Life here at the Tower had never been difficult for Michael to cope with; to adapt to. Revolutionary and extremely different from what the former Baker’s son was used to sure, but not too hard to get used to and be, in a strange sort of way, comfortable with and enjoy. The young siswai had never laid in his bed late at night crying himself to sleep, nor had he ever thought of leaving. There was so much for him here, so much more meaning to what he did than what he had kept himself occupied with at home. Here he had a family, both an adopted one and one of the same flesh and blood. Ilyana was the very reason, though in a strange way indirect, to why Michael had sold their belated father’s shop, closed his inherited small apartment and started out wandering the roads for all those years ago. It had been a pursuit of whatever family he had left, a personal crusade.

To come here and find his sister, his twin sister, a part of a family he did not have were still alive brought a joy that must be incomprehensible for the outsider. That in combination with the friendship he had developed with the little warriorness from Shienar; Melan Chulien, was what made his stay here not only special, but important to him. The Shienaran had opened Michael’s eyes to so much; to matters of virtue and vice, to honor and responsibility, to dreams and ambitions. Not that he had adopted them fully yet, it was too much weight for a lone man’s shoulders, yet Mel had indeed unlocked doors to an intellectual world the red head had never thought existed for him. And to be honest never cared for.

The White Tower had indeed turned out to be his home for the last six year because of Ilyana and Melan… Well them and that other person…

There were, however, more to what Michael had learned from his experiences here. Experiences that had sent other grown men in shameful flight because of the hard nature of the lessons the trainees of the legendary Tower were put through. Yet the nightmarish boot camps with his teachers, the on the verge of mythical Warders of the White Tower, had given him a new perspective on hard work and labor. It seemed that some of the Gaidin actually enjoyed making their students bleed and suffer, yet whatever the cause was for his teachers’ sadistically passion it only made Michael stronger and more determined to pull through another day, or another night. Melan called it pure thickheadness; she was there to pursue her dream that was her own fuel every day, the source of strength that carried her over obstacles that seemed invincible at first. The Taraboner however only refused to give she said just to spite his teachers.

Hard work that involved ones body was something that Michael was used to, and actually enjoyed and thus, by his merry nature and obvious lack of sense to fear what caused pain and aching muscles, could not be broken by their rather sadistic drills. To be lowered down in a barrel of water and held down to see how long it would take for one to panic. To be put through every sword form possible meanwhile as naked as the day you were born. To be given wounds purposefully so that one could learn how to take care of them oneself in case that one’s future Aes Sedai did not have the capability to Heal… All of that had been hard, that did the over confident siswai not deny, yet it had been more of a sport to see how many of his fellow trainees he could beat, who he could outlast. Whatever personal quality he possessed; it had made the broad shouldered and rather short man popular among the Gaidins since he improved almost daily in many areas. “If that boy”, they said, “could only find a passion in life that would give him that extra spark then, and only then, would he find the way to the full potential he so evidently showed promise of being capable of.”

Michael just laughed such comments of and said that he was happy where he was for the moment. He was learning a profession within Combat Strategy that he was more than well adept within; something that he might be able to take up within the standing army of Tarabon if he became skilled enough. But that was too much thinking and planning for the always smiling and carefree young man; why worry about the future when today is so beautiful he would ask when Zairen Gaidin asked him if a Sister or trainee had caught his eye, or the other way around. “Sure, there are tons of them. That is what I am so scared of!” Michael would answer and jokingly looking over his shoulder to see if there were any women near by that he needed to hide from.

And on the subject of his future Aes Sedai… Well, Michael had never been very found of the idea of being ordered around by a self-important woman who refused to show her feelings, who expected him to obey her least wink and who, without doubt, would make irrational and impulsive decision that would put herself in danger. And probably without explaining it one bit to him! And, to be honest, Michael did indeed enjoy his limbs where they were instead of chopped to pieces in some Trolloc’s cook pot or in an unmarked grave somewhere, and not to forget his beautifully freckled hide intact without any holes from piercing arrows or stabbing daggers from Whitecloaks in hiding. As a whole it all looked so much better that way! At least to Michael Peroda’s humble opinion. Lately, however, discussion with Filaree Hashan the Mistress of Arms herself, had made the young man think differently about things. The dark haired and exotic looking woman had also made him think differently about other things as well.

Then there was that someone else, that particular someone else that always seemed to bother him even though she did not try. The idea of her being so intimate with another man itched a little bit, not just itched, it burned inside of him just thinking about it. Yet it had been foretold to him by an angel made flesh that they did not have a future together. And if someone seemed to know anything about relationships it must be Silvana Silver-Hair. So Michael had ended his pursuit of the young woman whom he saw as his equal before he had ever been given the chance to start it. Oh well, life is too short to regret what one has done or not, so it was important for the man covered in freckles from top to toe that he did not grieve over what had never been his. So instead of being caught up in self-deprecating heart ache Michael made it a personal mission to get to know every light skirt and pretty face among the Taverns and Inns of the multinational Tar Valon. Here you could find women of every shape, color and grace; and far from few hard almonds to crack if a man knew what to say and how to smile.

After six years, as he was drying his face of on a clean towel thrown at him by a grinning Mel whom had just beaten him in a twin-dagger game that they had invented themselves, Zairen Gaidin came strolling towards the training grounds. The man’s graceful glide had the same undertone of deadliness that seemed to come with the price of allowing a Sister to capture and put that invisible collar on you. Some men made that change almost over night as they took the step and became Ashandarei. In this Taraboner it had started to show a little, but it was a slow progression. Perhaps if he have had a more broader background with experience concerning the different martial combats taught here at the Tower he would have gained it earlier? “Michael,” Zairen called from a distant and the two siswai exchanged a blank look. “What have you done now?” The lithe Shienaran asked in a pretended irritated manner before grabbing her towel and threw it on her best friend’s well-muscled chest. He grabbed it with ease before it fell to the ground. “Nothing, from what I know,” Michael mumbled meanwhile pulling a shirt over his head before breaking into a trot towards the Gaidin.

“Yes, Zairen Gaidin?” He asked and bowed in respect for the seniority.

“The Mistress of Arms have been busy lately, she wanted me to tell you that you have been raised to Manshima. Congratulations Soldier.” Zairen saluted gravely before dunking the young lout that he had taken under his wings for over six years ago. “Never thought this day would come, eh?” Before winking with his scarred left eye and then just simply turned around without waiting for an answer. “I will see you with the second rank group tomorrow,” the Warder called over his shoulder as he departed, leaving Michael standing by himself and rubbing his chin in deep thought over the news.

Manshima… Time really does go by quickly, just like the elders always claimed. A faint memory of a bet made for almost a year ago suddenly claimed its space within his thoughts, a bet concerning a dinner with a certain somebody. Well, I guess it is time to fulfill that now. The newly made Manshima then turned around and shrugged as if nothing important had just transpired as a answer to Melan’s silent yet questioning look.

It was just another day; and it could still turn into a great one if he just kept his eyes open for the opportunities that lured around every corner for anyone that was up for some fun.