Subject: TAN: Bordeom Strikes - Attempt At Humor Ensues From: "Richard M. Boye'" Newsgroups: rec.arts.sf.written.robert-jordan Organization: If You Need Ask, You Need Not Know So I was rereading tPoD last night. Why? Because I figured it couldn't have been as bad as I recall. Anyway, I hit upon Elayne and her little discovery of that ....warm rod, and thought about a few other things(1), and this was the ill begotten bastard brainchild: This Day, This Hour Taking the hand of the very pretty soldier who served as the one of the Amyrlin's Honor Guard, Egwene did her very best to dismount her hulking battle-trained mount, Fury, with grace. Pausing in the great stableyard of the White Tower, now empty, Egwene collected her wits and set her spine as she peered around her. It will be done. This day, this hour. It will be done. All around Egwene Aes Sedai and warders were dismounting. Sheriam had suggested a special cortège of soldiers be selected to protect the Amyrlin's person until she found herself a warder, and Suian had readily agreed, and set Leane to the task. The lithe Green sister had an affinity for soldiers and military affairs, so it seemed, since she often spent so much of her time in the soldiers' camp. She was up to the task. The Amyrlin's cortège, dubbed the =Esicraet Aes'Urvis=, was full of wary veterans and skilled armsmen, although each and every one was almost disturbingly handsome. Suian stalked up beside her, with Gareth Bryne at her shoulder. She scanned the yard as well. "I hope Nynaeve was right, or else we may all end with spikes for necks." Egwene tossed a glance over at the wall, where a few decomposing heads still graced the spikes, remnants from the last time the Tower was taken. "It will work, " Egwene said with certainty, "Nynaeve would not lie." As if the very sound her name conjured the woman, Nynaeve emerged through a portcullis, riding just behind the Sitters. As always, Lan was at her side. Nynaeve's saffron riding dress with silk and regal enough for a Queen, which she was, Egwene considered, after a sort. Her long dark hair was braided as usual, and her neck was a sight of weals and love bites. Egwene could only squirm at the mesh of furrows and scratchings Lan's back must be. "Of course I would not lie!" Nynaeve barked. "Nor would Elayne. That device will have done its work or else I will blow a goat!" Egwene waited fully for the rest of the hundred sisters to arrive in the yard, and she weighed the merit of Nynaeve's words. Truly, the Tower seemed somnolent. The Tower Guards manning the walls had fled at the news her army's crushing victory on the riverbanks, and only a few grooms and porters had ducked heads out the windows at the arriving conquerors before finding hidey-holes. Egwene's thoughts misted back to her last visit with Elayne and her astounding collection of artifacts... The Gateway opened into a sumptuously decorated room in the Royal Palace, although the furnishments had been whisked away and the rugs withdrawn. Elayne had been waiting for her, glittering in silks and rubies, every inch the queen, the Rose Crown looking quite appropriate on her brow. When she was escorted to Elayne's heavily guarded and warded working chamber, she saw the amazing cache that had been retrieved in Ebou Dar. Angreal and ter'angreal of all sorts, figurines and bracelets, a dagger of black crystal, a huge shield-sized disk of silver, almost like a mirror, all sorts of little squares and even a tiny little cage that contained cages of progressively smaller sizes, until you could not see the tiniest. So lost in wonder at that, she wasn't looking when Elayne unveiled what Nynaeve had promised would ultimately be her key to victory. It was a container of some sort, looking all the world like a large, flat bean on its side, gleaming with perfected reflections. Words were scribed on the top in flowing script, =Va'aye Din Nei ni'Dubaite=, "No Mere Woman Can Withstand My Mysteries." There was no latch, but Elayne, beaming, opened it just the same. The case sprung open, revealing a lush crimson satin lining. There nestled for millennia it lay, a long scepter-like object, with a blunted end like a mushroom, and a raised conduit of sorts running whichways along it's length. It was just short of being as long as Egwene's forearm, and certainly thicker than she could encircle with her thumb and forefinger. Egwene lifted the ter'angreal with its swaddling. "Is it a weapon?" Egwene inquired. "More than that." Elayne offered Egwene a view of the underside of the object. More cursive script, along with the odd numerals she learned were employed during the Age of Legends. Egwene looked at the writing, =Ser'Shiara Aes=, followed by those numbers. She played with translations aloud. "'Master of All Love?' Or perhaps 'All Love's Master?'" She looked to Elayne, who had a better grasp of the Old Tongue as well as the archaic numbers. She pointed to the clusters of numbers. "This band around them indicates one thousand. There are two bands, so this is number is 'two thousand.'" She casts a wary eye at the door. "I consulted with Merrilille and we decided that the best translation is "Lovemaster 2000." Egwene nodded. "Where is Merilille, anyway?" Elayne smiled like a cat in the buttery. "She's still asleep. She had this device last." She gave Egwene a level look. "Egwene, with this every last woman in the White Tower will be powerless against us." She offered it to Egwene like an extension of her arm. "Touch it." Gingerly, Egwene brushed it with a fingertip. It had a strange feel, almost waxy, but not quite, and it gave to the touch almost, sort of like cork, yet it also clung slightly like the gummy tree-syrup coopers used to seal barrels. "I am not feeling..." Sensations flooded over her, pervading her mind and making every nerve tingle. warmth. pleasance. tingle. tickle. laughter. adoration. bliss. heat. scintillation. joy. Joy. Happy. Happy. Joy. Joy. Ecstasy. JOY. JOY. ECSTASY. ECSTASY! ECSTASY! JOY! ESCTASY! YES! YES! YES! OH GOD YES! It was some few days later when she finally woke up in a wide sunny chamber in the palace. She had been dressed for bed by someone, and the blue and silver gown she wore to the palace was hanging neatly on a manikin to better keep its shape. Elayne was sitting on her bed, still grinning that grin. "Told you," was all she said. ....Egwene gave herself a shiver and shook off that tingling resonance. That had been fourteen days ago. Egwene herself had Traveled in the night and slipped through the nigh empty halls of the Tower, depositing the =Ser'Shiara Aes= in the very center of the actual Hall of the Tower. It would definitely have done its work by now. Lelaine strode up with her warder, balanced by Romanda with Theodrin in tow, the two Sitters linked, as Malind and Faeldrin wove a shield of Air, and former pair tore the great doors from the hinges. The =Esicraet Aes'Urvis= poured in, and the rest of the party followed suit. As they progressed through the halls, Egwene could see maids and scullions laying everywhere in the halls, felled by pleasure, some still twitching and gurgling. Further into the Tower complex, you could see an Accepted toppled over a hedge, her banded skirts twitching in the breeze, a huge grin on her sleeping face. In one spot, an entire room of novices lay tangled in their white frocks, humming and drooling, their limbs and bodies draped upon one another like a litter of piglets. They moved on. They wound their way through the complex, and Egwene noted women of all sorts, from haughty Aes Sedai to lowly laundresses had had their turn with the =Ser'Shiara Aes=, and it seemed that for those sisters who had warders, the =Ser'Shiara Aes= worked through the bond. Men in color-shifting cloaks lay sprawled bonelessly where they had stood, mouths agape and wheezing. That was odd. It certainly didn't work on regular men. Elayne had asked some of the Queen's Guards to touch the =Ser'Shiara Aes=, and it seemed to have no effect, although at least a tenth seemed preternaturally drawn its shape. Finally, Egwene and her huge party wound their way into the innermost portion of the Tower, the Hall of the Tower itself. One of the large, gilded doors was hanging ajar, and the lamps had long since gone out. Without much thought, Egwene opened the other door with Air and they all walked in under the high, cavernous dome. At first it seemed like mounds of silk dotted the floor, but as they approached they realized with was nothing but drowsing Sitters. That green pile was Talene Minly aside Esmaya Corantes. The red lump was Javandra. Seaine Harmon sat with her back up against a column, her snowy skirts spread wide, her hands folded in her lap. There in an archway was a toppled Red Sitter, Pevara or something close, Egwene believed, apparently laying where she fell as she may have attempted to flee with the Ser'Shiara Aes. Her hands still in the position where they might have clasped the device had it not been taken from her. At the foot of the actual Amyrlin Seat lay three women, a net of legs and arms, golden silk pooling with grey and brown velvet. Egwene peered at the blank, joyful faces of Yukiri, Doesine and Saerin, Saerin giggling in her sleep. And there, upon the Seat was Elaida do Havry a'Roihan, the Usurper, sitting in the throne as if she simply napped, her dark hair escaping its pinnings and concealing her face. She held the =Ser'Shiara Aes= upright like a scepter. Egwene stepped around the sleeping Sitters and pulled on a leather riding glove. She reached to remove the =Ser'Shiara Aes= from the clutches of the Usurper. Indeed, its tall, cylindrical shape seemed an apt metaphor for the Tower itself. She reached up for, standing on her tiptoes up over the throne on its dais, it and Elaida jerked it away, launching to her feet. "Not so fast, Egwene al'Vere!" Elaida said mirthlessly. Egwene's thoughts spun. It should have worked. It worked on every woman who touched it! Indeed, she could see where Elaida's flesh molded around the curves of the =Ser'Shiara Aes=! =Va'aye Din Nei ni'Dubaite=, "No Mere Woman Can Withstand My Mysteries." Why didn't it work? Elaida lunged forward, brandishing it like a sword. She tapped Lelaine on the chin and the dark-haired Blue made a sound very much like a mewing kitten and collapsed. Her warder fell too with a gasp, a wet spot on his breeches. Rounding, she bopped a row of Sitters, six in all, across the bridges of the noses, and they dropped like a row of marionettes with their strings cut, moaning and quivering. Elaida spun on the balls of her feet and coiled an arm around Egwene's neck, pulling herself behind, and she leveled the Ser'Shiara Aes against her neck like a knife, not quite touching Egwene's skin. "Stay back, or the Child Amyrlin gets a jolt that will skew her wits into the next Age!" she cried. Nynaeve stood at the forefront of the rebels, her arms thrown wide. "Do as she says! No one move." Elaida sneered. "You fools! Do you think you can defeat me? Me? Elaida do Havry a'Roihan, Watcher of the Seals, Flame of Tar Valon, Amyrlin Seat, I who will save mankind!" She dragged Egwene back with her, "You think you can defeat me with this _thing_?" She laughed and tapped Egwene with the blunt mushroom head, and the world withdrew in a frenzy of color and pleasure. Nynaeve screamed as Elaida used the device on Egwene but as soon as the smaller young woman dropped to the mosaic floor, Nynaeve unfurled a tempest of lashing arms of Air that sent Elaida reeling high against the highly dressed marble wall. She hit so hard her head bounced twice. She slid down the wall and landed on her rump with a great dull _thwump_. Nynaeve stepped over as Aes Sedai begin check eyes and pulses of the newly fallen sisters. "How did you do it, Elaida?" she demanded, "how could you withstand that which no other woman could not?" She kicked her on general principle. A trickle of blood marked a corner of Elaida's mouth, and more made its way from both ears. Clearly something inside her head was broken. Nynaeve may well have killed her. Elaida muttered thickly "No Woman Can Withstand My Mysteries." Her body wracked with a spasm. "I am no _mere_ woman…" And with that as her epitaph Elaida a'Roihan expired. Egwene had won. Nynaeve was dumbfounded. "But how…." She rounded on the nearest standing Sitter, who just happened to be bony, tremulous Varrillin. She poked her so hard she squeaked. "I thought you said that all women had to bare themselves during the convenings of the Hall!" She kicked Elaida's form. "Clearly, she was no woman!" Varrillin stammered them blurted out "We only bare our breasts!" Two standing warders raised their eyebrows at that, one another nodded, plainly taking that as conformation as something. One of the Amyrlin's cortege elbowed another one. Nynaeve scowled. "Idiots!" She kicked Elaida's bosom. "This is nothing but stuffing then!" Picking her way through the field of moaning, exultant women, Romanda emerged from a thicket of Aes Sedai. "Rash, untutored child. You talk when you should listen. If you had been properly taught, then you have known of the condition known as the =Anai'a'Allein=." She smiled, self-satisfied that that explanation is enough. Nynaeve had never been a great student of the Old Tongue, having no truck with any of that sort, so she spluttered "What the hell does that mean!?!" Takima tilted her head, birdlike. "Man who is Woman. Or perhaps Woman who is Man." Movrin too, had a translation. "Nay, sister. Lialle Belantos wrote a treatise of gender pronouns and the Old Tongue, and she concluded, correctly in my opinion, that Anai'a'Allain means 'He who is She,' or perhaps 'She who is He." Nynaeve slapped them and ignored their debate, stepping over Egwene as she murmured "yes Gawyn… sweet spot." Nynaeve ignored that too. Turning back to Romanda, she shoved her shoulder. "Explain." Romanda made an under-the-breath comment about getting laid not helping, and then put on a lecturing tone. "Rarely, say no more than one in every ten thousand births, a child is born that is neither male nor female." She looked at Nynaeve for comprehension, and finding it, she continued. "Having both nether organs, scholars have long speculated whether such a being would embrace Saidar or channel Saidin, if able to channel at all. Juanta Santio has a fascinating report on one such person she discovered...." Nynaeve tuned her out, and decided to see for herself. Hunkering down, she lifted Elaida's crimson skirts and her shift and looked. Indeed, it was true. Elaida was no mere woman. Then she went to sick up in a nearby urn. Oh, you all thought the same thing about that red...warm rod. Admit it. -- Richard M. Boye' waldo@webspan.net UIN:9021244 "I don't need to drink to have a good time. I need to drink to stop the voices in my head." 1) What if Piers Anthony wrote this series? (2) 2) Better yet, what if Sigmund Freud had? (3) 3) There is no three. Bad Rich! No cookie! (4) 4) Not that I care - I don't look cookies.