solitude of nature. But Aemon would never leave. And neither could she, not when her happiness came from this place, these people she had sworn to protect. Her children had all grown, and left for their own endeavors, devoting their lives to the nation in one way or another. She could not abandon them.

The handmaiden scrubbed at the marks on Eldrene's skin. Surprisingly little actually came from her own wounds; most had been healed by a sister of the Yellow Ajah, though a few scratches and bruises remained. Gradually, the tub filled with little pieces of flesh, and bits of dried blood and wet dirt, turning a nasty brown. Taking a break, to keep herself from getting sick, the handmaiden watched in disbelief as Eldrene maintained a smile. After she was entirely cleaned, Eldrene stood, stepped out of the tub, and reached out her arms to her sides. The handmaiden placed a blanket over her mistress, soaking up the water and remaining mess. She poured one last pail of water over Eldrene, gently cleaning her face and hair, before drying her off completely. Wrapped in a bundle, Eldrene sat alone, as the handmaiden left.

The first girl returned, carrying fresh clothes. Eldrene gladly accepted the girl's help in dressing, letting her mind wander once more. She now wore something of a professional outfit, with ribbons of gold and silver adorning an otherwise simple white outfit. Her headscarf, white and lined with embroidered vines, was the last touch, wrapped tightly around her newly trimmed golden hair. Walking through the palace, oddly empty for this time of morning, she avoided the main halls, lest she run into someone who aimed to discuss the events of the previous several hours. 

She soon found herself in the stables, having walked there out of habit, brushing out the dirt from her favorite horse's mane and tail. Its fur was dark and grey, where it should have been white. It stood still, staring at the wall, letting its rider cherish it as she always did after a hearty battle. Quiet and alone, Eldrene did not notice as the dirt began to stain the hems of her skirt and sleeves. 

"I promise, you can rest now, Heishain."


[center][h1]Ba'alzamon, Commander of the Shadow[/h1]
[h3]Shadar Logoth: Early Afternoon[/h3][/center]

A circle of Myrddraal stood around a table, despite the chairs. All cowered, heads lowered despite their hooded robes, before the man who stood at the head. 

His hair drifted upwards, swaying in a nonexistent wind, almost like smoke. Those dark eyes held the same quality, as though a fire had gone out in his skull. He wore dark robes, which seemed to flow in the same way, his entire figure constantly moving despite the fact that he stood perfectly still, like the leaves on a strong tree. The man bore an expression akin to that of a disappointed father, his nose upturned, and his lips fixed in a pointed grimace, and his eyes narrowed, staring at no one in particular. When he spoke, his voice boomed in such a way that could not possibly be natural.

"A foul mistake." He hissed, his voice echoing through the empty streets. None responded, or even moved. 

"Three days, you floundered at the edge of a river, and in three days, more troops fled than fought, more creatures died than killed. An embarrassment to the name- yes, they are not intelligent creatures... But surely you, with your slight abilities in critical thinking, might develop a sense of strategy. Or at least, the sense to organize a proper advance, or withdraw at the proper moment."

A myrddraal raised his head as though to speak, but its empty face met those piercing eyes, and it quickly resigned to a quiet nod. Ba'alzamon's lips twisted into a sort of smile, though his nose and eyes maintained that despicable glare, as he met the gazes of each of the eyeless creatures. None dared to speak, all petrified by fear and shame alike. Fear both for the man who held power over them, and for the place in which they stood. The man then moved, walking behind the creatures, his hands clasped behind his back. His breath the only sound that could be heard, he examined each Myrddraal with careful attention, noting every twitch, every tension. 

Reaching the head of the table once more, Ba'alzamon sat. The wind echoed like moans through the spaces between desecrated buildings. The atmosphere reeked of dread, an air of depression settling around the entire city, yet it did not touch this man. He stared forward at his underlings, unblinking. That fake smile disappeared, as he considered his options. Finally, Ba'alzamon spoke again.

"Is anyone useful lurking about?"


[center][h1]Tetsuan, Amyrlin Seat[/h1]
[h3]Tar Valon, the White Tower: Just Before Dawn[/h3][/center]

Tetsuan sat in the library, poring over some ancient text in some ancient tongue she did not want to admit she could not read. Eyes squinted and mouth fixed in a tight scowl, she ran her finger over the glyphs, sounding out approximations in her mind. The silence of the room itched at her mind, and she bounced her leg, crossed over the other, trying to get comfortable without making any noise. The sun had yet to come up above the horizon. Few were awake at this hour, even in the Tower. Her sitter slept peacefully upstairs, a well deserved rest after several tumultuous days of strategizing and training. The attacks were becoming less frequent, though none had been as major as the first; a sure sign that a greater advance was coming. 

She wore something akin to a burlap sack, what with her dress's simplicity and rough texture. Neglecting shoes, she had still taken the time to pin her hair into a tight knot at the nape of her neck. Priorities were evidently important, though misplaced.

Waiting for something, she kept her attention on the book, though her mind wished to be anywhere else.