Shattered Innocence

The bundled sticks, replacing a true blade, spun in Airamina al'Maela's hands. The Falling Leaf became The River Undercuts the Bank. Vincent jumped out of the way of the last only seconds quicker than the bundle found where he had stood. Wasting not a second of time, Airamina pivoted on her heels, Cat on Hot Sand became Apple Blossoms in the Wind. Vincent's own bundle met Airamina's at the last moment. Smiling evilly, Airamina shifted her weight and spun her bundle in the circular motion of The Grapevine Twines. Vincent's own bundle flew away from him, and Airamina went in for the kill. Seeing the terror in his eyes only made Airamina smile. The Courtier Taps His Fan stopped only a centimeter above Vincent's head. "You are dead brother." Airamina said, not a touch of sympathy touching her voice. Somewhere in the shadows, a man clapped. He stepped out into the light, not even bothering to smile at his daughter. "Good Airamina. But you still have yet to face Robert." Another man stepped from the shadowy forest surrounding them. "Father, it is quite clear that I will beat Airamina, she can't even beat Vincent in less than a few minutes." Vincent glowered at his brother. "Be that as it may, she is ready to try. However, this time you will use real blades." Matrim al'Maela said, no visible emotion on his face. "Father!?" Airamina screamed. Robert's face twisted to of contempt. "You see father, she is afraid to fight me." Those were not the words to say to Airamina, afraid was one sure way of making her fight. "I am not AFRAID!" She yelled, holding out her hand for a weapon. Matrim tossed a recently wrought to her, the boar skin handle meeting her hand, only to be sheathed. Only then did Airamina see the blade on Robert's hip, the scabbard was branded with a heron, as was the hilt. It was her father's blade, a power wrought Blademaster's sword. Swallowing, Airamina stepped into the lighted circle. The midmorning sun stood just below the tops of the trees, casting a sinister shadow around the outskirts of the ring. "You may begin when I command you to do so." Matrim said in a voice as cold as ice, colder than the winter of Deranbar. Robert nodded, a grave smile painting his face. Airamina's fist clenched nervously on her hilt, and sweat trickled down her brow, trying to blind her. "Begin!" Matrim yelled, leaping backwards into the shadows. Airamina started by Unfolding the Fan, and quickly parried her brother's first attack, Kingfisher takes a Silverback. Their blades met, sparking a fantastic display, only a fool would watch the sparks though. Airamina leapt back, bringing her sword over her head preparing The Falling Leaf. Robert quickly took the opportunity at a weakness and swept his sword in The River Undercuts the Bank. That was exactly as Airamina intended. Jumping over his low slash, which set him off balance, she brought her blade down in the form Water Flows Downhill. Stopping the blade a hair from his shoulder, Airamina smiled at her brother. "You put yourself off guard Robert, and now you are as dead as Vincent." Robert looked up at her, quiet horror claiming his face as its own. Matrim stepped into the light again, not even bothering to clap. "Robert, how could you let her beat you? Did you not see that she set you up? You are not worthy of my blade." He said, eyes a starring icy daggers at Robert. Airamina frowned. Her father didn't care that she had beaten Robert, he cared that Robert had been beaten by a girl. Folding the Fan, Airamina walked outside of the circle, leaning against a tree. Tears streaked down her cheek, mingling with her sweat to form an oily liquid. Matrim yelled at Robert for sometime, pointing out all his mistakes. She cried until she could no longer feel the pain, yet it lingered in her soul.

It always lingered, emotional scars always do. She could feel it years later, knowing that she had no true childhood. Not allowed to frolic in the fields with the other girls, not allowed to torment boys, not allowed to sew, nor was she allowed to display a feminine trait. Not around her father at least. Matrim was a great father, but he didn't see Airamina as a girl, he saw another boy. One to train like the rest, one to make into a great swordsman, so that the noble al'Maela name would live on in legend. She tried her hardest to please him, but Matrim could never see beyond his true sons. It was never, "Airamina beat you. Great job Airamina." it was always, "You let a girl beat you. How could you lose to a girl?" The scars ran deep, each time the words were spoken. The only solace Airamina received was in her Mother, Raine. Raine was always pleased with Airamina, whether for beating the men, or for just being so strong. Airamina loved her mother deeply, not only for the small succor, but for the unceasing support. Growing up in the blink of an eye is not the way to raise a child. Forced to be an adult, able to fight and able to survive, at only the age of seven shattered her innocence. Sparring and training became her life, not of her own will, at the tender age of eight. The years stretched on, leaving the child behind, and ushering the teenager. Those years were worse, for when Airamina displayed any interest in a boy, Matrim would keep her away, insisting that training was more important than men. Her daily regiment only increased in difficulty each time she did, and soon she learned that her father's resolve was unwavering. Morning to night became one long session of training, from the techniques of the blade to the fundamental training a statesman. The days crept by slowly. The men were called off to war, to fight in the noble army of Manetheren. The Shadow was the opponent, black death embodied. News came back to the city quickly, and Airamina spent man nights alone, crying hopelessly into her pillow. Her brothers had all died serving the Light, serving Manetheren. Each had met there ends at the tip of Tharkan'dar wrought steel, the blades forged in Shayol Ghul itself. When her father returned home, he was a broken man, a shell of his former greatness. He blamed himself for the deaths of his sons, saying his training wasn't enough, that he had failed them. He gave up his sword, which he passed to his only living child, Airamina. It serves as a symbol of her lost innocence and her ongoing wish to make her father proud. Leaving for the White Tower that same year, when she was still young, proved to be the best move she had made in sometime. The years slowly slithered on, and soon she was Aes Sedai. Choosing the Green Ajah not only for her love of men, but for the chance to battle the Shadow. The Shadow soon learned Airamina al'Maela was not a woman to hurt, leaving hordes of Trollocs and Myrdraal in her wake, she continued to serve the White Tower. When the was started and the Trollocs came pouring out of the Blight like a giant pitcher, overflowing on all side, Airamina was at the war front, cleaving the Shadowwrought with her strength in the Power. But even the death of all the Shadow could not bring back her brothers. Even the death of the Dark One himself could not bring them back.

That is her story. The story of innocence shattered to a million fragments like a mirror's cracked face. That is the story of a woman broken down by years of being something else. Years of fighting, years of disappointment, and years of tears. Tears streaking her face, tears cried for the innocence she never had, tears cried for her lost family, and tears for her own internal suffering. A scar, seared into her soul, hidden from the world. Left to fester, inside, left to burn its way deep into her, like a flame left in a dry field. That is the story of the woman, twisted by hatred of the Shadow, broken by its actions, and emblazoned by her purpose. The Shadow's destruction.

Airamina Sedai
Keeper of the Chronicles