The One... Or Two?

Healed

When she woke next, the sun was peeking over the horizon. She sat up and looked around tiredly. She cleaned off her hands and pressed safe leaves to cover her wound from the clothes. She dressed in her pants and blouse, clasping the corset over her blouse and pulling her cloak/coat back on. Her arm tinged each time she moved it to pull her clothes on and she couldn't raise it much higher now than before. She walked over to Arthur. "Ready?" she asked. She reached up to grasp the horn and winced when she realized she was using her injured arm. "Ooh... don't do that." She went to the other side of him and reached with her good arm. It took a bit more time as she usually got on on the other side, but she discovered that her shoulders did more than she thought when she pulled herself up. She had to let herself fall back to her foot at the pain. "Okay," she whispered. She took the hand of her bad arm and pulled it up to tuck in the sleeve of her good arm. She could use her fingers and held out that way. She pulled herself up again, groaning. "Ooh, I'm using muscles I didn't even know I had!" she complained. She settled on Arthur and tucked her wrist into the sleeve now. "Up and away," she prompted easily, taking Arthur further down the road, to her twin.

*~*

A Month Later

Secily Al'Thor wasn't weak. She could manage perfectly well on her own. She'd done it her entire life. She'd never needed others, she could talk to herself and it was nice to speak to someone who knew what they were talking about. She didn't need people. She wasn't weak.

So why was she missing the company from before? Mat's impromptu songs, Moiraine's occasional comment about their surroundings, Egwene's comments on the view. There was nothing of use in those moments, but Secily missed the interaction. She knew her thoughts. She knew how she thought. She could find a conclusion before processing the problem all the way. It was easy, smart, predictable. But these people were emotional; they shouted and argued and some made the occasional threat. They were flawed and clueless and stupid and brilliant, and why should they have mattered to her? Secily knew she loved Rand and she would likely die for him. But she wasn't one to seek out constant companionship. She didn't need it.

She had Arthur and he was an excellent conversationalist. He was a pain in his horse's behind, but he did it to shake up her life. Let her experience life. She wasn't lonely, she had him. How could she possibly want more?

Secily did most of the talking, but Arthur made his opinion known. And he was as good as a guard or a bloodhound. So, she continued on, weeks still to the White Tower, despite her horse speeding things up and her tendency not to sleep.

*~*

She'd been on her own for a while. She got into a routine of how long she'd walk or run Arthur vs her sleep and wound treatment. The arrow's only remembrance would be a scar soon enough. So she slept to heal for the most part. And upon waking one morning, she was surrounded by whitecloaks, all armed and led by the same man who made them all uncomfortable the first time they'd met. She'd been dragged through some cleaning, her old clothes had been stripped and searched (Thank whatever was in charge she didn't have her beaded bag), and she was chilled and picked at to clean every nook and cranny of her body.

Eventually, she was forced into a horrible white dress and her hair was brushed by inexperienced hands.

"Open your eyes, child," the Questioner ordered. She did and found herself in his personal tent. "That's better. All covered up. Hands."

The people who dressed her took her hands, sat her on a chair, and tied rope around her hands and the arm rests. Secily wiggled a bit and saw some blood on the wrist side, much to her horror.

"Bring it in!" the man called.

Secily's mighty steed was forced into the tent and the redhead immediately reacted, trying to get out. "Arthur!" She turned to face the Questioner. "Sir, please..." she started to beg.