Categories > Books > Wheel of Time > Defining Lives
Better Than Me
0 reviewsAsmodean goes through the events of his life that led him to the path of the dark. Explains why he had his mother dragged off by Myrddraal and includes an OC in the form of a sister. Three differen...
1Insightful
Defining Lives
/A short trilogy of perspectives/
By Cat Alex
Better Than Me
My sister, always the better out of the two of us. I could not have asked for a kinder sister than Eila, but now our sibling bond lies in tatters. I was born twenty five years before she was, my mother as an Aes Sedai could afford such gaps of time. But even the elder, I was no less responsible and could not handle how our lives were weaved by the Pattern.
I, the one chosen, no, destined to be a composer that would never be forgotten. A prodigy, a grand sensation that would stir every heart of the age! My dear sister left to the side while I was bathed in glory as a youth. Both of us were fair children, each with dark eyes and hair against pale skin that gave us our striking looks. I have no fear of boasting; it is simple truth.
I composed, my mother ever doting on me as teachers taught me everything they knew, both in composition and the harnessing of my extra gift of channelling the One Power. Another rarity I was blessed with where my sister was not. And much of this took place in our small port town of Shorelle where every child learnt my name and became jealous of Joar Nessosin gaining the glory while they languished on their fishing boats.
And my sister, left in the background, but ever smiling and cheering me on while she made her way through a less than special school while I had my extensive training. To tell it now reminds me of how little attention really was paid to her. Even in a small Shorelle learning facility she worked harder than them all and brought home grades and accolades better than seen in many years. Still, I was the eldest and the one our mother lavished all her attentions on, barely taking heed to Eila's achievements. I too ignored her, focused on my works aged forty, but with the slowing looked to be in my early twenties. I was immersed in my work; even at the age of fifteen years old my compositions were being listened too across the world and nothing would distract me from my calling. If they were impressed when I was still in training at fifteen, what would they think of my honed work these years later? It was selfishness, I now realise, but it is too late to change. Perhaps even today I am somewhat selfish, but to survive, one must be.
Mother was so proud of me when I finished my training with more than passable grades to go on as a full time composer when I was in my late twenties. Now free of the shackles of learning, I could compose full time and come into my full potential while Eila was young. Then I truly would shake the world with my music; I would extract their tears with the corea, soothe their fears with the balfone and shatter their hearts with mere use of the obaen. My third name was earned around that time, so I was now proudly presented as Joar Addam Nessosin. My sister beamed with pride, as did my mother. But as I sat alone in my own apartments bought with the riches gained from previous compositions, I found my mind blank and my heart empty. The notes would not come, no matter how I tried.
The frustration grew over the years and even worse, people began to tire of waiting for new works. Other composers were waiting for their time and with myself unable to produce more than regurgitated old pieces and odd notes they took my place and began to entertain the world themselves. Eila over that time grew up, now nearing her mid twenties. She consoled me while I furiously broke the harp my mother had had specially made for me. With the diminishing fame, so did my mother's interest in me fade and die. Eila had now left her school and found herself in a position on the Shorelle council. Within a matter of months she had been transferred to Tzora, her responsibilities in turn growing with the added size of the city, but handled so smoothly she could have passed for Aes Sedai.
Mother became more interested in Eila's affairs, her power slowly but surely growing within the Tzora government until she was once more transferred to sort the affairs of V'saine within a few years. Acclaim gathered about her while mine diminished and I was left with a raging block on my creative abilities. I did not see my mother anymore and love faded into hate; boiling, tempestuous hate that ripped my block and left me able to create compositions once more. However, they were changed into dark, morbid affairs that were considered quite good, but weren't as highly appreciated as other pieces, feeding my jealous fury.
I only saw Eila in person again when she gained her third name just in her hundreds. She humbly presented herself to me when I visited Paaren Disen - her new home firmly in position in government and popular as ever - where she told me she was now Eila Arina Nessosin. I remember giving her a faltering smile, my own slights taken over the past several decades preventing me from showing more than that smile. A brief embrace and I excused myself. Mother had no interest in me whatsoever, and while I acted as if she was no concern to me anymore, her unawareness of me hurt more than I could say. It made me hate her even more, that she made me feel a desperate need to please her, to be a son she could be proud of. My compositions were listened to by many, but still did not reach the heights that other pieces reached.
Eila spoke to me several times and offered to sho-wing her way over to where I resided in Comelle, but I refused every time. I could not face her; her optimism, her bright demeanour towards me. I could not face the power she had worked so hard for, all that acclaim she had gathered. I couldn't bear it, especially where in our conversations she would talk of Mother's visits. Eila quietly informed me that she would no longer speak of me, though Eila could never fathom why. I could, though. She only saw failure in me, an unfulfilled potential. As to whether she believed I hadn't worked hard enough, or she had misjudged me, I never knew.
Hate burned fierce and I swore to myself as I played the shama with ferocity that I would have revenge upon her. I did in the end.
Pain began to course through me as I reached my mid two hundreds, for my sister did not have such an extension on her life as I. Aged two hundred and thirteen, my sister Eila Arina Nessosin died head of the Paaran Disen government. I attended the procession Paaran Disen held for her, trapped in my own private reverie. She was gone and I could see our mother openly weep, while I stood blankly watching the march. I had nothing to hold on to now Eila was gone. It was a matter of opportunity before I found my place in the world.
When first news reached the world of the disaster that had occurred within the Sharom and the spreading unrest and dissatisfaction caused by the Bore. And so the Collapse began and I finally discovered my opportunity for revenge and a place of regard and remembrance in the world - turning to the Dark One. He invested me with the power aged two hundred and seventy six and I was presented with an eternity to compose my songs while others perished as war broke out.
I was renamed Asmodean and any knowledge of Joar Addam Nessosin was cast away in rejection. The world fell apart and all I cared about was music and revenge. In both mine and my mother's heart, Eila would always be better than me. With the power of the Dark One behind me, I would show her different and prove myself.
Mother had been staying in Mar Ruois when I struck. I had been trained well in the One Power despite my preferred career in music and could wield it with ease. She was severed from the True Source personally by me. And that is when she was dragged away by Myrddraal, her screams echoing as she disappeared from my sight. I watched with no expression and though I desperately wanted to feel some sort of weight from my chest, there was none. Just hollowness.
And my story is almost complete. My sister who would forever be better than me dead, my mother worse than dead and I ended up sealed within the Bore until my time of release came. Now I hide like a hunted animal, waiting for an opportunity. Perhaps in this age I will prove myself and maybe power will come to me here. I could rule.
I hope.
/A short trilogy of perspectives/
By Cat Alex
Better Than Me
My sister, always the better out of the two of us. I could not have asked for a kinder sister than Eila, but now our sibling bond lies in tatters. I was born twenty five years before she was, my mother as an Aes Sedai could afford such gaps of time. But even the elder, I was no less responsible and could not handle how our lives were weaved by the Pattern.
I, the one chosen, no, destined to be a composer that would never be forgotten. A prodigy, a grand sensation that would stir every heart of the age! My dear sister left to the side while I was bathed in glory as a youth. Both of us were fair children, each with dark eyes and hair against pale skin that gave us our striking looks. I have no fear of boasting; it is simple truth.
I composed, my mother ever doting on me as teachers taught me everything they knew, both in composition and the harnessing of my extra gift of channelling the One Power. Another rarity I was blessed with where my sister was not. And much of this took place in our small port town of Shorelle where every child learnt my name and became jealous of Joar Nessosin gaining the glory while they languished on their fishing boats.
And my sister, left in the background, but ever smiling and cheering me on while she made her way through a less than special school while I had my extensive training. To tell it now reminds me of how little attention really was paid to her. Even in a small Shorelle learning facility she worked harder than them all and brought home grades and accolades better than seen in many years. Still, I was the eldest and the one our mother lavished all her attentions on, barely taking heed to Eila's achievements. I too ignored her, focused on my works aged forty, but with the slowing looked to be in my early twenties. I was immersed in my work; even at the age of fifteen years old my compositions were being listened too across the world and nothing would distract me from my calling. If they were impressed when I was still in training at fifteen, what would they think of my honed work these years later? It was selfishness, I now realise, but it is too late to change. Perhaps even today I am somewhat selfish, but to survive, one must be.
Mother was so proud of me when I finished my training with more than passable grades to go on as a full time composer when I was in my late twenties. Now free of the shackles of learning, I could compose full time and come into my full potential while Eila was young. Then I truly would shake the world with my music; I would extract their tears with the corea, soothe their fears with the balfone and shatter their hearts with mere use of the obaen. My third name was earned around that time, so I was now proudly presented as Joar Addam Nessosin. My sister beamed with pride, as did my mother. But as I sat alone in my own apartments bought with the riches gained from previous compositions, I found my mind blank and my heart empty. The notes would not come, no matter how I tried.
The frustration grew over the years and even worse, people began to tire of waiting for new works. Other composers were waiting for their time and with myself unable to produce more than regurgitated old pieces and odd notes they took my place and began to entertain the world themselves. Eila over that time grew up, now nearing her mid twenties. She consoled me while I furiously broke the harp my mother had had specially made for me. With the diminishing fame, so did my mother's interest in me fade and die. Eila had now left her school and found herself in a position on the Shorelle council. Within a matter of months she had been transferred to Tzora, her responsibilities in turn growing with the added size of the city, but handled so smoothly she could have passed for Aes Sedai.
Mother became more interested in Eila's affairs, her power slowly but surely growing within the Tzora government until she was once more transferred to sort the affairs of V'saine within a few years. Acclaim gathered about her while mine diminished and I was left with a raging block on my creative abilities. I did not see my mother anymore and love faded into hate; boiling, tempestuous hate that ripped my block and left me able to create compositions once more. However, they were changed into dark, morbid affairs that were considered quite good, but weren't as highly appreciated as other pieces, feeding my jealous fury.
I only saw Eila in person again when she gained her third name just in her hundreds. She humbly presented herself to me when I visited Paaren Disen - her new home firmly in position in government and popular as ever - where she told me she was now Eila Arina Nessosin. I remember giving her a faltering smile, my own slights taken over the past several decades preventing me from showing more than that smile. A brief embrace and I excused myself. Mother had no interest in me whatsoever, and while I acted as if she was no concern to me anymore, her unawareness of me hurt more than I could say. It made me hate her even more, that she made me feel a desperate need to please her, to be a son she could be proud of. My compositions were listened to by many, but still did not reach the heights that other pieces reached.
Eila spoke to me several times and offered to sho-wing her way over to where I resided in Comelle, but I refused every time. I could not face her; her optimism, her bright demeanour towards me. I could not face the power she had worked so hard for, all that acclaim she had gathered. I couldn't bear it, especially where in our conversations she would talk of Mother's visits. Eila quietly informed me that she would no longer speak of me, though Eila could never fathom why. I could, though. She only saw failure in me, an unfulfilled potential. As to whether she believed I hadn't worked hard enough, or she had misjudged me, I never knew.
Hate burned fierce and I swore to myself as I played the shama with ferocity that I would have revenge upon her. I did in the end.
Pain began to course through me as I reached my mid two hundreds, for my sister did not have such an extension on her life as I. Aged two hundred and thirteen, my sister Eila Arina Nessosin died head of the Paaran Disen government. I attended the procession Paaran Disen held for her, trapped in my own private reverie. She was gone and I could see our mother openly weep, while I stood blankly watching the march. I had nothing to hold on to now Eila was gone. It was a matter of opportunity before I found my place in the world.
When first news reached the world of the disaster that had occurred within the Sharom and the spreading unrest and dissatisfaction caused by the Bore. And so the Collapse began and I finally discovered my opportunity for revenge and a place of regard and remembrance in the world - turning to the Dark One. He invested me with the power aged two hundred and seventy six and I was presented with an eternity to compose my songs while others perished as war broke out.
I was renamed Asmodean and any knowledge of Joar Addam Nessosin was cast away in rejection. The world fell apart and all I cared about was music and revenge. In both mine and my mother's heart, Eila would always be better than me. With the power of the Dark One behind me, I would show her different and prove myself.
Mother had been staying in Mar Ruois when I struck. I had been trained well in the One Power despite my preferred career in music and could wield it with ease. She was severed from the True Source personally by me. And that is when she was dragged away by Myrddraal, her screams echoing as she disappeared from my sight. I watched with no expression and though I desperately wanted to feel some sort of weight from my chest, there was none. Just hollowness.
And my story is almost complete. My sister who would forever be better than me dead, my mother worse than dead and I ended up sealed within the Bore until my time of release came. Now I hide like a hunted animal, waiting for an opportunity. Perhaps in this age I will prove myself and maybe power will come to me here. I could rule.
I hope.
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