"Lessons"... (tbcb Calmon)

[Matt]

Calmon felt himself slipping and tried to keep himself awake. He thought of trying to seize Saidin, that would certainly wake him up! But some distant corner of his mind warned against it and the idea was soon lost as his vision became foggy. Distantly, he was aware of pain, but it was as though he hung in the void, he could no longer locate its source, the wound.

He was back in Murandy, back in a forest clearing where he had once eaten with his father, resting in the middle of a hunt. The grass was soft here, and the pain had gone. Varrolan sat there, chewing on his meal and giving him that special smile he reserved just for him and his mother. Calmon was smiling too, for some reason he had thought that his father was dead, but now he saw that this was not the case. He tried to sit up, to reach the basket of food the servants had set out, but for some reason, his body wouldn't obey him and he stayed firmly anchored to the grass.

He tried to ask his father to help him, but no sound came. His father kept smiling down at him. The sun was beating down on him, and he was sweating freely. The day was far too hot for a mild Murandian afternoon, why wasn't his father showing any signs of discomfort? He felt like he was being boiled in a Trolloc's cookpot himself! He tried to loosen his collar, but his hands wouldn't budge, and the sun just got hotter. His skin was on fire, yet his father just kept smiling. The smile was different now though, it was no longer the grin he only showed them in private, away from the world of nobles and High Seats, it was a smile filled with sadness.

The heat was unbearable. He felt himself melting, starting from his fingers and toes, and working slowly inwards. As each part of him melted, he grew colder, and the sky grew blacker. He wasn't melting at all, he realised, his body was turning to ice! Was his father doing this? Could it be that Varrolan could channel, just as his son had learning to do? He struggled against the tentacles of cold as they threatened to engulf him. He didn't want to be an ice sculpture in some nobleman's palace!

The sky was completely black now, the grass has turned to cold stone and his father was gone. No! Come back! He wanted to shout, but he couldn't. All his energy was going into fighting the slowly spreading Cold. He needed the sun to come back, he needed fire, needed Saidin. Anything that would put a stop to the weary Cold that was seeping into him. Nothing came to help him though, nothing and no one. The Cold sapped his strength, and his resistance faltered. Perhaps the Cold wasn't so bad after all? It was better than melting away, surely, and maybe is father would come back to smile at him if he did what the Cold wanted him to?

The sun suddenly flared in the sky, and he felt his body spasm fitfully as the Cold screamed in fury. Everything went dark.

***

He was thirsty. Very thirsty. Calmon opened his eyes, and blinked in the daylight. It took him a few moments to register where he was. The Black Tower Infirmary. Memories suddenly flooded back to him and he shuddered, remembering the Cold and how close he had been to giving in to it. He vaguely remembered waking a few times since coming here, but this was the first time where he had been this aware. He opened his mouth to ask for water, but he throat was too dry to do anything but make a rasping sound. Gathering himself, he tried again. "Water....please." He managed.

[Alainn]

Tim sat at his monstrosity of a desk, writing paper after paper. Occasionally, he'd set one aside to be sent on to the M'Hael so the appropriate letters could be sent to the family of a boy who didn't make it through the harsh training the Black Tower could and did meet out. The bit about peeling away the dead wood to get to the living heart of the tree was wearing thin.

Scowling at the papers, Tim slogged his way through the pile. Someone slipped a request for Healing their dog into the requisition sheets. Exasperated, he crumpled it into a ball and threw it towards the waste basket, watching it circle the rim before finally falling awkwardly inside. That tore it, he was bored.

Getting up from the desk before his backside took on the shape of the chair, he began pulling out bundles of bandages and sorting them by size just for something to do. For the most part, the Infirmary was empty. A few boys had been in to get a training mishap seen to, but other than that, the place wasdeserted. Just one patient in the place, and as soon as he had slept himself out and put himself on the outside of enough food to feed six big men, he'd be on his way.

The food was taken care of, part of his earlier effort to relieve the monotony was to cook. It didn't do much more than provide dinner, and it didn't take a lot of watching, so that didn't do much at all. Frowning and looking out of a badly glazed window, Tim was not happy to see that it was still just as bright outside as it was the last time he'd looked.

Irritated, he grabbed a book out of the desk drawer and got comfortable, taking off his jacket and propping up his feet. A chapter or so in, he heard a faint stirring and looked up. The boy was close to waking. Good, with him out of the place, the Asha'man could hand the place over to an assistant and get back to his house in Tar Valon.

He heard a faint whisper and had to take saidin in hand to hear it. Water, the boy was asking for water. Finally! Tim grabbed a pitcher of water and a pewter cup and took them over to the cot and sat down on the one next to it, pouring a cup and setting it on the small table.

" It's on the table, boy. You need help with it, or can you do it?"

[Matt]

Calmon was glad to see that his faint whisper had been heard, his dry mouth wasn't capable of producing anything louder and he didn't think he should risk a fight with Saidin so soon after being Healed. Which he must have been, he realised. What else would explain him lying, alive, in what could only be the Infirmary? A man bearing both the sword and the dragon pins approached him and poured him a glass of water. He searched for the man's name and it came to him slowly, Asha'man Timin. He had never spoken to the man before, not being any good at Healing, but he had heard of him, and seen him around the Tower a few times.

He eyed the glass on the table next to him, wondering if he could reach it himself. He almost scoffed at the idea, of course he could! it was well within his reach! Never the less, it proved to take more effort than he had suspected to reach for the glass, and when his heavy arm finally grasped it, he had to rest a little before hefting the impossibly heavy glass towards his parched throat. He did it in stages. From the table to the bed; rest. From the edge of the bed to his chest; rest. Finally, using both hands, he lifted it to his lips and took a sip of the blessedly cool liquid.

His dry mouth seemed to have forgotten the feel of water, and, at first, it tried to refuse it entry, causing Calmon to cough and splutter until he had finally managed to wet his throat properly. With the return of moisture came the return of his voice. "Thank you, sir." He said tiredly, "May I have some more please?" He held out his empty glass and was surprised to find that he was able to support its weight more easily than a few moments ago. Perhaps his slowly returning strength was due to something the Asha'man had placed in the water?

[Alainn]

Tim poured another cup and placed it on the table. " Here you go son." Granted, he wasn't all that much older, but they seemed so young. There were times he felt like he was teaching infants to juggle lit torches.

Still holding saidin, Tim rested one hand lightly on the boy and Delved him. All the damage was gone, but he was still weak, very weak. But, one Tim had him on the outside of a good meal, he'd regain it and be ready to go on with training.

Snapping his fingers, Tim summoned one of the Dedicated to his side while the boy drank. He ordered him to bring a meal for four, along with a small mug of ale and a pitcher of cider. Ale could build the blood back up, in small doses, too much, and the boy would be howling drunk. Not something the Asha'man wanted to deal with right now.

The food arrived in a timely manner, which surprised him. He was surprised the boy hadn't had to resort to gnawing on table legs waiting. The dedicated sat the footed tray on the foot of the bed before saluting and making himself scarce.

Tim sat the tray across the boy's lap and motioned to the food. " There you go, tuck into that and see if you don't feel better."

[Matt]

Calmon thanked the Asha'man and then concentrated on retrieving the glass of water from the table. Light, he felt so weak! Even so, it was easier to get the water than it had been the last time and Calmon thought that it wouldn't take too long to be able to pick up the glass with only one hand.

He drained that glass of water too and as soon as the last drop was gone, it hit him. Hunger. His eyes darted around the room in a desperate search for something he could eat. He had been Healed before and was well aware of the after effects, but he had never been this badly injured and the hunger he was feeling right made him aware of just how much Healing he had required. Calmon suppressed a shudder. Just how close had he come to death?

When the food arrived, Calmon could barely contain himself. The High Seat of a House should never been seen to eat like a pig, but the Dedicated couldn't help himself and he tore off a piece of bread and shoved it down his throat, washing it down with some ale. He demolished the meal in short order, licking every last crumb from his fingers when he had finally eaten his fill. "Thank you, Asha'man Timin" He said with a sigh once he had drained the last of his cider. "I've heard of you before but I don't think we've met until now. I'm Calmon." He said, introducing himself simply without his titles. "How is my teacher?" He inquired.

[Mathias]

Maxton spent the rest of the day eating, sleeping and wondering who to annoy for a few hours. With the boy in the Infirmary he was hard pressed for something to do. It was a shame that he came so close to death, but it was one of those things. Almost a rite of passage for a Dedicated.

When he related the amusing experience to Rhiann, she was less than impressed. So it was by his orders that he returned to the Infirmary to see how the boy was doing. There was certainly nothing surly or downtrodden in the way he returned to the Infirmary, slipping through the door and looking around. Not at all. He grimaced when he saw Timin at the boy's bed. Typical, the man probably wanted to reprimand him for something or other as if he didn't know how to teach students (he didn't).

"Hmmm, ale," he observed as he eyed the pitcher on the table next to the bed. The look Timin gave him suggested he didn't help himself to the stuff. It was probably there for the boy, who must have eaten a small feast judging by the tray before him. A wiry Dedicated saluted him, moved in to take the tray and left in short order. Maxton ignored him. Calmon was his student, and he looked well. He wasn't poisoned, which was an improvement - Timin could Heal, there was no doubt about that. He was the best person to have helped them, no matter how flaming annoying he was.

"When will he be on his feet?" he demanded to Timin.