Jade wasn’t the only thing on his mind, she just held the single largest share. Other things troubled him as well, things he had learned since emerging from the Three-Fold Land. Some were lessons of trust that he held dear, others were things that he would give greatly to forget. Jelsa still thought on the Tuatha’an that he had met on the way; the ones who had cared for him during what he now understood to be his channeling sickness. That was one of the hardest lessons of trust that he had learned, to trust those who he had grown up despising for their beliefs. Those days he spent with them had been terrible and wonderful, learning of their ways through a veil of disgust and tolerating them for their kindness. He hadn’t truly trusted them until his last night there, when he saw the humans inside the Tinkers. Vandaran Tuina had tried to stop him from coming to the Tower, not because of his dislike for its violent ways, but to preserve Jelsa’s humanity. Jelsa had seen that night the defining feature of all good people; he had seen compassion.

Thinking of that brought something to mind, for Jelsa, something Vandaran had spoken of while trying to dissuade him from his course. Jelsa wanted to see this lost Tinker for himself, to understand what could happen to a person here, and to know Vandaran’s loss. He had never heard a name, for the Tuatha’an seemed reticent to call upon his lost spirit by naming him, but a former follower of the Way of the Leaf shouldn’t be too hard to find in the Black Tower. Word of mouth seemed to carry knowledge for a long time.

Several of his fellow soldiers joined him around a cooking pot full of mush. It wasn’t the tastiest of breakfasts, but it stuck with you until lunch and beyond if you were unfortunate enough to be detained. The mealtime conversation wasn’t much: worries about tests, rumors of what cruelties the Dedicated had planned for them, mention of the latest soldier to do something to earn penance (though that talk was relatively muted with the party at the Blessings of the Flame a recent memory and many still hurting from their punishments, Jelsa not the least.)

To get around to the subject, Jelsa mentioned a recent addition to the ranks who had come from Seanchan. Definitely out of the ordinary, but a unique training experience all the same. With that, people launched into listing all the soldiers they could think of, from places that seemed odd to the teller, in a desperate bid to tell the oddest and prove himself the most aware. No worse than children’s games of doing the riskiest thing, but a lot more useful in this instance.

Names emerged of varying interest. Names of Sea Folk and a rumored Sharan came out, but Jelsa had to fight his desire to laugh when his friend from Tarabon named an Aiel. Everyone went silent for a moment, glancing at Jelsa, who could only shrug. Without missing a beat, they reeled off a dozen more names before Jelsa heard something that sounded right.

“Who was that last one?” he asked of Juli. “The Tuatha’an you mentioned, what’s his name?”

Juli looked curiously at Jelsa, his Tairen eyes squinting questioningly. “Have you taken up in interest in Tinkers of late, Jelsa?

“Let’s just say,” Jelsa began with a faint smile, “that I owe it to a friend to check up on the boy.”

“If it makes you happy…his name’s Radal Tuina. He should practicing in the meadow on the southern end of the grounds. Be cautious, he’s an unpredictable sort.”

Jelsa smiled as he got up to go, “Thank you very much, Juli.” He patted the man on his broad shoulder while walking past.

Jelsa was struck with a realization as he ran south, Radal Tuina. He was Vandaran’s son; all of the man’s hurt seemed a thousand times more real in that light. This was worse than just losing him, because the boy was still alive, just not himself anymore. It was easy to find Radal, since that field was relatively empty this time of the morning. Just seeing him was enough to explain Vandaran’s description. He was running forms in his black coat, his skin pasty white beneath jet black hair. Watching him practice, there seemed to be no person behind the moves, as if it was all done automatically. Jelsa had once seen a myrddral, during the move out of the Three-Fold Land, and this boy seemed the human equivalent. If not for his eyes, Jelsa honestly would have believed him to be one. Yet his eyes didn’t seem all that much like those of a person, being dull and emotionless as stones. Radal’s whole image was frightening to behold, the thought that anyone could lose their self so entirely… Jelsa didn’t even want to consider it.

“Hello Tinker,” Jelsa said, fighting down a medley of disgust and pity. The boy, no more than 17, continued on in his forms for some time, apparently unaware of Jelsa’s presence. Just as Jelsa was about to speak again, the former Tuatha’an flung his sword into the ground at feet and turned to face him.

“Don’t ever call me that again,” Rodal spat. “I left that life behind as soon as I began channeling.” He twitched as he spoke, and his muscles visibly tightened.

“But that’s what you are,” Jelsa said, trying to be patient. “You were born and raised one of the Tuatha’an just as surely as I was raised an Aiel. Just because you leave your home and adapt to your environs, doesn’t mean that you are no longer one of them. I’ve been away from my people for almost two years now, yet I still think of myself as an Aiel. I spent a week with your people, something little tolerated by mine, yet I still consider myself an Aiel. These things don’t change so easily.”

“You know nothing of my troubles,” Rodel said, his voice calm, his eyes still flat and void of emotion. “My people wished me to go and be trained, just as they do with girls, but they scorned me for what I had to do to be here. My father-“

“Your father doesn’t scorn you, he misses you dearly. He despises what you’ve allowed yourself to become and mourns the loss of the son he knew.”

“How can you possibly know what my father feels?” the boy demanded.

“That week I spent with your people,” Jelsa emphasized the fact that they were his people. “Those days were spent with a band lead by a man named Vandaran Tuina. And unless I’m grossly mistaken, you, Rodel Tuina, are his son.”

“And if I am?” Rodel asked, maintaining his cool and emotionless expression. “What difference does it make?”

“It means that you are someone sorely missed by your family and friends,” Jelsa tried to say this in a way that the boy would listen to. “They were terrified of what they saw in that village, Rodel. Not hateful of you. They were, as I am now, disturbed that someone can give up so much of themselves.”

“I don’t follow you,” Rodel said, the slightest appearance of concern entering his still inhuman eyes.

“What I mean is this: who are you? You say you’ve left behind the Tinker, so I put it to you to tell me who you’ve become.”

“I am Rodel Tuina, soldier of the Black Tower. Nothing more or less.”

“Not good enough,” Jelsa said, shaking his head. “What keeps you going each day? Why do you live?”

“Why should I answer this?” Rodel asked, his expression somewhat bewildered. “You tell me first, tell me who you are?”

“Fine. I am Jelsa tel’Amarant of the Cold Stones Sept of the Taardad Aiel, a former Red Shield and current soldier of the Black Tower. I am also the future husband and bondmate of Jade Al’Mayre Aes Sedai. I endure all of these hardships so that I can avenge myself on the evil that divided my people and I live so that I can protect the woman I love.” Jelsa took a deep breath. He needed to explain this well, or the concept would be lost on the misguided youth. “You need emotion in your life; motivation, goals, hopes and dreams. These things are what makes life worth living, without them living is merely existing.”

There was silence after Jelsa spoke, neither breathing much at all. The silence was so absolute that Jelsa could hear his heart beating; he could hear the sounds of the morning, a quarter mile to the north. The silence was heavy with emotion, weighing down on both of them. The boy jumped when Jelsa broke the silence to say in something close to a whisper, “So I put it to you now to tell me which it will be. Do you want to simply exist, or do you want to live?”

Rodel stared at Jelsa for a long moment, his eyes frantic and his mouth hanging slack. Without saying a word, the boy suddenly snatched his sword from the ground and ran back to the main part of the Tower grounds. Jelsa did as well, but at a walk; the boy clearly needed a little time to think, some time to be to himself.

* * *

Jelsa was watching the sunset from his seat atop the perimeter wall, marveling at the glorious display of colors and beauty, when a voice called to him from farther up the wall, close to the stairs. He glanced over and saw Rodel walking toward him, his sword at his side and his black coat open at the top. His eyes were red and puffy, as if he’d been crying, and his expression was more than a little glum. Jelsa shifted a bit to the side and gestured for Rodel to take a seat with him.

The boy sat on the wall, with his feet dangling over the edge, in silence for a few minutes, just watching the colors change in the sky. When he spoke, it was in a weak, hoarse voice. “Tell me how my people were, the last time you saw them.”

Jelsa smiled, “When I saw them a year ago, they were fine, for the most part. Many missed you, but they were your average, happy band of followers of the Way of the Leaf. Those days I spent with them were spent in joy and feasting and dance. We celebrated life all day and I spoke with your father long into the night. They are a happy people, something I envy in many ways.”

Vandaran’s son laid back on the stone, watching for the first glimmering of stars. He was much like his father in that. “That sounds the same as when I left them…Light, has it really been three years now? It’s hard to believe it. Three years…”

He trailed off and they watched the stars come out, glimmering one after another. When the sky had turned a dark shade of blue, speckled with a million points of light, Rodel turned his head to look at Jelsa. “Where were they heading, when you saw them?”

Jelsa hesitated, he had been reluctant to bring this part up to the boy, for fear of how he’d react. But then, perhaps this was the little nudge that Rodel needed to find the purpose he so desperately lacked. “Your father believed he had reasoned out where the Song was kept. They were following his hunch.”

Rodel propped himself up on his arm, looking at Jelsa intently. “Where were they going?”

“To find the Green Man’s garden.” “In the Blight! Creator shield and protect them. I have to help them, I need to go to them.”

Jelsa sat up and put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. You’ll do nothing of the sort, not right now, anyway. You need to finish training, for the same reason I didn’t go with them. Half-trained, you’d be as big a danger to them as the Blight itself. Once you or I are Asha’man, we can go, along with a few friends of mine from the White Tower, to find them. Until then, there isn’t much we can do…I’m sorry.”

“I’ll just have to train harder, that’s all. I’ll need to do well, if I want to reach them in time.”

“It’s about curfew, we should head to the Barracks,” Jelsa said, realizing just how many stars had come out.

“I guess so,” Rodel replied in a thoughtful daze.

Jelsa said nothing all the way back to the Barracks. It was satisfying to know that he had had a positive effect on at least one person in the world. And really, it seemed like that was all that mattered, that he could improve the life of someone. Before going into the Barracks, Jelsa looked up into the sky, smiling at the constellations from his childhood. He would sleep well tonight.