An Apprentice for Sama'el

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

60th Summer, 512 A.V. Sama'el waited patiently outside the Sayaph's pavilion, taking the opportunity to check Dohaina's yvas. It wasn't that he didn't check his equipment and the health of his Strider everyday, but a true horseman was more cognizant of the needs of his steed than his own, and that was certainly true of this one. It had been hellish leaving Dohaina with Kavala in the Sanctuary at Riverfall when he led his little band up to the extreme north to retrieve Ragnor's family. But better she be in the hands of an expert when the time came to foal than she should be traveling so far and so hard with a belly full of young. And it had all turned out for the best, except for Issima and for his son. He didn't cry about it, though. Not out in the light of day anymore. He reserved his tears for the dark of night, when the bear cub that should have been his son lay nuzzled up under his chin and the young man, already a widower, listened to the sounds of sleeping men and horses and all. But those were vespertine thoughts, and the sun was out. Ronan would be his apprentice; so saith the Sayaph. It wouldn't take long before he was skilled enough to be a full Tavehk. But the price of his apprenticeship was to oversee another who would join the Watch, a Mealla Stormsong. He thought for a moment of Athe Stormheart, the woman he had begun to court before she was married off, same as Dymphna before her. But they had paved the way for Issima... No, no more thoughts of Issima, especially not before meeting his new apprentice. He was young, and he had to be capable, more than capable, so people would respect him, especially a young warrior of the Diamond Clan. And so he waited. The Sayaph had sent for her, and they would meet and he would take up her training. At least that would keep him close to Endrykas more as his furry son was small and needed him.

[Mealla Stormsong]

There were days when it seemed like it had been forever since she seen her own pavilion – her home –, where her family lived and breathed and worked; her mother, her brothers, her sisters, her fath- Mealla stopped at the last thought, cutting it short. Her father.He was dead –killed, murdered more like - and that was why she was here. She was to join the Watch, to get away from her cousin and be safe. He had brought shame on the pavilion, cursed it, and for that he would pay, but not right now. Right now she had to focus on the present, and on getting through this – this apprenticeship - and becoming a full Tavehk. Then she would be safe to do what she liked, or so she hoped. It would give her power. Standing. More than she had currently, anyway, although that was not hard. Andraste bumped her head against her back, and Mealla started, snapping back to the present. She needed to stop lingering in her thoughts, and focus. Focus. That was what it was all about. She could this. She was strong, although her palms were sweaty and her heart was pounding, thumping away against her chest. What if she failed? What if she was not good enough? What if-? What if-? What if-? She took a breath, steadying herself, before reaching out and stroking Andraste’s nose, taking comfort in the old Strider’s reassuring presence. She was the one thing that was familiar in a world that was rapidly spiralling out of her grasp and her control. But she could do this. She could. It would be easy. Simple. She’d gone through worst since leaving her pavilion. In this, at least, there was no risk of dying. Unless the man hated her... No. Shaking her head as if to rid herself of the thoughts, she took a step forward, and then another, and another and another and another, until she was outside the pavilion and facing the man she was to be apprenticed to. At last, she thought as she looked at him, someone taller than her! It was an odd thought, but distracting, steadying. “You are Sama’el, I take it?” Her voice somehow managed to come out clear, strong, and without a hint of a quiver. Although her eyes remained wary.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

A Drykas could tell a lot about a person by their horse, and her palomino mare looked to be healthy and alert, intelligent and fit. This made him smile as much as seeing a pretty girl, though he was still a bit haunted by pretty girls. But he wouldn't let Issima's memory overshadow the rest of his life, not his public life, in any case. He let his smile strengthen in welcome. He put out his hand to grasp her wrist in a shake of mutual respect; upon first meeting, they were equals. When he accepted her as his apprentice, then the balance of power must needs shift. "I am Sama'el," he agreed. "And you are Mealla. The Sayaph told me as long as I was taking on one apprentice, I ought to take on two. You will be my first apprentice, along with Ronan Windsong. I will do my best to make you ready for the rigors of the Sea of Grass. All I want in exchange is your best in all things at all times. The Watch can suffer no less, or the Drykas will suffer." The words might sound harsh, but his tone and his faint smile softened things. There were just harsh realities to living in the Sea of Grass and all Drykas understood that. "Do you understand?"

[Mealla Stormsong]

Mealla’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at his smile, and she snatched back her hand as soon as she was able, backing up a step and reaching out once more to press a hand against Andraste’s neck, as ever seeking comfort and reassurance from the Strider. Everything was still so new, still so strange, despite the fact that she was still within the Sea of Grass. She was not used to being on her own with a complete stranger – someone she did not know. It made her cautious. Wary. He could do anything, and she had already learnt from her cousin that no one was to be trusted. “I am fully aware,” she said, lifting her chin, her hand still on Andraste’s neck, her eyes cold, though a fire burned within them, “of what I must do. I am fully aware that I must do my best, and I will, I promise you that. You will not be disappointed. I understand well enough.” And it was her turn to smile – though it did not reach her eyes – as her gaze flicked first to his horse and then to him, studying them both, taking everything in. He was almost impressive looking. Almost. “But should I not be questioning you? Should I not be asking you if you will do your best in teaching me? You have not done this before, I take it, if I am your first? Do you have any idea what you’re doing? I want to succeed, and I will not tolerate a teacher who is incapable of teaching. I will not. So, Sama’el, what are your skills? “You still look like a child.”

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sama'el's brow beetled in confusion, then consternation. He hadn't anticipated this sort of a reaction; of course, he knew that it was possible he would do a poor job. It wasn't that he was immune to failure, but certainly if the Sayaph of the Watch thought him capable, then he should believe in the Sayaph's judgment if not his own, and she should as well. But she was of the Diamond Clan. Perhaps she was one of those who thought only members of their own clan were worthwhile warriors. Well, he finally shrugged his shoulders and assumed she just had spirit, which was a good thing. The Sea of Grass would try to stamp that out. "I'm nineteen," he said. "And I already told you I'd do my best. Don't you believe me? Or the Sayaph? He said I'd soon be Rayvehk if I continue doing as I have been. And you're welcome to question me, but do so carefully. I've been a Tavehk for a year and a half. If I was weak or inept, I'd be dead. You can question me, but if I give you an order, you are obliged to follow it. If you do not learn to follow, you will not make it in the Watch. Hierarchy keeps us alive. Living by committee... that never works. "I've taught plenty to ride, and to care for horses. You'll see what I can do," he promised. "But, for now, it's you we're assessing. Come on." With that, he crouched in a downward spiral for torque and momentum, then shot up and around, his body flipping up and over so he could land carefully on Dohaina's back without harming her. His best acrobatic tricks had to do with Dohaina, who was patient with his practice; sometimes he could pull off an impressive thing or two with a weapon in hand, even. Slipping his feet into the stirrups, he smiled to her as if in a friendly dare. Then he road off toward the outskirts of Endrykas and toward the dangers beyond. On horseback, anyone with a trained eye could see he was terribly good.

[Mealla Stormsong]

“Nineteen is hardly what I would call old,” Mealla said, though she herself was a year younger, but then she still considered herself a child. She’d barely even begun to live, and this was her first time venturing beyond her pavilion. Though a part of her rejoiced at the new found freedom and adventure, the rest of her wanted to run back to what was safe and familiar; reassuring. “And I would hardly call a year and a half in the Watch experienced,” she added, ignoring his warning about questioning him carefully. She was Drykas, was she not? She was supposed to question authority and leadership, supposed to make sure that a person was worthy of said authority, because she was placing her life in their hands, and she was not yet willing to die. Not yet. Not when she hadn’t seen half the world. If she was to die, then she wanted to do so beyond the Sea of Grass. Not here. Anywhere but here. “And I know how to ride,” she continued, lifting her chin once more in defiance. “I have ridden since before I could walk. I do not need you to teach me that.” Oh, she could improve, since you could always improve, but she was not willing to admit it. She’d sooner die than dent her pride. “But we shall see how good you are, and whether you’re really worthy of your boasts.” And he was. He was very good. She could barely hide her awe as she watched him vault onto his horse with barely an effort. She noted every move he made, every position he took, every hand placement. She would try it later when he was not around. No doubt she would end up on the floor a time or two before she got it, and he was not seeing that, because her pride would definitely not withstand it. Narrowing her eyes again at his smile, she leaped onto Andraste’s back, though with far less grace. Hers was not an acrobatic move, but nevertheless one much practised. Andraste tossed her head, eager to follow, though Mealla held her in check as she stared after him. He had a nice back. Nice shoulders. Strong, she thought distractedly, before she shook the thoughts away and urged Andraste after, her cheeks colouring slightly. She was not to think of him like that.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

She got a sad sort of smile for some of her comments. The Sea of Grass killed many men before they were his age. The life expectancy of a Drykas male was not so very long, which was why they were so outnumbered by the women, and why polygamy had become a necessity so long ago. Of course there were women like her of the Diamond Clan or the Watch who rode into battle or danger, and they died young too. All the warriors were at risk, willing to lay down their lives to protect the heart of the Drykas. He didn't answer. He just rode. Her Strider was capable of more, he knew, but only if Mealla worked to improve her own skills and her rapport with the beast. At times he let her ride ahead so he could observe her form, which was correct in large part, but lacking in finesse. She likely rode her horse as Endrykas migrated, but he had ridden all over Sylira and Taldera, and their home Cyphrus. Most days had him riding hither and thither to work on the Web, guide outlanders, defend his people. He spent his life in the yvas, and it showed. When they approached a place he knew well, he carefully disengaged his feet from the stirrups and crouched on Dohaina's golden back, feet careful of her vertebrae in soft leather boots, and then, gradually, he rose, arms outstretched as if he was flying, surfing her flesh as she glided along in a canter. It was showy, but she seemed to need to know how good he was in order to trust him. She slowed from her canter to a brisk walk, and when the momentum was manageable, he leaped, tucked, and rolled onto the soft turf, over and over until he planted his feet and drew his scimitar, facing her in a fierce guard stance as if he would strike her from the back of her Strider if she attempted to run him down.

[Mealla Stormsong]

Mealla's lips pressed into a thin line, and her eyes narrowed once again in dislike as she received no answer. She’d never liked to be ignored, and it was one thing she thought would never change. The Sea of Grass could change – the world could change – but that would not. She wanted everyone to know about her. She wanted so desperately to be something, someone, because she’d had enough of being in the background. The Watch could give her that until she finally plucked up her courage to roam further and go beyond the Sea of Grass as she’d always desired to. She was Drykas, aye, through and through, but that was not all she was, and she longed for more. She wouldn’t be one of these wives who stood by and watched as her husband rode into battle and danger, either. She’d be beside him. But in order to do all this, she needed to learn. From the man in front of her. Brilliant. Just brilliant. She sighed, biting down on the childish urge to jump up and down and wave her hands in the air; the urge to do something risky – show off – with Andraste in order to get his attention, and simply followed after, letting Andraste pick the pace. She trusted the horse with her life – the mare had saved her more than once, and, most of all, had picked her, and that in itself was worthy of all the trust that she could give. All of it. She -- Mealla thoughts suddenly stopped as she looked up and ahead, watching as the arrogant sod stood on the back of his horse and flipped over, landing on the ground and drawing his scimitar. Her eyebrow rose and urged Andraste on, faster, straight for him, pulling the horse to a skidding halt barely inches from him. Her eyes were alight. “Do you always try to impress girls in this way?” she asked. And then she pushed herself up, reaching out to grab Andraste’s neck with both hands to steady herself as she crouched for a instant on the horse’s back, mimicking his move, finding her balance, before she stood up straight. She wobbled for a moment, the seconds trickling by, her arms outstretched, and smirked at him, pleased with herself. And now to get down... With far less grace, she made ready to jump to the ground, and it was at that moment that Andraste chose to shift, to show her protest. Mealla tried vainly to keep her balance, but couldn’t. She fell, tipping over, hitting the ground hard, and let out a cry of pain, swearing under her breath. Andraste galloped off.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Earlier, he had earned her ire for not answering, but she had asked no questions, merely made her disdain for him known despite having just met him. But he actually considered her question when she stopped, Andraste's nose mere inches from his blade, sides quavering with breath. But before she let him answer, she was attempting his trick, albeit with a standing rather than galloping horse. He saw Andraste's temper change before Mealla realized what was happening, and then she was on the ground and the horse ran off to join Dohaina, who was waiting some ways off. He sighed, sheathed his scimitar, and offered her a hand up. Perhaps she would think it patronizing, but he would offer it to almost anyone. "We seem to have gotten off to a bad start. Shall we try again? The Sayaph in all his wisdom has decreed I should prepare you for the Watch. If you wish to protest this, you may speak to him. If you do not, then I suggest we try to get along. You don't have to like me, but you have to listen and learn, and if we are on the Sea, you had better damn well do what I tell you, because your life is my responsibility." Hard words, perhaps, but true. He certainly didn't want her to be hurt, and she wouldn't be here if she hadn't the potential to be an asset to the Watch.

[Mealla Stormsong]

Mealla took the offered hand, fighting a blush, and stood, avoiding his gaze. She instantly let go, almost as if the touch burned, and continued to stare at everything but him, her embarrassment clear as she brushed her clothes down and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. She’d heard the sigh and hadn’t like it one bit. Patronising; almost as if he thought that she was the child. Well, she most certainly was not! Even...even if the move had been somewhat foolish. She’d just wanted - as much as she hated to admit it, even to herself- to impress him – make him believe that she was truly worthy of being in the Watch. She’d never been good at being a student; at being benea- no. She was not going to think about being beneath him, and nor was she going to think of him in that way. He was simply someone who stood in the way of her becoming a full member of the Watch. That was all. There was no attraction. No nothing. She finally lifted her eyes and looked at him, her lips pressed into a thin line. She wasn’t going to admit either that she’d hurt herself – her leg – during the fall. It was only bruised, so she’d be fine. She had, after all, dealt with far, far worse. “I don’t wish to protest it,” she said quietly, her cheeks still red –from embarrassment, from humiliation, and from the simple fact that she was stood with a man who was actually rather nice looking. “I just want to know for sure that the Sayaph is right in his choice. This means everything to me, and I can’t let anyone get in my way. I can’t fail. Do you understand me? If you’re not up to the task, then I would rather know it now, so that I can do something about it. It is my life, and I don’t know you.” And I don’t trust you, but she left those last words unsaid. “But I will do what you ask. For now.” She gave a quick flash of smile as she pushed her hair back over her shoulders. "You're not half bad. For a male."