Difference between revisions of "Logs:The Long Way Home"

She presented herself to the Igen Hold senior harper. The letter she presented superceded the fact he outranked her as a journeyman by a few turns and in age by many more than a few, but she, kindly, did not push the issue. He was the senior harper here and she, a visitor, envoy of the Masterharper or not.

There had been many ways she and Vesik had discussed to get her to the area unnoticed but this one seemed to be the best, though she'd remained dubious of her ability to live on the road as it were.

It hadn't been the easiest journey, but, after a few days, she had found herself slipping into the role, giving way to the luxury that came with the absolute freedom of not being herself. It hadn't been easy not to smack some sense into Eskia's husband and then stumbling across Jaspen's caravan was fortuitous, though not entirely coincidental. Bit had seen to that.

The months had been long and she'd kept her ear out for news and it'd been a relief to come so close to Fort Hold. Vesik would never have to know he wasn't her first stop when she had the chance. Leova would never be allowed to know that her showing up at High Reaches was a calculated measure to let those she loved know she was fine and to stop looking. There were priorities and they had shifted, at a slow but steady pace, during her travels with the merry entertainers. At times, she believed herself to be exactly like them and it had been nice. More than nice. It had felt more like a home and family than she'd ever thought to have before.

She had slipped into the Hold with dirtied hair, manure-smeared into her cheeks, and in tatters she had purloined from the rag sewing bag Mariny kept around. Dirty, smelly people don't garner much attention and even if they do, people's eyes shift quickly. It's easier not to see what was fundamentally broken in the system when it offended the delicate senses of those who contributed to society.

The conversation she and Vesik had shared, after a luxurious bath in his private quarters, was interesting, and she was instructed on the finer points of what was happening, why it was happening, and what could be done with regards to Igen. It was, for once in her life, an open-ended discussion where the input she was offering was heard. He then inquired of her grandfather, and garnered himself a look for his concern.

"It's not your concern and it doesn't change that I'm a harper," was her response. She could even hear the cool poise in her voice and could see the amused interest lighting Vesik's features.

She would play the song for him sometime later. But not now. Not until after this was all done. Besides, a very small part of her couldn't help but suspect he had already heard or knew. Masterharpers were tricky that way. With their secret stairways that lead to tunnels that lead out into the yonder.

And then Jaspen happened. It'd be hard to not think back on this whole endeavor without trying to understand how that happened. Why that happened, and it had taken her a few days after she'd left to recognize it had fulfilled some need in her. And that sleeping with one person wouldn't turn her into her father's daughter. Riahla could claim that market if she wanted, but not her.

It ultimately ended at Igen Hold, sheer dumb luck she was already in the area when something happened. The stupid infatuation that made her linger when she should have left weeks earlier and been there before the Gather, before the mess Joremy had created for himself. She was sure Vesik would reprimand her with those eyes of his. Some day, her eyes would have the same power. And her ears would have a similar power to his -- little birdies flitting information in and out of them at an overwhelming rate.

She was just one of those little birdies.

But she was a little birdie who would make this happen, supplant a seated Lord who was failing his duties to his Hold in more ways than one with the lesser of two evils.

Lord Joremy had a nauseating ring to it, but when it was proclaimed after the Conclave met, Suireh's shoulders finally sank with relief.

It was on her official return to the Hall, with her reports made neatly, and after she'd started teaching once more that she found herself in the main auditorium, where many performances took place. Alone on the stage, she began to finger the gitar she held, adjusting its tuning before starting the song she'd long since committed to memory. With it came the memories, of not her grandfather, but her strange, long, enlightening roadtrip. She heard, rather than saw, the door shut heavily and knew to not even bother looking up.

There was a new, more intricate knot waiting for her on her return to her room, without ceremony, walking the tables, or notice. It lived in the back of her lingerie drawer as she lived the life of a journeyman and kept her ear to the ground.

If he asked, she'd do anything for him.