The night before had proved more than intollerable. Drunkards and overspilled tankards, scantly clad women, and unwashed beasts were the least of the Aes Sedai's problems.
There were far more important matters that held her attention and only one that had gotten under her skin at all: a dream about the soldier.
A half-remembered name and face of a man she had met in the inn months upon months ago haunted a dream that prior night. She frowned to think of it while she pulled the fine brush through her long black hair. Over and over again the action was repeated while she sat before the mirror and musings continued.
He seemed content in his ways, perhaps noble in his stance, and rustic in his position. He had been seemingly acquainted with a woman called Tara. A soldier or warrior, as she recalled him. And he had been in her dream.
The dream held with it the weight of a ton of dense stone. He had spoken with her at length and it had nothing to do with correspondence from the great Tower, fighting, or training of any kind. What bothered Valucia was that it was about them. It was personal and had felt too familiar, as if there was love between them.
As it had been years since she had entertained even the idea for herself, she frowned at herself in the mirror and the brush paused for a moment. Then her hand moved it again for another stroke through her black hair that shown bluish in the oil lamp light of her rooms at the Red Dragon Inn.
"Ridiculous." It was all that she said aloud and neatly put the brush to the simple dressing table, beside an ornately carved bottle of perfume and a gilded box about the span of her hand.
Dreams, though, bothered her. She did not have them unless there was meaning in them. That was the matter. That was what worried her. She had not need for love anymore. It was a distraction for her. And the men who usually fawned over her were found lacking, to say the least.
Still, the dream stayed with her even as she pinned up her hair into its neat and usually bun and dressed for the day. Valucia had more to do that day than to sit and think on dreams and men.
There were far more important matters that held her attention and only one that had gotten under her skin at all: a dream about the soldier.
A half-remembered name and face of a man she had met in the inn months upon months ago haunted a dream that prior night. She frowned to think of it while she pulled the fine brush through her long black hair. Over and over again the action was repeated while she sat before the mirror and musings continued.
He seemed content in his ways, perhaps noble in his stance, and rustic in his position. He had been seemingly acquainted with a woman called Tara. A soldier or warrior, as she recalled him. And he had been in her dream.
The dream held with it the weight of a ton of dense stone. He had spoken with her at length and it had nothing to do with correspondence from the great Tower, fighting, or training of any kind. What bothered Valucia was that it was about them. It was personal and had felt too familiar, as if there was love between them.
As it had been years since she had entertained even the idea for herself, she frowned at herself in the mirror and the brush paused for a moment. Then her hand moved it again for another stroke through her black hair that shown bluish in the oil lamp light of her rooms at the Red Dragon Inn.
"Ridiculous." It was all that she said aloud and neatly put the brush to the simple dressing table, beside an ornately carved bottle of perfume and a gilded box about the span of her hand.
Dreams, though, bothered her. She did not have them unless there was meaning in them. That was the matter. That was what worried her. She had not need for love anymore. It was a distraction for her. And the men who usually fawned over her were found lacking, to say the least.
Still, the dream stayed with her even as she pinned up her hair into its neat and usually bun and dressed for the day. Valucia had more to do that day than to sit and think on dreams and men.