( She's spent the bulk of her time dealing with the aftermath of every skirmish; a healer, because that much is recognised here, and she has been titled as Doctor until she insisted on being called Wisdom, and refused anything else. When the dead had been buried after the arena fell, when the streets are close to riots, when at last Karsa and the Merchant have something to do, she finds herself down in this district for different than usual reasons.
What she does not know is the timing of them being at different parts of this hall; does not know Elayne, doesn't know so much of what lies even six months, eight months, more into the future. Simply carries on down the hall when the guard at the door is turning, squinting, and puffing himself up to intercept Elayne. )
Keep moving, little golden mouse, there's no place for nosing about here.
( And he smiles, not at all kind, the sort of smile that believes in the violence he's bred and his right to it, and Nynaeve grits her teeth, keeps her steps quiet as if she hunted through the woods a world and months and months away, and makes to drive her fist into the back of the guard's head.
He turns, more luck than not, and she instead catches him in the side of his jaw, hard enough to send him falling toward the wall with a startled curse, and she follows after him. There's no time, and he needs to be out — dead might even be smarter, but death is not what she prefers to reach for first, not when they can be in and out and avoid this part of the citadel altogether after. That violence is her first reach here is too much a cost of dealing with the elements of this world, and this place in specific, but who hesitates before what needs doing?
Hello, Elayne, it is sadly not Egwene, but instead the one person who can't allow herself to embrace power even before she fully faced her own possibilities, time as much distance between them as space has been, months on end. )
i | lmk if this works!
What she does not know is the timing of them being at different parts of this hall; does not know Elayne, doesn't know so much of what lies even six months, eight months, more into the future. Simply carries on down the hall when the guard at the door is turning, squinting, and puffing himself up to intercept Elayne. )
Keep moving, little golden mouse, there's no place for nosing about here.
( And he smiles, not at all kind, the sort of smile that believes in the violence he's bred and his right to it, and Nynaeve grits her teeth, keeps her steps quiet as if she hunted through the woods a world and months and months away, and makes to drive her fist into the back of the guard's head.
He turns, more luck than not, and she instead catches him in the side of his jaw, hard enough to send him falling toward the wall with a startled curse, and she follows after him. There's no time, and he needs to be out — dead might even be smarter, but death is not what she prefers to reach for first, not when they can be in and out and avoid this part of the citadel altogether after. That violence is her first reach here is too much a cost of dealing with the elements of this world, and this place in specific, but who hesitates before what needs doing?
Hello, Elayne, it is sadly not Egwene, but instead the one person who can't allow herself to embrace power even before she fully faced her own possibilities, time as much distance between them as space has been, months on end. )