Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Already died once

Enough with the balefire

Cauthon saves the day

Natael heard the door slam shut behind him. His eyes barely had time to adjust to the gloom inside the pantry when he realised that he was not alone.

Graendal smirked, and Natael could only gape at her in horror when he felt a light tingling on his skin, indicating that the blasted woman had embraced the Source. Raising his hands as though it would somehow protect him, he backed down a few steps but bumped into a shelf. He was trapped.

Everything seemed to happen all at once. Natael realised he couldn’t channel; Graendal must have him shielded. He could almost feel the balefire being woven, but just then the pantry door opened wide, crashing into his shoulder. With a yelp of pain, Natael lost his balance and fell to the floor. He saw the balefire hit a wall, which disintegrated. The weave must have missed him by an inch.

Graendal cursed in the Old Tongue, and someone else cursed right back at her in the same language – a man’s voice. There was a loud thud, and then nothing.

Natael scrambled to his feet, feeling disoriented. With the door open, there was enough light for him to watch Cauthon striking the empty air with his quarterstaff. Graendal was gone.

Cauthon appeared to realise that, as well. He let the quarterstaff fall to his side and looked Natael up and down. “Blood and ashes, man. What was that all about?”

“You saved my life,” Natael blurted out without thinking.

“I was just looking for some wine,” Cauthon muttered. “I followed you when it became clear that you’d spotted a secret wine stash.”

“I think we could all use some wine right now,” Natael concurred. His legs were wobbly; he was drenched in sweat. He sat down with his legs crossed, leaning against a wall that hadn’t been burned out of existence. Where the other wall had stood, there was now what appeared to be a long-forgotten storage room riddled with cobwebs.

Darkness within, it had been a close shave. He couldn’t explain how they’d both survived, with him being shielded and Cauthon armed with such a primitive weapon.

“I smacked her right in the nose,” Cauthon declared with some satisfaction. “Didn’t do much damage, I suppose, but it certainly scared her off.” He paused, considering. “Who was she, anyway? I only attacked her because you were clearly being outmatched. By a woman.” He grinned mockingly.

“Clearly?” Natael repeated hotly. “How could you possibly know that she had me shielded and-” He cut off abruptly, realising his mistake.

There was an awkward silence.

“You can channel?” Cauthon said after a moment. The lad had a knack for stating the obvious. His face visibly paled. “Does Rand know?”

Oh, but he wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer, was he? “Evidently,” Natael replied disdainfully. “And to answer your earlier question, that was Graendal.” He was rewarded by Cauthon’s expression of dismay. His face had turned a sickly shade of green. “We ought to warn the Lord Dragon.”

Cauthon cleared his throat. “Uh…right. Yes. Rand should know about this.” He didn’t move, however. He eyed Natael uncertainly. “Why was Graendal trying to kill you?”

“I’ll leave the privilege of explaining this to you to the Lord Dragon.”

“Are you telling me that Asmodean has been following us around for weeks? And you knew about it?” Cauthon yelled indignantly. “Flaming ashes, Rand. Are you out of your bloody mind?”

“Not quite yet,” al’Thor replied frostily.

Cauthon’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean-”

“I know exactly what you meant,” al’Thor said through gritted teeth. “I didn’t have a choice, Mat. I needed a tutor. Surely even you can understand that?”

Cauthon turned a bright shade of crimson. Natael decided to defuse the situation. Al’Thor’s sanity was a matter of debate for another day. “My Lord Dragon, if I may?” The sheepherder nodded curtly. “Perhaps we ought to focus on the fact that Graendal was here just a few minutes ago?” he suggested.

Al’Thor sighed heavily. “I don’t suppose she targeted you by mistake?”

Natael scowled. “What do you mean? It makes perfect sense that she would want me dead,” he said. “They all do, I’m sure. The Great Lord must have issued a warrant for my head.” And Rahvin’s death, so soon after Lanfear’s…disappearance, must have spurned the others into action. Natael didn’t bring this up, however. It would only remind al’Thor that he’d just lost one his staunchest allies – the so-called Aes Sedai, Moiraine Damodred.

As for Lanfear… Well, she was still alive, that was certain. Otherwise Natael’s shield would have dissolved by now. She had to be trapped in the Finn’s realm, Sindhol. A fate Natael would normally not wish on his worst enemy, but Lanfear had always been a nuisance. She deserved this. Unlike Damodred. He wondered if the woman was dead, or if she was suffering the same fate as Lanfear. But surely, if Mandragoran had left so suddenly, their bond must have shattered, which could only mean that she was indeed dead. Unless she’d severed the bond herself, to prevent anyone from attempting a doomed rescue? Natael wondered if al’Thor had considered that.

He hadn’t said anything about Lanfear. To be fair, he’d expected al’Thor to bring up the topic himself. If he thought Damodred dead, then he likely believed Mierin to be dead as well. It should therefore have crossed his mind that Natael’s shield would vanish. But he hadn’t mentioned it yet. Perhaps the wound was still too fresh, and Natael’s news would only add insult to injury. It was hardly fair that Lanfear had survived when the other woman had perished – at least al’Thor would see it that way. Natael knew better. It was a much more enviable fate to be killed before reaching the Finn’s realm. Lanfear would be drained of her power with exquisite slowness, and the process was said to be quite painful besides. Natael shuddered at the thought. The Finn made his skin crawl. They always had.

“She might have been after Mat, who is ta’veren,” al’Thor pointed out. “You were both in the gardens. And you both like wine,” he added.

Natael hadn’t considered that. But given the look of gleeful triumph on Graendal’s face as she was about to erase him permanently from the Pattern, he assumed that he was indeed the designated target. Cauthon would have been a bonus, if anything.

He had to convince al’Thor. He needed to be watched at all times; he required protection. What if Graendal returned while he slept? Or at any moment, really. He was quite defenceless. “My Lord Dragon,” he said earnestly, “I believe some Maidens and Wise Ones should be appointed as my personal escort.” Better to have a few channelers close at hand. Against one of the Chosen, the Maidens wouldn’t stand a chance. They didn’t have Cauthon’s luck.

Al’Thor laughed. He laughed! Was Natael’s predicament amusing to him? “And what reason could I possibly give them for this sudden, bizarre assignment? You’re supposed to be a bard, Natael. No matter how good of a musician you are, nobody expects a bard to have a retinue of Maidens. Let alone Wise Ones,” he added with a wry chuckle. “And it’s not like they would do as I ask, in any case. Can you imagine me ordering Sorilea to follow you around? Or do anything I command, for that matter?”

“Well, not Sorilea, perhaps, but-”

Al’Thor waved a hand in dismissal. “No. They will be suspicious if I ask the Maidens to keep an eye on you, and your identity must remain a secret, at least for the time being.” He glared at Cauthon as he said that. “Is that clear?”

“Crystal,” Cauthon muttered.

“But my Lord-”

“Natael, enough of your whining!” al’Thor barked. “We’re all in danger, everywhere, all the time. Do you believe your life to be worth more than that of any of the Maidens?” he asked, his tone dangerously soft. He reminded Natael a bit of Demandred, when he talked like that, which was ironic, really. Demandred couldn’t stand Lews Therin, and who was al’Thor but Demandred’s bitterest rival reborn?

“No, of course not,” Natael replied meekly. He did, in truth, value his own life more than that of…well, anyone else’s, but saying so out loud might get him hurt, or worse, judging by al’Thor’s expression.

The Dragon Reborn seemed to read right through him, but he made no comment regarding the obvious lie. He studied Natael with a calculating gaze for a minute while Cauthon shuffled his feet restlessly. Being near one of the Chosen was clearly making him jumpy. “I suppose you’re right,” al’Thor said eventually. “You may be in a more immediate danger than most.” A feral smile abruptly lit up his face. “But no retinue of Aiel for you, Master Natael. I have a better idea. In fact, I was just discussing the matter with Lord Bashere. You may have encountered him on your way here.”

Natael nodded dubiously. Bashere was the old Saldaean they’d almost ran into in their hurry to get to al’Thor, he assumed. But what did the man have to do with any of this?

A strong sense of doom engulfed him as al’Thor began to explain his plan.

Natael tapped Cauthon on the shoulder, and the lad nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw him. They were alone in the gardens, Cauthon sitting on a bench under a red myrtle tree. “What do you bloody want now?”

Natael proffered a bottle of wine. “I wanted to give you this. It’s a…thank-you gift. You know, for…saving me, earlier.”

“It wasn’t my intention,” Cauthon grumbled. “If I’d known…”

“If you’d known who I was, you would have let Graendal kill me?” Cauthon shrugged noncommittally. “Then you would have had to face her on your own, without the element of surprise – which, I’ll have you know, is what saved us both, rather than that big stick of yours.”

Cauthon glared at the bottle for a moment, then finally removed the cork, with his teeth, like the ill-mannered peasant he was. He sniffed the contents suspiciously, frowning. Natael sighed. “Here, I’ll take a swig.” He grabbed the bottle and drank avidly. It wasn’t great, nor even good, but he’d had much worse in this Age and was in dire need of a large dose of alcohol besides. “Mediocre, but not poisoned,” he declared as he handed the bottle back to the lad.

Cauthon took a cautious sip. “Mediocre?” he repeated incredulously. “This is fit for a bloody king!” He gulped down the equivalent of a glass before remembering to breathe. He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, causing Natael to grimace. That would leave a stain. Cauthon offered Natael the bottle again. “It’s ironic, you know,” he said wryly, “that the person I least intended to rescue is the only one who actually thanked me for it.”

Natael scowled at that, wondering what he meant. He was only being polite. Who wouldn’t thank the person who’d rescued them, no matter the circumstances? “I feel that it would have been quite cruel that I died this afternoon, so soon after…well, after already dying once this morning. So you deserve-”

“Wait, what?” Cauthon interrupted him. “You died this morning? What does that even mean? Is it a Forsaken thing?”

Natael cocked his head sideways, eyeing him curiously. Had he forgotten that he’d died, too? Or didn’t he understand how balefire worked, perhaps? He opened his mouth to explain, mentally preparing to have to repeat himself several times to get through Cauthon’s thick skull, but then he considered the matter more carefully. If Cauthon was lucky enough to have forgotten, or if he didn’t know what had happened at all, ignorant as he was… Perhaps it was for the best. Ignorance was bliss, wasn’t it? There was no need to traumatise the lad unnecessarily. The Great Lord knew, he was confused enough. “It’s an expression. An old one,” he said eventually. “’Die’ is just another word for ‘faint’. You know, you pass out, then you regain consciousness… It feels like dying. Or so I assume. I must be translating it wrong from the-” From the Old Tongue, he was about to say. But if Cauthon asked for the original word… It still irked him greatly that he had no idea why the lad was so fluent in Natael’s native language.

He shouldn’t have worried, however. Anyone else would have called him out on this preposterous lie, but Cauthon nodded indifferently, accepting the nonsensical explanation without hesitation. He snatched the bottle and took another swig. “So you fainted during the battle, eh?” he said tauntingly. “You must have been quite an embarrassment to the Forsaken. No wonder they’re trying to kill you.”

And people wondered why Natael had turned to the Shadow, honestly. People were so mean, and often to him in particular. He was already regretting being merciful a moment ago. He had better leave, anyway. He had to pack his things. He abandoned his saviour to his wine.

Fit for a king. Natael shook his head. Uncultured bumpkins, the lot of them.

Chapter Text

Too good for this world

Here is an ode to the goats

Please don’t eat my corpse

Natael stared at the crumbly old farm in dismay. What in the Pit of Doom was he supposed to do with that? He glanced at al’Thor, who stood rigidly at his side. The Dragon Reborn had a faraway look in his eyes. Of course, they were surrounded by two dozen Maidens of the Spear.

Natael cleared his throat. “Um…I assume that you intend to rebuild the place before it can become…” He hesitated. He still wasn’t sure what al’Thor meant to establish here. A school? A military camp?

…an asylum?

Al’Thor snapped out of his reverie. “The reason I want you to be in charge of this place is precisely because I do not have the time to oversee the project myself, Natael,” he said crisply. “If you deem it necessary to renovate the farm, do it. I leave that sort of decision to your better judgement.”

He could hardly believe his ears. For months al’Thor had refused to trust him with anything more than his harp and a rusty sword Natael could barely lift, let alone wield properly. And now he’d suddenly decided that he could be trusted with this?

“This” seemed to encompass many things. Foremost among them, the Dragon Reborn’s recent amnesty regarding all male channelers across the Westlands – which he didn’t rule, not by a long shot, but that didn’t deter the boy. Al’Thor had declared that male channelers would be protected, that they were welcome to join him and that he would prepare them for the Last Battle.

And Natael was supposed to be the one taking care of that.

In truth, he doubted that anything would come out of this, and certainly nothing good. How many male channelers could there be, knowing that the Red Ajah had been actively hunting them down and severing them for centuries? Besides, even with the amnesty, what sort of madman would want to learn how to wield saidin, knowing that it would eventually drive them insane and kill them? Not to mention the reputation they’d receive. Male channelers were considered a plague, and no amnesty would change that. Natael had heard stories of kith and kin delivering men they suspected of channeling to the White Tower, and even worse stories of families not bothering to call on the Aes Sedai and getting the job done themselves.

Natael shuddered involuntarily. He used to consider all this with detachment, but no longer. He was as much subject to the taint as any other male channeler. Going mad would be his fate, as well as al’Thor’s, eventually.

Although al’Thor had a clear advance on him in that regard.

Natael wasn’t sure what good he could do here, anyway. He could barely channel a trickle of the Power, and he was a poor excuse of a teacher – according to the boy, that was. The truth was that, despite everything, he was still trying to keep his knowledge to himself. He still entertained a faint hope that the Great Lord would forgive him and restore him as one of the Chosen – though it was becoming fainter as time went by, and even more so since Graendal’s attempt on his life.

True, things had turned out much better than he’d expected, after he’d been shielded by Lanfear and captured by the Dragon in Rhuidean. The early days had been downright ghastly, but after Cairhien, things had started to look up. Al’Thor pretty much stopped paying him any attention. He’d caught the boy startling at the sound of his voice, once, as though he’d entirely forgotten that Natael existed. Natael had been free to do whatever he wanted for a few weeks. He hadn’t considered fleeing, however, for fear that his former colleagues would get their hands on him. He felt somewhat safer in the shadow of the Dragon, despite the boy’s incipient madness.

Now al’Thor was cutting him loose, or near enough. Did he trust Natael, or was he simply eager to get rid of him? Or perhaps he was using him as bait. Natael wondered, for the umpteenth time that day, how long it would take the other Chosen to find him here. Would they fear a trap? Was it a trap? If it was, the Dragon hadn’t bothered to share his plans with Natael.

“You know what’s expected of you,” al’Thor said, his voice like steel. “Gather as many men as you can. Teach them. Train them. I’m not sure when I’ll need them, but they should be prepared to answer my call at a moment’s notice.”

The boy made it sound like a thousand male channelers would simply materialise here and would be fighting over the chance to serve him – to die for him, really. And he had the nerve to complain about Natael’s supposedly overinflated ego!

At best, Natael expected that, in a few months, he might have assembled a ragtag army of two or three dozen channelers. He wasn’t sure how much good they would do in the battle to come. What if one of them went mad during combat? They could as easily annihilate the Dragon’s army as that of the Shadow, or even cause a second Breaking.

No, Natael didn’t see what al’Thor had in mind, not in its concrete form, anyway.

He didn’t have much of a choice, however. The Dragon had commanded him to remain here and wait for recruits, to have them settled in and to test them. That was only the beginning, of course.

It was the waiting part that bothered him most. What was he supposed to do until people did show up? He loved playing his harp, but there was no one to listen to him play. He would be on his own – al’Thor had refused to provide guards. He couldn’t spare them, he claimed.

Well, on his head be it. Natael would likely be dead before the day was out.

Nobody came for Natael that day, nor the following week. He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or insulted.

Had the Chosen, like al’Thor, dismissed him entirely? Had they forgotten about him? It seemed unlikely. Petty vengeance was what the Chosen lived for, what they’d sold their souls for. So why was he still alive?

He almost wished he wasn’t. He was bored out of his mind. There was nothing to do out here, and his only audience consisted in a couple of skeletal goats and a dozen chickens. If he’d had his full strength, he could have at least worked on repairs on the farmhouse – the place really was falling to pieces. As it was, however, he could barely channel enough of the Power to boil water for tea.

It never crossed his mind that he could begin working on repairs physically, without using saidin.

And of course there was nothing else to drink; no wine, no liquor, not even the appalling ale of which the people of this Age were so fond. He had only water and tea. The situation was dire indeed.

If the taint didn’t drive him mad, boredom and forced sobriety certainly would.

And then Damer Flinn showed up. He was old and appeared to be in as bad a shape as the farm itself, but he was someone.

With Natael's luck, however, the man wouldn’t be able to channel and he would have to send him away. Although if Flinn really had nothing better to do with his time, he could work on repairing the farmhouse…and see to several other chores as well.

Testing men to detect their ability to channel was one of the dullest tasks he could think of. It could take up to half an hour, sometimes longer, and absolutely nothing happened during that time. Natael almost fell asleep while testing Flinn, though the man’s concentration never wavered. He seemed quite intent on testing positive.

And, against all odds, the former soldier proved able to wield saidin.

Well, well. That was an unexpected development. But perhaps it was just luck; it was unlikely that every man who came here would possess the ability. Or was it al’Thor’s ta’veren nature at work? Natael doubted it could influence the farm, with the boy so far away, but he wouldn’t put it past him.

Flinn was not very talkative. Natael gleaned that he was a retired Andoran Queen’s Guard who’d suffered a serious injury, but that was about it. He didn’t mention any family. He was, however, willing to work on renovations until Natael decided what to do with him.

Natael considered this. Flinn was strong, despite his advanced age, but wouldn’t it be more useful to teach him how to do it all with saidin? He might as well start his training now, and what better training than constant practice? Natael would have to instruct the man in how to even touch the One Power, of course. He’d never had to explain that to anyone. Al’Thor had known that much, at least, and it had been too long for Natael to remember how he had learned to do it. It felt natural to him, like breathing. So how to describe the process to an old man who’d likely never even considered channeling before he heard about the Dragon’s amnesty?

It was an awkward procedure. Natael’s patience ran out quickly, and his snappy comments only seemed to make Flinn more stubborn. Natael gave up after an hour. He told Flinn to take care of the few scattered animals then locked himself up in his bedroom with his harp. He’d told Flinn to take his bedroll into the barn. Natael was, after all, in charge of the place. He couldn’t have Flinn or other potential candidates sharing the same building. The men would need to know their place.

They tried it again the next day, with the same result. Honestly, how difficult could it be? He was enunciating the method with as much clarity as was humanly possible.

Three bloody days. That was how long it took until Flinn was finally able to seize saidin. He lost contact almost immediately, but it didn’t matter. He knew how to do it now. The difficult part was over.

Two more men arrived with a carriage from Andor that day. Natael tested them, but neither had the spark. He sent them away, after refusing to accommodate them for the night. This wasn’t a bloody inn, burn them.

He began instructing Flinn, demonstrating basic weaves of Air and Fire – Natael’s strongest elements. Now that he’d picked up the trick, Flinn turned out to be a fast learner. When he asked to be shown Healing weaves, however, Natael laughed in his face. Healing was not something taught to beginners. What Natael didn’t tell him was that, even had he possessed any skill in Healing, he was too weak to demonstrate it. He didn’t think that the other man understood how weak Natael was – not yet, anyway.

When three more men appeared the next day, Natael decided to show Flinn how testing worked. If he could leave all the dirty work to the old man, he wouldn’t hesitate. When one of the men was tested positive, Natael commanded Flinn to teach him how to embrace saidin. And just like that, he had delegated the two most annoying chores to the codger. Now all he had to do was teach them not to burn themselves out, but that proved unnecessary: the taint was so filthy that both recruits were reluctant to draw much of the Power for any extended period of time.

Natael had never expected so many men to willingly seek out the farm. Five men were tested the next day, four the day after that, though none of them displayed any ability to channel. It was as he’d told al’Thor: there simply weren’t that many male channelers left in the world, thanks to the Aes Sedai. What truly surprised him, however, was that many of the applicants were accompanied by their families.

That some brave, ambitious young men wished to fight for the Dragon Reborn was one thing. That they wanted to know if they could channel was already quite peculiar, but that they would displace their wives and children, uproot them in the hopes of joining a lost cause? He found it shocking – and idiotic. This was no place for women, let alone children, but when Jur Grady’s wife starkly refused to leave her husband behind, Natael didn’t insist. If the bloody woman wanted to witness her husband’s descent into madness, if she wanted their son to bear witness, then it was her problem.

He could have sent Grady away, of course, but with only three recruits so far, out of thirty applicants, he couldn’t afford to be picky.

Chapter Text

Dark and brooding, yum

Too dangerous for my taste

I’m not your servant

Life crawled by at the farm.

Natael had delegated most of the work to Flinn and the other applicants – there were only five channelers, and Natael had been here for over a month. If al’Thor had intended to use him as bait for the other Chosen, his plan had failed splendidly. The most interesting thing that had happened was the discovery of a wasp nest in the barn, which Gadren Grady had sensibly poked with a stick. The boy was now covered in lumps, which Natael had refused to Heal – officially, because the boy had had it coming, but really because he had no idea how to do that. Flinn had tried to take care of it behind his back, with no result. What had he expected? Healing was one of the most difficult skills to master, and Flinn had absolutely no basis to go by. The bloody codger relentlessly insisted on being taught more than sweeping weaves of Air to dust or threads of Fire to boil water, but Natael would not give in. He was not quite ready to admit that every single one of the applicants outmatched him by far.

At least he had wine, now. Al’Thor had finally decided to send more substantial provisions to the farm, probably thinking that Natael now had an army to feed. Far from it, but the wine was a welcome addition to his personal supplies.

He spent most of his days in a haze, usually outside in the sun, playing his harp while Flinn and Grady toiled and sweated – Natael hadn’t deemed relevant to teach them how to ignore the unnatural heat. It was relatively amusing to watch, and he had precious little entertainment as it was.

The latest arrival, however, was going to turn everything upside down.

He didn’t arrive in a cart, but accompanied by the Dragon Reborn himself. And a dozen Maidens, needless to say.

Natael was sitting on a hay bale, busy trying to remove a wine stain from his favourite fuchsia silk shirt when anxious mutters from the men caused him to raise his head. Al’Thor was marching toward the farm at a quick pace, trailed by his usual retinue of Aiel ladies. At the Dragon Reborn’s side, standing almost as tall as the farm boy, was a strapping man in his late twenties or early thirties.

For a moment, Natael could only stare. In the little time since he’d been brought out of his millennial slumber inside the Bore, he’d met very few men as handsome as this one. He had jet black hair and tilted eyes, and his features - high cheekbones and a hooked nose - marked him as Saldaean as certainly as Natael’s had marked him as a native of Shorelle, when the city still existed.

Natael had a fairly good idea who the newcomer might be; al’Thor had been discussing the matter with Lord Bashere just before sending Natael to the farm.

Mazrim Taim had arrived.

Taim strode inside the courtyard as though he owned the bloody place. He surveyed the men assembled there with unconcealed derision.

Natael stumbled to his feet. He hadn’t realised that he’d drunk that much. He did his best to look presentable and moved forward with affected nonchalance to welcome al’Thor and this new, infamous recruit. “My Lord Dragon,” he called out cheerfully, “what a pleasant surprise.” It really wasn’t. A bit of forewarning would have been nice. At least Natael would have had time to change. His shirt clashed horribly with al’Thor’s ruby red one. Not to mention the wine stain. And he bet there was hay on his trousers, to top it all. Blood and ashes! He must look like an unwashed beggar. Taim’s dark eyes drifted toward him as he spoke and drilled into Natael, as though the man were trying to read his very soul. Natael nodded to him politely, waiting for al’Thor to introduce them.

The Dragon Reborn obliged. “Master Natael, this is Mazrim Taim. Taim, this is Jasin Natael.”

Tah-eem? Is that how it’s pronounced? Natael had been mentally calling him Tame from the beginning. Thank the Great Lord he hadn’t said it aloud. It would have been awkward. “Pleasure,” Natael said. Taim said nothing. He was still intently studying Natael.

Was his hair tousled? He ran a hand through it quickly. “Ah…perhaps we should discuss in private, my Lord Dragon?” he suggested, gesturing toward the main building, which he’d taken as his own house. Darkness within, how it grated on him to utter those three ridiculous words with every other sentence he used to address al’Thor.

“No need. I’ll make an announcement to all.” He glanced around with a slight frown, as if wondering where everyone was. “Gather your men, will you?”

“That’s…all of them, my Lord.” He pointed to the pitiful group that fidgeted a few paces away, trying very hard not to eavesdrop. Or not to appear to be eavesdropping, in any case. Grady’s wife and his senseless son were coming back from the goat pen, obviously wondering what was going on. Sora Grady’s brow was furrowed.

The Dragon’s blue eyes darkened, but he said nothing. He moved forward so that everyone could see and hear him. “I am the Dragon Reborn,” he declared. Natael held back a snigger. The boy was clearly not used to making speeches. His words almost tripped over each other in their haste to be out of his mouth. Al’Thor’s cheeks heated up in embarrassment at the lack of reaction from the men. He cleared his throat roughly. “I thank you for joining my service. I hope Master Natael has made you feel welcome here.” One of the boys snorted loudly. Natael gave him the evil eye. Thankfully, al’Thor paid him no attention. He was too busy trying not to stutter, it seemed. He gestured toward Taim, who was now looking thoroughly bored, though there was the faintest hint of a smile playing across his lips. “This is Mazrim Taim,” the Dragon went on. That brought out some gasps. If he’d been al’Thor, Natael would have felt envious of the nervous glances the men stole in Taim’s direction. “He will assist Master Natael in the teaching of channeling saidin. They will both be in charge of the farm.”

Taim’s head jerked sideways at that, the ghostly smile vanishing in an instant. Natael couldn’t suppress a grimace. Both in charge? What in the Pit of Doom did that mean? Natael was the superior authority here! Surely al’Thor was not implying that that upstart Taim was to be his equal? “My Lord Dragon,” Taim began. The words seemed to be dragged out of his throat, and he didn’t appear to enjoy the process. “I’m not quite sure I follow. I thought I was to be in charge of the students?” His voice was calm, but imperious. He was a man used to having his way.

He had some nerve! He’d just arrived, and already assumed he had a right to command everything and everyone, Natael included? He was three hundred years his junior, for pity’s sake! It had to be a misunderstanding. Al’Thor must have misspoken.

The "students" were shuffling awkwardly, unsure whether to stay or leave the three to argue. They’d heard more than they’d wanted, it seemed. “Go back to your training,” Natael barked at them. They scattered like dead leaves in the wind. Al’Thor gave him a strange look, but Natael was undeterred. “My Lord Dragon, we should continue this discussion in private,” he urged him once more.

The boy finally saw sense and nodded, indicating that Natael should lead the way. They settled in the tiny kitchen. Natael didn’t offer anyone a drink. It wasn’t his place to do so. Let Taim serve the wine.

He didn’t, of course. He sat regally on one of the rickety chairs as though it were a throne. Beside him, al’Thor looked like an uncouth, gangly youth. Natael took his place across the table, directly facing Taim.

“I’m the best choice to lead this ragtag…army of yours, al’Thor,” Taim announced without preamble. “Your man here can barely channel a trickle, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“I’m well aware of that, yes,” the boy replied calmly. “He’s not much of a teacher, either.”

“Please, enough praise. You’ll make me blush,” Natael said acidly.

“Then you’ll agree that I’m better suited to see this through,” Taim went on matter-of-factly. “He hasn’t even bothered to-”

“I don’t trust either of you,” al’Thor said bluntly. “And I know you won’t trust each other, or see eye to eye. That’s why I'm putting you both in charge. At least I know you won’t turn against me. You’ll be too busy fighting each other.” He looked ridiculously smug.

Taim stared at him stonily, as if wondering how insane he was, already. Natael imitated him, without really meaning to. The boy’s mental health had certainly not improved in the last month. “My Lord Dragon,” he began hesitantly, not wanting to anger him unnecessarily. “While I understand your concern, I don’t see how-”

“What the gleeman is trying to say,” Taim interrupted him harshly, “is that if we can’t see eye to eye, as you put it, managing the school together will be a near-impossible task. If we have to quibble over every single detail, how are we supposed to progress with the actual training and recruiting? I understand that you wish to assemble a proper army of channelers in a record time, correct?” He raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

Oddly, al’Thor didn’t appear cross at being spoken thus. If Natael had said half those things… And he was a bard, for pity’s sake, not a bloody gleeman! He was about to reprimand the man when the Dragon Reborn spoke. “That is correct, Taim. And I fully expect you two to see that it is done. You will have to make it work.” He stood up, placing the palms of his hands on the table. Sunlight filtered through the window and shone on his hair; it was like watching a burning fire. “We have months before the Last Battle, gentlemen. A year, at most. I want fifty men with basic offensive abilities before the Feast of Lights. Am I making myself clear?” he asked softly.

Natael gaped at him. Fifty men? It was impossible! He had barely managed to scrape five in the last month! How were they supposed to find another forty-five in two months? And train them for battle, what was more! “My Lord Dragon, I cannot give you what doesn’t exist. There are only so many male channelers left alive-”

“It shall be done,” Taim said smoothly, bowing his head a fraction. “Fifty warriors by year’s end.”

Natael turned to him, a snide remark on the tip of his tongue, but al’Thor forestalled him. “I expect weekly reports,” he added. “Natael seems to have forgotten about that.”

“I’ll be sure to remind him,” Taim assured him.

“Good. I’ll be back soon.” Without another word, he turned on his heels and exited the building.

Natael glared at the door, then at Taim. “What in the Pit of Doom do you think-”

“Who are you?”

“Will you stop interrupting me?!” Natael shouted. He sobered up when he replayed the question in his mind. “What do you mean, who am I? We were introduced less than half an hour ago!”

Taim studied him attentively for a moment. His eyes were not quite black, Natael noted, but a very dark shade of brown, with gold flecks around the irises. “The recruits are all stronger than you are,” he mused. “You’re a gleeman, or you pose as one. Al’Thor doesn’t trust you. Why would you be here, if you were not someone important? Someone he wants to keep close at hands, like myself?” Natael remained silent. This was not a good topic of conversation. Al’Thor hadn’t said anything, but Natael suspected that he was to keep his identity secret, even from Taim. “Are you him? Ablar, the False Dragon from Ghealdan?”

Natael laughed, mostly with relief. “Logain Ablar was captured and gentled months ago, Taim. I can channel, lest you forget, and believe me, you had better not underestimate me, no matter how weak you think I am.” He stood up to pour himself a glass of wine. “And I’m no gleeman. I’m the Dragon’s personal court bard. You’d do well to remember that.”

Taim shrugged with affected carelessness. “If you say so. I’ll have some of that wine,” he added imperiously.

Natael was tempted to throw the pitcher in his face but refrained from doing so. Al’Thor wanted them at each other’s throats, but not too much, if that made any sense. Rivals, but not enemies. Associates, but not allies. As he gazed at Taim, proffering the glass of wine he’d so graciously requested, Natael couldn’t help but wonder how long it would take until one of them murdered the other.

Chapter Text

Quit interrupting

I must live while I still can

Oops, too late, I’m dead

Natael took a sip of his wine. “Well then, what do you propose?” he demanded. “Five men, Taim. That’s what I got in a month. Why did you go and tell al’Thor that-”

“You haven’t been actively recruiting,” Taim cut in. “You’ve been sitting on your arse, waiting for them to come to you. We need to go to them.”

Natael chuckled darkly. “And how do you imagine that’ll go? ‘Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, but we’re here to steal away your sons, husbands and brothers to build the Dragon’s army. Oh, and by the way, they’ll probably go mad before they get the opportunity to actually participate in any battle.’” He sneered. “These people are terrified of male channelers. They consider them – us – cursed, dangerous, contagious even. Even if a lad suspects he might have the spark, or simply wishes for the chance to prove himself in combat for a noble cause, do you really believe he’ll step forward where everybody can see?” He held Taim’s gaze. “And if you interrupt me again, there’ll be pain,” he promised.

Taim gave him that ghostly half-smile that was already beginning to irk him greatly. “We won’t be welcome,” he admitted. “Not at first. Not in most places. But in time-”

“In time they’ll stop being afraid of you and simply start stoning you as soon as you appear,” Natael asserted. “Besides, al’Thor clearly stated that we were not to leave the farm. I have been waiting for the applicants to show up because that’s what I was ordered to do.”

Taim frowned. “He forbade us to leave the farm? He didn’t mention that to me.”

“Well, I’m telling you now. We’ll have to take them as they come, and now you’ve gone and promised him forty-five men. What were you thinking? There may not even be forty-five channelers in the world!”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Taim said offhandedly. “I’ve come across dozens of them, out there in the Blight.”

“The Blight? What were you doing in the Blight?” Natael asked faintly. He’d known Aginor personally. Most of his…inventions were the stuff of nightmares, and many of them were said to still haunt the Blight in present days.

“Practicing my weaves,” he replied tersely. “Unlike al’Thor, I had no mentor, competent or not. I taught myself everything I know.”

That couldn’t be much, then. If he was as ignorant as the farm boy had been, when Natael first met him… Although Taim had been quite successful as a false Dragon, if rumours could be believed. He’d wreaked havoc in his native Saldaea and might have done a lot more damage if al’Thor hadn’t declared himself the Dragon Reborn, thus causing the Pattern to strike down all other pretenders. Natael would do well not to underestimate him.

Taim looked as though he’d read his mind. His almost-smile widened a fraction. “I think we can both agree that I’ll make a better teacher. Perhaps you should take care of the more…menial tasks. We’ll need supplies, after all. And when more men arrive, we’ll need to house them somewhere.”

Who did he take Natael for? His butler? A common janitor? Then a thought struck him. “House. Yes. About that.” He gestured at the kitchen. “I’ve taken this building for myself,” he explained. “You’ll need to stay in the barn with the recruits.” He allowed himself a satisfied smirk.

Taim eyed him flatly. “I’ll sleep there tonight, certainly. I’ve slept in worse conditions.” If he’d wandered along the Blight, he probably had indeed. “Tomorrow I’ll start working on a house for myself,” he went on, swirling the wine in his glass. “It’ll be good practice for the students.”

Natael blinked. “You’re going to have them build you a house?”

“Why not? As I said, we’ll need to house several dozen men in the future.”

“Yes, you keep saying that, but I’m telling you, there simply aren’t that many male channelers. The Red Ajah has been quite efficient in hunting them down, it seems, and it’s not uncommon for men who discover they can channel to off themselves.” Now that he was subject to the taint and doomed to go mad like the rest of them, Natael could see the appeal in that, though suicide was quite…extreme; it would be a last resort solution. But perhaps he’d change his mind when the madness came creeping in and he began to rot. “You claim to have encountered several in the Blight, but were they practicing, as you were, or seeking their death?” For that matter, was Taim truly there to teach himself how to wield saidin, as he claimed?

“For one thing, you seem to forget that channelers won’t necessarily display any ability to channel outwardly. Those who can be taught, but weren’t born with the spark, will probably live out their lives without ever knowing it. Those are the ones we must look for in priority, since they’ll have been overlooked by the witches. And as for them,” he continued with a grimace of distaste, “they are not quite as proficient as you seem to think. Why, in Saldaea alone, I knew of fourteen men who escaped their notice.” He paused. “Of course, they all went mad eventually, but at least they died on their own terms.”

“How come you’re not mad?” Natael demanded. “You’re…what, twenty-five, thirty?” Taim made a non-committal grunt. “How long have you been channeling, Taim? Five years? More?”

“I could return the question, you know,” he countered. “You’re older than I am, clearly.”

Clearly? What was that supposed to mean? He looked barely a day over thirty!

Taim chuckled. “Your face is a display of emotions for all to read, Master Natael. You must be a terrible liar.” He waved at him dismissively. “I don’t know why I’m still sane, to tell you the truth. Luck? Fate? Perhaps the Pattern has other plans for me. I’m much more concerned about al’Thor’s sanity than about my own, in any case.”

“You noticed it, too?” Natael asked quietly. Taim nodded. “He mutters an awful lot, doesn’t he?”

“I distinctly heard him converse with ‘Lews Therin’,” Taim concurred. “How long until he loses his mind completely, do you think? He claims that Tarmon Gai’don is upon us. Months, he said. Does he really have that long?” The man appeared genuinely worried, although, unlike Natael, his face wasn’t an open book. A slight crinkling around the eyes, a minute tightening of the lips. Natael might be terrible at keeping a straight face, but he could read people like no one else.

“I couldn’t say. I’ve never witnessed it, you know,” Natael told him earnestly. “A man going mad from the taint.” It was the simple truth. He wasn’t around when the Great Lord cursed saidin and, as far as he knew, al’Thor was the only male channeler he’d encountered before coming to the farm. He’d read much about it, however, and certainly didn’t look forward to witnessing it, let alone suffering from it. But it would happen sooner or later, whether he liked it or not.

“I have,” Taim murmured. “One of them was a friend.” He didn’t expand on the matter, but cleared his throat roughly. “I understand what he wants us to do. An army of male channelers, I get the idea. But if they go mad before they even set foot on a battlefield, what good does it do him? Or, Light preserve us, what if they lose their minds while fighting? They could turn on us. They could decimate us, or accidentally kill him. And then what?” He spread his hands.

“I’ve had the same thought,” Natael admitted. “And I couldn’t find a satisfying answer.”

“I might have, but…” Taim shook his head. “That’s impossible. Not even he could pull that off.”

“What are you talking about?”

“What if he somehow cleansed saidin of the taint?” Taim said, a glimmer of hope sparkling in his dark eyes.

Natael stared at him. Light, was he mad, as well? Blood and ashes!

“I know, I know,” Taim said with a bitter chuckle. “I know how it sounds. But unless he’s already lost his mind, that must be his plan, don’t you think? Otherwise, anything we achieve here is utterly pointless.”

Well…it did make sense. But it couldn’t be done, surely. The Great Lord himself had tainted saidin. Not even the Dragon Reborn could cleanse it. Not even with Callandor. Although the boy did possess the access key to…

“It sounds crazy, doesn’t it?” Taim said with a sigh. “Well, be that as it may. I suppose we’ll have to be careful with our recruits, that’s all. And if they present a danger to themselves, or to others, we’ll have to…dispose of them.”

He was certainly practical. Natael wondered if he’d done it before – disposing of a madman, that was. That “friend” of his, perhaps? “I’ll leave that to you. If you’re going to be in charge of tutoring them, that’s on you,” he told the other man with a smirk. That’ll teach him to impose his ideas without preliminary discussion. Taim’s face remained impassive. “I still don’t know how you intend to recruit forty-five men before the end of the year,” Natael pointed out. “Considering that we have orders not to leave the farm,” he reminded Taim.

“Al’Thor will have to see reason,” Taim said. “I’ll talk to him, when he next visits. Or perhaps I’ll pay him a visit myself. More men will come, in any case. It takes time for word of the amnesty to reach abroad, but they’ll come, eventually. In the meantime, we should focus on training the few pupils you’ve gathered. What exactly have you taught them, so far?” Natael shrugged lightly and explained that he’d demonstrated how to carry out domestic chores. Taim regarded him sternly. “And? That’s it?” He snorted in disbelief. “Soldiers indeed. What are they supposed to do? Fight off Trollocs with brooms?” He stood up abruptly and started pacing. “They’ve been idle for too long. They’ve lost a whole month of proper training, thanks to you,” Taim scolded him.

Natael was about to give a scathing retort, but someone rapped on the door, three sharp knocks in rapid succession. He sighed in annoyance. What now? “Come in,” he barked.

The door opened and revealed a handsome young man with golden hair. Taim scowled at him. “What is it?” Natael had to refrain from repeating the question, which he’d been about to ask himself. He closed his mouth with an audible click and threw Taim a dirty look.

The newcomer grinned at them both in turn. He had perfect dentition, a wonder in this barbarian age. “I was told to find Master Natael,” he announced brashly. His voice was surprisingly deep. “I’d like to enrol in the Dragon’s army.”

Natael snorted. “Not so fast, lad. We take in channelers, not soldiers.” He certainly had the stature of a soldier: tall and lean, but quite muscular. Quite pleasing to the eyes, too, not that it was relevant. “You’ll have to pass the test-”

“I can channel,” he broke in. “I can’t control it, but it’s happened before. That’s why I ran away from home and decided to join you, when I heard about the amnesty,” he explained haltingly.

Natael cared little for backstories, and even less for being rudely interrupted. “Yes, well, I’ll be the judge of that,” he snapped.

“Can you seize saidin?” Taim asked calmly.

“I…” The lad hesitated. “Not intentionally,” he admitted. “Things have happened when I was…angry. Or upset. Or…um…” He didn’t finish his thought.

Taim nodded. “Natael here will instruct you. I’ll take over your lessons once you’ve mastered that particular skill.” Natael stared at him as he deposited his empty glass on the table. “In the meantime, if you’ll excuse me, I must see to the other students. They are in dire need of proper discipline,” he added with a faint grimace. Without another word, he edged past the lad and closed the door behind him with a weave of Air.

Natael inhaled deeply in an attempt to calm himself. Taim wouldn’t live long if he kept ordering him about. Al’Thor had made it quite clear that they were both in charge; that meant that they were on equal footing. Taim was not his superior. Not in any way.

With a huff of exasperation, he glanced at the lad, who stood near the cold hearth. He didn’t look at all uncomfortable; on the contrary, he seemed to consider taking a seat at the table, edging forward as discreetly as possible.

Well, they might as well sit, Natael reflected. He took a chair for himself and indicated the one opposite him. The lad took it gratefully.

Now that Taim was gone, Natael took some time to study the young man. His golden hair was tangled and dirty, though he’d obviously made an effort to smooth it before entering. His clothes – cheap peasant trousers and a plain shirt, a simple traveling cloak – were threadbare and dusty. His face was a bit gaunt. He smelled like someone who hadn’t bathed in a week or more. He would have to get acquainted with a bucket of water before Natael could attempt to teach him anything. “What’s your name, lad?” he asked eventually, his curiosity getting the better of him.

“Mishraile. Atal Mishraile.” He gave Natael a winning smile, blue eyes sparkling. Natael found himself wanting to return it, but refrained from doing so. He had to detach himself from the recruits, no matter how handsome they may be.

Mishraile was most likely Andoran, if he’d reached the farm on foot after hearing of the amnesty. Not that Natael cared. “I’m afraid my…associate was rather impolite. His name is Mazrim Taim, and I’m-”

Mishraile gasped loudly, his eyes trying to escape their orbits. “The Mazrim Taim? The False Dragon from Saldaea?”

If not for the weeks he’d spent as al’Thor’s captive, which had taught him, if nothing else, to remain cool and patient under all circumstances, Natael would have likely bashed the lad’s head with one of the chairs. Did the people of this age knew nothing of manners? He wasn’t asking for much, for the Great Lord’s sake! Wasn’t it basic civility not to interrupt your elders? He did his best to school his features, painfully aware of Taim’s earlier remark that his face was an open book. “Indeed,” he said curtly. “And I am Master Natael, Court Bard of the Lord Dragon.”

Mishraile frowned slightly. “You’re a…bard?” He said the word as though he’d never encountered it.

Natael could almost hear his nerves fraying. “I am.” He cleared his throat. “You should wash up. Have a proper meal. The lesson can wait. Find Sora Grady. She’ll know what to do with you.”

“Could I also, um, take a nap? Just an hour or so,” he added quickly, with a bright, slightly abashed grin. “I’ve been on the road for weeks. I’m exhausted. My lord.”

My lord. Now, that was better. Natael eyed him critically. The lad did look like he could use some rest. If Natael tried to teach him to seize saidin now, it would likely be a frustrating, chaotic mess. “Very well. You have two hours. Sora will show you to your…” ‘Bed’ was a stretch. The recruits slept on piles of hay in the barn. “…she’ll show you where to sleep.”

Mishraile nodded his thanks, stood and moved toward the door. Before he could stop himself, Natael called after him just as the lad placed his hand on the knob. “Or you could wash up quickly and then come back to sleep in a proper bed. There’s one upstairs.”

Oh, bother. What in the Pit of Doom…? The madness must be upon him. Though to be fair, his earlier encounter with Taim and al’Thor had left him discontented, to say the least. He could use some…distraction.

Mishraile turned around slowly, a smile spreading across his face. His blue eyes glinted mischievously.

“Will you focus?” Natael chided Atal without heat. “It won’t work if you’re distracted.”

They were in the kitchen once more, drinking wine as Natael attempted to educate the younger man. The “nap” had lasted over four hours; it was about time they set to the task Taim had so bossily assigned to Natael earlier.

Atal grinned. “It’s difficult not to be distracted when you’re not wearing a shirt,” he pointed out. Well, he wasn’t wearing one, either. After laundering it quite thoroughly, Sora had insisted that his shirt needed sewing – or, ideally, replacing. Natael would go to Caemlyn on the morrow to find something more appropriate for Atal to wear. He was far too gorgeous to wear a tattered, faded shirt. Though he did look good without one. He’d tried one of Natael’s, but Atal had much broader shoulders. Natael was hardly scrawny, but the lad was more muscular than he appeared when he had clothes on.

Now he was getting distracted. Enough on the subject of Atal’s strapping body. Natael took a sip of wine; it was quite terrible, but it was one of the best to be had in this primitive Age. Seizing saidin, he summoned another flame. “Concentrate on the flame. Empty your mind. Seek the Oneness.”

Atal’s smile vanished as he renewed the experience – it was already the third time. They’d tried it once while still in bed, but that had proven impossible. They’d quickly ended up-

No! Focus, burn you! If he wavered, Atal would notice that the flame was flickering and lose his concentration.

And, as the saying went, the third time was the charm. Atal was suddenly filled with saidin. He grimaced, though his eyes were slightly glazed. A combination of awe toward the power pulsing through him and distaste at the taint, Natael surmised. Atal was quite powerful, he noted. He would make a fine addition to their sparse ranks. He smirked. “You were much quicker in bed,” he teased the lad.

Atal didn’t smile back. He seemed completely absorbed in his own thoughts. “I’d almost forgotten how sickening it was,” he murmured. “Every time it happened, I kept hoping that the power would overwhelm the sensation that the taint was insinuating itself in my brain, slowly driving me mad.”

“Yes, well. That’s how it is. You can’t have one without the other,” Natael stated pragmatically. He didn’t want to even think about the taint right now. After such an enjoyable afternoon, couldn’t they talk about something else than the ineluctable madness that threatened them both?

There was a knock on the door. Natael barely had time to register it before the door opened. He didn’t even wonder who it might be; none of the recruits would dare to enter without his permission. Taim strode in purposefully, but stopped in his tracks when he took in the scene. To his credit, his expression remained carefully guarded. His dark eyes casually rested on Atal’s bare back for a second before moving on to Natael’s face. “A word?” he enquired flatly.

Natael cleared his throat. “Atal, if you’ll-”

He was already on his feet. He eyed Taim with a combination of uneasiness, wonder and fear and bowed deeply. “My lord,” he muttered as he nearly ran for the door.

Taim raised an eyebrow in his direction before focusing his attention on Natael. “I suppose I don’t need to tell you that this is highly…unprofessional,” he said.

Natael cursed himself mentally as, to his greatest dismay, he blushed. Taim’s not-quite-smile appeared on cue. Unprofessional? Burn him! He was a grown man, he could do as he bloody well pleased! “You’re the tutor,” he retorted sweetly. “I’m just here to take care of the more…menial tasks.”

Taim scoffed. “I don’t think this can be considered as a ‘task’, Natael. And for peace’s sake, he’s just a boy. How old is he? 18? 20?”

“And just how old do you think I am, exactly?” Well, he was over three hundred years old, but Taim wasn’t supposed to know that. Besides, it certainly didn’t show.

Taim stared at him. “That’s hardly the point. You can’t bed the recruits, Natael. It’s not proper.”

“Proper?” Natael exclaimed. “The people of this-” This time he cut himself off. He’d been about to say ‘Age’. He took a deep breath. “Sorry to break it to you, Taim, and to shatter your innocence, but some men like to bed other men,” he said wryly.

Taim rolled his eyes. “I’m Saldaean, you lummox. I assure you, I know more about sex than you will ever know. I don’t care about the gender of the people you sleep with, I only wish you wouldn’t bed my pupils! Is that too much to ask?”

“Well, considering we’re stuck here, and that the only available people are your pupils, yes, that would be a problem,” Natael replied acidly. What was he supposed to do? Stay chaste until the Last Battle?

“Trolloc balls,” Taim muttered. Huh. That was a new one. Natael carefully stored it for later use. “You have no consideration for anyone but your own little person, do you?” he spat out angrily. “You spineless, cock-driven idiot.”

Natael gaped at him. The nerve of the man! If he only knew whom he was truly addressing… No. He couldn’t tell Taim. Al’Thor would have his hide – provided that Taim didn’t blast him to pieces first. He didn’t have a chance to reply, however.

“I agree wholeheartedly,” a deep voice concurred, seemingly out of nowhere.

A glacial shiver ran down Natael’s spine. He knew that voice. He didn’t need to look around to know whom it belonged to, but he did so anyway. He was standing in the shadows of the dining room, a part of the darkness itself, quiet and deadly as a Myrddraal. How long had he been there?

It hardly matters, Natael thought derisively. That was it. He was a dead man.

Chapter Text

Barid Bel Medar

The almost handsome Chosen

So terrifying

Demandred took a step forward, his tall, muscular frame filling the doorway. He looked imposing and menacing without even trying. Another shudder ran through Natael. He had only briefly encountered the other Chosen since awakening from the Bore. Demandred looked swarthier than he remembered, which caused Natael to wonder where he’d settled. Somewhere sunny, apparently, but that could be many places, especially given the current, unnatural heatwave.

Natael was tempted to go with a casual “long-time-no-see” phrase when Taim spoke up. Natael had almost forgotten that he was there. “You certainly didn’t waste any time,” he remarked coolly.

Natael glanced at him in surprise. Did they know each other? “I beg your pardon?” Demandred said. For a mass-murdering psychopath, he had always been quite polite.

In any case, they apparently did not know each other. Demandred’s almost-handsome face was a mask, but it was clear that he had no inkling what Taim was going on about. “Why,” the Saldaean went on, “I’ve been here for less than a day and you’re already trying to recruit me.” Demandred did scowl at that. So did Natael. “You’re one of them, aren’t you?” Taim asked with affected carelessness. “A Forsaken.”

Demandred regained his composure, smoothing his features. “Kneeling is usually considered appropriate, when one is in the presence of one of the Great Lord’s Chosen.”

Taim, of course, did no such thing. “Which one are you?” he mused. “I want to say…Demandred? Sammael is supposed to be much shorter than any of us here, and the other men are all dead, according to al’Thor.” That was mostly accurate, as far as Natael knew, except for one obvious exception.

If Taim didn’t shut up soon, Natael realised, Demandred would disintegrate him where he stood. The Chosen had no patience for witty banter. “Yes, well, you hit the mark, Taim,” Natael broke in. He did his best to smile dazzlingly at the intruder. “Barid Bel. How good of you to visit.” Natael had a feeling that, if Demandred had been sent to kill him, he would be dead already. This simple fact boosted his confidence. “You should have sent word ahead. I would have had some poisoned wine prepared, as is customary.”

Demandred rolled his eyes. “This is no courtesy call, Nessosin.” Taim started at that, but he wisely kept his mouth shut. “I could have killed you thrice since I arrived,” he said without inflection whatsoever. Was that supposed to be a threat? Natael almost snorted. The man hardly needed to spell out threats to be menacing.

“There are two of us,” Taim pointed out. Natael was tempted to knock him out cold, but it was too late. “And only one of you.” Natael slapped his forehead as Taim embraced saidin. Great Lord, Light, Creator help him. Didn’t the man possess any instinct of self-preservation?

Taim wove Air and Fire, but Demandred was faster. He’d likely been holding the Source from the start and masking the fact, something of which Taim seemed blithely unaware. Demandred dodged easily and sent him sprawling with a nonchalant thread of Earth intertwined with Fire. “Too slow, boy. Too clumsy. You have much to learn.” He didn’t sound angry. Vaguely irritated, perhaps, as though Taim were a persistent mosquito he couldn’t quite get rid of. “I can teach you. Everything you’ve always wanted to know, and more besides.”

So Taim was right; Demandred had come to recruit him. If so, why not wait for the man to be alone? Was he going to kill Natael in a gruesome fashion, as a demonstration of his might, in an attempt to entice Taim with the appeal of power? Demandred turned his eyes on Natael after fastening threads of Air around Taim and shielding him. “As for you…Natael, it seems you have been given a second chance.”

“I…I have?” The nearly-imperceptible grimace of contempt told Natael that it hadn’t been Demandred’s idea. A second chance. Could it truly be? Natael dared not hope. The Great Lord was not known for His forgiving and merciful nature.

Demandred nodded absently. “For reasons unknown to me,” he went on, “I am told that, if you prove yourself worthy in this endeavour, the Great Lord shall welcome you back amongst us. He shall restore you to your former strength and…status.”

“Endeavour?” Natael repeated. He didn’t like the sound of that.

“It is nothing more than what Lews Therin has demanded of you, really. You are to assemble an army of male channelers and train them in the martial arts. Then you are to Turn them to the Great Lord’s will. Whether they agree to it or not is irrelevant.”

Turning? He wanted Natael to Turn every single man who would join al’Thor’s army? It was impossible. The Dragon was bound to notice, for one thing and, for another, they didn’t have the resources, far from it. Where were they supposed to find thirteen Black Ajah Aes Sedai and how were they supposed to smuggle them-

Was he really considering it? Well, he’d be a fool to refuse such an unexpected boon, but… He glanced at Taim. His dark eyes flashed with humiliation and rage. He appeared to be gagged as well as bound.

“The same offer goes for you, Taim,” Demandred went on when Natael remained silent. “Become a Dreadlord now and earn your chance to be promoted in the future. You have great potential, I can tell. In due time, you could be one of us.” He took another step forward and crouched gracefully to level his eyes with Taim’s. “Immortality. Limitless power. Everlasting sanity. You would never have to struggle against the taint again, Taim,” he murmured engagingly.

As Demandred unfastened the saidin-woven gag, Natael expected Taim to fly into a furious rant. Instead, the younger man took a deep breath before speaking. “And if I refuse?” he asked quietly.

Demandred stood, unfurling his long limbs to better stare down at Taim’s immobile form. “You shall die,” he replied simply. He was a man of few words. “And then you shall rise again, and serve the Great Lord nonetheless. It would be a shame to waste that quick wit of yours, but if you should choose to live on as a mindless lackey, so be it.”

Natael’s brow furrowed deeply. Rise again? That was new. Was he really implying…resurrection? Had the Great Lord recuperated sufficient strength to affect the Pattern so markedly?

“Very well,” Taim said unconcernedly. “I take the deal. Now would you please be so kind, Great Master, as to release me from this uncomfortable position? My back hurts.”

Natael stared at him. Just like that, he’d agreed to it? To forsake the Light, to give his soul to the Great Lord? Natael had pondered on it for years before taking Ishamael up on his offer. Well, to be fair, he’d had the luxury to ponder for years. That was not Taim’s case.

Nor his, not this time, he realised as Demandred turned to face him once more. Taim stumbled to his feet like a drunkard and massaged the small of his back, cursing under his breath. He wouldn’t quite meet Natael’s eyes.

Well, what had he expected of a False Dragon, of a man who had ravaged his native land? He’d known the man for just a few hours but he already knew that Taim was ambitious and prideful. He’d expected more resistance, though, he had to admit. Perhaps Natael wasn’t such a good judge of character after all.

Demandred’s stony gaze was fixed upon him. Natael cleared his throat, which felt dry as dust. He would most certainly need wine, when this unfortunate episode was over. “I… Of course, yes. I’ll do anything. I live to serve,” he stammered meekly.

Demandred smirked, as if he’d expected nothing else. “We shall speak again of Turning, once you have gathered enough candidates. I give you six months, but I will be back before that, rest assured.” He eyed Taim appraisingly. “You must swear an oath.” Taim acquiesced. Demandred handed him a Binding Rod and told him what to say, and Taim diligently parroted him. The Saldaean’s face was impassive.

Demandred finally nodded in satisfaction. “It is done. Well, you have your orders. I expect results,” he told them sternly. Without another word, he wove a gateway and stepped into a white room. Natael stretched his neck, trying to get a better look, but all he glimpsed was an impeccably organised desk. Then the gateway closed.

Natael looked at the spot where Demandred had just vanished in wonder. “He didn’t make me swear the oath,” he marvelled. Demandred couldn’t be that oblivious, surely. Was this a trick?

Taim regarded him strangely. “Why would he? You’re already one of them, aren’t you? I mean, you are Asmodean, correct? Nessosin, that was your former name.”

Natael nodded. “Correct indeed, but al’Thor severed my link to the Great Lord,” he explained. “I doubt that my oath still holds. I’ve given away many secrets to the boy, which shouldn’t be possible.”

Taim was silent for a moment. Then, against all odds, he laughed. “Then we have a major advantage over your old pal, Barid Bel…Whatever. We can still turn this around.”

“But… You barely hesitated! I assumed…”

“That I would serve the Dark One and its incompetent minions?” Taim sniggered. “I think not.”

“But you took the oath, Taim. You can never take it back.” If there was a way, he didn’t know it, save what had happened to Natael – but that wouldn’t work with Taim. He was a mere Dreadlord, not one of the Chosen. Not yet.

“Of course I can take it back. We just need to obtain one of those…rod thingies and reverse the process.” Oh. Natael had not considered that option. Still, it was easier said than done. Binding Rods did not grow on trees, especially those attuned to men. “Anyway, what was I supposed to do?” Taim asked with an air of supreme annoyance. “He had me shielded and bound. I picked the option that wouldn’t get me killed, that’s all. It’s common sense.”

“So…you don’t want to become one of the Chosen? To live forever? To retain your sanity? To-”

“No, no and no. I mean, yes, I do want to remain sane, but not at all costs.” He levelled his gaze with Natael. They were almost the same height; Taim was perhaps half an inch taller. “Do you?”

Natael hesitated. He thought he did…up until the very moment Demandred had stepped out of the shadows. Seeing his arrogant face had brought up a bitter resentment he didn’t know he felt. For years Natael had been the black sheep, mocked at every turn by his peers. He was a coward, he was useless. He had no special talent except for his music. He was no general, no mastermind. Was this his chance to show them who he truly was?

On the other hand… Did al’Thor deserve his faith and trust? The boy was going mad already. But that was just the point, wasn’t it?

“We have to make certain that the Dragon Reborn triumphs,” Natael murmured. “If he dies, or loses his mind… We’re all doomed. The Light has to prevail.” Natael didn’t care much about either the Light or the Shadow; he never had. But if the Shadow – if the Great Lord – had the upper hand in the battle to come, He would break the world.

Although al’Thor was supposed to do that, too. It was quite the conundrum.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Taim said. “How you could ever be so foolish, I’ll never understand.”

Natael’s head snapped up. “What?”

“How could you believe in promises made by an entity known as ‘The Dark One’? Or the Great Lord, it hardly matters. Does that really inspire trust and mindless devotion?” He seemed genuinely puzzled.

Well, when he put it like that… “I didn’t… I cared little about the Great Lord. I was in for the everlasting life and fame. And I got it, didn’t I?”

Taim snorted. “You’re infamous, certainly, but no one remembers your music, if that’s what you were hoping for. Look at you now. Demoted to nothing, forced to prove yourself all over again. And for what? There is only one place at the Dark One’s side. Only one of the Forsaken will make it, in the end. Did you really expect to be that person?”

He’d never really thought about that, but it was true that the Chosen were meant to be rivals just as they were supposed to be allies. He had never trusted any of them and they reciprocated the feeling. Some of them he quite frankly despised. His brief partnership with Lanfear had not been his idea, obviously. But for a chance to get the access key, he had agreed to put up with the blasted woman, though her personality was as rotten as her face was beautiful.

Natael’s head was beginning to hurt. Too much happening at once. He got up to pour himself another glass of wine. He badly needed one. His hands shook slightly as he lifted the pitcher.

He heard Taim exhale heavily behind him. “You’ve made several wrong decisions in your life, Natael. But we can still turn this to our advantage. This is your chance at redemption. Our chance.”

“What do you have to redeem yourself for?” Natael asked as he turned around.

Taim gave him a blank stare. “The destruction of a large part of Saldaea and the death of hundreds of innocents in my futile campaign to become the Dragon Reborn?” he suggested. “The cold-blooded murder of four Red Ajah Aes Sedai as I escaped?”

“How did you escape?” Natael wondered.

Taim waved the question aside. “A moment of inattention on their part.”

Right. Simple as that, eh? There had to be more to it, but Natael decided not to press the matter. “What do we do, then? Warn al’Thor?”

Taim frowned darkly. “No, I don’t think that would be wise, given his…delicate mental health.” He started pacing, arms behind his back. “The boy gave us two months, and Demandred gave us six. I suggest that we go on as planned – recruit and train the men. Then we hope that al’Thor somehow comes up with something to counter the effects of the taint, and if he doesn’t…” He stopped in his tracks and glanced at Natael. His eyes shone brightly. He looked like someone who’d just had an epiphany. “We should gather our own army.”

“To protect ourselves against the Chosen, or against al’Thor?”

“Both,” Taim said. “Why pick a side now? The Forsaken are currently overwhelmed. Al’Thor has offed…what, six of them? And he’s tamed you.”

Tamed? Tamed! Natael could feel his face burn with anger – and perhaps humiliation. “I’m not…!” He huffed in exasperation. “Now that you know who I am, do you really feel it’s safe for you to say things like that where I can hear them?”

Taim’s face never changed, except for that thrice-cursed half-smile, which chose that moment to resurface. “You’re here, aren’t you?” He shrugged. “Forget about that. What I meant to say was that we should gather the army, as planned, and only decide what to do with them…later. Say, six months from now. If al’Thor goes berserk, we hunt him down and kill him, before he can break the world. Then we go after the Forsaken. Save those who can be saved. If the Dragon somehow pulls through… Then we come clean and stand with him against the Forsaken in the Last Battle.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Natael muttered.

“It won’t be easy. It will be bloody hard. You can bet we’ll have spies crawling in every nook and cranny and Darkfriends disguised as allies all over the place. It will be the most difficult thing either of us has ever done, and it might kill us.”

He fixed Natael with ominous eyes. “But it’ll be worth it, if no one ends up breaking the world.”

Chapter Text

Silky shirts are cool,

I am not taking the cart

You need to chill, dude

“Ooh, look at this one!” Natael exclaimed. He touched the silk, caressing the smooth material. It was good quality, he could tell. As was to be expected. This was the tailor shop where he’d had most of his own clothes sewn, after they’d removed Rahvin from his seat of power. It was a bit on the expensive side, but Natael wasn’t paying for anything himself, after all. That had to be the one perk to his ordeal: al’Thor had given them a very large budget for any expense they deemed necessary.

Well, Atal needed new clothes. That was a necessary expense, no doubt about it. And the colour would bring out the azure blue of his eyes.

Taim pinched his hooked nose. “What are we doing here, Natael? You said you had important business to see to in this part of the city.”

“Our recruits require proper clothing, Taim. Clothes are a reflection of the character of the person wearing them. It is important business.”

The Saldaean rolled his eyes. “You have exactly five minutes to purchase whatever you think you need to dress up your...” He trailed off, then waved in annoyance. “Five minutes, then I’m leaving, with or without you.”

They had come to Caemlyn on this fine day to approach the Dragon Reborn on the matter of actively recruiting outside of the farm. Al’Thor had sternly denied Taim’s request to use gateways. It wouldn’t be safe, he claimed. Natael thought that Taim had presented a correct argumentation, but nothing got through to al'Thor. The Dragon had eventually snapped and told them to go about their business and leave him alone.

Natael would have gladly wandered around the shops for hours, but he needed Taim to open the gateway that would bring him back to the farm – he was presently too weak to do it himself. His only alternative would be to take the cart that brought their potential recruits every day and Natael wasn’t too fond of the idea. Sharing a cart with a bunch of smelly peasants for over an hour? No, thank you.

“I thought I told you that your…relationship with the boy was not appropriate, Natael,” Taim went on as Natael inspected the rest of the merchandise. Surely Taim wouldn’t really leave him behind if he dawdled. He wouldn’t dare. “And yet I caught him coming out of your house this morning.”

Natael pretended not to hear. Instead, he caught the tailor to haggle the prices. That was something he’d always been good at: negotiating. Ishamael had recruited him for that very purpose – well, that and his undisputable musical talent, obviously.

He managed to lower the price by a suitable amount. Satisfied, he turned to Taim. The man’s measurements were close enough to Atal’s, who hadn’t been allowed to come himself. Taim had the recruits working hard, mainly on building him his own house. The bloody man was incredibly self-centred.

And he was gone.

Natael stared at the spot where Taim had stood barely…what, two minutes ago? He looked around, past the throngs of guards and elegantly dressed nobles with their retinues of servants. Perhaps Taim had spotted a nice shirt for himself. He had a good fashion sense, but his clothes were not adequate for one of his station. He should wear more silk. And more colours. And a bit of lace.

Natael told the tailor to wait for him and walked up the street, head swivelling in all directions. Surely he hadn’t dared-

“Are you done yet?” Taim’s voice enquired from behind him.

Natael started and glared at the man. He carried a hefty package under one arm. His face was expressionless, as usual, save for that infuriating smile of his. This time it looked more like a smirk. “I need your measurements,” he said testily. “Come with me.” He turned on his heels and returned to the tailor’s without looking back to see if Taim was following.

“I have enough clothes, Natael,” Taim muttered. “I don’t need you to buy me-”

Natael sniggered. “Buy you clothes? Darkness within, why would I do that?” The tailor gasped at the curse and Taim threw Natael a warning glance. Oh. Right. He smiled brightly. “As I stated before, they are for Atal. He just happens to be about your size. Therefore, if you would be so kind as to-”

“I would not,” Taim retorted scornfully. “I have better things to do with my time, Natael. Now, are you coming back with me, or would you prefer to wait for the cart?”

Natael had to restrain himself from strangling the man. “Fine.” He turned to the tailor, whose face had gone an odd shade of green. All that, just for a minor, temporary lapse? Weakling. “Give me the silk, as we discussed. I’ll have Sora sew the shirts for Atal.” She was quite skilled, for an untrained farmer’s wife, but Natael would have preferred that the tailor made them himself. Oh well. It would be cheaper this way.

The tailor didn’t need to be told twice. Within a few minutes the material was carefully wrapped, the money changed hands, and Taim and Natael were making their way toward a secluded alley. It wouldn’t do to open a gateway in the middle of Caemlyn. Despite the amnesty, men channeling where anyone could see would still cause quite a commotion.

As they walked swiftly through the streets – Natael, though he was about Taim’s height, had trouble keeping up with the Saldaean’s long strides – he couldn’t help but glare at the package under Taim’s arm. “What is that? I hope those aren’t clothes. If you didn’t leave me enough time to purchase my own, it’s not fair for you to-”

Taim didn’t spare him a glance and forged ahead without slowing down. “I had them fitted the other day, when I arrived in Caemlyn. I was just picking them up.” His voice hardened. “And I told you that you had five minutes. I patiently waited for ten minutes, gave up, and it was another twenty minutes before I found you wandering the streets helplessly, looking for me like a small child who’s lost his mother.”

He was exaggerating. It hadn’t been that long. Surely. And he was not helpless. And would he bloody well stop interrupting-

“You need to be focused on what’s important, Natael. And by the way, I could have used your help, earlier, to convince al’Thor,” Taim went on bitingly.

Now he was even interrupting his thoughts! Burn the man! “It was your idea,” he retorted. “I only came along so I could visit the tailor.”

They had reached a street with little passage. Taim stopped walking and turned to face him. His expression didn’t give away much, but his lips were pursed, his jaw was clenched. His eyes flashed with anger. “You will have to reassess your priorities, bard.” He said the word with so much scorn that his voice nearly cracked with it. “We have a mission. We can’t waste our time or resources on frivolities. And I told you to put an end to whatever you and Mishraile are up to. He’s been here two days. We have no idea whether or not he’s trustworthy. For all we know, he’s one of Demandred’s spies. We can’t have him snooping around.”

“Are you sure you’re not simply jealous?” Natael enquired innocently.

Taim’s gaze went blank. “Is this all a game, to you?” he asked softly. “Do you have any idea what’s at stake here? Do you realise what will happen if we fail?”

Natael shrugged. “Atal and I don’t exactly spend our time together talking, if you get my meaning. He’s not going to learn anything from me, I can assure you.”

Taim was now obviously struggling to keep his temper. “Regardless, you shouldn’t be messing around with the students, Natael. How do you think the others will see it? It’s favouritism. It will cause dissension in the ranks.”

Natael scoffed. “The ranks? Taim, we have six men. Six! Even if the others have a problem with it, what can they do? Rebel against us? Stage a coup, plan a revolt?” Taim was being ridiculous. “We’re in charge. What we do is none of their business, whether or not it involves other students. Besides, we’re both consenting adults. It’s not like I’m taking advantage of my position to make Atal do anything he's not comfortable with.”

“I strongly disagree,” Taim insisted. “This senseless fling is sapping your authority. Not that you had much to begin with,” he amended with a twist of his mouth.

“What do you care? It’s my problem, not yours. And it’s not even true,” Natael said stubbornly. “They think very highly of me. I got them this far without your help, didn’t I?”

“And what do you have to show for this month-long mentorship?” Taim countered. “Five men who can sweep dust with a weave of Air and start fires they can’t control. It’s no wonder al’Thor is going mad, if he had you as a tutor for several weeks. You’re useless.”

That was the last straw. He’d been called every variation of useless for too long. “You think you can do better than me, you boorish philistine? You know nothing! Did you know that you could mask your ability to channel, as Demandred did? That-”

“I can?” Taim asked, obviously surprised.

Natael threw his hands in the air. “I’m going back to the palace,” he announced. “I’m going to tell al’Thor everything, and he can deal with you as he pleases. I can’t do this. You’re impossible.” He turned on his heels and walked toward the palace with determination.

He was nearly at the end of the street when he realised that Taim wasn’t trying to stop him. Natael chanced a glance over his shoulder.

Taim was gone.

Natael looked around. Burn him for a fool! Taim could Travel as he pleased. He must have gone to the palace to warn al’Thor – he wouldn’t put it past the Saldaean to claim that Natael had lost his mind and attempt to discredit him.

Darkness within! What to do now? Should he run away? And go where? Demandred would find him sooner or later, or one of the others would. Graendal may come back for him, if she learned that Asmodean had betrayed the Chosen, or intended to. Natael shuddered at the thought. The idea of becoming one of Graendal’s pets was unnerving, but knowing that he may have to deal with Semirhage instead was nearly enough to send him reeling.

“Are you quite done throwing a tantrum like a spoiled infant?”

Natael jumped a foot into the air and turned to glare at Taim. The bloody man was lounging against a wall in a nearby alley, shrouded in darkness. He had never left at all. Natael seized saidin, by mere reflex.

Taim scoffed. “And what do you intend to do now, pray tell? You may have the years of experience on your side, but I am far more powerful, gleeman. Do you really wish to find out if old age will prevail over the arrogance of youth?” That cursed half-smile was back in place. Burn him! Burn it all!

Taim took a few leisurely steps forward, hands behind his back. He hadn’t even taken hold of the Source. “I could kill you, Natael. It would be as easy as crushing a gnat between my fingers.” He gestured to demonstrate, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together. “I could have killed you a hundred times in the few days I’ve known you and blamed the deed on the Forsaken. Or I could have claimed that you’d run away, gone like a thief in the night. Al’Thor would have accepted either explanation without flinching, don’t you think?” he asked with mock nonchalance. “He expects you to betray him. He always will.”

Natael sniggered. “He doesn’t trust you anymore than he trusts me.”

“Which is why neither of us will go to him. He played us both quite masterfully, I must admit. To force us to share the leadership of the school, that was brilliant.” School? Was it what they were calling the farm, now? “Perhaps he was hoping to subtly get rid of us – one or both, I cannot say.”

“Subtlety is not exactly al’Thor’s cup of tea,” Natael mumbled.

Taim chuckled softly, and it sent a shiver down Natael’s spine, though he wasn’t sure why. “Indeed. He is a fool. He has much to learn, and too little time to do so. And he has dispatched the only two people who might have helped him, out of sheer paranoia. He fears us. You, because of your obvious connection to his enemies. And myself, because I attempted to steal his thunder,” he went on with a self-deprecating smirk. “He knows that I am as strong as he is, or near enough, and that I have years of practice on him. As for you…” He cut off abruptly, frowning. “My people told me what happened in Cairhien, with Lanfear.” His people? What did he mean by that? His former allies, followers of a failed False Dragon? Where were they now? Natael stored the questions away for later consideration. “If she was the one to shield you, and she died in the attack…”

“She’s not dead,” Natael admitted. “She must be stuck in Sindhol.”

“Sindhol?” Taim repeated questioningly.

“The realm of the Finn,” Natael explained dismissively. At Taim’s scowl, however, he added, “The Aelfinn and Eelfinn? The Snakes and Foxes? Darkness within, you are so blithely ignorant.”

“I assumed… The Finn are real, then?”

“Of course they are. But that’s not important. The point is that-”

“Not important? Does al’Thor know that Lanfear still lives?” Taim demanded imperiously. “Does he not wonder why your shield has not been lifted?”

Natael shrugged. “He never mentioned it.”

“Myrddraal tits!” Taim cursed. “And you tell me this now? He has to know! What if she comes back? He’ll never see it coming!”

Natael’s mind was still trying to wrap itself around the words ‘Myrddraal tits’. What did that even mean? Myrddraal did not have… He shook his head in an attempt to dispel the disturbing images the expression called for. “She’s as good as dead, Taim. No one escapes that place. Not even one as ruthless and diabolical as Lanfear.”

The Saldaean eyed him doubtfully. “We should at least warn him. The thought obviously hasn’t crossed his mind. Which is a testimony of how far gone he already is. Were I him, I would have shielded you the moment Lanfear disappeared through the portal. Better safe than sorry.”

“Anyone with a sound mind would have,” Natael agreed reluctantly.

“Perhaps he doesn’t fear you as much as I imagined, then,” Taim stated.

That hit too close to the mark. Natael found it unbelievably unflattering to be thus dismissed. He was a dangerous man, burn the Dragon! He was one of the Chosen! Even shielded, he could-

Taim was smiling knowingly, as though he’d read Natael’s thoughts. He was tempted to wipe it off his handsome face with a thread of Fire intertwined with Air – he was still holding on to saidin, despite the foulness of the taint – but he was unsure how Taim might react. Taim’s weaving was crude, a sure way to advertise the fact that he had received no formal training, but he was fast and vicious. The weave he’d attempted to direct at Demandred, the other day… It would have made Semirhage proud. And knocked Demandred out cold, perhaps even killed the bloody Chosen, if it had reached its intended target.

Natael breathed out slowly. He had to get a hold of himself. The bloody man was getting on his nerves, but he had no choice but to work with him. They were in this together. There could be no turning back now. They were two against the world, whether they liked it or not. “I’d like to point out that al'Thor didn’t shield you, either,” Natael muttered.

“I didn’t give him a chance to do so,” Taim replied haughtily. “Now if you’re done with your time-wasting bickering, are you ready to head home?” Home? That was even more bizarre than calling it a school. “Or did you forget to purchase a decorative hat to dress up your Atal doll?”

Natael lashed out with the Power without even thinking about what he was doing but, just as the weave formed, Taim opened a gateway between them. Natael’s weave dissolved as it hit the wrong end of the gateway. “Well, you made your choice,” Taim said briskly as he stepped inside the gateway. “Have a pleasant ride in the cart.”

“Why, you-!” The gateway winked out of existence before he could formulate a proper sentence that would convey what he thought of Taim at that moment.

Chapter Text

Turns out he was right

But don’t tell him I said that

Let me eat in peace

Natael came down the stairs, scratching his budding beard and yawning. Glancing out the window, he noticed that the sun was already high in the sky.

It was surprising that Taim hadn’t come banging on his door to wake him at dawn, as he’d done the previous days. Natael had complained, of course, but Taim claimed that they had to set an example for the recruits. They needed discipline and blah blah blah… That was usually when Natael stopped listening to the lecture. He always took his time getting ready and was never out of the house before noon, no matter how early Taim came knocking. They were equals, burn the man. Taim had no right ordering him about like the peasants they were instructing – or were trying to instruct.

Natael nearly tripped over his own feet when he realised that there was someone in the kitchen. Nobody would dare, except Taim or one of the Chosen-

It was Atal. He seemed to be…cooking. “What in the Pit of Doom are you doing here?” Natael demanded, hands on his hips.

Atal, dressed in one of the shirts Natael had had fitted for him, a gorgeous periwinkle thing with lace in all the right places, glanced in his direction, a lazy grin slowly spreading on his youthful face. “Morning, sunshine,” he greeted Natael brightly. “I’m making breakfast.”

Natael pinched the bridge of his nose as Atal returned his attention to the frying pan. “Mishraile,” he said crisply, “we’ve talked about this. I told you that we couldn’t-”

“You said that Taim had forbidden it,” he corrected Natael. Natael sniffed. He hadn’t said that; Taim had no authority over him. Natael had simply judged it best to put an end to this meaningless fling. He’d come to that decision entirely on his own. “He won’t know if we don’t tell him,” Atal added mischievously.

“Curse you, we’ve been through this! It’s…unethical.” Atal glanced over his shoulder, frowning at the word. Natael sighed. “It’s wrong, Mishraile.” Hopefully using his last name and the resulting lack of familiarity would help him understand. “Just as I explained yesterday, when you caught me unaware in the latrines, and just as I did the day before that.”

“But I…I thought you were joking. That you were pretending to reject me in front of Taim, or just playing hard to get. I thought you wanted this. You bought me silk shirts!” he said plaintively.

“And I said you were welcome to keep them,” Natael said with all the patience he could muster. Burn Taim, but he had been right all along. Atal was following him around like an affectionate puppy; it was annoying and quite a bit embarrassing. The others had started to notice. Natael had to put an end to it once and for all before it degenerated. “But this…” – he gestured at the both of them – “this was a mistake, Mishraile. We can’t-”

There was a sharp knock on the door. Natael glared at it. His life had become a long series of rude interruptions, it seemed. “Come in,” he called resignedly.

Flinn opened the door a fraction and peered inside the house hesitantly.

“What is it? Is there a problem?” Natael demanded.

Flinn cleared his throat. He looked uncomfortable. “Um, Master Taim is looking for the lad, my lord. Mishraile, I mean,” he added with a jerk of his bald pate toward Atal.

“He’ll be right with you,” Natael assured the old soldier, who nodded before closing the door.

Natael rounded on Atal. “You didn’t even bother to excuse yourself from class?”

“I did!” Atal exclaimed. “I told Taim that I wasn’t feeling well, that I needed some rest…”

“And then you went straight to my place. It’s a small farm, Mishraile. Did you really believe that Taim wouldn’t notice you sneaking into my kitchen? The man’s a lot of things, but he’s neither blind nor stupid.”

“Well I… I just wanted to…” Atal stuttered.

“Get out.” The lad hesitated. Darkness within! If Natael had been any stronger in the Power, he’d have seized saidin and made Atal flee in terror but, weak as he was, it was more likely to make him laugh in pity. “Get. Out. Now!” Natael growled at him.

A moment later, Natael was blissfully alone with some delicious smelling bacon. He shrugged, then settled at the kitchen table. It would be a shame to let the food go to waste.

As he put the first bit of meat into his mouth, the door banged open. Natael swallowed reflexively and nearly choked. He glowered at Taim. “I sent the lad away, burn you! I swear, I told him to stop coming here, but he’s just too bloody smitten and stubb-”

“Shave and get dressed, you indolent twit,” Taim snapped. “Al’Thor is here. Chop-chop!” He was gone before Natael could respond.

Ugh. When would the bloody sheepherder learn to send word of his arrival?

Natael wondered if this impromptu visit had anything to do with the report they’d sent the previous evening – the report that Taim had written and that Natael had co-signed with barely a glance at the too-numerous words. It was just another plea in favour of Travelling to recruit channelers, amidst the dozen others that Taim had sent in the past few days. Perhaps the boy had finally seen sense, given the low number of recruits they’d gathered thus far.

As it turned out, that was indeed the purpose of al’Thor’s presence on this improbably warm autumn day. When the boy gave him permission to use gateways to recruit outside the farm, Taim had trouble holding back a smug smile, Natael could tell, but he doubted that al’Thor noticed. His mind seemed very far away and he only stayed for a few minutes, departing after insisting on shaking the hand of the newest recruit, Jonan Adley, who’d apparently arrived that very morning from Caemlyn.

Taim allowed himself a satisfied smile once the Dragon was gone, then barked a rough “Back to work!” at the students. They didn’t need to be told twice…except Flinn, who lingered behind. He was obviously nervous, fidgeting with the pommel of his sword, which never left his side, but he held his ground as Taim studied him with narrowed eyes. “Yes, Flinn?” he asked softly.

“My lord, respectfully, I have no problem working on that house of yours – I’m sure we’ll need more lodgings soon anyway – but would it be possible, perhaps…” He trailed off, shifting slightly, though his gaze never wavered. “Are you at all familiar with Healing, my lord?” he finally blurted out.

Natael huffed in annoyance. “I told you, Flinn, Healing is not for beginners. It requires skill beyond what you-”

“I do have notions, yes,” Taim cut in smoothly. There it was again, Natael thought. Idly, he wondered if he’d be able to finish a sentence ever again. “I can show you what I know, but I’m afraid Healing is not my strongest ability.”

Flinn seemed to be struck speechless for a moment, but he recovered quickly. “You would?” Forgetting who he had in front of him, Flinn clasped Taim’s shoulder in his excitement. The Saldaean’s face never changed, but Flinn’s hand jerked back as if he’d been shocked. “I, um, thank you, Lord Taim.”

Natael scoffed loudly. Lord Taim? Really? Taim’s dark eyes shot him a warning glance, and Flinn clearly noticed it. The older man cleared his throat. “I’ll, um, go back to work, then.” He gestured toward the slowly rising walls of what would soon become Taim’s new residence, bowed swiftly and nearly fled, his limp almost forgotten in his haste to get away from them.

“Do not,” Taim hissed, “ever do this again in front of one of the recruits. Especially Flinn.”

“You cannot be serious,” Natael retorted, incredulity tingeing his voice. “You just challenged my authority in front of him! And now you’re complaining that I mocked that ludicrous title he’s suddenly decided to give you?”

“I did not-” Taim cut off, closed his eyes and inhaled deeply before reopening them. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have done that. Not like that. I…apologise.”

Natael gaped slightly, but the moment was over too quickly.

“But you were wrong to refuse to teach him even basic Healing. We have no Healers, and I meant what I said. I have very little skill in that area. But you must know more than I do, surely, as one of the mighty Chosen.” Taim’s trademark smirk made an appearance.

“Why do you think I turned him down, you fool?” Natael snarled. “Even were I well-versed in Healing, I cannot demonstrate the weaves.”

Taim’s smile vanished. “Is it really that bad?”

“It is, if you must know,” he replied through gritted teeth. “Everyone here outmatches me. How do you think that makes me feel?” He exhaled harshly. As if Taim cared how Natael felt. “Al’Thor is punishing me, for some reason. He had to know that I would be useless. He knew I would fail, and then he’d have the perfect excuse to have me executed-”

“Will you stop that nonsense? Al’Thor has a brain the size of a chickpea, Natael. I doubt that he considered any of that. He didn’t even think to make certain that your shield was still in place. If anyone’s useless, it’s him.” Natael stared at him, and Taim appeared to realise what he’d just said. He masked a clearly faked cough behind one hand. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have much to see to. Go back to your lovingly prepared breakfast, why don’t you?” he added wryly as he turned and walked away.

Natael smiled after him and decided to do just that.

Chapter Text

I heard a rumour

That I’m a bloody weakling

I want a new coat

“Master Natael, sir?” a small voice called hesitantly. Natael turned around, frowning, then glanced down. It was Gadren Grady, the foolish boy who’d disturbed a wasp nest in the barn a few weeks ago.

“What is it?”

“Is it true that my Da is stronger in the Power than you are?”

Natael stared at the lad. What in the Pit of Doom-? Jur must have been bragging to his son to make himself appear more formidable than he was, which was not at all. It must be a thing that fathers did. Proper fathers. “Nonsense is what it is,” he said sharply. “Better tell your father that he oughtn’t make such ridiculous claims. And you certainly shouldn’t be spreading them.” If the boy had known whom he was addressing, Natael’s glower would have been enough to send him running back to his senseless father, crying and shaking in terror. Unfortunately, he was merely “Master Natael” here – though he was still in charge, burn the lad. A bit of respect wouldn’t go amiss.

“But sir, it wasn’t Da who said so,” Gadren insisted.

Natael waited for the child to reveal the name of the culprit, but of course he was going to make Natael ask for it. Curse children! “Who told you this preposterous lie?” he demanded through gritted teeth.

Gadren leaned forward and spoke in a low voice, though there was no one else in sight. “It was Atal. He told us all at dinner last evening.”

Natael felt a shiver slowly crawling up his spine. He wouldn’t dare…! “Mishraile is new here,” he said briskly. “He knows nothing. You be sure to tell everyone that.” Gadren blinked, but he remained silent and stood there like a street lamp – except that the boy wasn’t quite as bright as a street lamp. “Go on now, shoo,” Natael added, gesturing for the lad to leave him alone.

Finally, his two neurons connected and he departed at a run. Natael gazed after him and, when he was certain that the boy was out of earshot, he let out a groan of annoyance, kicking at a clump of dirt. Atal would have to be appropriately punished for this. How did he even know how weak Natael was? He was always careful to mask his ability to channel around the students.

Ah. Except perhaps that first day… Natael may have been slightly…distracted. Darkness within!

He took a deep breath to calm himself. Nobody was likely to believe Atal – he was brash and boastful; the adults would certainly dismiss him. And Gadren was only a child. No one ever listened to children, except other children, but Natael couldn’t care less what the brats thought of him. They weren’t under his responsibility. He’d made that perfectly clear when Sora had begged to stay with her husband.

Ugh! Taim would give him that almost-smile of his when he found out, Natael was certain. He frowned suddenly. Where was Taim?

As if the thought had summoned him out of thin air, Taim stepped out of a gateway just inches from where Natael stood. Burn the man! “What do you think you’re doing?” Natael hissed at him. Taim arched an eyebrow in his direction. “You could have killed me with that gateway, you idiot! You can’t just materialise wherever you bloody want. Pick a spot that’s likely devoid of people. Don’t you have any sense at all?”

Taim was gazing at him, hands behind his back, patiently waiting until Natael finished his rant. “None of my students have any reason to be standing idly by in this area at this time of day,” he said flatly. “And lest you’ve forgotten, let me remind you that this is the designated spot for homebound gateways." Natael glanced down and noticed a spot marked with an X. Oh, right. "Also, you ought to be working on the ledgers, not wander the grounds aimlessly. If you insist on bailing out of educating the men, it’s the least you can do. We've talked about this, Natael. We must share in the chores. I’m only one man.”

Ledgers, Natael fumed. Share in the chores. They weren’t a married couple, and he wasn’t Taim’s bloody lackey! Besides, he didn’t have a head for numbers. If Natael took care of the ledgers, they’d be bankrupt by the end of the month. He was an administrator, not a mathematician. He’d already explained this to Taim, but the man was irritatingly stubborn. “You were gone a long time,” he muttered eventually. “What happened?”

“Well, if you must know, I just saved al’Thor’s skin. A Grey Man attempted to kill him.”

“Was it gratifying? Did the lad congratulate you warmly and offer to give you titles and lands he doesn’t own? Did you share a bottle of wine to celebrate this glorious victory over the minions of the-”

Taim’s face darkened. “Oh, do shut up. He seemed quite…displeased. He wanted to interrogate the creature,” he added with a sneer. “As if it would yield anything of import, provided that al’Thor could even get it to talk, which I doubt.”

Natael opened his mouth to say something, but the words eluded him when he noticed Taim’s coat.

It wasn’t the one he’d been wearing when he left. It was brand new, black as coal, with embroidery on the sleeves. Embroidered…dragons? Natael blinked, then looked up at Taim in astonishment. “What in the Pit of Doom is that? Did al’Thor give it to you?”

Taim snorted contemptuously. “Of course not. I had it made in Caemlyn. That’s why I was gone so long; I went to pick it up at the shop and had to haggle the price with that weasel of a tailor.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway. Where-”

“Are you out of your bloody mind? Taim, while I can acknowledge the quality of this new, completely unnecessary expense,” Natael said wryly, “I doubt that al’Thor will appreciate the flaming dragons that decorate it.” He shook his head. “What were you thinking?”

Taim shrugged, not a hint of shame or regret on his handsome face. “It seemed appropriate. I am his official representative here, at the farm, and it will hold the people’s attention when I go recruiting outside of Andor.”

“I’m not entirely certain that it will get you the right kind of attention,” Natael grumbled. “And what about me?”

“What about you? You’ve had a dozen shirts custom-fitted for you and you have enough coats to last even a channeler a lifetime. I only have two coats and three shirts. Don’t whine to me about unnecessary expenses.”

Natael huffed in frustration. “What I meant,” he said acidly, “is that I should have dragons embroidered on my own coats as well. We’re both in charge here, remember?”

“And yet I’m the one people consider as the true leader of the school.” Taim’s expression was carefully blank, but there was just a hint of that cursed smile on his lips.

“I don’t know where you’ve heard that, but-”

“Everyone knows it, Natael. The men, their wives, their children… In Caemlyn, people refer to me as al’Thor’s second-in-command.” That couldn’t possibly be true. He was making this up. “They don’t see you as a leader. They think of you as the…janitor. If that.” He chuckled. “A janitor usually works.”

Janitor? “Take me to Caemlyn right this moment,” he commanded.

Taim’s smile was firmly in place now. “Or what? No, Natael. If you want an upgraded coat, you will have to work for it. Keep the ledgers in order, write your reports on schedule, then perhaps I will consider it.”

“This is ridiculous. I could order any of the men to open a gateway for me. I don’t need you.”

“And what will they make of it, I wonder? The great Natael cannot weave his own gateways? Is he too weak, or too lazy?”

Oh, blast. That reminded him. “Mishraile already took care of this, it appears,” he said, jaw clenched. “He’s been spreading rumours about my…limited strength in the Power.”

Taim’s smile was almost…cruel. “It’s not a rumour, Natael. It’s a fact.”

Natael’s eyes widened. “You-! This was your idea? I told you this in confidence. And you just-” He made an unrefined sound, between a growl and a whine.

“Mishraile asked me some pertinent questions and I gave him honest answers, nothing more. That is part of my duty as his tutor, is it not? He wished to learn how to gauge another channeler’s strength and he also wanted to know which of us was the more powerful.” When he said “us”, Taim gestured at the two of them. “I couldn’t help but laugh,” he admitted without an ounce of remorse.

“You’ve ruined my reputation,” Natael complained. “I was wondering why they were sniggering at me…” More than usual, anyway. “It’s all your bloody fault. I thought we were working together, burn you!”

“Oh, we are. But every team needs a properly defined leader, even a team of two. I am superior to you, Natael. I have the strength, the charisma, and al’Thor trusts me a good deal more than he trusts you. Why, even your former…associates are prone to trust me rather than you. After all, I never betrayed them.” He leaned closer to Natael and spoke in a low murmur. “Remember this, bard: if you screw me over, I can, and will, destroy you.”

Natael glowered at Taim’s back as the other man walked away at a leisurely pace. It was always like that with him. One day Taim very nearly praised him, the next he threatened to murder him for no apparent reason. Was he mad? It certainly wasn’t mere moodiness. Had the taint finally breached that thick skull of his and contaminated his brain? There was no way to know for sure; as far as Natael knew, Taim had always been a whimsical pain in the arse.

Only time would tell.

Chapter Text

Al’Thor is the worst

The pins clash with my pink shirt

Hand me the medan

Natael usually did his best not to emulate Taim in any way – it was the younger man who ought to emulate him – but at the moment they were both unhappily brooding. Fuming, even. They sat in Natael’s kitchen, untouched mugs of cooling tea in front of them. Natael wanted wine, but Taim had insisted that they should be sober to discuss this...delicate matter.

This bloody fiasco, in Natael's opinion. “What in the Pit of Doom was he thinking?” he muttered for the umpteenth time.

He expected a biting retort from Taim, but the man chose to further attack al’Thor’s attitude. “What an utter fool! Does he have any idea how it made us look? The obviously surprised, disapproving expressions on our faces, the stupid pins he forced us to wear…” He cut off in a huff, then started rambling again. “Does he think of us as children? Grown men don’t wear pins, burn him!”

“It was insulting,” Natael concurred. “Demeaning. He has no respect for anything or anyone. I told you that. He’s not the innocent farmboy he pretends to be, not anymore.”

Taim scoffed. “You think he did it on purpose, to humiliate us in front of the men?” He shook his head. “Judging by his reaction when he finally deigned to acknowledge our existence, after that pitiful speech, I daresay that he expected gratitude and approbation. He seemed genuinely shocked by our murderous expressions. You give him too much credit, Natael. The boy is clueless. He seriously believed that he was doing us a favour, and I’ll go as far as to say that he hoped it would make up for his continued absence and lack of assistance thus far in the training of our recruits.” Our recruits? Natael thought. Taim was doing all the recruiting himself – with the help of a few…Asha’man, as they were now called – and usually refrained from involving Natael in any activity that concerned the students. Why was he suddenly in such a sharing mood? Perhaps their common animosity toward al’Thor had accidentally brought them closer together.

Not that Natael wanted to get closer to Taim, of course. Their forced cohabitation at the farm was already a nuisance. He sighed with exaggerated force and took a sip of his tea, which had grown lukewarm. He seized saidin, heating the liquid. That was one thing he could still manage on his own, at least. “Can you pass me the…” His mind drew a blank. “Um, you know, the…” By the blood falls! What was it called? He pointed toward the cursed thing. It was right there on the table, and Taim glanced at it, an amused smirk on his lips. “Medan?” Natael went on tentatively.

“Su-gar,” Taim said with excessive emphasis on each syllable, as though he were teaching a particularly dense toddler a new word. He didn’t even move to grab the sugar bowl and pass it on as requested.

“You think you’re so smart, uh?” Natael said crossly, standing up to take the sugar himself and pouring a generous amount in his mug. “It’s easy for you. You were born speaking the language. I, on the other hand, had to master it in weeks. Without proper tutelage. Can you claim any such mastery of what you ignorant savages call the ‘Old Tongue’?” he went on with a sneer.

He noted with satisfaction that Taim wasn’t smiling anymore. “No one speaks the Old Tongue any longer, Natael. Why should I need to master its usage? I have notions of it, and that’s quite enough for anyone who is neither a scholar nor a Brown Ajah sister.”

Before Natael could think of a reply, Taim went on, looking thoughtful. “But speaking of the Old Tongue, perhaps we can yet turn al’Thor’s horrifying blunder to our advantage.”

Natael frowned. “What do you have in mind?” Taim occasionally had good ideas, but others were somewhat…edgy. Dangerous, even.

“As leaders, we must distinguish ourselves from our students. We cannot be mere Asha’man, the rank that several of them will eventually attain.” He glanced at Natael. “We should give ourselves titles.”

On a scale of one to ten, ten being the most subversive idea, this was an easy eight, perhaps a nine. Al’Thor definitely wouldn’t approve. Then again, why should they care if he did? He hadn’t bothered to inform them of his ridiculous idea, let alone to ask for their opinion. This would give him a taste of his own medicine. Natael could certainly agree to that.

The sudden change in Taim’s attitude made him suspicious, however. Barely a week ago, the man was threatening to kill him if Natael became too ambitious; now he was making a show of giving him equal footing in the leadership of the farm?

Or "Black Tower", as many of the recruits had taken to calling it. Taim had hesitated, at first. It had seemed outrageously provocative, even to him. But Taim was the one who’d made everyone wear black. The connection to the White Tower, which could have been made even without the new uniforms, had been glaringly obvious after that. They were the anti-White Tower; its opposite, its male counterpart.

“M’Hael,” Taim said after a moment, breaking the silence.

Natael stared at him. Was he serious? It was sometimes difficult to tell. The man usually delivered his snarky, sarcastic comments deadpan. The word m’hael stood for “leader” – that was acceptable, given Taim’s position – but, capitalised, as any title should be, the word took on a subtler meaning. An appropriate translation would be Supreme Leader. Was Taim aware of that, or was his relative ignorance of the language playing in his favour?

Either way, al’Thor certainly wouldn’t approve. Natael himself wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

“It means-” Taim began to say, but for once Natael was the one doing the interrupting.

“I know what it means, you nimrod. I just reminded you that the Old Tongue was my native language. Though the Great Lord knows you’ve butchered it,” he grumbled. Their pronunciation was usually horrendous. Admittedly, it made sense – no one alive had ever heard it spoken by a native. “Are you sure about this, Taim? Al’Thor…”

“Al’Thor can go throw himself off World’s End,” he retorted moodily. Blast, he really was furious. He was fidgeting with one of his pins. Natael was surprised that he hadn’t removed them the second al’Thor had departed. “The boy is insane. He would be doing us all a favour.” Taim sipped some of his tea, which must have gone cold by now, though that didn’t seem to bother him. Being Saldaean, perhaps he was used to drinking cold beverages. The weather was said to be dreadfully glacial in these parts. “What about you, Natael? Is there a word for ‘janitor’ in the Old Tongue?” he said with a hint of a smile, referring to their conversation of the previous week.

Natael didn’t deign to acknowledge the clumsy attempt at humour. “If you wish to be the M’Hael, I shall be the Ghraem.”

Taim scowled. Natael could see that he was mentally going through his “notions” of the Old Tongue to find a translation to match the word. Taim would only ask in last resort; he was too proud to ask without bothering to try to come up with the answer himself first. “Something about…power,” he muttered to himself.

“It means ‘the All-Powerful’,” Natael said smugly.

“You’re joking,” Taim scoffed.

“It is fitting.”

“It’s the opposite of fitting. You’re the weakest channeler here and everyone knows it, thanks to Mishraile.”

Thanks to Taim, in truth, but Natael let it slide. “Which is why it’s fitting!” he insisted. “It will make them wonder if Atal wasn’t merely slandering me after I rejected him. It will cast doubt. They won’t dare mock me.” At least not to his face.

Taim was staring at him, his face blank. “That doesn’t make any sense. Have you gone mad, like al’Thor? Should I prepare a vial of asping rot to sneak into your tea?” This time, Natael could tell that Taim was merely jesting. At least, he hoped he was. A slow smile spread across Taim’s lips. “No. If you do go mad, I’ll just send you to al’Thor. He can deal with you himself. I don’t want the karma of your death on my soul.”

“Karma?” Natael repeated. It meant…action, or deed, in the Old Tongue. But what did Taim mean by that?

Taim waved dismissively. “It’s a Saldaean thing. Never mind that, Ghraem.” His smile widened slightly. Despite his earlier remark, he seemed to find the name to his taste.

“As you say, M’Hael,” Natael replied, smiling back.

Chapter Text

Let’s pick our allies

Narishma is too pretty

It is distracting

“Are you quite sure that we can trust them to build that wall on their own?” Natael asked after taking a sip of wine. It wasn’t good – no vintage of this unrefined Age truly was – but it didn’t make him gag, either. It would have to do.

“For the tenth time, yes,” Taim said with unconcealed exasperation. “I’m fairly certain that Hardlin, as a master stonemason, knows more about building walls than either of us. We’ll inspect their progress in the morning light, but I have no doubt that they’re doing a good job. Why, they built my house in a matter of days, did they not? And it hasn’t yet fallen apart.”

House? Natael scoffed internally. Taim had asked for a bloody palace. Meanwhile, Natael was stuck in his minuscule cottage and Taim refused to order a new construction. Supposedly, the men had more important things to do, such as raising this futile wall – as if a physical wall could stop an army of determined Aes Sedai – and the rest of their training. And yet wasn’t Taim the one who constantly claimed that accomplishing any task with saidin was good practice? Natael was of a mind to command the men himself and oversee the making of his new lodgings, but he didn’t like the way most of the men had sneered when he announced his new title the previous day. Taim, burn him, hadn’t received such disrespectful remarks and grimaces. It wasn’t fair.

Taim waved the matter aside, as though it wasn’t worth his precious time. “What about Mishraile?” he asked, glancing at the sheet of parchment in front of him. They’d only checked half a dozen names so far, and only one – the only sensible one, in Natael’s opinion – had made it to the top of the list: Damer Flinn. “I know things are…awkward between you two, but he is strong and capable.”

“If Atal’s not a Friend of the Dark yet, he’ll become one soon,” Natael muttered.

“Nonsense. He’s young and brash, it’s true, but his heart is in the right place. He’s not Darkfriend material, unless you insist on antagonising him. He’ll make a decent Asha’man, I think.”

Natael sighed in annoyance. The candidates they selected to be appointed Asha’man would be told everything. Their plans for the Black Tower, their reluctance to fully trust and support al’Thor, their connection to Demandred and their strategy to work around it…and Natael’s true identity, which would include knowledge of his shield and consequent weakness in the Power. He was fine with Flinn knowing, but Atal? The lad was a nuisance. Taim had eventually convinced him to stop spreading rumours about Natael, but Atal still glared at him whenever he had the chance and he didn’t respect Natael in the least. He even had the audacity to flirt with Taim, of all people! The audacity, or rather the idiocy. He must have gone mad. Taim always ignored the not-so-subtle banter in public, but he never failed to tease Natael about it when they were alone. Your heartbroken puppy made another pass at me today, in a desperate attempt to make you jealous. Did you even notice? Natael had told Taim to simply discipline the lad to make him stop once and for all, but Taim found it amusing. It was pathetic, really, but still enjoyable to watch, according to Taim.

And yet M’Hael, Supreme Leader of the Black Tower, insisted that Atal would make a great addition to the ranks of their trustworthy advanced guard. Natael thought that it was ridiculous. “You just want him in our inner circle so he can humiliate me further,” he complained.

Taim rolled his eyes. “I assure you, Natael, I’m quite serious about this. As should you. This is important work; it will determine the future of the Black Tower, perhaps the future of mankind itself.”

“You’re being overdramatic,” he scoffed.

Taim raised an eyebrow. “Am I? These men we choose to trust will be our first line of defence. They will be in charge of spreading the word of the corruption of the Black Tower, should it ever fall in the hands of the Forsaken, and should they attempt to Turn our other recruits to the Shadow.”

Natael snorted. “If we leave out the men who present a risk of being…susceptible to the appeal of the Shadow from the rank of Asha’man, these recruits won’t require Turning. If the Chosen – if Demandred – realises what we’re doing, we’ll find ourselves vastly outnumbered.”

“Our men will be better prepared. We will give them advanced lessons, teach them the Shadow’s tricks and how to counter them.”

“Easier said than done,” Natael said sourly.

Taim massaged his temples. They’d only reviewed six recruits and they’d been at this for over two hours. They couldn’t seem to agree on anything, except Flinn’s imminent promotion. “How about we begin by ruling out the men who obviously cannot be trusted?”

“If you wish, but we’ll be facing a problem, no matter how we proceed,” Natael said.

“What’s that?” Taim asked with a frown.

“There will be powerful channelers among the ones we decide to set aside,” he said. They’d already discarded Manel Rochaid, an otherwise promising student; despite his strength in the Power, the man didn’t inspire trust. He was ambitious, cunning, ruthless: qualities that Natael would have appreciated in a minion of the Shadow, but the opposite of what they were presently looking for. “How will you explain that we’re refusing to promote them?”

“They’ll do as they’re told and if they can’t accept being mere Dedicated, they’ll be thrown out. We’re in charge, not them. We will simply assert our authority. Or rather, my authority.”

Natael exhaled a long breath and ignored the jab. “I meant: how will you explain this to al’Thor, or Demandred, when they come monitoring our progress? Don’t you think it’ll look suspicious?”

For once, Taim didn’t seem to have an answer at the ready. He thought it over for a moment, idly swishing his glass of wine, though he hadn’t taken a sip from it yet. “We could say that…we prefer to give the dragon pin to the more mature men, the more deserving ones, not necessarily the most powerful.”

Natael smirked. “That will likely be convincing enough for al’Thor, but Demandred will never buy it. Never underestimate any of the Chosen, Demandred least of all. You can bet he already has several spies among the men.”

“Is there a way to distinguish the spies from the rest? Do they bear a mark, are they subjected to a weave?”

“Of course not,” Natael replied. “Some of the Chosen are less subtle than others, but they’re not stupid.”

“So there’s no way of knowing who might be reporting to our enemies?”

Natael shook his head. “When I recruited underlings for myself, I rarely revealed my true identity. Most people care more about money than about anything else. Though fear is a good incentive, when promises of wealth fail. But even if we somehow manage to recruit only loyal Asha’man, there’s still a chance that they will become Friends of the Dark after we’ve let them in on our plans and secrets. Then we’ll be doomed.”

“Yes, well, we don’t have much choice, do we? We need at least a few trustworthy elements. We’ll just have to make sure that they remain loyal to us, and no one else. Not even al’Thor.”

“I suppose we could spread rumours of his incipient madness,” Natael suggested. “We wouldn’t even be lying.”

“Perhaps,” Taim said indifferently. “That’s a discussion for later, when we’ve actually determined which men to raise as Asha’man.” He perused the paper once again, tapping his quill against the inkpot, then smiled. “Narishma.”

Natael cocked his head to the side, concentrating. “Is that the pretty one?”

“That’s hardly his most prominent feature, but yes, he’s the pretty one.”

"And what would you say is Narishma's most prominent feature, then?" Natael asked with a grin.

“What?” Taim's eyes widened when he finally realised that his words might give rise to confusion. Natael’s day was made when Taim actually blushed. “Burn you,” he muttered. “He’s the most powerful recruit we’ve taken in so far. That’s what I meant. Obviously.”

Natael chuckled wryly. “Obviously.”

“You’re really not taking this seriously, are you?” Taim said with marked annoyance.

“Fine, fine. Why him? He hasn’t been here for long, has he?”

“The vast majority of our students were recruited recently, after al’Thor finally gave us permission to Travel,” Taim pointed out. “Narishma could become nearly as strong as I am, when he reaches his full potential. It would be good to have him on our side.”

“But does he seem trustworthy?”

“Yes,” Taim stated plainly.

“Prettiness is not synonymous with trustworthiness, Taim.”

The Saldaean threw him a venomous look. “How callous do you think I am? It doesn’t matter what he looks like. He’s a good lad. Everyone likes him.”

“Especially the women, I’ll wager,” Natael said in a snide tone.

Taim groaned. “Perhaps we should work on this later. You’re clearly enthralled by Narishma’s physical appearance and are not in a fit state to focus on the matter at hand.” He paused, closing his eyes for a moment, then glanced at Natael. “Please tell me you have no intention of bedding him.”

Natael stiffened. “I won’t make that mistake again.” Besides, physical attractiveness was not everything. Narishma seemed a bit...prudish. Natael had yet to see the Arafellin smile. Borderlanders were a rather humourless folk, he had noticed.

Taim’s perpetual sarcasm didn’t count as humour.  “So you agree that bedding Mishraile was a mistake,” he said with a crooked half-smile.

Two can play that game, Natael thought. “Can we focus on the list? Or will you insist on talking about Atal till dawn? I’m beginning to think that his supposedly unwanted flirting has more effect on you than you care to admit.”

He was rewarded by Taim’s grimace of irritation. “Should we leave Narishma out of our list for the time being, then? Wait another week or two, knowing that any of the Forsaken might use that time to recruit him?”

Natael made a dismissive gesture. “He’s already a Dreadlord, for all we know. A week won’t change anything. Let’s eliminate those who are obviously incompatible with our project, then let’s meet again next week to discuss the ones we intend to elevate to the highest rank.”

“Do you realise how many new recruits we get every day, Natael? I brought in eleven men yesterday. If we let a week go by, we’ll need another full week to decide what to do with them.”

He had a point, but Natael wasn’t about to concede it aloud. “Fine. Let’s do most of the eliminations tonight and deal with the promotions tomorrow, then. That’ll give me some time to study Master Narishma and other potential candidates, as well.”

“Such as?”

“Well, I’m more tempted to trust our first recruits, since we’ve known them a bit longer than the rest. Grady, Hopwil, Adley, Nalaam... They’ve had more training, too, so promoting them makes more sense.”

Taim considered it for a moment. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. And I think we can discard Coteren and Torval right away. They’re both bullies, and not too bright besides.”

Natael nodded. “Dashiva, too. The man gives me the creeps. Always muttering to himself and glowering at everyone... He’s probably half-mad already.”

Taim made some notes on the parchment. “Good. We’re finally making some progress. What about Canler? He seems innocuous enough.”

“But are the innocuous ones truly the ones we want?” Natael mused. “Even if they’re not Friends of the Dark, that doesn't mean that they’d be worthy Asha’man. Canler is a good man, but he was a simple farmer before he joined the…well, former farm.” Another reason why “Black Tower” sounded a lot better than “the farm”. The latter was misleading. “Flinn has been a soldier most of his life. The others are still young enough to receive proper discipline and training. Canler is quite old, though, and he doesn’t respect the hierarchy as he should.” He’d been one of those who’d made fun of Natael – the newly appointed Ghraem – the previous day. “And he cannot wield a sword.”

“Neither can I,” Taim noted. “And I’ve never seen you even holding one.”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t use one, when the need arises,” Natael retorted. That was a lie, but Taim didn’t need to know that.

Taim eyed him suspiciously. “I still don’t approve of al’Thor’s compulsory sword lessons, let alone the hand fighting ones, but perhaps you could benefit from both, given your…condition.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Natael snapped. “We both know that these fighting methods are useless to us. When could we possibly need them? If we’re facing foes, channelers or not, we use the Power. If we’re shielded, we’re most likely bound as well, for good measure, so any other weapon is worthless. Carrying a sword merely serves a decorative purpose, if that." Swords were great for accessorising, he had to give them that. Well, ornamental sheaths were, in any case. "I can’t think of a scenario where we would have to actually wield it.”

“I couldn’t, either, before I found out about your shield,” Taim said. “I suspect al’Thor enforces these lessons because they teach the men discipline more than anything else. But in your case, any means of defence could prove useful.”

“Even weak as I am, I know tricks that require very little of the Power. I don’t need a flaming sword,” Natael insisted.

“So I was right.” A smug smile surfaced on Taim’s face. “You don’t know one end of a sword from the other.”

“Shouldn’t we focus on the bloody list?” he muttered.

“I know what we should do,” Taim said, his dark eyes glinting as though he’d had an epiphany. Natael let out a noncommittal grunt. “Flinn. We raise him, then he takes care of recruiting the other Asha’man. He knows them better than we ever could and they trust him. They look up to him.”

“Yes, because he’s old,” Natael said.

Taim stared at him. “You’re over three thousand years old.”

“But I don’t look a day over thirty,” he said testily.

“You’re impossible,” Taim complained, pinching his nose. “Regardless of why they respect Flinn, what do you think?”

It was actually not a terrible idea, Natael had to admit. “We could give it a try, I suppose. But can we really trust him?”

“We both agreed that he was our best option. You were the one who suggested him.”

“Well, it seems like a good idea, but how will he react to everything we tell him? What if he decides to snitch on us to the farm boy? Or to conspire behind our backs?”

“That will be a risk with everyone. I still think that Flinn is our best option. If he seems reluctant, we’ll bait him with promises of better Healing techniques.”

“Techniques that neither of us know,” Natael pointed out.

“Oh, for the love of-” Taim let out a harsh breath. “Can we just agree on this one thing and get some rest? You are absolutely exhausting.”

Natael shrugged. “Fine. But let it be on record that you made the final call. If Flinn betrays us…”

“If Flinn betrays us, it will likely be because you’ve annoyed him to death.” He rolled up the parchment and stood smoothly. “I’m leaving. I’ll summon Flinn in the morning to let him know our decision.” With that, he left Natael to finish both cups of wine, which he certainly needed.

He dared call Natael impossible? He was the impossible one! Natael ought to kill him in his sleep and make Flinn his second-in-command.

However, for some unfathomable reason, he trusted Taim more than he trusted anyone else.

That was a troubling realisation.

Chapter Text

No more wine for you

No more poisoning, either

I shall handle both

Raising Flinn was a grand idea. Natael had never doubted it for one second.

The Asha’man showed initiative, he unburdened Natael of many bothersome tasks, and he hadn’t betrayed them (yet). He’d even seemed…understanding of their plight. Said he didn’t like to go behind al’Thor’s back, but agreed that the boy’s mental state left a lot to be desired. He was obviously – and adequately – afraid of the (other) Chosen, but he’d sworn to do his best to defeat them. He hadn’t laughed at Natael’s awkward situation – though he’d been surprised to learn that he was Asmodean, despite Natael’s immense musical talent and infinite wisdom.

They often met to discuss other potential candidates to be raised to the rank of Asha’man and Flinn had already cleared half a dozen of them, all early recruits. They’d all been awarded that ridiculous dragon pin.

Of course, this had caused many of the other students to complain. As expected, Rochaid and Gedwyn had been among the first to barge into Taim’s study to demand a promotion. The M’Hael had handled it well enough, but Natael had noticed the glares and hushed conversations. If they didn’t watch it, the discarded men – though they didn’t know they’d been discarded altogether, of course; they merely assumed that it would take more time for them to ascend to the highest rank – would form a faction and may become troublesome at some point. Being Dedicated wouldn’t satisfy them for long.

This evening, Taim, Flinn and Natael were supposed to take a break from their endless argument on the trustworthiness of the men. In consequence, Natael was reclining in a warm bath, sipping wine and idly composing a new ballad.

He should have known better than to expect a pleasant, undisturbed moment to himself.

Taim walked into the bathroom without bothering to knock, causing Natael to startle and spill some of his wine in the water. He hadn’t even heard the man come up the stairs. Sneaky bastard. “We need to talk,” the M’Hael announced without preamble. At least he had the decency to keep his eyes away from the tub. He started pacing, hands behind his back.

“I’m in my bath!” Natael sputtered, as though it weren’t glaringly obvious.

Taim didn’t even bother to smirk at the remarkably stupid comment. It had to be important business, then. “We have our first one.”

Natael frowned in confusion. “Our first what?”

“Madman,” Taim said softly. “Damer just warned me. One of the younger Soldiers has been behaving erratically, muttering to himself, laughing and crying for no reason. He punched another Soldier without being provoked and didn't remember doing it when questioned afterwards. Moodiness, memory loss, belligerence - those are the most common symptoms. We must act immediately, before he really hurts someone. We can’t allow him to-”

“Why are you telling me this?” Natael demanded. “More importantly, why are you telling me this now? Couldn't it wait until morning?” Or at least until he'd dried himself and put on some clothes?

Taim stopped pacing to stare at Natael as though he were mad. “Don’t you understand? He’s dangerous. Others could be hurt, or he could do severe damage to the wall, or-”

“I understand perfectly well. I just don’t see why I should be involved in this matter.”

“What are you talking about?” He looked genuinely puzzled.

“When you first arrived, you decided to be in charge of the students, without asking for my opinion. I told you that, in that case, you could also deal with them should trouble arise. This is your problem, Taim, not mine. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a very important bath to return to.” He pointedly turned to look at the wall, expecting Taim to leave him alone.

“You selfish twit,” Taim growled. “We are both in charge. We are in this mess together. We made a pact!”

“We never said anything about me poisoning the recruits. I’ll happily leave that to you, o Supreme Leader.”

“You bloody coward.”

Natael turned sharply at that. Not the C word again. Taim stood with his back straight, hands balled into fists. He radiated anger, his dark eyes glittering. He seemed even larger than usual. It could have been a trick of the Power, but Natael would have sensed it, if that were the case. Natael did his best to ignore Taim’s baleful glare as he spoke. He wouldn’t allow himself to be frightened by a mere mortal of this Age. “Leave me. Now.”

Taim seized saidin.

No. He wouldn’t dare!

Natael did likewise, though the trickle of Power that coursed through him was insignificant beside Taim’s impressive display. The temperature in the room dropped by several degrees and the candles were snuffed out. The world went utterly still. Natael’s hold on saidin faltered.

The M’Hael suddenly released the Source. Without another word, he stormed out, leaving Natael alone in the dark. Moonlight reflected on his bath water.

Natael exhaled slowly. To his embarrassment, he was shaking like a leaf. His grip on saidin wavered, then he lost it entirely.

Blood and flaming ashes! The man was even more intense than Demandred, when he was angry. What had gotten into him? It wasn’t like he needed Natael to take care of this little problem, was it? It was just a matter of slipping a vial of poison into a cup of wine. How hard could it be?

Natael was enjoying his breakfast the next morning when someone knocked insistently on his door. He groaned in irritation. He couldn’t take a bath in peace, couldn’t even finish buttering his toast-

Flinn stepped inside without waiting for permission. He was obviously in a foul mood, which was unusual, to say the least. “Did you know about this?” he demanded. “Did you agree to this?”

Natael eyed him cautiously. “Know about what?”

“The boy!” Flinn thundered. “Eben found him dead on his cot when he woke up to take a piss in the middle of the night. Scared him so much that he waited until now to tell me. Yesterday the boy was alive, then I told the M’Hael that I had suspicions…” He paused, panting slightly. “And now he’s flaming dead. What did you do to him? What happened? And where’s the body? I trust Eben. If he says he saw a dead body, I believe him, but now it’s nowhere to be found.”

Natael waited a few seconds to ascertain that he was done rambling. “I…um, why are you asking me? Where’s Taim?”

“He left early in the morning, supposedly to go on a recruiting trip, but he went alone, according to the Dedicated who were on guard duty. If he’d been here, I would have gone to him, of course.”

Of course, Natael thought bitterly. Taim had left him to handle the consequences of his actions. “Well, my dear man. What exactly did you expect Taim to do about your…suspicions?”

That brought Flinn up short. He struggled to come up with an answer, then looked down in defeat. “I don’t know, Ghraem.” He sighed heavily. “But he was just a boy. Same age as my nephew.”

“Most of them are quite young. The taint doesn’t differentiate, Flinn. It will kill us all indiscriminately, eventually. You must know that. You have to accept that. Otherwise I fear that you chose the wrong place to enjoy your retirement...”

Flinn shook his head sadly. “I suppose you’re right, m’lord. I…apologise for the disturbance.” He left silently, closing the door behind him.

Burn Taim! It wasn’t bad enough that he’d nearly murdered Natael the night before, now he left him to deal with the aftermath of his very first mercy-kill? Ugh. Then again, you’d think that the men would understand, Flinn especially. It was a mercy. Better to die relatively sane than to go out in a fiery explosion, taking innocent victims in the process. What had they expected? To be expelled from the Black Tower, so that they could go and explode somewhere else?

Natael stared at the remnants of his breakfast, which had grown cold. With a huff of annoyance, he threw it in the garbage and walked over to Taim’s palace to await his return. They needed to talk.

Taim didn’t return that day. Natael had wasted three hours of his precious time waiting for him, in vain, then had eventually given up to make sure that the recruits were behaving.

They weren’t. Rumours of what had happened that night had been spreading all morning and the men were distracted, which was dangerous when one was manipulating saidin. Natael had no choice but to make an announcement to clear the air. He would murder Taim for forcing this upon him. If the bloody man ever returned.

Had the M’Hael abandoned them? Had Taim abandoned him? What would Natael do if he didn’t return? Come clean to al’Thor, blame everything on the Saldaean? Natael supposed that Flinn could be put in charge of the students, if it came to that.

That night, however, as Natael got up to fetch some wine to quench his thirst, he noticed that a light was on in Taim’s study. He hesitated for a moment, then put on some clothes – nothing fancy: a plain midnight blue silk shirt with lace at the cuffs, black trousers and his second-best pair of boots. He drained a glass of wine before marching over to Taim’s.

He didn’t bother to knock. After all, Taim had never shown him that simple courtesy. He entered through the back door, which opened in the kitchen, and escalated the three flights of stairs that led to Taim’s study. He pushed the door open. “Where in the Pit of Doom have you-”

Natael came to an abrupt halt when he took in the scene inside the room, the rest of his sentence dying in his throat. Taim, who had been slumped in a chair by the empty fireplace, jumped to his feet when Natael barged in, wiping hurriedly at his face. There was a jug of wine beside the chair and, judging by Taim’s unsteadiness, it was more empty than full.

Taim, drunk? Taim, crying?

“Don’t you know how to knock, burn you?!” Taim slurred.

“I…” Natael didn’t know what to do or say. He felt…embarrassed. Though the Great Lord knew, Taim had caught him in awkward situations because of his own lack of knocking before. It had seemed like a good idea to give him a taste of his own medicine, for once, but… Ugh. Grown men were not supposed to cry. Not even in the privacy of their own home. It was…unseemly. “I…” he tried again, but he could form no proper sentence. “Taim, um… Where… I mean, what happened?” The wording wasn’t perfect, but Taim should be able to make sense of the question.

“Go away,” Taim muttered indistinctly, waving in Natael’s general direction. Sort of. “Leave me alone. You wanted me to do this alone, so leave me alone.”

He wasn’t making any sense. “I never said that you should go recruiting on your own. That was quite foolish of you, actually. What if you’d run into Aes Sedai? What if-”

Taim snorted in a very inelegant manner. “Aes Sedai? I’m not afraid of bloody Aes Sedai! I’ve killed more witches than any other man alive. They should be afraid of me.”

“Yes, well, yay for you, Witch-Killer. Maybe you should lie down and get some-”

“Why are you even here, Nate?” Taim demanded abruptly.

Nate? Nate! As if it weren’t bad enough that he had only two names now, Taim was shortening it even further. “I’m here because you weren’t around earlier to deal with the consequences of the mess you initiated! I was left to-”

“Blah-di-blah,” Taim said mockingly. “You poor thing, you actually had to work today.” His smirk was cruel, if a bit lopsided. “What I meant, is why are you here, at the Black Tower? You don’t belong. Al’Thor would never bother to track you down if you fled, you know. He doesn’t care. You’re no threat to him. You’re just here because he didn’t know what else to do with you, and you were too much of a pain in his arse to keep around.”

Well, ouch. Also, none of that was true. Natael was just as threatening as any of the other Chosen. And of course the farm boy would hunt him down if he ran away. Al’Thor couldn’t allow anyone to know that he’d received lessons from the enemy. “You’re not yourself, Taim,” he said testily. “You’re spewing nonsense and it is very unbecoming.”

“You’re unbecoming.”

What a comeback. Natael sighed, feeling somewhat disappointed. Drunk Taim wasn’t as entertaining as sarcastic, witty, irksome Taim. “Alright, do as you wish. Just make sure that the men don’t see you like this. You’re supposed to be their role model, not me.”

“You’re no one’s role model. You’re a shit.”

Despite Taim’s inebriated state, which may constitute an excuse for such rude, petty, unnecessary words, anger flared within Natael. “I swear, I will knock you out cold if you keep mouthing off, young man.”

Taim giggled. He actually giggled. “I’d like to see you try, weakling.” The words were barely slurred out of his mouth that he seized saidin. “Do you even remember what it was like to be all-powerful, Ghraem?” he sneered. “You’re pathetic. The Dark One must have been drunk the day he raised you.”

Natael gritted his teeth, then realised they were chattering. Taim was holding the Power and he was anything but lucid. This grating situation had just become a potentially dangerous one. “I can’t speak for the Great Lord, but you are certainly drunk.”

“How perceptive of you,” Taim said with a wide, silly grin. Natael was beginning to miss that ghostly smirk of his.

“Go to sleep, Taim. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“I’m feeling fine right now. Much better than this morning,” he said with a grimace.

“Why? What happened this morning?” If Natael could at least get to the bottom of what was bothering him, perhaps he could defuse the situation.

Taim shot him a glacial glare. He seemed almost like himself. “You made me do it. You’re supposed to be the cold-blooded murderer, not me. Why did you make me do it, Nate? Why did I have to kill an innocent lad, when you’re the evil Forsaken who usually kills innocent lads? It’s not bloody fair! Peace, you should have seen the look on his mother’s face when I brought the body home…” He took a long, shuddering breath. “She actually thanked me, you know. She thanked me for killing her only son. Said she should have done it herself weeks ago, when she realised what was happening, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it, so she sent him to the Tower, knowing that we’d do what was necessary, when the time came.”

Oh, so that’s where he’s been all day.

Natael stared at him, momentarily struck speechless. He hadn’t realised just how much it would affect Taim to have to dispose of the madman. It was just poison, for the Shadow’s sake! It wasn’t like he’d actually had to use a blade, or even saidin… He’d barely done the killing himself; the poison had done all the work for him! And why in the Great Lord’s name had he returned the body to the next of kin himself? Any of the Dedicated could have seen to it.

“Taim…” Natael was slowly recovering his voice. “How many Aes Sedai did you kill, during that little rebellion of yours? How many soldiers? How many civilians?” Thousands of people had perished in Saldaea after Taim had declared himself the Dragon Reborn, Natael knew. And Taim had literally just bragged about killing a large number of Aes Sedai all by himself. "What's one more-"

“It’s not the same,” Taim grumbled. “I had a purpose, then. And it was my life or theirs. They would have done worse to me, if they could.” He sniffled loudly.

Great Lord, please, don’t let him cry again, Natael prayed. “Haven’t you done it before? Your first day here, you claimed that you’d witnessed a…friend of yours going mad.”

“And you think I enjoyed doing it?” Taim snarled. Natael had almost forgotten that he was holding the Power; a dangerous oversight. A small fireball crashed a foot to his left, destroying part of a bookshelf. Poor aim due to the excess of wine, or calculated warning shot? There was no way of knowing. Natael hastily snuffed out the fire before it could spread.

“I know it’s a mercy but, Light have mercy on me, it’s ripping my soul apart,” Taim whispered. That said, he half-sat, half-fell in his chair, and Natael noted with relief that he’d released saidin.

Or, more accurately, the Power had slipped away from him when he’d fallen into a wine-induced sleep, given the fact that he was now snoring noisily.

Careful not to wake him, though he doubted it was possible, Natael exited the study.

Halfway down the stairs, he stopped abruptly, then retraced his steps. He extinguished all the candles in the study and gingerly threw a blanket over Taim. He filled the empty wine jug with water and deposited it on Taim’s desk, where the man would be sure to find it in the morning. He also placed a garbage bin near the chair, in case Taim got sick. Which, given his condition, was more than likely.

Then he stepped out again and returned to his bed, feeling confused and melancholy.

Chapter Text

How is he alive?

Hangovers are for the weak

Flinn, you backstabber

Natael hadn’t expected to see Taim the next morning but, surprisingly, the M’Hael was already up and about when Natael finally emerged from his cottage. To be fair, because of Taim, he’d had a dreadful night. He’d had nonsensical nightmares involving the Great Lord, several Chosen, a particularly disrespectful al’Thor and, of course, Taim himself. All of them had been mocking Natael and shouting that he didn’t belong, that he was a pathetic failure, a weakling and a coward.

So much for taking care of Taim the previous night. Good deeds were never rewarded – that was what had led Natael to join the Shadow in the first place. Evil deeds did bring forth bountiful rewards. Fame, glory, immortality… That was all Natael lived for. Or used to live for, anyway. Now he was just trying to survive.

Taim was talking to Flinn. Both men wore solemn expressions and the Asha’man was nodding gravely. As Natael approached them, Flinn saluted Taim and joined the assembled group of channelers who awaited nearby. Flinn seized saidin and a gateway appeared; the Asha’man stepped through it, followed by two Dedicated and three Soldiers. The gateway winked out as Natael reached Taim.

His clothes were in pristine condition, as usual. Taim himself looked his normal self: confident, commanding, not a hair out of place. It was like nothing had happened. He welcomed Natael with a half-sneer. “So good of you to join us for the lunch break.”

The nerve of the man! Natael had a vicious comeback in mind – several, in fact; most of them involving Taim crying like a little girl – but he decided to be the bigger man. Besides, he could always play this card in the future, if he ever needed to blackmail Taim. Or seriously annoy him. He composed himself before speaking calmly. “Where are they going?”

“Scouting and recruiting. It’s about time I left that sort of things to lesser channelers.” He smiled wryly. “I considered putting you in charge of the recruiting team, but we need this channeler army now, not in the next century.” Natael’s jaw clenched, but he successfully kept his cool. Was the man being provocative on purpose? Indeed, Taim seemed weirdly disappointed by the lack of retort. His expression grew darker. “I’m reorganising everything. The Asha’man will receive private lessons from both you and me, in the evenings. During the day, half of them will be recruiting, and the rest will be testing the newer recruits. You will supervise the Soldiers and I will take care of the Dedicated. Once a week, I’ll put forth a few handpicked names among the Dedicated to be raised Asha’man, and Flinn will either approve or reject them. You will decide which Soldiers are ready to become Dedicated. I think all recruits should become Soldiers as soon as they can seize saidin and have mastered the most elementary weaves.”

He’d really thought this through. But when? During his drunken slumber? “When you say that I should ‘supervise’ the Soldiers…”

“You make sure that they train and behave and discipline them at need. You don’t have to actually give them lessons. Real lessons are for Dedicated and Asha’man only. The Soldiers need to know basic offensive weaves and nothing more. Just try to keep them alive until they’re either raised or needed in battle.”

Well. It seemed simple enough. Besides, most Soldiers wouldn’t be able to tell just how weak Natael was. He’d still have time to drink wine and play the harp at leisure; that was all that mattered.

“Also, don’t sleep with any of them, if you can resist the temptation,” Taim added dryly.

That was the last drop. “What is wrong with you?” Natael hissed, though he tried to keep his voice low. “Yesterday you were blabbering nonsense and now you’re deliberately trying to… I don’t even know what you’re trying to do!” He huffed sharply. “I have been very patient with you, Taim, but what you said to me last night… Is that really how you feel? Because I will not be mocked by the likes of you. Look, if it bothers you so much, I can take care of the poisonings, but-”

Taim blinked in confusion. “What are you going on about? Last night? I didn’t see you yesterday, Natael. I was dealing with a personal matter, which took me all day, and you were already in bed when I returned.”

Natael stared at him. He couldn’t be serious. Was he pretending to have suffered a drunken black-out because he was embarrassed by what Natael had witnessed? Or had he truly forgotten everything? He did look perplexed; if he was playacting, he was bloody good at it.

Taim snorted softly when Natael remained silent. “Seems to me like someone had too much to drink last night. You really should lay off the wine, Nate.”

There it was again. Was it a sign that he did remember, or had he secretly been calling him “Nate” in his mind all along?

But that was beside the point. Had he seriously just accused Natael of doing what he had been doing? “I… How dare you… You…” Natael sputtered. “You are impossible!” he shouted. Taim seemed slightly taken aback by this, but it at least wiped the smirk off his face. Realising that he was losing his battle with his own self-control, Natael retreated to his small house.

“Ah, Flinn,” Natael called as the Asha’man peeked inside the kitchen later that afternoon. “Do come in.” Flinn complied, then stood awaiting Natael’s orders. “Take a seat. Help yourself to some wine.”

Flinn frowned slightly, as though Natael had never demonstrated any hospitability before, then sat on a chair opposite Natael and poured himself half a cup of wine. “Thank you, Ghraem,” he said politely. Now, there was a man who had proper manners. He took the tiniest sip. “You, um, wanted to see me, m’lord?”

Natael leaned forward in his chair. “I did. I hear that Taim has decided to lodge all of the Asha’man in his…mansion.” Palace. Small fortress. It could be called many things. Flinn nodded slowly. “Do you know how many men can be housed there, exactly?”

Flinn thought it over for a minute. “There are twelve bedrooms, m’lord, besides that of the M’Hael. So I’d say up to forty-eight, if we squeeze up a wee bit.”

“Mm, yes, but we don’t want to have to do that, do we? You’re Asha’man. You deserve your own room, each of you.” He drank from his own cup, taking his time to savour the wine. He was getting used to the mediocre vintages of this Age, was coming to appreciate their unique flavours. This particular one might have been served in a lowly tavern, back in the so-called Age of Legends.

“I’m sure we can make do, Ghraem. I’ve slept in worse conditions,” Flinn said matter-of-factly. “Besides, there are only six of us.”

Natael shook his head. “But there’ll be more soon, hopefully. No, no, this won’t do at all. Do you think that full Aes Sedai share a room with their sisters?” He chuckled softly. “Well, I suppose they do, on occasion, but that’s another matter entirely.” Flinn’s face reddened alarmingly. It was amusing, how the subtlest sex-related comment could trigger that sort of reaction in anyone of this Age, but Natael was trying to manipulate the man to do him a favour. Embarrassing him would certainly not help Natael get his way. “Flinn, our official objective, as you know, is to gather an army for the Lord Dragon, because his chances of subjecting the Aes Sedai to his will are, let’s be honest, infinitesimally small, especially on short notice, but he does need channeling warriors at his side before the Last Battle begins. But did we choose the name ‘Black Tower’ by accident? Of course not! We are meant to rival the White Tower, to show them, and the world, the might of the Dragon Reborn. Eventually, I assume that young al’Thor’s plan will include us intimidating the witches into submission.” He was making everything up as he went. He had no inkling what the farm boy was planning. The idea was merely to convince Flinn that he had bigger concerns than his own comfort. “My point is, the M’Hael and I are expecting many more channelers in the weeks and months to come, and we’ll raise as many as we reasonably can to the highest rank.” He could tell that Flinn was listening attentively, but the old man didn’t seem to see where Natael was going with this. He was scowling, his bushy eyebrows knit over his grey eyes. Well, perhaps Natael had come on a bit too strongly. “We need more rooms for our future Asha’man.” He paused, gauging Flinn’s reaction, but the man remained silent, obviously expecting Natael to spell it out for him. Natael rolled his eyes internally. “We need a second mansion, Flinn.”

His eyes lit up in sudden understanding. “Oh. I see.” His gaze shifted toward the window, where Taim’s palace could be seen looming over the entire compound. “Well, Ghraem, I can arrange that. I’ll need Hardlin to oversee the construction and a team of a dozen or so channelers, preferably Dedicated with an affinity for Earth weaving. We built that wall in no time, so I expect this can be done by next week.”

A week? Ugh. Natael had to admit that he’d hoped for the building to sort of…sprout out of the ground overnight. Mainly so that Taim couldn’t complain about it, or even realise what was happening before it was done. But next week would have to do, he supposed. He’d have to confront the M’Hael at some point, anyway.

“Where would you like that mansion, Ghraem?”

Ah, dear Flinn. Courteous to a fault. The handful of Asha’man they’d promoted thus far still had trouble not running away in terror at the sight of Natael, now that they were aware of his true identity, but not Flinn. Though a vague display of fear and awe now and then wouldn’t go amiss, admittedly. But respect and civility would have to do.

He’d thought about the location of his new quarters. His initial idea – as far away from Taim’s monstrosity as possible – was unpractical. The other end of the compound was mainly occupied by the latrines and animal pens, so that was out of the question. With the newly-constructed wall, building anything outside of the perimeter seemed a bit silly. The only space left that could accommodate such a large construction was, in fact, right next to Taim’s own mansion.

Natael was loath to move in so close to Taim, but at least it would justify building a new mansion: more room for the Asha’man, who would all be situated in the same section of the Black Tower, whichever mansion they dwelled in. Ideally, they would all live with Taim. After all, housing the Asha’man in the building had been his idea. Natael just wanted a bloody mansion for himself, so he didn’t have to sleep in that dingy cottage while Taim lived a luxurious life in his grand palace. It was only fair. They were supposed to be equals.

Though Natael intended to make his own mansion a tad bigger than Taim’s. “Right here,” he replied. “Next to the other one.”

Flinn scratched his beard. “We will need to demolish the cottage, m’lord.”

Natael waved dismissively. “I have no problem with that.” They’d done a lot of repair on it, but it was old. Old, inelegant, and unfit for a leader, especially one of Natael’s importance. He deserved a three-stories mansion with rooms to lodge his many servants, its own kitchen, a large bathtub, a grand bedroom with a balcony, a proper wine cellar… Oh, and they could begin working on a sewer system and plumbing, as well.

“You should probably stay with the M’Hael while we build your new lodgings, then,” Flinn went on, effectively shattering Natael’s reverie.

He gaped at Flinn in shock. “What?” he said stupidly. Saying ‘what’ when one had perfectly understood the other person, just to give oneself time to process the information and think of an intelligent reply, was one of the bad habits Natael had picked up in this Age. He regained his composure quickly. “I mean, I doubt that will be necessary.”

“Well, we’ll need to take down the cottage before we lay out the foundations for the new mansion, Ghraem. The sooner you’re out of here, the faster we can get to work.”

“That’s…” Preposterous. The whole point of manoeuvring Flinn was to avoid Taim knowing about the new building until after it was too late to stop its construction. If Natael had to go begging for a place to sleep, he’d need a very good reason…

“Though I ‘spose you could stay in one of the barracks in the meantime, if you prefer. They’re sparsely occupied at the moment.” Was it just Natael’s mind playing tricks on him, or was Flinn holding back a smile? Taim had a terrible influence on their pupils.

“I will consider my options and get back to you in the morning,” Natael declared eventually. “You should leave now. Your lesson is about to begin, I believe.” He gulped down the remainder of his wine cup, Flinn already dismissed from his thoughts.

The Asha’man hadn’t moved, however. He eyed Natael uncomfortably. “When he heard that you’d summoned me, the M’Hael asked me to remind you that you were supposed to participate in these lessons, m’lord.”

Oh, blood and ashes. He’d forgotten about that. As if supervising the Soldiers wasn’t enough work, now he had to teach the Asha’man in the evening as well. What a waste of his precious time, which Natael could have used to design his future place of residence. He sighed heavily. “Go on ahead. I’ll be there in a minute.” Flinn stood and bowed before leaving.

Natael glanced at his empty wine cup, then eyed Flinn’s. The Asha’man had barely touched it. Natael downed it. He would certainly need it.

Teaching the full Asha’man was not as bad as Natael had feared.

For one thing, they were already familiar with all the basics, and they had attained a proper level of discipline.

For another, they knew exactly who Natael was, and none dared so much as whisper while he was instructing them. It was actually quite pleasant. He could be a competent teacher, when given the opportunity to prove his talents in an adequate setting, with diligent students.

It probably helped that Taim and he taught in separate rooms.

Adley was struggling with his assignment, Natael noticed. He had just demonstrated how to weave a shield of Water to ward off Fire attacks, but the lad was having trouble with it. Water was not the young Asha’man’s strongest element, but that was hardly surprising. Women were notoriously stronger with Air and Water, while men usually favoured Fire and Earth. But they had to be polyvalent. The Chosen and their Dreadlords wouldn’t be considerate enough to use convenient weaves when they attacked. “You can try adding a bit of Earth to it,” Natael advised, demonstrating as he spoke. Maintaining a shield combining two elements was difficult for him, but it didn’t need to be large or powerful for the students to get the trick. As it was, Natael’s shield was roughly the size of a plate, and wouldn’t be much help in a fight. Nobody sniggered at the size of it, though.

Adley was sweating in concentration. Taim and he had decided to teach the Asha’man the famous “secret” to ignoring cold and heat alike, but some of them were quicker to master it than others. Given the unnaturally warm weather, Natael sometimes wondered if they ought to inform the rest of the men, but Taim had deemed it unnecessary. It was best if only the Asha’man displayed the ability, he claimed. It would separate them from the lesser channelers. Natael supposed that the issue wasn’t worth arguing over.

Adley’s shield finally took form, the added thread of Earth obviously helping. It kept growing until it completely enclosed the youth. “Good initiative, surrounding yourself with it.” Natael commented. His two other pupils realised that they were only protected up front and followed Adley’s example. Natael nodded approvingly. “Now, Narishma, use a minor offensive Fire weave on them, to see if they can resist it.” Adley paled. Narishma had only been here a few weeks, but he was already one of their most powerful recruits and he had been raised to the highest rank after mere days. “Keep it up, Adley. Concentrate.”

Narishma, who was prettier than a man had any right to be, complied without a word. His “minor offensive Fire weave” nearly set the curtains, then the entire room, aflame. The problem with the lad was that he was so strong, he sometimes had trouble gauging the force of his attacks, especially indoors.

Natael quickly smothered the curtains with Air mixed with Water and Narishma lost his grip on saidin as soon as he realised what he’d done. His cheeks reddened in embarrassment, which somehow enhanced his distracting beauty. “Sorry, Ghraem,” he muttered, eyes downcast.

Perhaps they’d raised him a bit too soon. He was trustworthy enough, but he could have benefited from another week or two of the more basic lessons. On the bright side, the shields had held against the sudden inferno. Adley seemed a bit stunned, understandably so, since he’d just been engulfed in flames, while his companion, Vinchova, the youngest Asha’man, had gone white as a sheet. He looked about ready to faint.

Natael smiled slightly. “I think that’ll be enough for today, class. You did well.” They saluted him and departed with murmured thanks. They’d been practising for over two hours; they must be exhausted.

Natael sighed contentedly, stretching his back. He had done well, too, if he did say so himself. He didn’t expect a pat on the back from anyone, so he might as well congratulate himself. He glanced out the window at his cottage and was reminded of the chore that awaited him: explaining to Taim that he needed to briefly sojourn in the mansion, because he was having his own built nearby.

As he opened the door to go find the M’Hael, he found the Saldaean waiting for him in the corridor. Taim was leaning against a wall and wearing his usual half-smirk. That was not a good sign. “How did your first real lesson go?” he enquired with faked casualness, examining his nails.

“It went well,” Natael replied a bit too curtly, feeling defensive. It was hardly his first lesson. “Nobody died,” he added dryly.

“Good, good.” His smile widened a bit, which sent a cold shiver down Natael’s spine. “Which room would you like?” he went on conversationally.

Natael stared at him, though Taim seemed entirely absorbed by the state of his nails, which were perfectly manicured. The man was incredibly vain.

He couldn’t believe that Flinn had betrayed him. That back-stabbing codger! Natael would make certain that he paid for this treachery. He would have him test all of the new recruits by himself for a month and clean the latrines when he was done.

Taim chuckled quietly. “I was wondering how long it would be before you finally decided to get your own mansion. Flinn and I had an on-going bet about it, in fact. I assured him that it would be done by the end of the year, but he insisted that you were too proud to give in.”

They had bet on the matter? Natael held back several curses and made an attempt at keeping his cool. He took a deep breath and released it slowly. He raised his chin up as he spoke. “In truth, I told Asha’man Flinn that I was considering it. Nothing’s decided yet. I was merely enquiring about the practicalities. I was obviously going to discuss it with you before-”

Taim shook his head and his smile faded. He looked…disappointed. “Why do you always feel the need to lie to me, even when the facts speak for themselves? Flinn recounted the entire conversation for me, Nate. Natael,” he amended, frowning slightly. “I don’t have a problem with you having your own place, although it seems a waste of space, considering the size of this building. If you wanted your own bedroom, there are several to choose from. There is also room for another study-”

Natael scoffed. “You want me to live with you?”

Taim’s expression darkened. “All of the Asha’man already live here. It’s not like we’re…moving in together,” he mumbled. “Anyway. What I meant is that, while I have no issue with you building another mansion right beside mine, I wish you wouldn’t do it behind my back. It’s a pretty important decision and I wish you had at least consulted me. This is bad for our image as equal, united leaders, and it undermines our authority.”

“Your image. Your authority,” Natael corrected him.

Taim shook his head insistently. “You refuse to understand, don’t you? When you do things like that, of your own initiative, be they right or wrong, all that the men see is that you consider yourself above me. Above the rules we’ve worked so hard to enforce.” He paused, seemingly to give Natael a chance to defend himself, but Natael would not give him the satisfaction. He would not be goaded into yet another pointless argument about leadership. “You’re a selfish prick, you know that?” Taim said softly. He didn’t sound angry or bitter, but rather…upset. As though it genuinely troubled him, instead of merely annoy him. As though he expected better of Natael.

Taim was being understanding, was trying to give him a chance to do better. To be better. Natael should have apologised, perhaps, but that was simply not in his nature. So instead of defusing the situation, Natael made it worse. So much worse. He simply couldn’t help himself. “I have been alive for three thousand years, Taim, three hundred of which I actually spent living. Do you honestly think I’ve ever asked anyone permission to do anything?” Taim’s eyes flashed; now he was angry. Had he seriously expected a meek, subdued reaction? “The Great Lord gives us assignments, but even He understands that we, the Chosen, must be free to do as we wish. As long as the job is done, He doesn’t care. I have never answered to anyone but Him, and now you expect me to ask you for permission? Who do you think you are? I behave as though I am above you because I am. I have no reason to listen to you, to obey you. Al’Thor is not the boss of me, either. I don’t care what he decreed, I am and will always be my own man. Neither he nor the Great Lord nor bloody Demandred can take that away from me.” He was panting slightly by the time he finished his rant. His totally justified rant.

Taim had gone from angry to seemingly worried. Odd. Natael had assumed that he would have seized saidin by now, and possibly thrown Natael out of a window, or set him afire. In fact, he almost wished he would. The silence was growing awkward. “I used to think it was your inflated ego that made you talk like this,” Taim said eventually. He was eyeing Natael cautiously and keeping his distance. “But Nate…how long exactly have you been under the influence of the taint?” he asked in a low voice.

Natael snorted in disbelief. “You fool, it’s merely been months. You, on the other hand, have been subjected to it for years. If anyone here is mad, it is not I, Taim. It’s you.” He’d had enough of this. Enough of Taim’s unpleasant innuendos. He wasn’t mad. He was deeply frustrated by Taim and it made him sound mad. That was all.

He had to leave. At that moment, he wasn’t sure if he meant leave the mansion or the Black Tower altogether, but he couldn’t be in Taim’s presence for a second longer. He turned on his heels and stomped away, but Taim wouldn’t allow it. He caught Natael’s sleeve and opened his mouth, but Natael spoke right over him. “You really don’t remember what happened last night?” he demanded. Burn him. He had brought this upon himself.

Taim’s mouth remained open a moment longer, his mind obviously backtracking at the unforeseen question. “What?”

Natael sniggered. “’What?’” he repeated mockingly. “You heard me. We did see each other last night.” He studied Taim’s reaction attentively. He seemed genuinely taken aback. Blood and ashes, he really didn’t remember. Well, Natael would take delight in reminding him. “You got back late. I don’t know when exactly, but when I saw the light on in your study, I came to investigate.” Taim flinched. Was he remembering? He had to know that he’d been drinking too much, at least, even if he didn’t remember seeing Natael. “I wanted to chew you out for leaving me to deal with your mess. For leaving without telling me. For not letting me know if you intended to ever come back.” Natael hadn’t realised how upset he’d been about this until now. But that wasn’t the point. “You were...inebriated, to say the least. Could barely stand upright or articulate. You started rambling, spewing utter nonsense. Hurtful nonsense.” You don’t belong. You’re pathetic. “And then you attacked me.” Taim began to protest, but Natael wasn’t done. “You did. You used saidin against me, knowing full well that I cannot defend myself. Not as well as I used to, anyway,” he amended quickly. Never admit to weakness in front of your enemies. Unless you intend to trick them. That was Chosen 101. “And now you keep calling me Nate!” he added for good measure.

Taim waited a moment before responding, to make sure that Natael was done speaking. “I…I’m not sure where ‘Nate’ came from. It’s…shorter, I guess,” he muttered, eyes downcast. “Look, I vaguely remember… I thought I was dreaming… Did I really say all that?” Natael nodded forcefully. Taim let out a mirthless chuckle. “At least it explains why my bookshelf was scorched.” He looked up hesitantly. “Did you…put a blanket over me? Or did I dream that, too?”

Natael flushed. How could he possibly remember that? He’d been asleep, practically comatose! “The nights get cold, despite the heat of the days,” he grumbled. “Anyway. That wasn’t the point. I-” He frowned, trailing off, mouth still open. What had been his point? Great Lord, how frustrating. It was all Taim’s fault. His comment about the flaming blanket had destabilised Natael.

“I’m sorry about what I said,” Taim said softly. “I was drunk, as I’m sure you noticed. I didn’t mean any of it.”

Natael scoffed, but then he remembered what he’d been about to say: some snide remark about Taim crying because he’d had to kill a man. Well, an innocent lad, really, but still. He gazed at Taim, who looked genuinely apologetic, openly embarrassed. “You…” He sighed. “Can I get a bloody mansion, or not?” he demanded.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t, you twit. Just that you ought to talk to me about these things, instead of going behind my back. To avoid this sort of ridiculous situation.” He sighed with exhaustion. “We can’t keep arguing like this. We’re quibbling like children.”

“Like the Chosen,” Natael concurred.

“That’s even worse.” Taim gestured broadly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Now, which room do you want?”

Chapter Text

Looking good, Barid

Hardlin, you gossipy wretch

I’m not a coward!

Natael looked out the open window of his study.

They were nearing the end of the year, and yet the weather was still unnaturally warm, as though it were the middle of summer. Natael didn’t know how the lesser recruits survived without the trick to ignoring heat and cold. They had to be boiling in their woollen black coats. But Taim had a point: it was amusing to watch them sweat while they trained outside.

And, as a bonus: most of them took their coats and shirts off while practising their sword forms. Including Narishma.

Not that Natael spent much time watching Narishma, of course, or anyone else. He was quite busy, supervising the Soldiers, giving lessons in the evenings… They had twelve full Asha’man now. Taim’s bedrooms were all claimed. If they raised anyone else, the Asha’man would either have to share a room or move in with Natael, who had sixteen bedrooms. Four more than Taim. The building was a bit higher, too. And decorated with more taste, needless to say.

He’d prefer to have the mansion to himself, however. It was very peaceful up here in his study. He had his harp, he had wine. If there ever was a siege, Natael could survive here for weeks, at the very least.

The room overlooked most of the Black Tower. He’d made certain that he didn’t have a view on Taim’s study, so that the Saldaean couldn’t spy on him.

The sun was finally setting. You’d think that the temperature would go down as night fell, but it barely did. It wasn’t like the Aiel Waste. Natael knew that it was the Great Lord’s work, but he was getting tired of the heat, even though it didn’t really affect him. A proper autumn would have been nice. And a mild winter to follow.

Oh well. There was no use complaining about the weather. There was nothing he or anyone else could do about it. It would likely last until Tarmon Gai’don, and the outcome of the Last Battle would forever decide of the weather: proper, defined seasons or…well, infinite nothingness. Then again, if it came to that, Natael would be dead and wouldn’t have to suffer the heat any longer.

Taim was outside, doing his usual late-evening round. Making sure the main gate was guarded, that all the chores had been seen to. That no one was going mad.

They’d been lucky so far; there hadn’t been any mercy-kill since the first. Natael hoped that the result of his report hadn’t driven Flinn to keep his mouth shut about potential madmen. Natael wasn’t looking forward to poisoning anybody – he’d offered to take care of it, seeing how badly the first had affected Taim – but it was a preferable option to letting an insane channeler go unchecked.

Taim was being quite reasonable, these days. They didn’t argue as much as usual. Their brief cohabitation had been uneventful; Natael had kept to his own room as often as possible, meeting with Taim only to discuss the recruits. He had moved into his own mansion eight days later; the building was finished within five days, but he’d needed to decorate. There were still some minor details to see to, but it was perfectly habitable.

All in all, everything was going well. They were making good progress. The fifty trained men Taim had promised al’Thor were ready for battle, and they could provide a hundred and fifty more – mainly Soldiers, but with knowledge of the most basic offensive Earth and Fire weaves. Recruitment was in full swing. Flinn was gathering more men than Natael could have ever imagined. He’d never expected so many people to pledge their lives to some abstract figure who was basically demanding them to die for him. There could be no other outcome. Everyone at the Black Tower would die eventually, one way or another.

Al’Thor hadn’t deigned show his face since he’d brought his ridiculous pins with him. They still sent reports (to both Cairhien and Caemlyn) but they never received a reply, nor even orders. Natael had no idea what the farm boy was up to.

“You are doing better than expected,” a male voice called from behind him.

Natael jumped. He hadn’t heard anything, hadn’t felt anyone channel saidin. He hadn’t bothered to ward the place; the Chosen would easily get past them. Besides, he was supposed to be on their side and well below them. He turned around slowly, wishing that Taim were here, that the intruder had waited for a moment when they were together.

Demandred stood rigidly, hands behind his back. He was wearing standard Andoran finery, but Natael was certain that the Chosen hadn’t infiltrated the territory; he was simply taking precautions. He looked dashing and elegant, though it wouldn’t occur to Natael to say it out loud.

He’d always thought Demandred the most attractive of the Chosen – men and women included. Maybe it was his mysterious, aloof airs. Maybe it was the fact that he exuded confidence and had the bearing of a king. Women usually pointed out that, because of his hooked nose, he didn’t qualify as handsome. Natael believed it made him look distinguished, aristocratic. It rendered his face slightly imperfect, but it did nothing to alter his overall attractiveness, in Natael’s opinion. On the contrary.

Unfortunately, he had a lousy personality.

“Looking good, Barid,” Natael commented offhandedly. “Emerald was always your colour.”

Demandred frowned at the name, then glanced down at himself, as though he’d forgotten what he was wearing. It was quite possible that he had. Demandred was always impeccably dressed, not a hair out of place, but it would surprise people to learn that he cared little about his appearance. He dressed smartly because it was expected of him, not because he wanted to impress. Even when picking outfits designed to confuse the enemy, he looked amazing. Demandred kept scowling as he returned his attention to Natael. It was so easy to perturb him with silly remarks. Now he’d be wondering if Natael knew which nation he’d decided to infiltrate, just because Natael had mentioned his clothing. So was the way of the Chosen.

“As I was saying,” Demandred said, a faint trace of reproach in his soft voice, “you are doing well. The Great Lord is pleased with your progress. If you manage to keep this up, your reward will be attainable before the Last Battle begins.”

“My reward and Taim’s,” Natael corrected him. Why was the Chosen visiting him when he was alone? Was he trying to cause dissension within the Tower? It seemed a foolish move. The unity of the Black Tower was in everyone’s best interest – whether it ended in the hands of the Shadow or those of the Light. Taim and he still hadn’t decided and, given the fact that they hadn’t seen al’Thor in weeks, it was difficult to gauge his sanity. Ideally, if Natael had his way, the Tower would belong to him – and Taim, he supposed – but wouldn’t be attached to either side. It would stand in the midst of it all, a lone, independent, neutral area with no affiliation other than to its rightful leaders. Natael didn’t distinguish between Light and Shadow; in his experience, nothing, and no one, was ever entirely one or the other. The world was grey, not black and white, a simple fact that both minions of the Light and of the Shadow often overlooked – or were unaware of – including Demandred, who thought himself all white; he was the righteous saviour of a world which had failed to recognise that the Dragon was leading it to its downfall. Demandred was willing to forgive the foolishness and misguided mistake of the mortals if they pledged their lives to him and forsook Lews Therin and his newest reincarnation.

Natael sometimes wondered what would happen if Demandred became Nae’blis in Ishamael’s stead, now that Elan was dead. After all, he was the most likely candidate for the vacant position. He was the most accomplished warrior, a cunning and ruthless general, a charismatic leader of men.

And yet, for all his qualities, Demandred had a fatal weakness: his fathomless hatred of Lews Therin, which would, in all likelihood, be the death of him. It was the only thing that had the potential of destabilising him, but when one was a Chosen, a single mistake was all it took. Natael knew that only too well.

“Certainly,” Demandred said flatly. “Taim seemed to be doing most of the work in the beginning, but you’ve picked up your slack, I understand.” It wasn’t meant to be insulting; Demandred was just stating a fact. Yet, even knowing that, Natael couldn’t help but feel offended. He was doing the best he could under difficult circumstances. “You’d do well to give advanced training to more men, however. You have…twelve recruits who’ve made it into your private lessons?” Natael nodded. Here it comes. “I find that odd. Several of your…Dedicated seem like they could handle the extra pin.” His lips tightened in disdain, to show what he thought of al’Thor’s extravagant accessories. “Rochaid. Torval. Gedwyn. Dashiva.”

“They are powerful,” Natael conceded. He had to make a conscious effort not to sweat. He really wished Taim were here. He was much better at lying to Demandred’s face. “But they’re fickle, unpredictable. We’ve been monitoring them, but we suspect that the taint may have gotten to them already.” It was only true in Dashiva’s case. They were monitoring him very closely indeed. The others were simply untrustworthy.

Demandred waved indifferently. “It doesn’t matter if they’re half-mad. They’re strong. You will raise them.”

Blood and ashes! They’d already come up with a contingency plan, of course, but Natael wasn’t looking forward to it. He would have to teach the unreliable Asha’man himself, while Taim looked after the others. They’d have to be separated; that was where Natael’s mansion would come in handy.

He wasn’t looking forward to living with these brutish fools. He was even less keen on Demandred finding out what they were planning, though. “Fine, we’ll raise them. If you insist.”

Demandred gave him a flat stare. “It wasn’t a question, Nessosin. It was a command.”

“Yes, well, I said I would do it, didn’t I? Is there anything else?” he asked with some annoyance.

“You ought to be prepared for battle.” Demandred opened a gateway, but it didn’t reveal much of interest; only the same organised desk that Natael had already seen before.

Natael frowned. “We are. Why? Has something happened?” Taim had spies all over Andor, as well as in some other cities, but they’d heard no important news in recent days.

“Be prepared, that is all,” Demandred repeated. He stepped inside the gateway, presumably in his own study, and closed the portal without another word.

“’Good evening, Joar’,” Natael spoke into the empty air. “’It’s nice to see you. How have you been lately? I hope Taim isn’t giving you a hard time. He can be a pain in the bottom, sometimes.’” Natael sighed. “’Oh, you know, he’s not so bad. He’s an acquired taste, I suppose. By the way, Barid dear, you absolutely must give me the name of your tailor.’”

“So you are mad,” someone called from the other doorway.

For the second time that evening, Natael was startled. Taim had come up through the secret entrance. (Yes, there was a secret passage leading from the kitchens to Natael’s study. You never knew when such a thing would come in handy, in Natael’s line of work, especially with his reduced strength in the Power.) “What in the Pit of Doom is wrong with you? How many times must I remind you to bloody knock?”

Taim looked like he didn’t know whether to smile or not. He seemed genuinely concerned about what he’d just witnessed, but he also appeared to be holding back laughter.

Natael backtracked. “Oh, no. Did Demandred see you? Does he know about the secret door?”

Taim’s mouth finally quirked into a smile. “The ‘secret door’,” he scoffed. “Natael, by now everyone at the Black Tower knows that you have a concealed exit in here. Hardlin is even more of a gossip than his wife.”

Natael did not know that. Why hadn’t Taim warned him before he’d had the bloody man design the tunnel? Still, he affected not to care. “You didn’t answer my question,” he said testily.

“I don’t think he knows I was here,” Taim replied more seriously. “But I didn’t hear what you were discussing. Is something wrong? Is he onto us?”

“Not really, but he did enquire about Rochaid and his ilk. We have to promote them.”

Taim’s face hardened. “Plan B it is, then. You will lodge them here?” Natael nodded reluctantly. “Good. I’ll explain to Flinn, so he can warn the others. The less contact they have, the better. We have to keep them separated at all cost. There’s a good chance that one or several of our future Asha’man are spies. Demandred’s, or someone else’s, not that it makes much difference.”

Natael poured himself a glass of wine. He desperately needed one. There was a slight tremor in his hands as he held the crystal pitcher. People had to stop barging into his house unannounced, for pity’s sake. “They may even be spying for two or more Chosen. Brainless Darkfriends, thinking that they can be double agents, then try to blackmail us, hoping to elevate themselves to a higher rank…” He sniggered. That never ended well for the mortals, but was often useful to the Chosen.

“Yes, well, either way, Rochaid and the others cannot know that the rest of the Asha’man are loyal only to us, not to the Chosen. They cannot know that they know.”

Natael took a long sip of wine. “You’re making my brain hurt, Taim. Have some wine and relax. My chairs are quite comfortable.” And aesthetically pleasing, of course, unlike Taim’s. The man had a taste for gaudy furniture.

“Relax?” Taim scoffed. “You’re the jumpy one, Natael. You nearly fell out the window when I spoke up earlier.”

“I’d seen you outside just before Demandred arrived. I couldn’t have known that you’d sneak up on me through the not-so-secret door while I was distracted!” he huffed.

“I wasn’t sneaking,” Taim protested. “I glimpsed a tall, broad silhouette in the study, and I got wor-” He cleared his throat. “I was curious to know who it was. Can you blame me, under the circumstances?” he added coolly.

Had he been about to say worried? Interesting. “Well, never mind that now,” Natael said. “Our friend Barid also told me that we should be ready for battle.”

Taim considered that for a moment. “Why are people always so bloody enigmatic and vague when they say ominous things like that?” he muttered wistfully. “It’d help to know when and where and who we’ll be fighting.”

Natael shrugged. That was a valid remark, but there was nothing they could do but wait. Besides, there was a good chance that Demandred hadn’t been more specific simply because he didn’t know the specifics himself – though he’d never admit it, of course. “So is the way of the Chosen,” he said crookedly. The phrase was an informal Shadowy equivalent of the Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills saying that the modern Aes Sedai were so fond of. Natael had coined it himself. And was the only one who used it, like as not. “We like to be mysterious. It’s good for our image.”

Taim didn’t seem to find that amusing. In fact, though it wasn’t blatant, Natael could tell that the man was uncharacteristically tense. “Do you think he meant… Is the Last Battle underway? My spies have reported nothing of the sort.”

Natael had his own spies – mainly servants, no channelers – and nothing seemed to indicate that Tarmon Gai’don was upon them. There was trouble brewing in several places, of course, but wasn’t there always trouble somewhere, especially at a time like this? “I doubt it.”

“Do you think Demandred is planning an attack?” Taim went on relentlessly.

“I don’t know, alright? I told you exactly what he told me. I’m not withholding information from you, Taim.” Natael didn’t expect the younger man to trust him – Taim would be stupid to trust him, or anyone, for that matter – but Natael was being entirely truthful. Wasn’t it obvious? He had no reason to lie. It wasn’t in his interest to do so. “Though if that were the case, I don’t see why he’d let us know. Demandred wouldn’t ask us to join him in battle at this point. He won’t play his cards this early in the game. We’re meant to be a decisive, unexpected ally of the Shadow during the Last Battle, but before that, we’re supposed to pretend to be on al’Thor’s side.” Honestly, a child could understand this. When had Taim become so dense? “In fact, I suspect that Demandred won’t attack at all until the very last moment.” He wouldn’t attack openly, at least. He was too subtle for that. “He’ll do his best not to draw the boy’s attention, so he can’t be rooted out like the other fools.” Namely, Be’lal and Rahvin. Both men. The ladies were definitely winning this game, though they had an advantage: al’Thor wouldn’t harm a woman if his life depended on it. Moiraine Sedai had had to get rid of Lanfear on her own.

“That’s a shrewd analysis,” Taim conceded. Of course it was. What else did he expect from Natael? “Have you figured out where Demandred has established his evil lair?”

Natael had thought it over, certainly. More than once. There were several possibilities, but none was more likely than the other. They all had their pros and cons; Natael couldn’t rule any of them out, and that left him with too many options to make an educated guess. “No,” he replied simply. There was no point trying to guess, anyway. When the time came, they would know and, in the meantime, Demandred’s location was of no consequence to them. Even if Natael did know, what would he do with the information? Sell the Chosen to al’Thor? If the boy didn’t kill Demandred, that would be the end of Natael’s life, without a chance of narrow escape this time. As for blackmailing Demandred…that wasn’t even an option. Demandred wouldn’t just kill him. He would turn him over to Semirhage, and that was a fate even worse than death. “And I suggest that you don’t wrack your brain trying to find him, if you know what’s good for you.”

Taim was studying him, likely wondering if Natael was telling the truth, but he made no other comment on the subject. A wise decision. “Regardless, we have some planning to do. If Demandred didn’t say when we should be ready, I think we ought to be ready as soon as possible. Tomorrow morning, I want you to select a hundred and fifty Soldiers and give them intensive training. Leave the rest with Mishraile. When the time comes, we’ll split the Dedicated – half of them should stay here with you, and at least one Asha’man, to defend the Tower in my absence-”

“Whoa, hold on,” Natael interrupted him. “I’m not staying behind.”

Taim threw him a genuinely perplexed look. “You want to fight? You?”

What was he implying? That Natael was craven? “I don’t want to fight, idiot. Nobody wants to fight. But I won’t run away from battle, not if our men are on the line. They’ll need guidance. They’ll need leadership.” Taim’s expression was utterly unreadable. “Not that you can’t provide either of those, but they’ll need large quantities of both. They’ve never been in an actual fight. Like as not, it’ll be messy. They’ll be terrified. It’s best if we’re both there. Besides, my reputation among them is bad enough, I don’t want to add coward to the rumours,” he added bitterly.

Taim opened his mouth, then closed it, looking away. The silence stretched for an uncomfortably long time.

“I’m not asking for your permission to go,” Natael said firmly. “I’m telling you that I’m going.” He smirked. “But you’re welcome to stay here, if you’re worried about leaving the Tower undefended.”

“Natael, this is commendable, but…” Taim hesitated. He still wouldn’t meet Natael’s gaze. “You can barely channel a trickle...”

“I can take care of myself,” Natael protested. He wasn’t some random weakling, Shadow blind him! Reduced strength or not, he was one of the Chosen!

“I’m not worried about your safety, you fool,” Taim said through clenched jaws, all hesitation gone from his voice. “I’m worried about you being a liability on the battlefield.”

Natael gaped at him. The presumptuousness!

Taim wasn’t quite done. “I can’t have the men looking out for you. I can’t afford to be distracted. If you come, you will be on your own. I can’t spare channelers to shield you, Nate.” He exhaled sharply through his hooked nose. “Natael.” He seemed increasingly annoyed with himself every time he used the shortened version of Natael’s name.

Natael had been annoyed at first, too, but he was getting used to it. He wished he could think of a nickname for Taim, but it was difficult to shorten such a name. Unless he resorted to… “I understand, Mazrim.”

Taim’s face changed colour. “Don’t… You…! Nobody ever…” he sputtered.

“I know,” Natael said. “It sounds incredibly strange to say it out loud. I do hope I’m saying it right, because – funny story – I used to think that your second name was pronounced tame.” He grinned broadly.

“Get out,” Taim said softly. “And don’t ever-”

Natael’s grin faded. “Get out?” he repeated. “This is my study! You get out!”

Taim’s eyes widened, and he looked around him. He’d genuinely forgotten where he was. He glared at Natael, as though it were somehow his fault, then marched out of the room, using the falsely-secret exit.

Was he truly that upset at the use of his first name, or was there something more sinister at play? He couldn’t be going mad, could he? He’d held the madness at bay for so long…couldn’t he suppress it for a few more months, until the Last Battle was over? Natael didn’t want to manage the whole Black Tower by himself. Didn’t want to deal with the Forsak…um, with the Chosen all alone. Or with al’Thor.

Loath as he was to admit it, especially considering Taim’s “liability” comment, Natael needed the other man.

For the time being, at least.

Chapter Text

Gators are extinct

There’s a Chosen in our midst

But we are winning

“I don’t like this,” Natael muttered under his breath for the twelfth time that afternoon.

He was standing in the corridor that led to the guest bedrooms of his palace (might as well call a spade a spade; many noblemen of this Age had smaller, shabbier dwellings than this). The newly-raised Asha’man were moving in, carrying their belongings from the barracks with threads of Air. Coteren was having a laugh, purposefully bumping his scarce possessions against his comrades or tripping them. At least he was laughing until Kisman threatened to skewer him with his sword. Raefar Kisman was one of the few Asha’man who, despite their relative strength in the Power, actually knew how to wield a blade. He was skilled at it, too, and he liked to practice an hour every day before the morning roll call.

They shouldn’t have raised Coteren. For one thing, he wasn’t very strong in the Power, compared to the others and, for another, he was quite dumb.

Dumb and a bit gross, too. His dark oily hair looked like it hadn’t been washed in over a year. Coteren certainly smelled like he hadn’t encountered clean water and soap in quite some time. Natael would need to have a word with him about personal hygiene, before the stench of his body odour could permeate the freshly-built palace.

He would make a “good” Dreadlord, though. He was greedy, cruel. Too stupid to be a leader, unlike Rochaid and Gedwyn, but he was sufficiently nasty to appease Demandred.

In any case, it was too late, now. They couldn’t take the dragon pin back, not unless Coteren committed a serious offense. In truth, Natael wouldn’t put it past him to do just that. He had bet Taim that they’d have to execute him by week’s end; the way he behaved around the women who lived at the Tower, he would hang from the gallows in no time, especially now that he believed himself above the rules by which the Soldiers and Dedicated had to abide. Natael had already reprimanded him twice since he’d been given the gold-and-red pin, barely two hours ago. He had no respect for authority and he was a bully, but the good news was that his fellow Asha’man, the ones with whom Coteren would have to share living quarters, couldn’t stand him, either. They would keep him in line, hopefully.

Peral Torval approached and bowed slightly to Natael. “Everyone is settled in, Ghraem. What are your orders?” He had the grace to sound polite. He didn’t smirk. And yet Natael could tell that, like many of his peers, he resented having to defer to him.

“Assemble in the library. I would speak to all of you.” That was where their lessons would take place.

Ten minutes later, the domestics had laid out tea and biscuits on a table in the library and Natael was seated in the only chair in the room. The Asha’man were clearly unhappy that they had to stand and concealed their displeasure with various degrees of success. Coteren was failing altogether.

“I trust that your new quarters are satisfactory,” Natael began. A few of them nodded. They ought to praise his exquisite taste in design and decoration, but he couldn’t force them to be enthused about the rich, velvety purple curtains or the polished pine wood of their custom-made beds. “As Asha’man, you are the most loyal and trustworthy servants of the Black Tower,” he went on. Oh, they didn’t like that word, servants, Natael could tell. “You are role models to the lesser channelers and you represent the Tower abroad. You must therefore behave exemplarily. Taim and I will tolerate no transgression from you. There will be no mercy, no special treatment.” He was fixing Coteren as he spoke, but the man was gazing hungrily at the lemon bars and assorted delicacies displayed on the table. Good gracious. He had the attention span of a five-year-old. “Moreover, you are pledged to secrecy. What you learn during your advanced lessons must not leave this room. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes, Ghraem,” Manel Rochaid said obligingly, though Natael perceived the strong undercurrent of sarcasm in his voice. No one would dare use that tone with M’Hael – but Taim was stronger in the Power than anyone here, except perhaps Corlan Dashiva. The plain-looking man might be stronger than even Natael, when his ability to channel was unrestricted by Lanfear’s shield.

They would have to keep a close watch on that one. The fellow’s eyes shifted from Rochaid to Natael, then fixated on the floor. He was muttering to himself again, though too low for Natael to hear what he was saying. With any luck, he’d have a good reason to poison Dashiva’s wine before too long. The man gave him the creeps.

Well. Time for the grand revelation.

“The first thing you will learn is that I have been masquerading as a weak channeler of this Age all along,” he said. That did spark some genuine interest. “I am, in fact, one of the Chosen. I am Asmodean.” When he’d confessed to the other Asha’man, only Flinn had taken the news stoically. The rest had gasped, gaped and nearly fainted in horror.

This new batch of Asha’man welcomed the announcement with sniggers and twisted grins. Dashiva actually burst out laughing, slapping his thighs with his hands.

“Are you, now?” Gedwyn said with an amused smile.

“Of course I am!” Natael exclaimed. “Only a fool would claim to be one of the Chosen if they were not. The Great Lord of the Dark would strike me down for my presumptuousness.”

Rochaid was studying him curiously. “Prove it.”

Natael threw up his arms in annoyance. “How in the Pit of Doom am I supposed to prove it? The Chosen don’t wear ostentatious pins, burn you!”

“Draw on saidin,” Torval suggested. “Let us see how much you can truly hold. That is, I assume that you’re only pretending to be weaker than Coteren here, Great Master?” he said wryly.

Natael froze in place. Flinn and the others had accepted his true identity without question. They had not demanded proof. Because they were afraid of him, of what he was: they knew that, if he was who he claimed to be, he could destroy them without moving from his seat. They had not dared take the chance of not believing him, knowing the risk.

These idiots, however… Natael was willing to bet that they wouldn’t have asked Demandred for proof, no matter how weak he appeared to be.

To be fair, he’d had Taim at his side to corroborate his story, the first time. Taim wasn’t here now. All they had was Natael’s word and, clearly, it didn’t mean much to them.

“I don’t have to prove myself to you,” he said haughtily. They sneered at him. Blood and flaming ashes! “I am the greatest musician to have ever lived. Surely you can tell. You’ve heard me play and sing several times. You’ve had the unprecedented honour to hear original pieces of my own composition.” That ought to do it.

Torval shrugged. “I’ve never heard anyone else play the harp. How would I know if you’re good at it, if I have nothing to compare it to?”

Kisman nodded in agreement. “I don’t know the first thing about music. For all I know, you sing off-key.”

Natael stared at him in outrage. Off-key?! How dare he…? He took a long, calming breath. They were testing him. He had to be smarter than them. “Very well. I was going to offer you a chance to become Dreadlords, so that you would no longer suffer from the taint and have access to power and knowledge that only the Chosen have access to, but I see that I’ve misjudged you. You are just as unworthy as the rest of them.” He stood up and adjusted his teal silk coat. “You may join the M’Hael in his gaudy palace, with the other puppets of the Light. Have fun learning how to ethically incapacitate an Aes Sedai.” Nobody moved. He made a shooing gesture in their direction. “Off you go, then, little pawns.”

Coteren cleared his throat. “Dreadlords don’t suffer from the taint?” he asked hesitantly.

Natael arched an eyebrow. “You will still sense it when you channel, but it will no longer affect you. You will not go mad. You will never die.” A lie, all a lie, but if you dangled something appealing enough in front of them and rubbed them up the right way, people would accept almost anything.

“So Flinn and the others… They’re not Dreadlords?” Torval said.

Natael scoffed. “Of course not. They don’t have what it takes. I was forced to raise them because al’Thor demanded it, because they are powerful channelers, but that is the extent of their talents.”

“But…what about Taim?”

Ah. He was Taim now, not M’Hael. Good. “A mere lackey under the Dragon's thumb. I would have done away with him, but we don’t want to elicit suspicion, do we? Al’Thor put us both in charge. If something were to happen to Taim, I would be the prime suspect. We must keep a low profile until the Last Battle.”

They were all nodding along now, except Dashiva, who was glaring at the carpeted floor. His mouth was working, but no sound came out.

“Taim has been recruiting his own private army, but it’s my turn now,” Natael went on. “Join me, and you will be rewarded. Power, wealth, immortality… It is all within your reach, if you choose to serve and obey.”

Rochaid was the first on his knees. “I pledge my soul to the Great Lord of the Dark.”

Uh. He didn’t do things by half, that one. One moment he was doubting and mocking Natael, the next he was forfeiting his soul to the Shadow – even though that was not an actual requirement.

Technically, the requirement was to swear on an Oath Rod, but Natael, of course, did not have one in his possession. As the others fell to their knees and repeated Rochaid’s words, Natael decided to continue to bluff his way through this. He waited until Dashiva, the last one to give in, was on the floor, eyes downcast, then he seized saidin and drew what little he could manage. He wove a complicated web of tiny threads of all five elements and released it. They gasped as it hit them. The weave he’d used was merely meant to make people shudder with cold, then feel a sudden surge of warmth, but apparently it served its purpose. “Repeat after me,” Natael said. He listed their duties as fake Dreadlords and they parroted him eagerly. He made them swear to obey him, and the Great Lord through him. They pledged their lives to him.

This wasn’t the plan, not exactly. He was only supposed to reveal himself to them and gain their loyalty, just like they’d done with the Asha’man who served the Light. He was supposed to teach them a few fancy tricks and promise to make them Dreadlords just before the Last Battle. But the other Asha’man were clearly more loyal to Taim than they were to Natael. Shouldn’t he have his own private guards, in case things went south? In case Taim betrayed him?

“Rise now, Dreadlords,” he proclaimed as he released the Source. It was difficult to keep a straight face. They looked solemn but amazed, as if Natael had just bestowed upon them the gifts of invincibility and immortality. Coteren’s mouth was parted in awe, which made him look even more stupid.

“Thank you, Ghraem,” Torval murmured, his head bowed. There was no trace of sarcasm in his voice now, no resentment.

“Thank you, Great Master,” Kisman and Gedwyn said in unison.

Natael nodded in satisfaction. “We will begin our lessons tomorrow evening. Rochaid, I trust you to divide the chores evenly amongst yourselves.” They whispered in assent. “You are dismissed.”

One by one, they filed out of the library. Natael turned his back on them and eyed the tea and biscuits that no one had touched. A waste, but he wanted wine, not tea. He was about to ring the bell to summon a serving maid when he realised that he was not alone in the room. Someone had appropriated the chair.

Natael put his hands on his hips and scowled at Dashiva. Mad or not, the man couldn’t just-

“Well, well, Nessosin. I don’t even know where to begin.”

Natael reflexively seized saidin. No one called him Nessosin, except the Chosen, occasionally. “Who are you?” he demanded. “What is this?”

“A very good question indeed,” Dashiva noted. “What in the Great Lord’s name is this? What do you think you’re doing? You betrayed us, Nessosin. You have no right to pretend to a status that is no longer yours. I ought to kill you right here and now for this blasphemy.” Thankfully, he did no such thing.

“I’m acting on Demandred’s orders,” Natael said, too hastily. “He offered me a chance to recover my former title. I rule here in his name – in the Great Lord’s name. The Black Tower has been claimed by the Shadow.” That was only partly true, but chances were that, whoever this impostor was, he wasn’t aware of the extent of Demandred’s involvement.

Dashiva observed him keenly, all signs of his faked madness gone. “This was Barid Bel’s ploy, mm? Well, it was my idea first,” he said with a sour grimace. “The difference is that I wasn’t handed command of the Black Tower on a silver platter. You have no right to order me about, Nessosin. You will do as I command, not the other way around. I am one of the Chosen. You are a spineless traitor and an opportunistic rat.”

“I am only doing what Demandred, another Chosen, has ordered me to do,” Natael insisted. “Will you go against his will, whoever you are?” He couldn’t figure it out. Weren’t most of the male Chosen dead, save Demandred and Sammael? Was this a new pawn in the game? It seemed improbable, since the man referred to Natael by his third name. But why would Sammael interfere in Black Tower business at this point, when he was ruling over Illian? “You know who I am. It’s only fair that you tell me-”

“The world once knew me as Ishar Morrad Chuain.”

Oh, bother. Natael grimly released the Source. It was useless.

Aginor had returned from the dead.

“I trust that everything went according to plan?” Taim wondered, idly swirling the wine in his glass.

They were taking a break from their daily debrief in Natael’s cosy sitting room. “It did.”

Taim eyed him sideways, frowning. The answer was too curt, and Natael had not bragged about his successful afternoon. Of course the man would be suspicious.

But what was there to say? A dead Chosen had resurfaced and was blackmailing him. Natael wanted to disclose everything he’d learned to Taim, so they’d share in the burden of that knowledge, but he simply couldn’t. Aginor – who had been renamed Osan’gar by the Great Lord – would make Natael’s existence a living hell if he told anyone. Serve me, and perhaps I won’t let Demandred know of your little scheme. Obey me, and perhaps you shall live to witness the Great Lord’s triumph. Betray me, and I will turn you into a creature more twisted even than a boar-faced Trolloc.

There was nothing he could do. He did, however, wonder if Demandred knew who “Corlan Dashiva” was. After all, the man had been on his list of Dedicated to be promoted, but was it mere coincidence, or had the two Chosen formed an alliance? He hoped to find out, at least, though it would hardly lessen his predicament.

“They…did not believe me, at first,” Natael mumbled. It had been incredibly vexing, and it would satisfy Taim’s curiosity, even if it wasn’t the actual reason behind Natael’s present grouchiness. “They did not believe that I was Asmodean. Though why I’d pretend to be the weakest, least appreciated of the Chosen, I can’t say.” He sounded quite bitter, even to his own ears. Well, he was bitter. Things had finally been looking up – sort of – but now he was even worse off than before. Now he had to watch out not only for Taim, al’Thor and Demandred, but also Osan’gar and the Great Lord knew how many of his previously deceased colleagues. Had Balthamel and Be’lal returned? Rahvin?

…Ishamael?

No, no, no. Certainly not. If they’d been resuscitated, if Elan, especially, had been brought back from the dead, surely Natael would know about it by now.

“Weakest?” Taim said. “I thought Be’lal was the least powerful of the male Chosen.”

“Right now, I am the weakest of all the Chosen, including the ladies.” He snorted. “I am not even one of the Chosen. I am just another underling, to be used and manipulated at will by my betters, a victim of their cruel whims.”

Taim smirked. “How poetic. You should turn this into one of your silly songs.”

“It’s not funny,” he muttered. He did make a mental note of his own words, though, for later consideration. There was some potential here.

“What’s gotten into you?” Taim's smile slid off his face just as quickly as it appeared. “Everything is going remarkably well, given the circumstances. Our daring strategy, albeit dangerous, is paying off. No one suspects anything. Why are you so bloody miserable? You’re even whinier than usual.”

“You know, when you say things like that, it only makes it worse,” he noted dryly.

“Seriously, Natael.” Taim leaned forward in his seat, a look of concern on his dark face. “Is something amiss? Is it just because they wouldn’t believe you? I thought you’d be used to their attitude by now. Consider the men we raised: all of them are self-important bullies, and Coteren has only half a brain. If that. Of course they wouldn’t believe you. They follow strength and power and nothing else. It doesn’t matter to them that you’re smarter than any three of them put together. It doesn’t matter that the Black Tower runs effortlessly thanks to you and no one else.”

Natael buried his face in his glass of wine. He was afraid that he might blush, if the barely-veiled praise continued for much longer. How drunk was Taim?

Perhaps Natael ought to tell him everything. After all, if they were careful, Osan’gar would never find out, and at least Taim would be in the know, if something went wrong. Maybe he ought to confess that he’d been forced to pretend to swear in the Asha’man as Dreadlords, as well. Now that he really thought about it, he trusted Taim a good deal more than any of the Asha’man – good and bad ones alike. And Taim trusted him in return, didn’t he?

But what if it was all an act? What if Taim was buttering him up only to find out what secrets Natael was keeping from him?

What if Taim was really serving Demandred or Aginor or another Chosen in disguise and had been ordered to keep an eye on Natael, to see if he would, once again, betray his former allies?

He couldn’t risk it. That was “Serving the Great Lord 101” (or, in Natael’s experience, “How to Stay Alive 101”): don’t trust anyone.

Don’t trust anyone, no matter how much you might want to. No matter how lonely and scared you were.

Don’t let them see how scared you are. That had actually been Ishamael’s first and only advice to him, when he’d joined the Shadow. Natael had, of course, protested and insisted that he was not afraid of anyone, but Elan had always seen right through him.

He had been absolutely correct, too, burn him.

“Natael?” Taim was saying. “Are you listening to me?”

Natael blinked at him. He had zoned out, had almost forgotten that the other man was still here. Apparently, Taim had been trying to catch his attention for a moment. He looked both impatient and concerned.

“I’m hanging on your every word,” Natael lied.

Any other day, Taim would have made some derisive comment, but instead he bore into Natael’s eyes intensely, as if he were trying to read his mind. “Are you sure there’s nothing you want to tell me?”

Nope, nothing, Natael thought. Everything is peachy.

Then, barely half a second later: “Aginor has infiltrated the Tower,” he blurted out.

“What?!”

Natael mentally cursed himself, wishing he could swallow the words back. What was wrong with him? Had he not just deliberately decided not to involve Taim in this matter? Darkness within!

“Aginor?” Taim repeated, confusion plain on his handsome face. “I thought he was dead!”

“No, no, you misheard me,” Natael stammered. “I said, a gator has infiltrated the Tower. Via the sewers. We, um, ought to do something about that before it, um, hurts someone.”

Taim stared at him. “A what?”

“Er, you know, an alligator.” Taim continued to stare blankly. “A large reptile with a fearsome, elongated maw?”

Taim snorted with sudden laughter. “You’re a terrible, terrible liar, Nate.” He chuckled again. Natael had never seen such a display of real humour from him. “An alligator. Honestly. That is the stuff of fairytales and children’s books. These mythical creatures don’t exist.”

They didn’t? Oh. They must have become extinct at some point in the last three millennia. How unlucky.

Taim finally got his mirth under control. “So... Aginor?”

Natael exhaled heavily. “Dashiva.”

“I knew there was something off about that one,” Taim said wistfully.

“Taim, I… I may have gotten ahead of myself somewhat. I, um, pretended to raise the new Asha’man as Dreadlords.” Might as well come clean about everything, considering the mess he’d already made. “I used a simple weave and made them swear an oath to me-”

“And they bought it?” Taim asked incredulously, his eyebrows rising.

“They did, yes. Except Dashiva, obviously. He’s threatened to-”

“Nate, that is brilliant.”

Natael lost the thread of what he was about to say, his mouth hanging open. “It is?” This was not the reaction he’d expected, far from it.

“Of course it is. Now we have powerful partisans of the Light on our side as well as wannabe Dreadlords. We can satisfy everyone! If al’Thor ever deigns to visit us again, we’ll show off Flinn and the others. If Demandred wants results, we have Rochaid and his ilk. And in the midst of it all, there’s us, belonging to neither Light nor Shadow.” Well, technically, Taim was a sworn Dreadlord, but that could be undone, if they somehow acquired an Oath Rod. They really ought to look into that. “We have our own army, loyal only to us, as planned, and we can use it however we want when the time comes. The false Dreadlords will obey you blindly and the rest will follow…” There was a slight pause. “…our orders, hopefully. I did explain to them what we planned to do with the Asha’man that Demandred forced upon us. They know you’re only pretending.”

Natael sighed with relief. Taim wasn’t angry. Things weren’t as bad as he had initially assumed. Although… “What about Aginor? He threatened to report me to Demandred if I revealed his true identity to you. And...well, he wanted me to tell him exactly what we were up to.”

“What did you tell him?” For once, Taim’s face was quite unreadable.

“That you were a proper Dreadlord, sworn in by Demandred. That, as long as my shield held, I had to feign being your ally in all this, but that my goal, ultimately, was to be restored to my former status. I said I was trying to redeem myself in the Great Lord’s eyes, so that I might serve him again. I also told him that Flinn and the others were aware of who I am, that they knew about Demandred. That they knew precisely what they were getting into.”

“Implying that they, too, are Dreadlords,” Taim finished for him.

“I thought it would give them some protection,” Natael explained. “If he thought we were all on the same side. The reason I gave for splitting the Asha’man in two different buildings is simple: a matter of space.” That was not entirely untrue, actually. “All of your guest bedchambers are occupied, so I offered mine, until we can no longer afford to give each man his own private room. I think he accepted that justification.”

Taim nodded absent-mindedly. “Did he ask anything else of you?”

“I’m to report to him any reliable news of al’Thor, though he seems to understand that it is a rare enough thing. I must also let him know what you do, especially if it’s something I find irregular or unusual.”

“Is he in cahoots with Demandred?”

Natael shook his head. “I was wondering about that myself. Is it some sort of twisted stratagem? But theirs would be an unlikely alliance, I must say. They have naught in common and Demandred is rather condescending toward anyone who has no martial expertise. Still, it’s a possibility, we ought to keep that in mind.”

“We’ll know soon enough, I should think. If Aginor reports this to him, he’ll certainly pay us another visit.”

Natael swallowed some bile. Technically, they had done what Demandred had asked of them, but they weren’t out of the woods yet.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, though,” Taim said dismissively.

Easier said than done, Natael thought. If Demandred found out about this, Natael would be the one in trouble, not Taim.

“I doubt that Dashiva will be a real nuisance,” Taim went on. “And if he becomes one, well, no one will miss him.”

“You want to kill him?”

“If need be,” he replied with a shrug. “But I don’t think it’ll come to that. From what you’ve told me, the other Asha’man are not aware of who he is, but they do know who you are. They’ll have even fewer reasons to believe Dashiva if he chooses to reveal his identity…” His eyes widened suddenly. “This reminds me: how in the Pit of Doom is Aginor alive? You said he was dead, and al’Thor confirmed it. So how…?”

“The Great Lord has given him a second chance; a new body and a new name. He is Osan’gar, now.”

“The Dark One can resurrect his minions at will?” Taim asked softly. He usually took everything in stride, but this genuinely seemed to shake him.

“Well…apparently,” Natael said. He had no idea that this was a thing the Great Lord could do. It had never happened before, to his knowledge.

Taim then asked the question that had bothered Natael for several hours: “What about the others?”

“Dashiva was quite unforthcoming with his answers. I really don’t know.”

“Should we warn al’Thor?”

Huh. Natael had not considered that. “How would we explain that we know this without revealing Aginor’s presence at the Tower? The boy may rid us of him – again – but it will alert the other Chosen, if they know who Dashiva really is.”

“Mm, good point,” Taim said. At that moment, he seemed to remember the glass of wine in his hand and took a sip. “We don’t want to draw unnecessary attention to the Black Tower. I will ignore Dashiva for now and pretend nothing has changed. You will play the part of the properly cowed flunky and remain in Aginor’s good graces.” He gave Natael that infuriating half-smile of his. “It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Natael rolled his eyes. They’d almost made it through an entire day without Taim being insulting for no reason.

“Oh, do cheer up, Nate,” Taim said. “You did well today. You handled a complicated and dangerous situation masterfully, and now we know who Dashiva really is. We have the advantage. We are winning, Ghraem. And we have good wine,” he added, raising his glass.

Winning? Winning what? Was this all a game to him? Their lives were at stake! Actually, the fate of mankind itself was at stake. He ought to take this a little more seriously.

On the other hand, it had been a rather challenging day, and…well, Natael had handled everything quite masterfully. He had earned his daily dose of grape juice. Slowly, he raised his own glass and clinked Taim’s.

Taim grinned. “Here’s to outsmarting the Forsaken.”

Chapter Text

Oh, the violence

Twinkle, twinkle, little star

No more lustful dreams

Natael had always done his best to avoid conflict, when at all possible. He abhorred violence in general. Violence was gruesome, inelegant, messy. It was no way to resolve a dispute; it only led to several more disputes. Blood always demanded blood. There was no finesse in war, no subtlety, though renowned commanders such as Demandred and Lews Therin Telamon would disagree with him on that account. Then again, perhaps they’d never been in the thick of it. As generals, they led their troops from a safe distance.

That did not mean that Natael had not done his share of bloodshed, of course. In this unsophisticated Age, what people remembered of him was apparently limited to what Natael had done to his rivals, soon after he became one of the Chosen. How he had “maimed” them. The term was an exaggeration, in his estimation. A tongue here, a finger there. Sometimes a hand. It was nothing, compared to what Semirhage or Aginor would do for the sake of what they called science.

Another Shaido warrior exploded, then another, then an entire row of them, spraying guts and other bodily particles on the sticky, muddy ground. A single drop of blood landed right on Natael’s cheek and he hastily wiped it off with his handkerchief. The embroidered piece of silk was grimy already. So was Natael’s face, in all likelihood. His coat had certainly seen better days. He coughed heavily; the air was thick with dust and smoke.

Would the carnage ever end? Why were the Shaido still attacking? Hadn’t they yet realised that there was no winning this battle?

Just as Natael thought it, they began to retreat. About bloody time.

Instead of letting them go, however, al’Thor yelled at Taim to keep the earth roiling and the weaves of Fire burning. Send a message to Sevanna, the Dragon Reborn said.

It couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes until al’Thor finally got sick of it. To Natael, it felt like years. His ears rang with the screams of the dying. Taim’s face was expressionless as he ordered the men to stop, but Natael could tell that, deep down, he wasn’t faring much better than their charges – one of the younger recruits was heaving, another looked ready to faint. Natael didn’t blame them. He felt rather queasy himself.

He didn’t pay much attention to what was happening around him; he sat down on a boulder and waited for al’Thor to commend their exemplary and impeccably-timed rescue. The boy awkwardly complimented Taim on his training, ignoring Natael entirely, then turned toward the Aes Sedai who were responsible for this mayhem. Capturing al’Thor. Honestly, what had they been thinking? What were they hoping to accomplish? Had they truly expected a different outcome? The Dragon was going to execute them for sure, and rightly so.

That was without taking into account his ta’veren-ness.

Natael frowned when Taim commanded the Aes Sedai to kneel – and gaped openly when they did, all nine of them.

“Uh. So that happened,” Natael said. Taim and he were alone in their command tent, after a rather short debrief with al’Thor. The Black Tower hadn’t lost a single channeler.

“If given the choice between kneeling and dying…” Taim shrugged. “Well, we’ve already made our choice, haven’t we?”

“I didn’t think that the boy had it in him. All that senseless brutality, when the Aiel were already retreating…” Attacking the enemy as they retreated was something the Chosen would have done. If it served their purpose.

“The fewer Shaido, the better,” Taim said absent-mindedly. Natael could tell that his mind was not really in the conversation.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, and the words were out of his mouth before his brain could catch up to them. What was he doing?

Taim shot him an odd look. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” he said hastily. Taim lifted an eyebrow, obviously unconvinced by that answer. Natael cleared his throat. “It’s just… You, um… How does it feel, knowing that you’re responsible for the death of so many?”

“I barely channeled at all today,” Taim said. “I was mostly directing the men.”

“That’s what it means to be a leader, Taim. You’re responsible for what the men under your command do. If they massacre half an army, it’s on you. They did it because you ordered them to do it.”

“Well, yes, I know that,” he replied curtly. “But I follow al’Thor’s orders. So, technically…he’s responsible.” He smirked. “And by the way, thank you for your precious help. I’m certainly glad I brought you along, Ghraem.”

“I don’t like your tone. What did I do this time?”

“Nothing,” Taim hissed, his poor excuse for a smile vanishing. “You did nothing. You said the men could use two leaders instead of one, since this was their first real battle. You promised that you wouldn’t be an inconvenience, Nate.” For once, Taim didn’t even seem to realise what he’d called Natael. He was too angry to care. “And what did you do? You asked Flinn, one of our best channelers, to shield you until we reached al’Thor, thus dangerously dividing his attention.” Natael paled. He’d ordered the old man not to say anything to Taim. He had to learn not to trust the bloody Asha’man with anything potentially important. “Then you watched as I organised our men and told them what to weave and where. And then”, he went on, his jaw clenched so tightly that it must hurt, “you vomited in front of the freshly cowed Aes Sedai.”

Taim raised his hands before Natael had a chance to defend himself. It was hardly his fault if his mortal stomach couldn’t handle all the blood and human particles flying around! “You assured me that I could rely on you. That having you by my side would be a benefit, not a major hindrance. You are useless, Natael.” For some unfathomable reason, the sudden change to his full name made Natael uncomfortable. “You are a burden to me. Light, you will probably be the death of me. I have survived for so long…” He paused just long enough to slump in a foldable, rickety chair. “I have survived because it was me, alone, against the world. I was a fool to ally myself with you. But it’s too late now, isn’t it?” he said with a sour grimace. “You know everything, and even though I can’t fully trust you as an ally, I certainly don't want you as an enemy. Whatever I do, I’m doomed. The only solution, at this point, would be to kill you.”

Natael rolled his eyes. It’d been a while since Taim had last threatened to murder him. “Al’Thor will know it was you, if anything happens to me.” The boy wasn’t that dense. Surely.

“Perhaps he will,” Taim conceded. “But will he care?”

Silence fell heavily. Natael seized saidin, but Taim was staring blankly at the ground. He didn’t react.

“Taim…” Natael said hesitantly. “I’m not a commander. I’m an administrator. One of the best, according to the Great Lord Himself. I thought I could be useful today but… The men, they don’t listen to me. Flinn protected me out of sheer pity, I think, not because I asked. And when I told him not to mention it to you… Well.” He took a seat on the other chair. “I…I suppose you were right. I should have stayed behind. If anything had happened to the men because of me…” He was sharing too much. A simple apology would do. Now Taim would name him a coward and a weakling again, and perhaps rightly so. “I’m sorry,” he finished lamely. He let go of saidin. Taim’s expression didn’t change, and he said nothing to acknowledge it.

“No matter how hard I try, I cannot puzzle you out,” Taim murmured. “One moment you’re frustratingly self-centred and callow, and the next you recognise all of your failings and…apologise. I didn’t even know you could do that.” He didn’t sound sarcastic. If anything, he was genuinely confused. “Has the madness taken control of your brain, Nate? Because you are frightfully incoherent, sometimes.”

Taim was obviously trying to make peace, to forgive him without actually having to say it, but Natael couldn’t help but notice the irony in his statement. “I’m incoherent?” he repeated. “Taim, a moment ago you were muttering to yourself and contemplating, not for the first time, the idea of murdering me. Now you’re… I don’t even know what you’re doing. You’re not making any sense.”

“I don’t have to make sense,” Taim said haughtily.

Natael stared at him. That was a reassuring statement. “Look, I know what we’re going to do. I am going to admit that my participation today was a total fiasco. You’re going to agree and let it go. I made the mistake of believing I could be a warrior. You made the mistake of believing in me. We both made mistakes. There’s no point in blaming anyone. Let’s just learn from this and move on, shall we? From now on, you will be the sole commander of our army, and I will be in charge of the Black Tower’s administration. We’ll both handle training, because there simply are too many men to train for you to do this alone, even with the assistance of the trustworthy Asha’man. But no more fighting for me.”

“’No more?’” Taim sneered. “Nate, the only thing you fought today was your nausea, and you lost that one battle.”

“What part of ‘let it go’ do you not understand?” Natael huffed. “I was agreeing with you, for pity’s sake! Why do you have to be so mean?”

Taim blinked. “Mean? I’m mean? Nate, you were one of the Chosen. You used to maim your competition out of spite. You threw your own mother to the Fades!”

Ugh. Not this again. “If you’d known her, I doubt that you’d have objected,” he muttered. “Can we quit bickering for one second? I’m tired. Can we just…sleep?”

Taim shrugged. “You can sleep. I can’t.”

“Why? There’s nothing else to do, Taim. Al’Thor said we’d make plans in the morning. Our men are safe. You should get some rest.”

“I physically can’t,” Taim explained. “I’m too…tense to sleep right now.”

“Why are you tense? The battle is over. We were victorious. We didn’t even lose anyone.”

Taim’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “I think it’s mostly because of you. You unnerve me. You are incredibly vexing…” His fists clenched in his lap. “I can’t stand being near you for too long. It makes my skin crawl.” He stood up abruptly. “I’m going to take a walk, try to release some of the tension. But please, you get some rest,” he added with a cruel smile. “I know you had a very testing day.” Without another word, he left.

A minute too late, a series of witty come-backs came to Natael. Every day spent in Taim’s company was testing. Every single bloody minute was testing. And the things he said sometimes… You unnerve me. It makes my skin crawl. Incredibly vexing. Nate.

By the blood falls! Didn’t the man realise that he was the vexing one? Rarely a moment went by that Taim didn’t intrude on his thoughts, whether he was in the vicinity or not. Some nights, Natael lay in bed, wondering what new torments Taim would create for him the next day. More often than not, he even dreamed of the Saldaean.

They were always arguing, even in Natael’s nightmares. The bloody man never relented.

Maybe he ought to get some sleep, with insincere apologies to those who couldn’t. He stood and took the few steps that separated him from his cot – it was a simple pile of blankets, really, but it was all there was. He hadn’t seriously expected to sleep, not after Taim’s unpleasant words, but he passed out the moment his head touched the makeshift pillow.

He dreamed of Taim.

He startled awake some time later, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding in his chest. He felt a surge of nausea. Sitting up, he gasped several times before he could even his breathing. The nausea slowly retreated, living Natael light-headed. He should have eaten something before going to bed.

With another start, he realised that Taim was lying on the other cot. His body was utterly immobile, arms crossed over his muscular chest like a corpse, his face devoid of emotion, but not quite as peaceful-looking as a resting person should be. He was strangely pale. Gingerly, Natael reached out to take his pulse.

His heart was still beating.

Natael wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing.

“What in the Pit of Doom do you think you’re doing?” Taim growled, slapping Natael’s hand away.

“Nothing!” he exclaimed. “I…um, there was a mosquito.”

Taim turned his dark eyes on him. “A what?”

“You know, those blood-sucking little insects.” Surely they still existed in the present Age, unlike the unfortunate alligators.

“You mean a biteme?”

“If that’s what you louts call them,” Natael said with a shrug. “Anyway. I was just trying to help. I figured that, after everything that happened yesterday, you could do without an itchy mark when you woke up.”

Taim was silent for a moment. “It’s not morning yet,” he said eventually. “You only slept about an hour, and you were tossing and turning the whole time, even muttering occasionally. It certainly didn’t help me sleep.”

“Weren’t you asleep just now?”

“No. I was waiting for you to stop wrestling with yourself,” he replied acidly.

It couldn’t have been that bad. Taim was exaggerating again. Natael couldn’t even remember what he’d been dreaming ab-

Taim’s eyes were still fixed on him, and somehow bits and pieces of his nightmare drifted back to the surface of consciousness.

Yes, he’d been dreaming about Taim again, but…

His cheeks heated up.

It had started out as a nightmare. Scenes of devastation on the battlefield. People exploding. Blood. Screaming. And in the midst of it all, Taim, standing upright, arms crossed behind his back, his long coat floating in the harsh wind. No weave seemed to touch him. When he caught sight of Natael, cowering behind a boulder, he held up his hand, inviting him into safety. Natael joined him.

And then the dream had changed.

Darkness within! He quickly rolled over in his cot to avoid Taim’s intense scrutiny. No, no, no. This was just wrong. He’d had dreams of Atal that involved them both being naked… Sometimes Narishma was there, too…

But Taim?

What was wrong with him? Perhaps Taim was right. The madness… It had to be. He was going mad.

“Do you have a fever?” Taim asked. He tried to sound nonchalant, but there was a hint of concern in his tone. At least Natael thought there was. He couldn’t be sure of anything anymore. “You’re all sweaty, Nate. Do you require Healing? I can have someone fetch Damer for you.”

“No!” Natael winced. Too defensive. “Ahem. I mean, I’m fine. I just, um, I had a…nightmare. The battle, you know. Apparently, I’m a coward even in my dreams,” he added bitterly.

Taim didn’t reply, so Natael risked a peek over his shoulder. Taim was still studying him, frowning deeply. “I said you were useless on a battlefield, Nate. I didn’t say that you were a coward. It was brave of you to come here, knowing that there was very little you could do. Knowing that you would be hard-pressed to defend yourself. Honestly, I don’t understand why you insisted on coming. I wouldn’t have thought any less of you. You don’t have anything to prove. I know your worth. You are a capable manager. The Black Tower wouldn’t be what it is without you. I couldn’t do it without you.”

Was that…praise? Why was Taim complimenting him all of a sudden, in the middle of the night, after threatening to kill him for the umpteenth time?

Was he still dreaming? Oh, Great Lord, was Taim naked under the covers?

Natael stubbornly turned his back to Taim and closed his eyes, willing himself to sleep or wake up or make Taim disappear.

What was happening? Talk about being incoherent. Had the madness taken Taim, too? Were they both insane? Was this all a dream that their diseased minds had conjured? For all he knew, Natael was locked up in an asylum and hallucinating it all.

For all he knew, he had never truly awakened from his millennial slumber in Shayol Ghul and the Great Lord was messing with him.

For all he knew, he was dead, and this was the afterlife, for the likes of him. An endless, bizarre nightmare.

“I can’t do this without you,” Taim repeated quietly, shattering Natael’s train of thoughts. He made no reply. “Nate? Are you still awake?” Silence answered him. “I wish you would…” He sighed. “I wish you wouldn’t be so…” Natael couldn’t make out the string of muttered curses that followed. “I’ve never met anyone who made me feel half as frustrated as you do. Most of the time, you make me want to bang my head against a wall until it bursts open. And then you just… You say these things… And you sound so bloody human…” There was a rustling behind Natael. “I don’t know what to make of you. Do you hate me? Do you intentionally drive me crazy, or is it just who you are? Why do you look at me with such worry in your eyes? I’m not mad yet, you know.” Never mind the fact that he believed Natael to be asleep and was giving a very long monologue to inexistent mosquitoes. “I know I sound mad, sometimes. Don’t think I don’t know it.” Ah. “But it’s not the taint. It’s you. You’re so… You mess with my head. With my emotions. When you’re near me, I don’t know how I feel. You’re so unpredictable, Nate. I just don’t know how to behave around you, and that is making me crazy. Because I like to be in control of my emotions and you make that all but impossible.”

Should he say something? Let him know that he was awake?

“I know you’re awake, Nate. Natael.” Taim chuckled dryly. “I don’t know why I bother to correct myself. I know it annoys you when I call you that, so why should I stop? Light knows you seize every opportunity to annoy me.”

“It doesn’t matter if you call me Nate or Natael or even Jasin,” he finally said. “It’s not my name.”

“I know. Joar. That’s your name.”

Natael shuddered. It had been a long time since anyone had spoken that name out loud, and coming from Taim… “I gave it up some millennia ago, Taim. My name is Asmodean.”

“Is that really the name you wish to be remembered by?” Taim asked softly. “’Musician’. As though your entire essence, your whole life could be summed up in one word. You are so much more than a musician, Nate. You have the potential to be so much more, if only you’d allow it. If you didn’t constantly hold yourself back, if you didn’t believe, deep down, that you don’t deserve anything more than what you have.”

Yes, Natael thought. This is most certainly a dream. Taim would never say that.

No one would ever say that. To even think something like that, a person would have to care deeply about Natael, and such a person did not exist. No one had ever truly cared about him. Not his mother. Not his peers. None of his lovers. He’d never even had a real friend.

Elan. Elan cared.

Elan pretended to care, you fool. He was manipulating you. He destroyed you.

Don’t think about Elan, his brain screamed at him. You swore not to. Never again. Too painful.

“Nate?” Taim said. His voice cracked a little. Light, he sounded so vulnerable.

Light? Oh, well. Why not.

“Say something,” Taim murmured. “I’ll call you whatever you prefer, alright? Um, well, obviously I can’t call you Asmodean where everyone can hear, but…” He trailed off. “You’re asleep, aren’t you? Peace, am I talking to myself again? This is exactly what I meant. You make me crazy.” More rustling in the blankets. “How am I supposed to sleep?” he grumbled. “I just annihilated thousands of men and women, but is that keeping me awake? No! The mighty flaming Ghraem is keeping me awake. And I’m still talking to myself, Creator help me.”

“I’m awake,” Natael said, then immediately cursed himself for speaking up. Nothing that followed was likely to be anything but awkward. “I…look, I’m sorry that you can’t sleep, but what can I do about it?”

“Sing a lullaby,” Taim said.

Natael laughed, and the sound, much like the strange request, took him by surprise. He had not expected a jest, after everything Taim had just said.

“I was being serious,” Taim said stiffly. “You see? This is exactly what I’m talking about! Always you mock me, even when I come to you with the best intentions. And then you’ll have the gall to say that I’m the mean one.”

Natael hesitated. Sometimes, it was difficult to tell when Taim was being serious and when he was being sarcastic. Slowly, he turned around in his cot to face Taim. “You…want me to lull you to sleep with a song?”

“Forget about it,” Taim snapped. “Just shut up and sleep. I’ll just lie here until dawn.”

A lullaby. Did Natael even know one? Certainly none of this Age. As al’Thor’s Court Bard, that was not the sort of request he received. Among the Aiel, it had been the opposite of the requests he received. Something tickled the back of his mind.

It was in the Old Tongue, of course. Something about a spring of clear water and a nightingale chirping on a branch…

He began to sing.

Chapter Text

How did I get here?

The young Dragon flees bravely

Inconceivable

“Wake up, Nate.”

“Nate, I can’t feel my arm.”

“Come on, al’Thor will be here any minute.”

“WAKE UP YOU FLAMING SON OF A GOAT’S DROPPINGS!”

Natael’s eyes flew open. Taim was glaring at him. His hair was uncharacteristically dishevelled. “Uh?” Son of a goat’s droppings? That was new.

“You bloody oaf! I don’t know what happened last night, but my arm is, somehow, under you. Can you please move your skinny arse?” Natael quickly lifted himself up and Taim groaned as blood was once more allowed to flow in his limb. He massaged it for a few seconds. “How did you…? Why are we…? I fell asleep on my cot. So why are you…?”

Natael shook his head mutely. He had no idea. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but he’d slept like the dead. And yet, somehow, he’d ended up lying a few inches from Taim’s cot, his own abandoned behind him.

At least neither of them was naked. Natael would have been incredibly disappointed if anything had happened and he couldn’t remember any of it. “What time is it?” he asked groggily. His mouth felt furry. He needed wine. A lot of it.

“We’re well into the morning,” Taim said as he stood, stretching his back. Natael couldn’t help but admire the view. “We’re lucky al’Thor didn’t decide to pay us a visit inside the tent without warning.” He sounded shaken, as though the possibility of the farm boy finding him in bed with Natael was his worst nightmare come true. Al’Thor had found Natael in bed with various people in the past; he doubted that the boy would even blink.

“So what?” Natael said lazily. “He has three different lovers. He’s hardly one to judge.”

Taim’s neck swivelled so fast that Natael was afraid it would get a whiplash. “What does that have to do with anything? We’re not lovers! I didn’t… You’re the one who… I fell asleep on my cot, and I woke up there!” he huffed. “You’re the one who moved closer to me. I never said you could. I never… I don’t think I ever implied… What I said yesterday, it wasn’t an invitation to…” A vein on his forehead seemed about to pop. His face, usually so carefully guarded, was a dark shade of crimson.

Natael observed the scene with mounting mirth. His dream last night had been disturbing, sure – though not necessarily in a bad way – but Taim’s reaction was priceless. “It must be because of my singing,” he said slyly. “It always arouses women. I don’t see why men should be any different.”

“You-!”

“Taim!” a voice called from outside. Al’Thor. The lad always had the worst timing. “Are you up yet?” He sounded…awkward. “I, um, came by earlier, but you were, um…”

Natael couldn’t help it: he started laughing. The crestfallen look on Taim’s face, al’Thor’s obvious mortification… It was just too much. He laughed until his sides hurt.

“Natael? Is that you?” al’Thor demanded. “Is Taim with you? I need a word before we can all pack up and return to our respective lives.”

“Yes, my Lord Dragon, it is I,” he wheezed. He was having trouble catching his breath. It didn’t help that Taim was glowering at him as if he hoped his gaze could balefire Natael. “The M’Hael is, um… He will be with you in a minute.”

There was no reply. Natael assumed that the boy had run away.

“You think this is funny?” Taim hissed at him.

“I think it’s hilarious. You should see your face!”

“You’re… Light help me, I don’t know what came over me last night. Forget everything I said. You’re impossible.” He hastily combed his hair and exited the tent without another look at Natael.

Was Taim attracted to him? Judging by his reaction, he certainly felt something. Otherwise he would have casually laughed it off, instead of being defensive and offended by the very idea. Natael had never really considered Taim like that, not before his very suggestive dream the previous night. Of course he’d noticed that Taim was handsome, with a powerful body, strong hands, great hair… A good fashion sense, too. But…well, the nature of their relationship – strictly professional until then, with a healthy dose of rivalry – had rather prohibited that sort of consideration. Taim himself had told Natael that bedding the students was unethical.

Taim, however, was not a student.

Was that even the real reason, though? Had Taim been all worked up because Atal was a student…or because he was a man?

After all, this was not the so-called Age of Legends. In the good old days, no one batted an eye if a woman chose to marry another woman, or if a man chose to adopt children with another man. These things had been quite common. In this Age, however, Natael was not certain how it was considered.

He knew for a fact that Atal had found someone else to bed after Natael had rejected him. He’d seen them stealing kisses when they thought no one was watching – although he suspected that Atal, at least, was perfectly aware that Natael was watching. If he was hoping to make him jealous, however, he was sorely mistaken. Natael didn’t have a jealous bone in his body, and he was over Atal in any case. The boy had just been a distraction, something to pass the time. He usually didn’t care enough about his lovers to be jealous of the other people they dated.

But now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen any other of the non-married men fool around openly with other men – which was, plainly spoken, unlikely. There were women at the Black Tower, besides the wives or sweethearts of the students, but not many. Most of them were the daughters or sisters of their recruits and had been hired as servants or farmhands.

If you put several hundred men in an enclosed environment with only a couple of available gals to distract them, you could be sure that, at some point or other, they would begin to consider other options. Like each other.

But again, this was a completely different Age. Was bedding another man considered…wrong, somehow? At the palace, when he was still following al’Thor like a lost puppy, Natael had bedded men and women alike, and al’Thor hadn’t seemed to mind. At least he’d never said anything. The servants, though…they’d given him odd looks. And the men he’d bedded had been reluctant to display any form of intimacy where anyone could see.

He’d never seen a woman openly show interest for another woman, except in the Aiel Waste. But the Aiel were different. Natael couldn’t base his knowledge of how things worked in this Age solely by observing the Aiel. To his knowledge, theirs was the only civilisation that allowed a man to marry more than one woman – something that wasn’t done even in the Age of Legends. Were the women allowed to take more than one husband, though? He’d never thought to ask. It would only be fair but, with the Aiel, taking wild guesses was usually a grievous mistake.

In any case, this possible stigma of same-gender relationships would certainly explain Taim’s reaction. Natael would have to send out feelers and learn more about how the uncouth peasants of this Age considered these matters.

But to complete his internal monologue, there was another thing that might explain why Taim had forbidden him to bed the students: Taim was jealous.

It seemed a bit far-fetched, especially considering that this had happened at the very beginning of their forced co-leading of what was still called “the farm”. Back then, Taim would have as soon killed Natael as compliment him on his administrative skills.

Then again, Taim had threatened to kill him no later than the previous day.

And the man claimed that Natael was the impossible one.

He wished he could remember the night in better details. Taim had requested a song – a lullaby, of all things – and Natael had complied. It was a rather sad ballad, but it was soothing. He hadn’t composed it himself, of course. His music was meant for an adult audience, one who could fully appreciate his talent. Taim must have fallen asleep at some point, and Natael soon afterwards. When had he moved closer to Taim? Why? Had it been a conscious decision, or had he been…sleepwalking, so to speak?

On the other hand, Taim could complain all he wanted about Natael moving closer, but his arm had ended up under Natael’s back one way or another. There was a part of responsibility on both sides.

Not that Natael was looking to blame Taim. He didn’t mind. He didn’t understand why Taim was making such a fuss about it. What if al’Thor had seen them? Why did it matter? He had nothing to gain by making a public announcement. The lad needed them to lead the Black Tower, so he would gain nothing by ruining their reputation. Provided that this was even a possibility. Honestly, they had committed no crime. He was 99% certain that nothing at all had happened.

By the time Natael finally decided to abandon his cot, wash up and don some fresh clothes – cornflower blue was today’s colour – Taim returned to the command tent. He didn’t look happy, but Natael sensed that it was for a reason that had nothing to do with him, for once. “Al’Thor claims that he needs to borrow some of our men.”

“Well? Why is that a problem? We’ll just give him the untrustworthy Asha’man, and good riddance.”

“We can’t do that,” Taim snapped. “What if the Forsaken give them orders while they’re away? We’ll have no way of controlling them.”

“That’s…true even at the Black Tower,” Natael said slowly. “For all we know, Demandred visits Gedwyn or Rochaid or any of the other pseudo Dreadlords every day. Or Aginor secretly controls them.” He wrinkled his nose at the name. In truth, he would be relieved to see the back of “Dashiva”.

“But if the Forsaken commanded them to kill al’Thor,” Taim said, his patience apparently wearing thin, “we’d be able to control their whereabouts, if they were at the Tower. If they leave Dumai’s Wells with the sheepherder without someone to keep an eye on them…”

“Then we send a few of our own men to watch over them. Like Flinn-”

“Damer is our best Healer,” Taim protested. “Our most trustworthy ally.”

“And the men respect him,” Natael said. “Even the evil Asha’man have some grudging respect for the codger. He’ll keep them in line. We could…I don’t know, maybe we could promote him, officially put him in charge of the Asha’man while they’re with al’Thor. And give a couple of the others secondary titles, so they don’t feel left out.”

Taim appeared to consider that. “I suppose… Yes, that’s probably our best shot. We’ll send Damer away, then, with all the…evil Asha’man, as you call them, and two other of our trustworthy batch. That should help cleanse our ranks of potential traitors and spies at the Tower.”

“See? You’re always so negative, but this is actually a boon that the gracious Lord Dragon has given us. Not only do we get rid of the bad seeds, but we gain spies of our own.”

“You want Damer and the others to spy on al’Thor?”

“Well, that was heavily implied. It makes sense, Taim. The boy is certain to keep them close.”

“Fine. I guess. Are you ready to leave? Everyone else is,” he added with a small smirk.

Natael frowned at him. “I don’t understand you. Yesterday you were practically baring your soul to me, and now you’re back to barely concealed mockery and insults? It is becoming tiresome, Taim.”

“Baring my soul?” he scoffed. “Don’t be silly. I was exhausted. I didn’t know what I was saying. Now, are you going to help me gather our supplies or-”

“Didn’t know what you were saying?” Natael repeated, incredulity tinging his voice. “That was quite a long rant for someone who was merely speaking out of exhaustion. Why do you say things like that, and then pretend that you didn’t? Why are you so intent on making me believe that you’re an utter arse in plain daylight, where everyone can see and hear you?”

Taim blinked. “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he muttered. “Can we please not do this right now? We have important-”

“No. This is important. The rest can wait. I want to settle this once and for all. How do you really feel about me, Taim?”

“Feel? I don’t feel anything towards you,” Taim said. “Except perhaps a mild annoyance.”

“I won’t let you bait me into yet another senseless argument. I know that’s a lie. You know that’s a lie. Show me a modicum of respect and acknowledge that I am not as dumb as you seem to be implying.”

Taim remained silent and tried another technique: he ignored Natael entirely and began to assemble his belongings.

“You’re so bloody immature, sometimes. Worse than Mat bloody Cauthon.” No reaction. Then again, Taim wasn’t familiar with young Cauthon. “Alright, fine. I’ll go first. I used to despise you. I thought you were more soulless than a Gholam. I thought you were vain, condescending, haughty. Then you got drunk.” That got Taim’s attention. He stopped packing and turned toward Natael. “I know that you faked memory loss the next day. And you just keep doing that, don’t you? Not getting drunk, but saying things… Contradictory things. One moment you praise me, the next you talk about murdering me… I can’t stand it anymore. Make up your mind, Taim. If you’re going to kill me, just do it. If not, let’s move past this awkward phase in our relationship once and for all.”

“We don’t have a relationship,” Taim mumbled.

“Darkness within! I swear, I’ve never met anyone so bloody stubborn. And may I remind you, I know all of the Chosen. Of course we have a relationship. We were unwilling allies at first, united in our fear for our own lives and for the world itself. Now I’d like to think that we are, at the very least, willing allies. We both agree that we need each other, and we acknowledge the fact that we could be stuck with someone much worse than the other.” Taim didn’t respond to that, but he didn’t make a wry comment, either. That was progress. “What happened last night… I don’t remember moving closer to you. You obviously don’t remember how your arm ended up where it was. Let’s leave it at that, shall we? We were both tired. It didn’t mean anything.”

Flashes of his dream resurfaced briefly, and he cleared his throat. “Nothing happened. I have to ask, though… Would that be such a terrible thing?”

Taim looked like he was having a stroke.

“I don’t mean for us. I mean in the eyes of…everyone else. Is this sort of relationship between two men considered a…crime?”

“It’s not a crime,” Taim said in a slightly strangled voice. “It’s just…not done. Or at least not talked about.”

“So it’s something to be ashamed of, that’s what you’re saying. It’s the kind of thing that can tarnish one’s reputation.”

“Immensely so. Though I suppose it depends where you hail from…” He shrugged. “But generally speaking, yes, it’s bad. The men who do that…they have to be careful, discreet. They can never hope to live like that openly. It’s simply not done,” he repeated. “Most often, they’re married men. They have a wife, they have children. To keep up appearances, you know.”

Natael understood what Taim meant, but as far as accepting it went… He didn’t. “’Uncouth’ doesn’t even begin to describe your society,” he murmured. “Why does it matter to people whom one wishes to bed, or marry, for that matter?” Taim gave him a blank look. “Oh, never mind.”

“Why are you even asking?” Taim said. “You’ve never seemed to care what people thought of you. Why does it matter now?”

It didn’t matter to Natael, but it clearly mattered to Taim. He’d been raised in this intolerant world. He didn’t know any better. There could never be anything between them – not because Taim was mad, not because he didn’t want it, but because he feared for his reputation.

That was why he’d put an end to Natael’s playtime with Atal. He couldn’t have a co-leader who was a lover of men, because he would be caught up in the scandal and be dirtied by it, by association.

“Do you like women, Taim?” Natael found himself asking.

“I… I’ve…” he struggled to form a sentence. “I’ve been with women before!” he finally exclaimed, outrage plain on his face.

“That’s not what I asked,” Natael noted dryly. “But this seems to answer my question all the same. You know what? I think that, between you and me, you are the real coward. You’re afraid of your own emotions. You want to be this fearless leader of men but, deep down, you’re afraid to be yourself. You let others dictate how you live your life.”

“That’s ridiculous! I declared myself the Dragon Reborn, Natael. I command an army of tainted male channelers. I intend to save the world from the Dark One and al’Thor, if it comes to that. No one is telling me to do that. I want to do it. I’m willing to risk my life for humanity, even though humanity has spent the better part of my existence spitting in my face. And you dare call me a coward? I’m one of the most selfless-”

“You’re not selfless,” Natael said. “You’re only doing this because you want to prove them all wrong. You want to prove that you were right all along, that you are in truth the saviour of the world. You want to make up for your past mistakes. You’re not doing it for them. You’re doing it for you.”

“To the Pit of Doom with you! You have no idea what you’re talking about, you bloody…Forsaken.” Oh, he must be quite cross indeed, if that was the best insult he could come up with. “I’m done with you for today, and I am forever done with this conversation. You will pack up the tent. I’ll talk to Damer and see to the rest of the men.” He stomped away without looking back.

Natael let out a long sigh. He could tell that his words had impacted Taim, and that the man would likely give them proper consideration once he calmed down. Deep down, he had to know that Natael was right. He was afraid to be himself, like most male channelers in this Age, but to a larger extent. He was a good man, but life kept trying to prove him wrong on that account. And the taint was certainly not helping. It had begun its work on Taim’s mind long ago.

Taim didn’t realise how lucky he was to have Natael at his side – on his side. Without him, he would be nothing more than a puppet to the Chosen. They relied on Natael to keep an eye on Taim, to educate him and mentor him so that he could eventually become one of them – either to add to their depleted ranks or to replace Asmodean. Natael wouldn’t put it past the Chosen and the Great Lord to have him train Taim in order to have the Saldaean take over from him in the end.

The question was: would Taim follow the path they’d started on, or would he be tempted to accomplish greater things? Al’Thor would never give him that opportunity – the boy would never fully trust Taim, no more than he would trust Natael. That was a flaw of character that the Great Lord was certain to exploit.

The dire conclusions was that Natael ought to be careful around Taim. It wouldn’t do to antagonise him. If that meant that Natael had to stop pursuing a potential romance…so be it. The fate of the world was a tad more important than that, he supposed.

Ugh. Being a good person was more difficult than he’d anticipated. Why would anyone choose to be a hero, when being evil was so bloody easy?

Chapter Text

One does not simply

Walk into the Eelfinn’s realm

Why won’t you stay dead?

“Wake up, Joar,” a deep voice commanded.

Ugh. It couldn’t possibly be morning already. “Go away,” Natael grumbled, his voice muffled by his pillow. “It’s the middle of the night, burn you. Go bother Taim. I mean, M’Hael.”

The man who was attempting to rouse him exhaled sharply. “Joar,” he insisted. “Up. Now, you lethargic buffoon.”

Lethargic what?! Who did he think he was, to talk to him like that? Natael was going to give him a good-

Joar. He’d called him Joar.

Oh, blood and ashes.

Natael opened one eye hesitantly, but the room was in complete darkness. He was right; it was the middle of the night. The perfect time for one of the Chosen to pay him a visit.

Who could it be, though? He would have recognised Demandred’s voice as well as Osan’gar’s. Al’Thor had sent word the previous day that Sammael had been killed by Mashadar, the so-called “evil” of Shadar Logoth. No body had been recovered, but the man once known as Tel Janin Aellinsar was presumed dead nonetheless. Therefore, technically, Barid Bel Medar and “Dashiva” were the only two remaining male Chosen, to Natael’s knowledge.

But.

However.

Dashiva was supposed to be dead. He claimed to have been given a new body by the Great Lord of the Dark, while retaining everything else that he was – the former Aginor, mad genius extraordinaire.

Was it not possible that another one of the recently deceased Chosen had made an impromptu come-back? Natael dearly hoped not, but he intended to find out.

He sat up in bed and opened both eyes, but they couldn’t seem to acclimate to the darkness. It was…unnatural. There was always a bit of light filtering through the curtains, no matter the time – the streets of the Black Tower were illuminated at night – but at that moment, Natael might as well be blind. “Who’s there?” he called. “Reveal yourself.”

The room suddenly exploded with light. Natael shielded his eyes, but too late; there was a ghostly afterimage printed on his eyelids. The silhouette of a man, tall and broad-shouldered. “By the blood falls! What is wrong with you?” he complained. “Are you trying to blind me, you fool?”

“Careful with that sharp tongue of yours, Joar.”

Natael couldn’t place the voice, not at all. Finally, he was able to open his eyes again. It took a while for them to adjust to the painful glare of the unnatural light. He could barely distinguish his unwanted visitor, though he stood at the end of the bed. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“My name,” the man replied quietly, “is Moridin.”

Death. Natael scoffed. What an incongruous, ludicrous name. “How do you know my name?”

“I have always known it, Joar.”

Well, that was a cryptic answer. If this…Moridin’s intention was to get on Natael’s nerves, it was certainly working. “It’s bloody great to meet you, Master Death. What do you want? If you’re here to kill me, I wish you’d dispense with-”

“I have an assignment for you.”

This ominous statement was followed by silence. Natael glared at the form of the man, who was gradually becoming clearer. Moridin was pale and he had dark hair, but that was all Natael could say for now. “Who are you to give out assignments to the Chosen?”

“I am the Nae’blis,” came the shocking reply. “And you have not yet been returned to your former status, so do not presume to take that tone with me.”

Nae’blis? Impossible. Was this some sort of joke? The Great Lord would never promote a complete nobody as the leader of the Chosen. Could this man even channel? Natael couldn’t sense the ability in him. And yet the unnatural darkness, followed by that blinding light, must have been woven with saidin.

Or saidar.

But this was a man. That much was obvious. Natael looked up at Moridin’s face, which was coming into focus. Piercing blue eyes, a strong jaw… Natael had never seen this man before in his life, of that he was quite certain. He never forgot a face, and this one was hardly ordinary.

“Do you have any idea what the Great Lord would do to you, if He knew that you were spreading this…preposterous lie?”

Moridin’s jaw tightened. “’tis no lie, Joar. I am the Nae’blis, and the Great Lord’s champion. As I was always meant to be.”

“Will you stop calling me that?” Natael grunted. “No one calls me that.” Except Ishamael.

But Ishamael was dead. Wasn’t he? Al’Thor had tried to kill him thrice, but surely the third time was the charm, as they said.

Ugh. If one of his former associates had to be resurrected, couldn’t it be anyone but Ishamael?

He had to know. “Is that you, El-”

“You and I have a mission to accomplish,” Moridin interrupted him. “A mission of the highest importance.” Now that Natael had fully recovered his eyesight, he could distinguish the tiny black specks floating in the man’s eyes. What on earth were those? “Be ready to depart in half an hour. I will await you downstairs.”

He didn’t turn around and walk away. He disappeared. Right in front of Natael’s eyes. The air around him seemed to warp, and then he was gone. What in the Pit of Doom-?

The True Power. It was the only explanation. What madman would dare use it for such…mundane purposes? Had he not been warned about its dangers? It was to be used at last resort, not to avoid a flight of stairs.

Natael shook his head. That was Moridin’s problem, not his. He ought to get dressed, he supposed. If the man was telling the truth, if he was Nae’blis, unlikely as it was… Natael had better not disobey him.

“Took your sweet time,” Taim said when Natael walked into the library.

What was he doing here?

“The more the merrier,” Moridin said flatly, without the hint of a smile. Light, but he was a dour fellow. “We will need all the help we can get.”

“Why?” Natael demanded. “Where are we going? What’s our assignment?”

“We’re going to rescue Lanfear, apparently,” Taim announced grimly.

Natael started to laugh, then realised that they both looked deadly serious. “You’re…jesting, surely.”

“I don’t think he is,” Taim muttered.

“I don’t remember being much of a jester,” Moridin said.

That was an odd thing to say. “But…it’s impossible. Mierin fell into the…doorframe thingy.” The portal had a proper name in the Old Tongue, but he couldn’t remember it. “Don’t you know where this leads? We can’t possibly-”

“We can, and we will.”

“But why?” Natael insisted. “Lanfear is fickle, to say the least. She’ll end up betraying us to get what she wants, and that is Lews…well, al’Thor. She’s obsessed with him. Why would we risk our lives to bring her back? How do we know she’s even alive?”

“Are you not still shielded?” Moridin asked.

“I… How do you…?” Natael turned to Taim. “You told him?”

Taim looked like he was about to make a scathing retort, but Moridin spoke before he had the chance. “I already knew.”

“Well then… Why bother taking me along? I won’t be much help to you, not in…that place.”

Sindhol. Most likely the second most dangerous place accessible to man, Shayol Ghul being the first. Although that was debatable.

“On the contrary,” Moridin said. He extended his hand toward Natael, and an ukulele appeared. Natael hadn't seen one of those since the War of Power. “We need a Musician.”

They stood at the foot of an immense tower – the infamous Tower of Ghenjei.

“Taim, you will provide fire and light,” Moridin said, handing him a torch. He pointed to his long sword. “And I, iron, since you two nimrods don’t know which end of a sword is the pointy one.” It should have been a sarcastic remark, but Moridin made it sound like an inescapable fact.

“Before we step into that…thing that doesn’t have any door or window,” Taim said, “will either of you at least tell me what to expect? What are the Finn like? How do we-”

“Just do as you’re told, M’Hael,” the self-titled Nae’blis replied curtly.

“Moridin…” Natael began to say. “This is madness. We will never leave this place alive.” He hesitated. “Is that the point, perhaps? Do you intend to use Taim and myself as bait for the Finn while you rescue Mierin?”

“We will go in together, and leave together,” Moridin said matter-of-factly. “The point is to gain one Chosen, not to lose more than we already have.”

Without further ado, Moridin produced a bronze dagger and drew the ancient symbol of the Finn at the base of the otherwise impenetrable metallic tower. This was the only way to create a portal. The Power wouldn’t work, not even the True Power. (At least Natael didn’t think so - he'd never used it himself, not even in their own world.)

An opening appeared. “Come now," Moridin said. "No time to waste."

They stood in a vast, star-shaped chamber – the Chamber of Bonds, Moridin called it – surrounded by two dozen Eelfinn, though Natael referred to them as Foxes, because he always mixed up the terms Aelfinn and Eelfinn. Behind Natael, two naked, motionless women were encased and suspended in what looked like mist. One of them was Lanfear.

The other was Moiraine Damodred.

Of course it was. If Lanfear had not perished, it made sense that Moiraine had also survived. She must have severed her bond to her stone-faced Warder to make him – and everyone else – believe that she was dead. To ensure that they would not foolishly risk their lives coming after her in a vain attempt at rescue.

Which was precisely what Moridin intended to do, but with Lanfear. Who didn’t deserve it in the slightest.

“Trespassers,” one of the Eelfinn intoned, “you have transgressed many of our rules. You bring iron and fire and an implement of music.”

The Foxes had not even tried to confiscate the forbidden objects. They’d simply brought the three of them here, never once saying a word. Moridin had followed without a protest, as though events were unfolding exactly as he had anticipated.

“The sentence for breaking these rules is death,” another Finn continued. “Lo, and behold what awaits you, reckless creatures.” It pointed toward Lanfear and Moiraine, who squirmed, eyes closed but mouths open in a wordless scream, as the Finn presumably drew from the source of their power and fed from it.

“Aren’t we supposed to bargain?” Natael asked uneasily. “Don’t we have three wishes?” Or was it three questions? No, that was the Snakes’ thing, he remembered.

“By bringing this into our realm,” an Eelfinn replied, glowering at the ukulele, while others were shielding their alien eyes from the glare of the torch, “you have forfeited your chance to bargain for your wishes.”

Natael glanced at Moridin, who merely stood there, a picture of cool confidence, his sword sheathed, hands behind his back. Why wasn’t he talking? He was Nae’blis. Perhaps that counted for something, even in this unearthly place.

“We are emissaries of Ba’alzamon,” Taim said sharply. “You will release Lanfear into our care right this instant, or suffer the consequences.”

Natael slapped his left hand – the one that wasn’t holding the ukulele – on his forehead. The fool! Ba’alzamon was not the Great Lord. It was the name Ishamael had taken for himself. Ba’alzamon meant nothing to the Finn. “He means the Great Lord of the Dark,” he corrected quickly. After a moment of hesitation, he added, “Shai’tan.”

The Finn hissed collectively. “Your situation worsens with your every word, mortals. You have broken our most sacred rule by mentioning It-That-Must-Not-Be-Named.” Taim tried to speak, but the Eelfinn forestalled him. “Enough of this pointless palaver! Surrender the forbidden objects you presumed to bring into our realm. You will rue the day that you decided to-”

One second, Moridin was at Natael’s side; the next, he was lobbing off the Finn’s head with his iron sword, in one smooth gesture. The Fox’s fellows screeched at the offence.

“Kill them!” one growled. “Kill the intruders!”

“Joar,” Moridin said as he decapitated another foe. He sounded calm and collected, despite the commotion. “Now may be an opportune time to play the ukulele. Taim…”

“I’m on it.” He flung the torch with surprising accuracy. It knocked the head of the nearest Fox, whose bright red hair caught on fire. The others recoiled, snarling, while their peer ran across the chamber, howling as it tried to tamper the flames. Taim then wove a large ball of light and held it at the centre of the chamber. The Foxes retreated.

Shaking out of his trance – he had no idea that the Power could be used in Sindhol; he couldn’t even feel the Source – Natael plucked a few strings. The closest Eelfinn stopped in its tracks, eyelids drooping. Natael played a hypnotising ballad, and several Finn dropped to the floor, unconscious or asleep. Moridin was leaping around the chamber, graceful as a dancer, heads flying in his path, until he was beside Lanfear’s ethereal cage. “Taim! Cover me.”

Taim abandoned the lightball and started throwing short bursts of fire at the Finn instead. They yelped and barked at him, but they were clearly afraid to come closer to him. The chamber soon reeked of burned hair and flesh. Any Fox that got too close to Natael fell to the music. He didn’t dare turn around to see what Moridin was up to. One moment of silence, and all the Finn would be onto him.

“We’re leaving,” Moridin announced soon afterward. He marched toward the exit, carrying Lanfear over one muscular shoulder as if she weighed nothing. “Keep up the music, Joar. Taim, keep them at bay.”

“That’s all well and good,” Natael yelled over the roaring Finn who ran after them, “but how exactly are we going to escape?”

Before anyone could answer him – if they intended to do so – they turned a corner and found themselves facing a dozen Aelfinn.

Playing the ukulele whilst running wasn’t exactly easy to begin with but, in his shock at seeing the Snakes, Natael dropped the instrument altogether.

“Peace!” Taim swore. “I can’t hold them off on my own, Nate! Focus, burn you! My Well is not endless.” A Well? Oh. That explained how he could channel, at least. But how had he gotten his hands on the artefact? These ter’angreal were incredibly rare, in this Age. Had Moridin given it to him? That seemed unfair.

An overconfident Eelfinn took advantage of the distraction to leap on him, all fangs out. It crashed into Natael and he went down, hitting the ground hard enough to rattle his teeth. As he tried to sit up, the Fox bit into his thigh, causing a flash of excruciating pain and a wave of nausea. His attacker gnarled wildly, blood dripping from its maw as it grinned and moved closer to Natael’s throat.

This was it. This was how it ended for him. Eaten by Foxes. Or Snakes. Or both. What a distasteful death. Natael closed his eyes.

Light nearly seared his eyeballs off, his eyelids offering little protection. Blood and ashes, someone definitely wanted to blind him. “Fly, you fools!” Moridin bellowed. He had to be very close to Natael, because his ears rang. “More will come!”

Easier said than done. Natael couldn’t see a damn thing. He couldn’t even tell whether his eyes were open or closed. “Where are you?” he muttered, arms raised in front of him, trying to feel his way around.

Someone grabbed his right hand to pull him to his feet, and Natael yelped in pain. He must have sprained his wrist when he’d fallen, but his thigh was such a blaze of throbbing agony that he hadn’t noticed until then. Taim cursed loudly but took hold of Natael’s left arm instead. “I’ll guide you,” he said. “Try to keep up.”

How could Taim even see? Had the glaring light not affected him? Apparently not, because they were running at a good pace and didn’t hit any walls.

“Hurry!” Moridin enjoined them. His voice sounded far away now.

“Are we lost?” Natael asked Taim conversationally. “You do realise that this Moridin fellow is our only chance at getting out of this place, don’t you?”

Taim snorted. “’This Moridin fellow’? Are you being serious?”

“What do you mean?” Natael retorted. This was hardly the time or place for joking around. Taim had to know that.

Unexpectedly, Taim laughed. “That’s Ishamael, Nate. How have you not puzzled it out yet?”

His worst fear confirmed, Natael tripped over his own two feet and landed on the floor, again. What was worse, he reflexively used his right hand to cushion his fall. His already damaged wrist made a disgusting crunching sound. Natael felt dizzy with pain.

“Are you doing this on purpose?” Taim complained. “On your feet, you lummox.” Two strong hands clasped his shoulders.

Natael could hear the Finn getting closer, yipping and yapping. But he couldn’t move. “Ishamael?” he murmured, his voice as weak as his knees. “It can’t be. Al’Thor killed him. He killed him thrice.”

“Flay me, are we really discussing this now? We are in mortal danger, Nate. Get up. Now. I know you’re skinny, but I can’t carry your stubborn arse and run and weave fire at the otherworldly monsters all at once.”

“Where did you get that Well?” Natael asked. It was utterly irrelevant, he knew that, but his mind was reeling with Taim’s shocking revelation and the pain in his wrist and thigh did not help.

“I will wear your skin as a loincloth, humans!” one of the Finn thundered.

Well. That was extravagantly unrefined, even by this Age’s standards. But it got Natael moving, at least. He stumbled to his feet, Taim supporting him with one arm and shooting fire balls with the other, judging by the sudden heat. Natael still couldn’t see anything.

“Where’s Ish-” He nearly choked on the name. “Where’s Moridin? Have we lost him?”

“I took the exact same turns he did,” Taim said through gritted teeth, “but somehow yes, we did lose him at some point.”

“This place is a maze. Humans can’t navigate it unaided.”

“Yes, thank you for your valuable input, I hadn’t noticed.”

“How can you be sarcastic at a time like this?” Natael snapped. “I’m blind and severely injured, we’re lost and being pursued by flesh-eating, primal beings, and you’re obviously tiring-”

“I’m tiring because I have to carry your sorry hide and do everything else besides,” Taim growled, his voice briefly sounding like that of a Fox. “Come on. We have to keep moving. More are coming.”

Hours. Possibly days. Or weeks? Natael’s legs were on fire. Not literally; Taim wasn’t that clumsy. But he felt like he’d been running for longer than a person should be able to run. Then again, time was only a vague notion, in Sindhol. It might have been only a few seconds. The pulsating pain in his mangled thigh was not helping.

“Any sign of Moridin?” he asked again. Taim didn’t bother to reply, this time. He was panting with exertion, but his arm held on to Natael steadily.

“I don’t think I can keep up much longer,” Natael said grimly. “We should just off ourselves, you know. It’d be a more merciful death. I don’t suppose you’ve brought along some aconite vials?” It wasn’t aconite. They used another word for it, in this Age. Asping rot, was it? It didn’t matter. Taim would understand what he meant.

“Tell me again how I’m a coward and you’re not?” Taim said dryly.

“It was merely a suggestion. Pardon me if I don’t fancy ending up in the belly of a Fox with my flawless skin covering its…private parts.” He shuddered at the very thought.

“Where have you been?” a voice called from behind them. “I told you to keep up.”

Moridin. Natael was almost glad to hear him. Almost.

It can’t be Ishamael.

You know it is, a nagging voice replied. You’ve known all along.

Blood and ashes, couldn’t he just stay dead? Flaming stubborn man.

“Do you have any idea where we are?” Taim demanded. “Is there even a way out?”

“Of course there is," Moridin replied impatiently. "I made sure to request one, during my previous visit. This way. And stay close, this time.”

Another year of running around passed. Natael could barely feel his legs at all. If not for Taim, who was now half-carrying him, he would have fallen ages ago, and stayed there on the ground, waiting to be devoured.

“There it is,” Moridin said at last. There was a rustling sound, then a loud whack, then a hot breeze hit Natael’s face. “Well, come on. Do you wish to wait for the Finn to catch up to bid them goodbye and thank them for their hospitality?” Taim pulled Natael forward, and they stepped onto mushy ground. There was running water nearby – the river Arinelle.

Somehow, they’d made it out of Sindhol, and all of them alive, if not unhurt. His thigh was nearly vibrating with renewed rushes of agony. Was the bite of the Finn lethal to man? After everything, would Natael die of an infected wound, of all things? “Let me see what I can do about that nip,” Taim said softly. His voice, thick with concern, seemed to come from miles away. “Actually, you should sit down first, Nate. You look like you’re about to pass ou-”

He awoke some time later, and was relieved to see the starry night sky above. He would never take seeing for granted again. A fire was crackling somewhere nearby. Natael turned his head and saw that Taim and Moridin were sitting on logs, enfolded in silence. Lanfear was still unconscious.

Natael sat up gingerly. His pant leg was torn and smeared with drying blood, but the skin underneath was unmarked. The pain in his thigh was gone, and his injured wrist had been mended. Taim must have Healed him – he doubted that this was Moridin’s doing. Natael stood on unsteady legs and joined the other men by the fire – though why they’d bothered with one, he didn’t know. The scorching heat of the day always abated at night, but it was still hot enough to bake bread out here. Or perhaps Natael had a fever. Either way, he was thankful for his ability to ignore the heat as he sat beside Taim.

He was ravenously hungry, mostly because of the Healing, but noted with disappointment that no one had thought to cook something while he was unconscious. His stomach rumbled loudly in complaint, but neither of his companions heeded the noise. In fact, they practically ignored him.

“Well,” Natael said into the silence. “That’s done, then. Can we go back to the Tower now? Please don’t tell me we must take her with us,” he added with a disdainful grimace in Lanfear’s direction.

“Mierin is not going anywhere,” Moridin said. He handed Natael the dagger he’d used to carve the Finn’s symbol at the base of the Tower of Ghenjei. “Here. I was waiting for you to wake up. It should be you.”

Natael looked at the blade with blank incomprehension. “Um…what am I supposed to do with this?”

“Kill her.”

Well, that was certainly more explicit. Natael frowned at Moridin. “Did we…did we go through all that trouble… Did we risk our lives just so that we could kill her?” He turned to Taim, who seemed transfixed by the flames. “Did you know about this? And how did you know that…that he’s…” He pointed to Moridin but didn’t finish that sentence.

“Who else could I be, Joar?” Moridin said reasonably. “Taim is not stupid. He connected the dots, barely three minutes after I shook him out of his drunken stupor.”

Taim pretended to ignore their conversation, but Natael thought his cheeks grew redder, though it might have been the fire. Had he been drinking again? Natael knew that the battle at Dumai’s Wells had been hard on him, but… No. That was hardly relevant to the matter at hand.

“So it’s really you… Ishamael.” Elan, he almost called him, but that would have been a dire mistake. “You’re…alive.” He itched to ask how and, more importantly, why, but he didn’t have to.

“I am the Great Lord’s champion.” Yes, he’d claimed that earlier. “He had to bring me back.” Because without me, the battle is lost before it even begins, his eyes seem to say.

“Who else has returned?” Natael whispered.

“The ones who were still within His reach. Aginor. Balthamel.”

Ah, old Eval Ramman was back, as well. Good to know. The rest had been balefired, Natael thought. It made sense. They had been obliterated from the Pattern; not even the Great Lord could change that. Which was obviously a good thing – the situation was bad enough as it was.

“Why was I not made aware of this?” he demanded. “I am one of the…” He trailed off. No, he wasn’t one of the Chosen. Ishamael…Moridin had made that very clear, earlier. “This information is relevant to me, to us, don’t you think?” he went on, indicating Taim and himself.

“Hardly,” Moridin said absently. “Now, if you’re done with your futile questions, take care of Mierin, will you?”

“Why me?” He’d rarely had to kill anyone with his bare hands. He didn’t like it, not in the least. He was not a cold-blooded killer, unlike some of his peers. He didn’t enjoy killing. “Why the dagger?”

“The order comes from a higher authority, Joar. Do you question His will?” Moridin asked with a raised eyebrow.

“No, of course not,” Natael said hastily. “It’s just… Why bother to… We could have waited for her to die in there. The Finn would have drained her, eventually.”

“Joar.” His voice held a barely concealed warning. “Do you require an incentive, perhaps?” Before Natael could say no, Moridin seized the dagger with the True Power and threw it. It ended its course an inch from Taim’s throat. Natael reflexively reached out with his hand to snatch it, but lowered it when he realised that no harm had been done.

Not yet.

The M’Hael glanced at the blade curiously, but didn’t seem particularly worried. In fact, it made him chuckle. “I should think that Natael will be glad to be rid of me, Nae’blis. This will accomplish nothing.” The dagger moved forward and nicked his skin. A bead of blood appeared. Natael winced, but Taim made no sign that he’d even noticed. His unflinching gaze was on Moridin. “Do you truly believe that I fear death?” he said in a low voice.

“Do you truly believe that I don’t know exactly what will make Joar do as he’s told?” Moridin countered.

“Enough, both of you,” Natael snapped. “Give me that.” He put his hand forward, and Moridin returned the dagger, hilt first, once again needlessly using the True Power.

Natael rose and took a few steps until he stood above Mierin. She looked oddly vulnerable – not a word he would normally associate with her. She had lost quite a bit of weight and she was paler than ever. Was he really going to bury this blade in her chest while she was unconscious? It seemed wrong, despite the fact that she’d done much worse to him. And to others, certainly, though he didn’t much care about that.

Why was killing a woman so much more difficult than killing a man? Mierin was a crazy, malevolent old hag. She deserved to die. Natael kneeled at her side, dagger in hand. What if he missed her heart? What if she woke up?

“Joar!” Moridin barked, startling him. “Today, please. Don’t you want your full strength back? I thought this would please you, after everything she’s done.”

The shield! It would dissolve upon her death. Natael had become so used to it, he hadn’t even…

Without another moment of hesitation, he raised his hand and plunged the bronze blade deep into Lanfear’s black heart. She didn’t open her eyes. She didn’t cry out. She simply stopped breathing. Her body went limp.

Something inside Natael snapped. He seized saidin, and the power that coursed through him made him feel more alive than ever.

His relief was short-lived, however. Killing Lanfear may have removed her shield, but the taint remained, and it was as foul as ever. He released the Source with a grimace of distaste.

Moridin stood and made a complicated hand gesture in the corpse’s direction. The earth underneath briefly opened up and swallowed it. “You may now return to your affairs at the Tower. I will be in touch.” He vanished, using the True Source. It would drive him mad before long, just as surely as the taint would dispossess Natael of his senses, eventually.

Natael turned to Taim as soon as Moridin was gone. “Are you alright?” he asked. “You’re bleeding. I’m still a terrible Healer, but at least now I’m also a powerful one. Let me have a look.” He discarded the bloody dagger and took the few steps that separated them.

Taim scowled, looking up at him. “Uh?” Had he forgotten about the blade at his neck already? He absent-mindedly touched the tiny prick. “Oh, that. Don’t bother. It’s just a flesh wound. I’ve done worse while shaving myself.”

Was Taim afraid of him, now that he’d recuperated his full strength? “It will only take a second,” Natael assured him. He sat down on the log and gently placed his hand against Taim’s neck. He seized saidin again, but before he could weave the threads of Air, Water and Spirit that he needed to mend the flesh, Taim slapped his hand away and rose to his feet.

“I said I’m fine,” he said sharply. “Leave it alone, Natael.” Natael? “And don’t touch me like that, it’s…”

“Improper?” Natael suggested dryly.

“It’s revolting,” Taim said. “Don’t do it again.”

Revolting? That was harsh, even for Taim. What had gotten into him? “I was just trying to help,” he said defensively.

“Well, don’t. I didn’t ask you to.” He conscientiously dusted himself off. “I trust you’ll be able to Travel on your own, from now on. I’ll see you in the morning for our daily meeting.” There was a short pause. “Or perhaps I won’t,” he murmured.

Without another word, he disappeared through a gateway, leaving Natael alone with the freshly-buried body of Mierin Eronaile.

Chapter Text

Yay, I’m strong again

Ugh, another False Dragon

Needlessly cruel

Such strength. Such Power.

Natael revelled in it, but he was soon overwhelmed by the foulness of the taint. Still, it was a good thing. He'd had doubts, but he was definitely stronger than Taim. Not by much, admittedly, but enough, if worst came to worst - after all, he had centuries of experience on his side.

But Light, he hoped it wouldn't come to worst. Like it or not, he'd grown fond of the M'Hael, even if the other man seemed to have lost all respect for Natael - the little that Natael had managed to accumulate over the few months they'd spent together at the Black Tower.

He wasn't certain why that was. Was it because of the delicate conversation that took place the morning after the battle at Dumai's Wells? Was it because Natael had murdered Lanfear in cold blood whilst she was unconscious, or because Taim now felt threatened by Natael's strength in the Power?

Perhaps a combination of these things. Natael didn't know, and he didn't dare ask. Taim had often been aloof before, but he was even more distant now. He wasn't unpleasant, not exactly, but he did seem to be avoiding Natael.

He shouldn't be bothered by this. As long as they stayed the course, as long as Taim didn't betray him, it shouldn't matter how Taim treated him.

But he was bothered. He was hurt, deeply so, by Taim's present attitude toward him. Natael didn't feel that he'd done anything to deserve it. It was Moridin - Elan, Ishamael, curse the man - that had forced him to participate in this ridiculous and apparently useless Lanfear business. Why go through all this trouble to rescue the sodding woman only to have her killed the moment she set foot outside, before she was even aware that she'd been rescued? It had to be some sort of power play on Moridin's part.

And yet, as frustrating as the whole business had been, the outcome was undeniably positive: Natael had regained his former strength, Lanfear was dead and buried, and they now knew that Ishamael had been returned to the world.

And, as a non-negligible bonus: Moridin had not insisted upon making Natael re-swear his allegiance to the Great Lord. Although there was no way of knowing if it was a mere oversight or a test to Natael's loyalty. He wouldn't put it past Ishamael, but it was a bit far-fetched. Moridin must have assumed that Demandred had already taken care of it.

In any case, in theory at least, Natael was free to do as he bloody wanted. Nobody could track him down if he decided to open a gateway to Shara or Seanchan or flaming Tremalking and start afresh there, away from all the troubles of the world. Nobody would recognise him there. He could live an incognito life until the world ended - or until the Dragon Reborn saved it and it all blew over. The latter was less likely, but one could always hope.

He could leave this all behind. Leave Taim to deal with the Asha'man and the Forsaken (er, Chosen) and the bloody farm boy. Leave and never look back. Drink his fill of fine wine every day, create new masterpieces that would make it into the next Age (if there was one), sleep with whomever he wanted (but preferably someone who actually cared about him, for a change), laze around and be generally relaxed and content.

But did he really want to do that?

Every time he considered it, he imagined Taim's reaction, and it was limited to one word, perhaps shouted over and over in a fit of icy rage: coward!

That ugly word. Sometimes it felt like everyone he'd ever known had used it at one point or another to describe him, to his face or behind his back. Most of the time, it'd been used accurately. Natael was tired of giving them a reason (reasons) to use it.

What if he became a worthy...person? Not a warrior, certainly, and he was neither a general nor a mastermind, but he could be a brave...something. Anything. He was hardly useless, after all. His Asha'man pupils seemed to appreciate their lessons with him. With his full strength, he could show them things they'd never even thought possible. He could show Taim these things, provided that the younger man agreed to be taught. Taim often seemed to believe that there was nothing Natael could teach him that he hadn't learned on his own, but he was sorely mistaken. He'd barely scratched the surface of what he could do with saidin, especially considering his remarkable strength.

A brave teacher, then. A tutor, a mentor. Yes, that was something he could do, something he could be. Then, even if the world ended in a few weeks or months, or if Natael happened to die at the Last Battle or before, at least he'd be remembered for something other than the "maiming" of his ancient rivals, the (totally justified) “murder” of his dear old mother and his infamous cowardice.

Well, provided that there was anyone to remember anything, of course.

He ought to be careful about dying, though. He wouldn't want to end up in the body of a complete stranger, at the mercy of the Great Lord. Darkness within, what if He decided to give him a cleft chin, like Moridin? Or worse, an utterly unremarkable face, like that of the man now known as Corlan Dashiva? What if He made Natael fat? Ugh. The possibilities were as numerous as they were daunting.

Even dying wasn't a viable option anymore.

What a time to be alive.

“This is preposterous,” Natael repeated. “Logain Ablar was severed from the Source. You are a functioning male channeler. Ergo, you cannot be Logain Ablar.”

“For the hundredth time,” the lad said, exasperation seeping into his voice, “I was Healed. Ergo, I can be and I bloody well am Logain Ablar.”

“How many times must I…?” Natael exhaled the remains of his patience. “Severing…I mean, gentling cannot be Healed.” He ought to be careful about the words he used. No one talked about severing in this Age. The men were gentled, the women stilled.

“Oh, for the love of the Light!” the fake Ablar exclaimed. “How can I prove my identity to you? What will convince you?”

He was quite handsome when he was angry, Natael noted idly. Well, even when he wasn’t, though he could certainly use a bath. And a haircut. A change of clothes.

Mm, he would look good in silk.

“Are you even listening to me?” the lad huffed. “Who are you, anyway? Are you in charge here?” His dubious expression made him look a lot less handsome to Natael, all of a sudden.

“I am the Ghraem. My name is-”

The Ablar impersonator laughed. It was a mirthless, depressing sound. It sounded like someone trying to remember how to laugh. “Ghraem? The All-Powerful? Really? How do you fit that massive ego of yours in such a scrawny body, I wonder?”

With great effort, Natael suppressed a biting retort. He wasn’t scrawny. He was slender. And nearly as tall as the other man, burn him. But it was irrelevant. The impersonator’s rudeness was due to exhaustion, that much was obvious. He must have been on the road for weeks; his clothes were dusty and threadbare, his face and hands darkened by a prolonged exposition to the sun, and there were shadows under his brown eyes. They were the eyes of a man who was old beyond his years, a man who had been battered and broken. That fitted Ablar’s story.

Why hadn’t he Travelled here? Perhaps he didn’t know how. Ablar probably wouldn’t know, if he’d been imprisoned at the White Tower for months then kidnapped by the rebel Aes Sedai.

And he was well-versed in the Old Tongue. But that didn’t prove anything. Natael knew very little of Logain Ablar, in truth. Perhaps he should wait for Taim to return…

No. He was as much in charge here as Taim was. He was perfectly capable of making his own decisions. “My name,” he said, “is Jasin Natael. And yes, I am co-leader of the Black Tower.” He stood up and started pacing. “Tell me again how this…Nynaeve woman supposedly Healed you.” The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Natael couldn’t place it.

“No matter how many times I recount it, I doubt you’ll ever believe me,” the man muttered.

Natael nodded. “You’re right, I won’t. Because it’s flaming impossible. For your next outrageous lie, do remember not to be too extravagant. Honestly, what sort of reaction did you expect? Everyone knows that gentling cannot be Healed.”

“’It’s only impossible until someone does it for the first time.’”

Interesting. Well-versed in the Old Tongue and obviously well-educated in general, if he could quote authors from the Age of Legends. He could be a nobleman, at least. That part may be true. “Where do you hail from?”

The impostor groaned. “Ghealdan,” he enunciated. “As I’ve said countless times before.”

It could be true, or not. Natael had never met anyone from that land; he didn’t know their accent. “How old are you?”

“What does it matter? Do you know anything about me? About Logain Ablar, I mean?” he amended grimly.

“Well… I know he was a False Dragon from Ghealdan, the son of a nobleman, and that he was captured and gentled by the Red Ajah before al’Thor’s amnesty.” That was about the extent of his knowledge. Of course, Logain Ablar would have made an interesting ally to the Chosen, had he been able to channel, but he’d been severed before any of them had a chance to get their hands on him. It was probably only a matter of time before Ablar – the real one – died. All men who’d been gentled eventually did. As far as Natael knew, the man was already dead, his body rotting in an unmarked grave like that of Mierin Eronaile.

“Is there any chance that someone here might recognise you and vouch for you?” Natael asked.

The lad gestured helplessly. “How would I know? I was brought to you right away. I encountered only a couple of men – these…Dedicated of yours at the gate. Let me wander around the place for a while, and perhaps someone will know me.”

Natael snorted. “I don’t think so. You’re not going anywhere until I’ve made up my mind about-”

The door to his study banged open. Taim marched into the room as though it was his own. “Is it true?” He planted himself in front of the stranger before Natael could protest. “Are you him?”

“Of course he’s bloody not,” Natael said. “Don’t be a fool. Ablar was gentled.”

Taim and the man studied each other wordlessly for a long minute. Taim was tapping his chin thoughtfully. The impersonator sat entirely motionless, hands in his lap, but Natael could tell that, like a Warder, he could be on the move in a flash. Natael was glad that his sword had been confiscated; he looked like he knew how to use it.

“I will remove your shield,” Taim said eventually, matching his actions to his words as he released the other man. “You will seize the Source and hold as much of saidin as you can.”

The man stood and moved a bit closer to Taim before complying. They were the same height, but “Ablar” was slightly broader. Natael sensed that he was nearly as powerful as himself, on equal footing with Taim, which did nothing for his peace of mind. “It is him,” Taim whispered. “It has to be. He’s stronger than Jahar.”

“It can’t be him,” Natael insisted. Light, how many times must he repeat himself before it got into their thick skulls?

Taim rounded on him. “What reason could he possibly have for lying? He’d know that he wouldn’t be welcome here. It would make more sense for him to pretend to be anyone but Logain Ablar.”

“Oh, am I not welcome, then?” the man said dryly. “I thought all male channelers were welcome here, in this safe haven.”

“You will be allowed to stay, if you so choose,” Taim said, “but keep in mind that Natael and myself are in charge here. Of course, we’ll raise you to the highest rank, but you will be an ordinary Asha’man, as far as I’m concerned. No special treatment.”

“Taim,” Natael interrupted them. “A word?” He indicated the door. Taim rolled his eyes but followed him out of the room. “When did we decide that he was Logain Ablar?”

“It has to be him,” Taim said. “He’s almost as strong as we are, Nate.”

Ah, Nate is back. Taim hadn’t called him that since they’d returned from their hazardous trip to Sindhol, a few days earlier. Natael almost smiled out of relief. Perhaps Taim didn’t hate him after all; perhaps he just needed time to adjust to the recent developments.

“So is Narishma,” Natael countered. “Gentling cannot be Healed, Taim. Even in the Age of Legends, it was impossible.”

“It was thought to be impossible,” Taim corrected him. “Obviously it’s not impossible anymore.”

“This is madness,” he snapped. “The man is clearly delusional, and I’m beginning to think that you are, as well.”

“And you are a stubborn old fool,” Taim retorted. “Things are changing. Ancient powers are returning. There are several ta’veren out there, and the Dragon has been Reborn. Every day, we rediscover weaves thought to be long forgotten.”

“I have never forgotten them. I was there, back in the day, remember? And I’m telling you, this is not a rediscovery, because it’s never been done.”

Taim indulged him with his infamous half-smile. That didn’t bode well; usually, it meant that his next argument was inarguable. “Had anyone ever severed the connection between one of the Forsaken and the Dark One, before al’Thor did it to you?”

That brought him up short, just as he’d feared. “Well…no, but-”

“Enough of this pointless chatter. I know it’s him, Nate. I can feel it in my bones. I’m right. You’re wrong.” His smile turned into a smirk. “Just another day at the Black Tower, in other words.” He walked toward the staircase. “See to it that he bathes and is given a uniform, then send him to my study. No need to shield him. I’ll set him straight right away, then I’ll test his abilities. In time, if he proves trustworthy, perhaps we'll recruit him.” Not as an Asha’man, Natael understood, but as an ally in their private, secret army.

Natael glared after Taim for a moment longer before going back inside his study. “Follow me,” he barked at Ablar. “You’re in dire need of a bath.”

He expected Ablar to be pleased, perhaps even smug, considering this sudden turn of events, but the former False Dragon merely nodded, his face grim. “I hope you have more…formal clothes for me to wear, other than these frilly garments of yours. I don’t look good in women’s clothing.”

Now that the newcomer’s identity had been established (sort of) and that he was officially about to become his subordinate, Natael deemed himself free to dispense a justified reprimand, but he reconsidered at the last moment. Instead he gave Ablar a disarming smile. “And how exactly do you know that?”

Natael was tempted to eavesdrop to know what was going on in Taim’s study, but the M’Hael had made it clear that he wanted to talk to Ablar alone. So be it. The former False Dragon was insufferable. Possibly more so than Taim, and that was saying something.

Natael occupied his day by mentoring a group of Dedicated and drinking wine, both at the same time. Later that afternoon, when most of his duties had been dealt with, he decided to take a break and visit the fencing area, where some of the recruits honed their sword-fighting skills. It was always a pleasant sight, what with Narishma being so fond of sword fighting, even in this heat. Unfortunately, Narishma was gone, guarding al’Thor.

Still, it wasn’t a complete disappointment. Ablar was there, facing Atal. They were both bare-chested.

This was going to be entertaining after all.

Natael sat on a boulder nearby and admired the view. They kept at it for a long time. Ablar was in splendid shape. Quite muscular. Nice long hair, now that it’d been washed. His borrowed trousers were a perfect fit, emphasising his well-turned calves.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Taim said, startling him out of his reverie. “You’re supposed to be in class with your Asha’man. How long have you been out here, day-dreaming about sweaty barbarians fighting with sticks?”

“I was merely…trying to learn a few, um, forms. For my own education. You never know when you might need to use a sword.”

Taim showed some teeth. It wasn’t his usual ghostly smile; it was a predatory, alarming leer. “A brilliant initiative, Ghraem,” he said loudly. Heads turned in their direction. “Why don’t you show us how it’s done? Surely you’ve had plenty of time to study the forms now.”

“A demonstration!” Atal shouted. Several men took up the call.

“Asha’man Ablar,” Taim went on. The moment he opened his mouth, everyone quietened. “Our all-powerful co-leader would like to practise. Will you be his opponent?” The Ghealdanin made a gesture between a nod and a shrug. “Please be gentle,” Taim went on. The use of that specific word made Ablar grimace. Natael was persuaded that Taim had used it on purpose. “He may be a bit rusty.”

As soon as he was done, the rest of the assembled men – more had come to investigate the sudden clamour – resumed their chanting. Natael glared a promise of pain and death at Taim, but he had no choice but to step forward into the fencing area. Atal helpfully threw him a sword. He threw it. Natael fumbled awkwardly, and it landed at his feet. Thankfully, not on them, but it was still quite embarrassing.

He would kill Taim for this. If Ablar didn’t accidentally kill him first, that was.

He’d hoped to hold his own for at least a few minutes. He had received formal training, after all, albeit briefly. And a long time ago.

Within seconds, though, he was resting on his back, head ringing. The crowd was cheering Ablar – no, Logain, they were calling him.

He’d never been so humiliated in his life. He considered pretending to be dead, or at least unconscious, but Logain held out his hand to help him up. “Sorry about that,” he said. He sounded sincere. “I thought…well, I assumed you were going to defend yourself.”

Atal, who’d picked up Natael’s barely-used sword, roared with laughter, and was soon joined by others. Natael gritted his teeth. He’d tried to defend himself, burn the man. Logain was like a bloody whirlwind.

And he’d already donned his shirt. Ugh. This day was getting worse and worse.

He looked over his shoulder, searching for Taim. The M’Hael stood some distance away from everyone else, arms folded over his chest. He was not laughing with the rest of them. He was not even smiling. In fact, he was glaring at Logain, for some reason. He stopped as soon as he caught sight of Natael looking at him. He did smirk then, but it seemed forced. He gestured toward Natael’s palace (where Natael was supposed to be teaching his group of Asha’man) then marched off toward his own abode.

Natael sighed heavily. Was he still expected to give lessons after this traumatic experience? “Are you alright? Do you require Healing, Ghraem?” Logain asked quietly. There was no trace of smugness or mockery in his soulful eyes, for which Natael was grateful.

He gave a shaky laugh. “No, I’m quite fine, thank you.” He turned to the men. “Back to your chores, everyone! Nothing to see here.” He departed rather hastily, their laughter following him.

Taim wasn’t the only one who could make a dramatic entrance. Natael kicked the door open and stomped in Taim’s study. “What in the Pit of Doom was that?”

The M’Hael glanced up from his papers, looking mildly intrigued. “Do come in,” he said wryly. “Pull up a seat.”

Natael starkly refused. “What were you thinking? Do you have any idea how this makes me look?”

“Like a lazy oaf who lies through his teeth. Which is what you are.”

That wasn’t the answer he’d expected. “What?” Ah, that automatic response to unforeseen words, so often used in this Age in the hope that one might come up with a clever quip while the other person repeated themselves. As usual, it didn’t work.

“You said you’d been learning some forms. I assumed you’d need to practice them. I was merely trying to help,” Taim explained innocently.

“Of course I was bloody lying about that!” Natael shouted. The time for witty banter was over. He was too angry to think clearly. “Did you have to punish me like this for telling a minuscule, ridiculously unimportant lie? So I was late for class. It wasn’t the end of the world, Taim. No one expects me to be on time, anyway.”

“I don’t know what you’re complaining about. I bet you got a very close look at Logain’s naked chest, after he knocked you down on your arse.” His lips spread a fraction, but it was hardly a smile. Rather a vindictive smirk. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Natael was so shocked that he forgot to be angry for a moment. “Taim… Did you do that because you were…jealous?”

Oh, he certainly didn’t like that. For a brief instant, his face contorted with rage. “Don’t be a fool,” he growled. “I did it to teach you a lesson about punctuality. I trust you will not disappoint again in that regard. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.” He appeared to dismiss Natael entirely, shuffling his papers with an air of importance.

Too stunned to speak, Natael did the reasonable thing, for once, and exited the study without another word.

Chapter Text

Let’s enjoy Logain

Before we have to Turn him

Don’t provoke Barid

Natael was staring out the window of his study, sipping tea (it was, sadly, too early for wine). Down below, Logain was demonstrating a protective ward to a captivated group of Dedicated.

He was an efficient teacher: patient, firm but fair, engaging. Everyone had become quite fond of him, and fast. He had a magnetic personality. Natael wouldn’t go as far as to say that he was jealous of the man, but he certainly wished he had Logain’s ability to make people like him, seemingly without effort.

Logain. The simple fact that everyone called him by his first name was revelatory. Only Taim insisted on calling him Ablar, or Asha’man Ablar whenever other people were around. Natael had tried to remain formal, as well, but had failed. Calling the former False Dragon anything but Logain felt forced and unnatural, just like calling Taim “Mazrim” felt…horrifyingly wrong.

A week after Logain’s arrival, Natael still wasn’t sure if he could be trusted. On the one hand, he was willing to help with the recruits and he was invested in the future of the Black Tower but, on the other hand, he was a bit aloof, especially toward Taim. He refused to tell them where the rebel Aes Sedai were stationed, what he’d learned while he was held captive there, or even how he’d escaped. Taim resented that and made it clear, and Natael had to admit that it was a strange decision on Logain’s part. Why was he so intent on protecting the Aes Sedai? Had he been sent to the Black Tower intentionally, planted here as a spy by the witches? Had he truly been Healed, or had the Aes Sedai never gentled him in the first place? Perhaps they’d been hoping to use him, after brainwashing him. Perhaps they’d been manipulating him all along and, as the rumour went, had set him up as a False Dragon. That was certainly the more rational explanation, in Natael’s opinion, though the rumours had it that the False Dragon gig was the Red Ajah’s doing, and there were no Red sisters among the rebels, that much was clear.

So many questions, so few answers. Logain wasn’t forthcoming with them, but he had no qualm questioning them. Why did al'Thor never visit? Had they warned him of Logain’s arrival, of his miraculous Healing? Who was Natael, and why had he been nominated co-leader of the Black Tower with Taim? Why did al'Thor trust either of them with such an essential mission? What were their credentials? Why did the recruits have to wear ridiculous, girly accessories to mark their rank? Logain had been frowning at Natael when he’d asked this, for some reason, as if he were responsible for this glaringly unfashionable mistake. Natael had hastily explained that this was the Dragon’s decision, which had only caused Logain’s frown to deepen. Well, they’d have to fill him in on al'Thor's mental instability at some point; might as well lay the groundwork now.

Natael didn’t trust him (yet), but if anything Logain claimed was true, the man had every reason to be distrustful of them. Of anyone, really. He’d had it rough this past couple of years, poor thing.

Logain was now demonstrating how to adjust the size of a fireball. He stood tall, back straight, his long hair trailing behind him. He looked dashing in the Asha’man’s black uniform, especially now that he’d gained a few pounds. He practised his sword forms every day without fault, sometimes alone, sometimes with a partner. Natael almost wished he could wield a sword, just so he could admire him from a closer vantage point. Of course, he hadn’t dared approach the fencing area since Logain had defeated him with disconcerting ease the previous week.

He’d briefly considered requesting fencing lessons with Logain, but he knew that Taim would mock him for it. Mock him, or kill him out of jealousy? No, it couldn’t be jealousy. That was wishful thinking. Taim didn’t think of him that way, and never would. Taim didn’t care about him at all. He barely even talked to him, these days.

As was common nowadays, Natael’s rumination and otherwise peaceful morning were rudely interrupted. Not by a knock on the door, but by someone speaking from behind him.

“When were you going to tell me, Nessosin?”

Natael spilled most of his (thankfully lukewarm) tea all over himself. He jumped out of his chair, cursing, and turned around to find Demandred standing in the room, hands behind his back.

“I…what?” Ugh! He had to stop saying “what” all the bloody time. Demandred raised an eyebrow. “I mean, um, beg your pardon? What was I supposed to tell you?”

Before Demandred replied, a few possibilities sprang to mind: Ishamael’s resurrection, Lanfear’s death and the subsequent return of Natael’s full strength in the Power, Moridin’s claim that he was Nae’blis… Though why the latter should be Natael’s news to disclose, he didn’t know. Moridin must have made an announcement to the Chosen already – which might explain Demandred’s bitter disposition on this bright morning.

“Logain Ablar is here, and he’s been Healed. I had to hear this from one of my spies, Nessosin, though I distinctly remember ordering you to let me know if anything out of the ordinary happened at the Black Tower.”

Oh, that. Natael relaxed a fraction. “I didn’t think it was important, because I don’t entirely believe it,” he admitted. “That he’s been Healed, I mean. I’m quite convinced that he is Logain Ablar, at least.” Two Soldiers and three Dedicated had recognised him, four of them men who’d followed Logain as a False Dragon. The last one had witnessed the procession in Caemlyn, where the Red Ajah had paraded Logain after his defeat.

Demandred shook his head. “He was severed from the Source, that was never in question. And now he can channel. Healing is the only possible explanation, no matter how improbable. It was confirmed by Aran’gar.”

Natael tilted his head. “Aran’gar?” But he didn’t need Demandred’s impatient clarification; he had already made the connection. The Great Lord and his ironic names. If Aginor was Osan’gar…

“Formerly known as Balthamel,” Demandred said. “She’s infiltrated the rebel Aes Sedai camp.”

She? Natael opened his mouth but, gauging Demandred’s expression, thought better of it and changed what he was going to say. “Well, if she gave you the information, you don’t need my input.” Which made him wonder why the Chosen was here. To punish him for not beating Aran’gar to the news?

“The Healing is not the interesting part,” Demandred retorted. Natael disagreed – it was mind-blowing, if true – but didn’t say so. “After he escaped the rebel camp, Logain was lost to us for some time, we had no idea where he was. How long has he been here? A week?” Natael nodded slowly. “And I’m only finding out now? From a scullery maid?”

A scullery maid? Shadow help me, no one can be trusted. But it made sense; when promised money in exchange for information, these lowly people rarely hesitated.

“I…” Mm, time to throw Taim under the cart. “Taim is the one who deals with our correspondence. I assumed he’d warned you already.”

“I do not care which of you is in charge of what,” Demandred spat. “You should have contacted me the moment you ascertained Logain’s identity.”

It was funny, how even Demandred called him by his first name. Perhaps Logain simply sounded better than Ablar, perhaps it was easier to say. “Yes, I see that now,” Natael mumbled, head lowered, though it was too late to apologise. In truth, it had never crossed his mind to let Demandred know about it, nor even Moridin. Maybe he was unconsciously protecting Logain, or maybe he was just an idiot.

Or both.

“You will recruit him.”

Natael looked up at that, scowling faintly. “We already did.”

Demandred rolled his eyes. He was usually very careful not to display his emotions, but Natael had been told repeatedly that it was impossible to remain stoic around him. It was his superpower – he could annoy anyone. “You made him an Asha’man, but he must become an ally. A Dreadlord.”

Uh. Why was Taim never around when Demandred showed up out of the blue? He would know what to do, what to say, how to stall. Did Demandred time his visits so he wouldn’t cross paths with Taim?

Was he afraid of Taim? The thought was rather amusing, but also hurtful – it meant that, even with his strength restored, old Barid Bel didn’t consider Natael a threat. Truth be told, even now, he didn’t feel like one. It would never occur to him to try anything against the Chosen. Battling Demandred one on one with the Power was suicide. Challenging him with a sword was suicide, even if you were considered a skilled duellist. He was also proficient in hand-to-hand combat.

It was preferable to avoid conflict with Demandred altogether.

As Natael struggled to come up with a response, Demandred went on. “If he won’t join us willingly, you will Turn him.”

Oh, not this again. If Demandred commanded them to Turn Logain – and, likely, everyone else – they would have no choice but to comply. If the Chosen realised that they were gathering a private, non-aligned army, they would be annihilated. They had to keep up appearances. They would have to Turn at least a few men, to satisfy Demandred. They had to delay this issue for as long as possible.

In the meantime, however… “We don’t have any women at our disposal,” Natael pointed out. “We need female channelers to Turn our men. And Myrddraal, of course.”

Demandred eyed him stonily for what felt like an hour, his body utterly immobile. Natael began to sweat, despite the milder temperature of these past few days. “You shall have the Myrddraal you require. Give it a month or two.” A month or two. That was better than nothing, he supposed. “But women are not necessary to the Turning process. If you cannot find any, you will use your men.”

Use male channelers to Turn other men? That was insane! It would take several sessions to Turn a single man, and it would be excruciating for the victim and horrible even for the persecutors. Not to mention that the victim might not survive. “It will take ten times as long to-”

“You will do as you are told,” Demandred snapped. “Regardless of the availability of female channelers, you will begin the Turning of the entire Black Tower as soon as you have thirteen Myrddraal at your disposal. Logain, should he refuse to join the Shadow, will be your first target.” Natael’s sweaty back felt suddenly cold and he had to suppress a shiver. Demandred took a step forward. They were nearly the same height, but Demandred was much broader. “I suggest that you start looking for female candidates to bolster your ranks,” he said in a low voice. “Or work that witty charm of yours to Turn your men the old-fashioned way.”

Aw, Demandred thought he was witty and charming! Natael almost grinned, but quickly realised that Demandred was being sarcastic. Demandred, sarcastic? If that was not a sign that the world was ending, he didn’t know what was.

The old-fashioned way. That was easier said than done – convincing a person to turn to the Shadow of their own free will took time. Besides, they didn’t have a-

“We’ll need an Oath Rod,” Natael blurted out. “To swear them in, should they decide to join us willingly. I’m sure that some of them will.” With that artefact in their possession, they could remove the Dreadlord Oath that Taim had sworn a few months ago. He wouldn’t be bound to the Shadow any longer.

Demandred was scowling at him; his arms were now crossed over his chest. His attire was that of a wealthy merchant, perhaps from the Borderlands, judging by the sturdy material. Natael doubted that Demandred had established himself up north, but the clothes fitted him well. Green had always been his colour, mainly because it matched his eyes.

“I will think about it,” Demandred said eventually, after nearly a minute of consideration. He was usually quicker in his decision-making. “In the meantime, continue to recruit all the channelers you can find, and train them. Raise as many as you can to the highest rank, Turn them, and prepare these Dreadlords for the Last Battle. The Black Tower’s army will play a crucial part in our plans.”

“As you command, Great Master, so it shall be done,” Natael replied, bowing his head in mock deference. He could be sarcastic, too.

Bad idea. His throat constricted. He couldn’t breathe. His hands flew to his neck reflexively; he could feel his eyes bulging.

Demandred took another step forward and grabbed the lapels of his coat, pulling Natael closer to him. His green eyes were ablaze with contempt, his teeth partly bared. “You may have recovered your full strength, Nessosin, and you may be under the protection of the Nae’blis,” he whispered, the last word sounding like a curse, “but you are still you, and I am me. I am the superior man in every possible aspect. I’m sure I could play that ludicrous harp of yours better than you ever did, if I could be bothered.” Natael listened with mounting anger, but he was afraid that he would pass out soon. If not for Demandred’s strong grip on his coat, holding him upright, he would have slid to the floor. He tried to seize the Source and failed. He was too weak. “You have always been our weakest link,” Demandred went on, as if he’d read his mind. “I would kill you this instant if I knew I could get away with it in all impunity. I would kill you and replace you with Taim. Logain could fill in for Sammael. We don’t need you, Nessosin. You’d do well to remember that. Your continued existence is a mere courtesy, as far as I’m concerned. You had better pray that Elan stays alive, this time, because as Nae’blis, I will not be as forgiving as he is. If you want a place in the new world, in my world, I suggest that you improve your grovelling technique, you pathetic worm.”

With that last compliment, he was gone, and Natael was on the floor, gasping for breath as the smothering weave was finally removed. He coughed and hacked until he was able to inhale and exhale normally again, without having to think about it. And yet he stayed where he was, lying in a ball on the floor.

Fill in for Sammael? The rumours were true, then. After al’Thor had notified them, their contacts on the field had sent confused messages regarding Sammael’s demise. No body had been recovered, but Demandred’s words confirmed it: Tel Janin was dead.

Would he stay dead, though?

Natael sat up gingerly. His head ached, his throat was sore, he was already exhausted despite the early hour, but there would be no rest for him today. He had to talk to Taim, he had to talk to Logain. Separately or not, he did not know yet.

They needed a plan, a strategy. They had to get ahead of this horrendous Turning business.

But first, he had to replace all of the scullery maids.

Chapter Text

Can’t figure him out

He likes me, he likes me not

Who can tell, really?

As if his life weren’t bothersome enough at the moment, to add insult to injury the weather decided to change that very day. You’d think it would be a relief for the temperature to drop a bit, after a boiling summer that had lasted two and a half seasons, but Natael was pelted by icy rain, then bloody hail as he hurried to Taim’s palace.

He could have Travelled there, he thought – remembered – afterwards. He’d been partially shielded by Lanfear for barely half a year, and he was adamant that he’d never get used to it, but there he was, running from point A to point B like a saidin-less peasant. It wasn’t far, but still.

His garments were very nearly ruined by the time he opened the kitchen door, the back entrance to Taim’s abode. It had taken him two hours to figure out what to wear, for pity’s sake! His hair was a damp mess, he could feel it. He tried to comb it with his fingers, ignoring the kitchen maids’ curious looks as he headed toward the main staircase. He slipped on some melting ice, recovered his balance at the last instant by grabbing a counter, then realised that someone had spilled tomato sauce on said counter. He would have to use the Power to get the stain out of his sleeve, but there was no time for that now.

His predicament generated a bout of muffled laughter from the servants which, once again, Natael affected to ignore. He stomped off in what he hoped was a dignified manner.

He briefly wondered if they would report the comical scene to Demandred or, Light preserve him, to Moridin. He was tempted to dismiss them all and have them replaced, as he’d just done with his own staff (somewhat rashly), but what good would it do? Demandred would find new informers. Moridin probably had a dozen of them among the recruits and their families.

As he stepped into the hallway, he saw that Taim was coming down the stairs, a forbidding expression on his face. Uh-oh. What now?

“Ah, there you are. That’ll spare me a trip. Come with me.” Without looking to see if Natael was obeying his command, he walked back to his study. Natael followed; what choice did he have? He had to talk to the man, after all. That was the purpose of his visit. It wasn’t really a command, anyway – it was an invitation. Natael chose to believe that it was.

They settled in Taim’s study, the M’Hael in his leather chair behind the desk, Natael on a stool in front of him. It wasn’t comfortable, but there were no other seats available. Taim looked tired, Natael noticed. There were shadows under his eyes and he had not shaved. That was a first.

He was barely seated when Taim spoke up. “There was an…incident. One of the Dedicated killed himself.” He sighed. “By setting his barracks on fire. There were three casualties in total, and two men were severely injured. Third-degree burns. Flinn might have been able to Heal them, but our resident Healer, Dale, is not quite as proficient. Logain did what he could, but that’s obviously not his strong suit, either. They might not survive. I don’t suppose you could…”

“I told you I was not an expert in Healing. That hasn’t changed.”

Taim nodded. “I feared as much.” Natael didn’t like what his resigned tone seemed to imply: that even with his full strength, Natael was still as useless as he’d always been.

“I can have a look, though,” he said. “I don’t have Flinn’s skill, but I’m still more experienced than anyone else here.”

“Sure, why not. Can't hurt to try.” Flat delivery. The man didn’t care one way or the other. Why was Natael so intent on proving his worth to this man who obviously didn’t give a fig about him?

Neither of them spoke for a moment, but the silence soon became too uncomfortable for Natael. “I had a visitor this morning.”

“Moridin or Demandred?” Taim asked. No hesitation there; who else could it be?

“Demandred. He was cross.” He paused to see Taim’s reaction – would he guess why the Chosen was angry with them, unlike Natael? – but the M’Hael was waiting for him to go on. “Because we didn’t tell him about Logain.”

Taim idly scratched his budding beard. “I assumed he already knew. It’s been a week. His informers are not very good at their job, it seems.” Then, without any inflection whatsoever: “What’s our punishment?”

Natael didn’t answer right away. None, really, but there was this Turning business to consider, and it was a punishment of sorts, in Natael’s opinion. Especially without any female channelers to assist them. He wasn’t sure how to broach the subject, however.

He was taking too long to reply, because Taim leaned forward over the desk, his dark eyes boring into his. “Did he hurt you?” His voice was a bare whisper, but it carried a fierce intensity.

The question came as a surprise. Why did he care? If the punishment was physical pain inflicted upon Natael alone, why should that matter to him? Besides, the choking part had had nothing to do with withholding information. Natael had mouthed off, as he too often did. That was why he hadn’t planned on telling Taim about it.

“Nate?” Taim insisted. He got up and went around the desk to plant himself next to Natael. “Did the bastard hurt you?”

Still shocked by this unexpected reaction, the truth came out in a stammer. “I… Well, he… It was my fault, really. I shouldn’t have talked to him like that. I know Barid, he has no sense of humour whatsoever, I spoke out of turn… I had it coming.”

“What did he do?” He didn’t let Natael answer. “Do you require Healing? I can recall Flinn if need be. I’ll use a gateway to fetch him myself.” He actually seized the Source, as if he were going to do just that.

A few minutes ago, he’d announced that two men were dying and that only Flinn could save them, but he had made no such suggestion. Now Natael was here, apparently hale, his life not in any immediate danger, and he offered to fetch their best Healer himself?

A week prior, Taim was subjecting Natael to public humiliation and potential harm because Natael was late for class (or so he claimed). Was he trying to make up for that particularly cruel episode? Was this his way of apologising?

It made no sense, but Taim rarely did.

“No, no, there’s no need for that,” Natael assured him. “I’m fine. He just…choked me a bit. With the Power. I’m fine,” he repeated under Taim’s scrutiny.

The M’Hael relented eventually. “If you say so.” He sat on the desk, arms crossed over his chest. “Well then. Is that it? Did he come just to assault you, or was there anything else?”

“He wants us to Turn Logain. If, that is, he refuses to join the Shadow of his own free will.”

“Um, have you met him?” Taim scoffed. “Of course he’ll refuse to become a Dreadlord. He’s an idiot with a hero complex.”

Natael was not so sure. About the idiot part, anyway. “If we explain to him what we’re doing, he’ll help us.”

Taim narrowed his eyes. “He might choose to help us. Or he might go find al’Thor instead, reveal our ploy and doom us all. Are you willing to risk it? Ablar doesn’t like us. He won’t trust us.”

He doesn’t like you, Natael thought. Then again, when he finds out who I really am, he won’t like me, either. But they had to have Logain on their side; Natael was convinced of his importance in the battle to come. If the Chosen got to him, he’d make a powerful ally, even with his mind wiped clean by the Turning process. If Logain joined with al’Thor and exposed them, they would lose everything they’d worked so hard to attain, and they’d be executed for acting behind the Dragon’s back. “We have to present the situation in such a way that he cannot refuse what we offer.”

“And what is it we offer, exactly?” Taim asked with a raised eyebrow.

“A chance for him to survive the Last Battle,” Natael said. It was quite simple, really. Al’Thor didn’t know that Logain was here, but if he felt threatened by Taim, Logain, another False Dragon, would have the same effect on him. If the Dragon Reborn lost what remained of his sanity before Tarmon Gai’don, he might decide that Taim and Logain were a danger to him and get rid of them. For that matter, if he found out that Natael could channel at full strength again… He was toast. Natael had fought the boy once before, and it had not ended favourably for him.

On the other hand, if the Chosen (most likely Demandred) decided to Turn Logain personally... Well, Logain wouldn’t die, exactly, but death was preferable to Turning, in Natael’s humble opinion.

“If he pretends to become a Dreadlord, as you did, we can reverse the oath as soon as we get our hands on a Binding Rod,” Natael explained. Taim opened his mouth, presumably to enquire about the likeliness of such an event, but Natael forestalled him. “Demandred said he would consider lending us one. I told him that several of our men would be willing to take the oath, so we’d need a rod.”

Taim smiled at that – a real smile, the first genuine one in a long time. “Clever.” He actually chuckled. “Oh, this is good. He’s making it almost too easy for us, isn’t he? We’ll take the rod, swear in a few men, including Ablar – I bet dear old Barid will demand to be present or even do it himself – then we’ll simply reverse the process as soon as he’s gone.”

Natael cocked his head sideways. Did he really believe that it would be so easy? One should never underestimate Demandred. Or any of the Chosen, for that matter. “If that happens – if he insists on overseeing the deed – I doubt that he’ll leave the rod with us when it’s done. He’ll let us use it that one time on the men we’ve gathered and he’ll take it back when he departs. Perhaps he could be persuaded to return later if we can find more men, but he’ll never leave it in our care.” Taim was scowling now. “Our best hope is that he’ll be in a hurry, leave us the rod for a few hours, then return for it later. The chances of that happening are slim, though.”

“You made it sound much more positive, earlier,” Taim mumbled. “You’re counting on Demandred making the mistake of trusting us.”

“Even Demandred makes mistakes. He never renewed my own oath, for one thing. So it’s…improbable, but possible.”

“You think Ablar will risk his soul on these odds? That’s how he will see it, you know.”

The hero complex, yes. Logain would be reluctant to pretend to join the Shadow, even for a just cause, even if, in the end, it benefited the Light. He was a man of principle; he would see it as treason.

“What’s Moridin’s part in all this?” Taim asked out of the blue.

“What does he have to do with any of this?” They’d had no news from the resurrected Chosen since Lanfear’s…death. Well, cold-blooded murder, really.

“He’s Nae’blis. Doesn’t that mean that all orders come from him? Demandred was likely just passing on a message.”

Aw, how adorably naïve. Natael had to laugh. “Demandred is no errand boy, Taim. He is doing his own thing, regardless of Moridin’s schemes. They might not even know that the other is involved in our business. So is the way of the Chosen,” he said with a shrug. “Nae’blis is just a title. It’ll mean nothing when the Last Battle is over, even should the Shadow be victorious. The remaining Chosen will fight over dominion of the new world, no matter who’s supposed to be in charge. They’ll always fight each other. That’s what they do.”

Taim was gazing at him with a troubled look in his eyes. “Do they… I mean, do you really believe that there’ll be a world left when it’s all over, if the Dark One wins? He wants to destroy the world, or at least humanity, doesn't he? His plan ultimately does not involve giving the world away to a bunch of feeble-minded humans stupid enough to trust in his false promises.”

Feeble-minded? Hardly. They were delusional, but not stupid.

Taim had a point, though. The Great Lord had promised them immortality, limitless power, wealth… And here he was, a mortal with few possessions and very limited power. He’d lost three thousand years of his life in a dreamless slumber – if that was what the Great Lord’s description of immortality entailed, Natael didn’t want it. And if the power had to be shared with his petty associates, waging an eternal war, he wanted it even less. “I don’t. Not anymore. But they do, most of them anyway. Elan is different – he just wants it all to be over, I think. To be proven right once and for all, then go in a blaze of glory and leave us to deal with the aftermath.”

Taim was smiling again, but this time it was the flimsy smile that Natael knew all too well. “I see.” Two simple words, but Natael could read worlds of infinite contempt in them. Directed at him or at the Chosen, or both, he didn’t know. “Well, at least we don’t have to deal with Moridin at the moment. Although…” He trailed off, frowning.

“Yes?” Natael prompted him.

“What if we asked Moridin for an Oath Rod? We could claim that we need it to swear in our most faithful recruits. Then, if we don’t get a chance to use the one that’s in Demandred’s possession, we might have a back-up. Is Moridin more likely to entrust us with the artefact?”

Well, according to Demandred, Natael was "under the protection of the Nae'blis", whatever that was supposed to mean. Elan had not been pleasant or lenient when they'd last met, though. It was probably just Demandred being jealous - that was his default setting, after all. “We don’t even know if he has one,” Natael replied. “Even if he does, the idea relies on the fact that Demandred and Moridin are not aware of each other’s involvement in the affairs of the Black Tower. If they are, they’ll smell a rat.”

Taim’s face darkened, but he didn’t seem angry, merely disappointed. “You’re right, of course. It’s too risky.” He scratched at his beard again. Natael hoped that he would shave it soon – it didn’t suit him, not at all. “Right then. I suppose we’ll have to talk to Ablar. Together?”

Natael nodded. “We have to brief him about everything, including me. If all goes well, he may end up replacing Flinn. He seems quite capable.”

“I doubt that all will go well, and he doesn’t have a tenth of Flinn’s skill in Healing, unfortunately. Nobody does.” He exhaled slowly. “Do we really have to tell him everything? I don’t trust him, Nate. He’ll rat us out, you can be sure of it. Al’Thor will have us executed, you do realise that, yes?”

He was all too aware of that, but there was no way around it. “If Logain knows about Demandred, we’ll have to inform him about the rest of it. If we don’t, if we keep things from him, he’ll question everything we said and assume the worst. We have to be transparent. It’s our only chance at…well, recruiting him to our side. Like it or not, we need the bloody man, Taim.”

“I like it not,” he muttered. Natael almost grinned. Taim sounded like a pouty child. “But you’re right, again. Twice in a day, imagine that!” He graced Natael with another of his annoying smiles, but sobered up when he caught his murderous expression. “I’ll have someone fetch Ablar. Stay put.”

Not an order, Natael told himself. An invitation to stay, nothing more.

Chapter Text

Handsome and fragile

Foolishly brave and noble

That smile, that damned smile

Logain had refused to meet them in Taim’s study. Atal, who’d been despatched to fetch the Ghealdanin, had returned with a worried frown, his shoulders tense, obviously dreading their reaction. Taim had muttered a string of curses, but they’d decided not to waste time with a second attempt at summoning Logain. They’d Travelled to the man’s barracks, which he had to himself.

At least he had not refused to talk to them and had not slammed the door in their faces. Taim would have murdered him on the spot, Natael had no doubt about it. Of course, when Logain had opened the door, Taim had not displayed any of his annoyance. He’d pretended to be there by choice, as if Logain had just invited them over for tea. Once inside, Taim had sat in the most comfortable seat available without asking for permission, as if he owned the place – which, in the man’s mind, was certainly the case.

“You want me to turn to the Shadow,” Logain said.

They’d been here for half an hour now. Natael knew that, deep down, Logain wasn’t stupid, but he seemed to be having trouble understanding what they wanted him to do. And why. And how. “We want you to pretend to turn to the Shadow,” he corrected Logain. “In order to avoid being Turned to the Shadow.”

“Light, he’s thick,” Taim said under his breath.

“Listen to yourselves!” Logain exploded. “You want me to ‘turn to avoid being Turned’. How is that supposed to make sense? Are you both insane? Has the taint fried your brains?”

I hope not. But would I know it, if I were mad? Natael wondered.

“As we’ve been desperately trying to explain,” Taim said with utterly faked patience and a fair amount of condescension, “if you don’t take the oath, we’ll be forced to Turn you, using a process too despicable to describe. Once that’s done, there will be no coming back from it, Ablar.”

“The process may very well kill you,” Natael added. “On the other hand, if you swear on the Binding Rod, we can always remove the oath at a later date. It’ll be like it never happened.”

“So you’ve done this before,” Logain said, his brown eyes locked on Natael. From the moment they’d stepped into his barracks, Logain had done his best to ignore M’Hael. “You know for a fact that it will work.”

That brought him up short. It was a theory – it was Taim’s theory, actually – but there was no reason why it shouldn’t work. None that he could think of, anyway. “Um, well, no, but-”

Logain sneered. “This is one of your tactics, isn’t it? You sneaky bastards. I knew you were Darkfriends. I bloody knew it. The moment I set eyes on you, with your thrice-cursed smirk-”

Well, this was directed at Taim, clearly, though Logain was still glaring at Natael. “Have you forgotten everything we just explained to you? I’m not a Darkfriend, Logain, I’m Asmodean. I’m one of the Chose…ah, one the Forsaken.” He wasn’t, exactly, but Logain didn’t need to know that. What he needed to know, to understand, was that Taim and Natael were on his side. Sort of.

“Yeah, I heard you the first time you made that ridiculous claim,” Logain said. “How gullible do you think I am? You may be strong, Ghraem, but you’re not Forsaken material. No one in their right mind would believe that. If you believe it, then you must be delusional, and Taim is feeding your delusion.”

Taim scoffed. “Why on earth would he claim to be Asmodean if it wasn’t the truth? Why would he claim to be the weakest of-”

“I’m not the weakest!” Natael protested. That may have been true when he was still shielded by Mierin, but not anymore. “Be’lal is the weakest man, and all of the women are weaker than he is, therefore-”

“He was. Be’lal is dead,” Taim reminded him. “And you can’t really compare strength in saidin and strength in saidar. That’s like comparing apples and oranges. Besides, Lanfear must have been at least as powerful as you are, considering how she treated you.”

Natael had never been crazy enough to test that hypothesis. “Even if she was, she’s also dead, so she doesn’t count.”

Logain was shaking his head in bewilderment. “You’re both mad. I don’t know what the boy was thinking when he put you two in charge of this place.”

“Well, I don’t know what he was thinking when he put him in charge,” Taim said, indicating Natael, “but I’m a capable leader. Can't you see what I’ve done with the place? If you’d been here back when it was still the ‘farm’, you’d realise just how much I’ve improved-”

“All I can see is that most of your men live in these unsanitary barracks while you and your chosen few reside in luxurious palaces,” Logain snapped. “Light, I used to be a minor noble, but I never had as many servants as you do. You should be ashamed of yourselves.”

Taim’s face turned a dark crimson. He couldn’t possibly be ashamed; building a palace had been his idea. Natael had merely…balanced things out. There was nothing to be ashamed of, anyway. They ruled the Black Tower, they deserved proper headquarters. Did Logain think that the Amyrlin Seat shared a tiny, dingy room with her subordinates?

“Logain, we offered you a room in the residence of your choice,” Natael said. “It is one of the benefits of being a full Asha’man. You turned us down.”

“You fool!” Logain growled. “I don’t want your comfortable room. I don’t want your ridiculous pins.” He ripped out his dragon brooch, then the sword, and threw them on the unmade bed. It looked like Logain had been tossing and turning all night – unless he’d had some company. He was quite popular with the ladies, according to the rumours. “I cannot be bought by the Shadow!”

“That’s it, I give up,” Taim said. He stood. “Maybe you’re right, Nate, maybe he’s not a complete idiot, but he refuses to understand. I told you this wouldn’t work. He’s too bloody stubborn. Let’s get out of here.”

Natael hoped he was bluffing. He dearly hoped so, because with what they’d just confessed to Logain, they either had to convince him or kill him. Still, he trusted Taim. He followed his lead and headed for the door.

“History is written by the victors,” Taim told Logain, “and victory often necessitates compromise and sacrifice. You can shout your allegiance to the Light from the rooftops until your throat is sore, and you can hold on to your noble principles without budging, but it won’t change the fact that, if you do not listen to us, if you don’t trust us, you’re a dead man, Ablar. And what’s worse, you’ll end up serving the Shadow regardless. Only this time, it won’t be reversible.”

“You’re lying. You’re manipulating me into doing what you want me to do under a false pretence, and then I’ll be unable to disobey you or escape this place. You’ll have a hold on me.” Natael sympathised with the man and he could appreciate the fact that he had misgivings, but he had to see sense. Fortunately, he could feel Logain’s resistance chafing. He could be persuaded to comply to their…request, he knew it. He didn’t get a word in edgewise, though. “Besides, if you’re truly one of the Forsaken, Master Natael, why do you care what Demandred wants? Is there some…hierarchy of evil that I’m unaware of? Or are you afraid of him?” He grimaced; Natael had a feeling that it was supposed to be a taunting smile.

If he was trying to goad him, it wasn’t working, not this time. One did not joke about Demandred, even when he wasn’t around. You never knew who might be listening.

Although if anyone was eavesdropping right now, they were all as good as dead. They’d put up a ward, but was that enough? Even the lowliest channelers had their own special talents and tricks, and who knew what their master had taught them besides?

“I’m terrified of Demandred,” Natael murmured. He was loath to admit it, but it was the truth, and Logain had to hear it. “Everyone should be terrified of him, because he’s a cold-blooded, deadly genius. He feels nothing. He doesn’t care about anything or anyone except himself and his rivalry with Lews Therin.” That, at least, seemed to penetrate Logain’s thick skull. He was listening attentively and he made no snide remark. “Even the other Chosen are wary of him, even his own allies.” Mesaana was, anyway. Semirhage was just as terrifying as Demandred, if not slightly more so.

“In truth, Master Natael is currently a rank below the Forsaken,” Taim said. “He was…demoted. His work here at the Black Tower is what may lead him to be back in the Dark One’s good graces, eventually.” Natael stared at him. What was he doing? “At least that’s the official story.”

“That was not part of the plan,” Natael complained.

Logain didn’t seem to care, however. “What about you, Taim?” he demanded. For the first time, his gaze sought the other man’s. “What’s your ‘official story’?”

“I’m a soon-to-be Forsaken,” he replied without hesitation. He met Logain’s eyes. “They’ve lost most of their men.” Some of them had since returned, but Taim didn’t mention that. One thing at a time. “That’s why they need us – all three of us. Without counting al’Thor or the Forsaken, we are the three most powerful channelers in the world. Of course they want us.”

“That doesn’t mean we should offer ourselves to them on a silver platter,” Logain retorted. “We have to fight back. Why don’t we warn al’Thor? He’ll assume leadership of the Black Tower and fend off the Forsaken, as he’s done in many nations already. He’ll scour the Tower, then we’ll be free to assemble soldiers for the armies of the Light and prepare them for the Last-”

Taim was laughing. It wasn’t genuine laughter; he was mocking Logain’s naïveté. That was understandable – the man sounded like a brainwashed zealot. It was obvious that he’d never met al’Thor. “I’m sure that the boy is full of good intentions,” Taim said, “but he’s in way over his head, Ablar, and he’s becoming more insane by the day. How long has it been since he paid us a visit?” he asked Natael.

“Last time, he came with the bloody pins. That was about two months ago. We did see him at Dumai’s Wells, though.”

“Ah, yes. And remind me, why was he at Dumai’s Wells?”

“Because he was overpowered and abducted by Aes Sedai. They were en route for Tar Valon.”

Taim snapped his fingers. “Uh-huh, that’s right. And who came to his rescue, just when his allies were about to be overwhelmed by the Shaido Aiel?”

That was perhaps a bit of an exaggeration, but Natael knew what Taim was doing and he played along. “We did.”

Unfortunately, Logain looked thoroughly unimpressed. “Are you saying that the Pattern made a mistake, that you should have been the Dragon Reborn, Taim? Because you think you’re more capable than the young man who is already recognised as a leader by many of his elders, and who didn’t lay waste to his native land to achieve that?”

“You’re such a hypocrite,” Taim snarled. “You destroyed parts of Ghealdan in your own campaign, and your army slaughtered as many innocents as mine did.”

“I did what I thought had to be done for the Light!” Logain seized the Source.

Natael decided to intervene just as Taim, too, got hold of saidin. “Enough! There’s no need for a pissing contest; you both failed miserably. Al’Thor got the prize, if it can be called that, and now our mission is to ensure that he remains alive to fight in the Last Battle.”

“And to be prepared to take over for him if he goes mad before that,” Taim put in.

“So you’re not content to be a wannabe Forsaken, you also want to rule the armies of the Light,” Logain said.

The False Dragons were still holding the Source and glaring at each other. Natael shifted uneasily. If these two duelled with the Power, all that would remain of the Black Tower afterwards was a very large crater. Besides, he didn’t want this silly rivalry between them to develop into a Demandred vs Lews Therin affair. “Please, let us all calm down and-”

“What I want is to keep this flaming world intact and live in it in peace for as long as possible!” Taim shouted. “Don’t you get it? Ultimately, it doesn’t matter what side you’re on, Ablar. Light or Shadow or whatever’s in between, we’re all against the Dark One. All sane people are against global annihilation, I should think.”

Except Elan, Natael thought. Global annihilation is precisely what he wants. It’s what he’s been working towards all these millennia. Then again, “sane” was not a word he would use to qualify Elan Morin Tedronai – whether he chose to call himself Ishamael or Moridin or Ba’alzamon.

Logain released the Source, scowling. “Are you saying that the Forsaken are against the Dark One? That’s absurd, Taim. They’re his minions, everyone knows that. They do his bidding without question, and apparently without wondering what will happen to them after the Last Battle.”

“Because he’s enticed them with empty promises,” Taim countered. “But they’ll see sense. They have to.”

Natael felt as confused as Logain looked; what was Taim trying to say? “Are you suggesting that…” He hesitated. “…that the Chosen will, at some point, join forces with the Light to repel the Great…um, the Dark One?”

“They have to,” Taim repeated. “We were just talking about it, weren’t we? You saw through the lies. You understand what’s really at stake – not world domination, but the end of time itself. Surely they will understand, too. They may be petty and prideful, but they’re not stupid.”

Logain and Natael glanced at each other. “I have no idea where that came from,” Natael assured him. “We certainly didn’t discuss that.” That was not at all how he remembered their earlier conversation. “I mean…have you met Demandred?”

“He’s a genius, you said it yourself! He’s an intelligent man, Nate. It’s hard to believe that the Shadow managed to lure him in the first place, but-”

“You don’t get it, Taim. None of that matters. These are people who were endowed with fine qualities and special talents and wasted it all because they were envious.” He paused. “Well, it’s usually envy. Or greed, or ambition. A thirst for power. Sometimes revenge. In a few cases, a yearning for freedom. For example, the freedom to experiment on live humans without fear of the Ethics Committee.”

“Ethics?” Logain repeated. “What’s that?”

“Never mind, it’s not important,” Natael said. “What’s important is that the Forsaken will never defect. You can never hope to match the Dark One’s promises, let alone-”

Unexpectedly, Taim smiled. It wasn’t a sarcastic smirk, for once. “You just called them Forsaken without stammering, Nate. The Forsaken and the Dark One. Seems to me like you’ve finally mastered the Common Tongue. And how can you say that, when that’s precisely what you did? You defected. You’re living proof that-”

“Do you really believe that I’d be here today if al’Thor had not severed my connection to the Dark…” He huffed in exasperation. “To the Great Lord? That I’d be aiding His nemesis and acting behind His lieutenants’ backs? That I’d risk lying to Demandred’s face? I have nothing left to lose, Taim! And nothing to gain, because I know that they’ll never take me back. They need me to mentor you – both of you now – and then one night in the near future they’ll have me murdered in my sleep. My failure and my subsequent betrayal cannot be forgiven, nor forgotten, no matter how many men I Turn, no matter how many would-be Forsaken I tutor.” Oh, for pity’s sake. “Would-be Chosen,” he amended quickly.

“Then why are you helping me at all?” Taim asked. He wasn’t smiling now. “You could have left weeks ago, but you chose to stay, to-”

“You think I haven’t considered leaving?” Taim’s eyes widened in shock. He really thinks too highly of me. “Of course I have. Spent many sleepless nights pondering the pros and cons, in fact. Unfortunately, I’ve come to the conclusion that whatever I do will eventually lead to me being brutally murdered. If I stay and we’re discovered, I die. If I leave and they track me down, I die. If I somehow live until the Last Battle…” He exhaled slowly, as if he were releasing his last breath. It was good practice. “I’ll probably die, too. In all likelihood, we’ll all die. If you ask me, all we can do at this point is live out our days in hopeless, quiet desperation.”

A moment of silence followed his prediction of inescapable doom.

“He’s a little ray of bloody sunshine, ain’t he?” Logain muttered eventually.

“Well, it’s been a rough year for everyone,” Taim said.

Logain snorted with unexpected laughter. “Rough? That has to be the euphemism of the century.”

“What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, isn’t that the saying?”

Natael looked at the two False Dragons in turn, disbelief etched upon his face. Are they becoming friends? Are they bonding over my…whining? Well, he wasn’t whining, merely complaining (and rightly so), but Taim would call it whining, undoubtedly.

Logain took a deep breath, then raised his hands in surrender. “Fine, fine, you win. We need to discuss this strategy at length, and we need to decide which men to trust with it, but I think you’re right, it’s our best shot. Besides, the Dragon Reborn is probably busy.” Busy going mad, aye. “Send a message to Demandred. Tell him I’m ready to become a Dreadlord...at his earliest convenience.”

Taim peered at him with an intensity that would cause most of their younger recruits to flee in terror. “Are you sure? This isn’t some trick, is it?” Logain shook his head. “You won’t do anything foolish when he shows up?”

Logain considered this. “No.” That simple answer would have satisfied Natael as well as Taim, but what he added was not so reassuring. “I might attempt something incredibly noble and brave, but nothing foolish.” This time he didn’t grimace or give a poor approximation of a smile; he grinned at them, displaying healthy white teeth.

It was contagious; Natael couldn’t help but grin in return. Logain was really handsome when he smiled like that. No wonder he had company most every night.

Taim was apparently impervious to Logain’s charm. He rolled his eyes and spoke softly. “Light help me.”

Chapter Text

Much villainsplaining

Betrayal and secrecy

Still no Binding Rod

“I don’t like this,” Logain grumbled. He was fiddling with the pommel of his sword, which was sheathed at his side as always.

Natael looked at him sideways. “Which part? Meeting Demandred? Forsaking your soul? Or is it the snow that bothers you, perhaps?” They were quite cosy and warm up here in Taim's study but, outside, the temperature had dropped drastically and the ground was covered with a thick layer of fresh snow. They would need to assign a team of Soldiers to remove it in the morning, so as not to slow things down.

“I like the snow. I prefer the cold to the unnatural heat we’ve suffered these past months.” Logain crossed his arms over his chest, as if he was determined not to appear fidgety. “But I have a bad feeling about everything else, aye.”

“All will be well, my lord. Demandred is vastly outnumbered. If he makes trouble, we’ll teach him not to mess with us.”

This was Atal, frightfully naïve as usual. By “vastly outnumbered”, he meant that they were four against one, provided that Demandred came alone, of course. And without an angreal, or worse, a sa’angreal. If the Chosen had a Binding Rod, who knew what else he had in his possession?

Natael wished that the youth would stop calling Logain “my lord”. Blood and ashes, it was bad enough that he was constantly ogling the man, now he was very nearly worshipping him. And he wasn’t the only one. Many of their recruits – regardless of their rank – did not consider Logain as an equal, but rather as Natael’s equal. Or worse, Taim’s. (Natael often felt that, despite their status as co-leaders, the men thought of Natael as Taim’s subordinate. Which was simply ridiculous.)

Then again, the confusion was understandable. Logain, Taim and Natael spent a lot of time together these days, though merely out of sheer necessity. They had plans to discuss, strategies to develop. Logain liked to order people about, but in such a manner that it sounded more like a suggestion or an invitation. He was as powerful as Taim and Natael, or near enough. He exuded leadership and competence, just like Taim.

Natael had made it clear, more than once, that Logain was an Asha’man, nothing more, but even their most decorated recruits tended to call him “Lord Logain”, which absolutely infuriated Taim. But to be fair, everything about the Ghealdanin infuriated Taim.

“If Demandred makes trouble, Asha’man Mishraile,” Taim said quietly, “you will do nothing.”

“Uh-huh, let the adults handle the situation,” Natael concurred.

Atal threw him a murderous look. “I’m not a child!”

“You act like one.”

“You-”

“Enough, both of you,” Logain snapped. “Quit your bickering.”

Atal’s retort died in his throat and he stared at his feet, blushing. “I apologise for the disturbance, my lord.”

Taim looked like he was about to scold Logain for his intervention, but apparently decided that it wasn’t worth his time. “Let Natael and I do the talking. Your part in this, Asha’man,” he addressed both Logain and Atal, “is to take the oath and become Dreadlords. You will not play the heroes and attempt anything foolish. If you think you can defeat one of the Forsaken on your own, think again. And you would be on your own. We cannot risk revealing our strategy. Whatever happens, Demandred must continue to believe that we are loyal to the Shadow. Therefore, if either of you attacks him, you will be considered an enemy and killed without mercy or hesitation.” Atal had gone pale, but Logain was expressionless. He had to know that this little speech was meant mostly for him, but he didn’t care. “Is that understood?”

“Yes, M’Hael,” Atal said readily. “As you command.” He may put Logain on a pedestal for no reason, but the lad still had the sense to obey and respect Taim, at least.

Natael was convinced that Taim had handpicked Atal to become a Dreadlord that day just to annoy him. According to M’Hael, they needed at least another man to pledge his allegiance to the Shadow, a powerful one, so that Demandred would not suspect anything. Natael had insisted several times that the Chosen was only interested in Logain, at least to begin with, but Logain had backed up Taim, improbable as it sounded. Taim had been more surprised than anyone else, in fact. For a moment, Natael had hoped that he would change his mind just for the sake of opposing Logain, but no such luck.

There were two candidates – Atal and Donalo Sandomere, another powerful channeler – but Taim couldn’t resist the temptation of humiliating Natael some more. It was his favourite hobby, after all. The official reason was that “Atal had been at the Tower longer”. Never mind that he was brash, unpredictable, immature, and utterly enamoured of Logain. And of Taim, like as not.

They didn’t have to wait long; Demandred was the most punctual of all the Chosen. He was alone, Natael was relieved to see. Not that he was any less dangerous because he was alone, but at least if anything went wrong, there’d be no witnesses.

Demandred surveyed them, looking down from his hooked nose. They were all about the same height, except for Atal, who was slightly shorter, but Demandred seemed to be much taller than any of them. Logain exuded leadership and competence, but Demandred radiated danger and power. He was in charge of any room he walked into, even this one, which was chock-full of testosterone already. If Lews Therin (the actual Lews Therin) had walked in at this very moment, the room would have exploded with it.

“Great Master. I live to serve.” Atal nearly fell to his knees in front of Demandred. They’d commanded him to play the part of the eager, ambitious would-be Dreadlord, but he was overdoing it a bit.

Natael chanced a glance at Logain. That one was not going to kneel of his own accord, that was for sure. His face was composed, but the knuckles of the hand that held the pommel of his sword were white with tension. “Great Master,” he said in a tight voice.

Demandred must have sensed his reluctance, but he pretended not to notice. “Logain Ablar. We meet at last.” He ignored the prostrated Atal entirely. “You will be a grand addition to our ranks.”

Logain nodded. “I will indeed.”

Don’t get too cocky, Natael wanted to say. Just the right amount of arrogance, not an ounce more, otherwise you’ll remind him of Lews Therin. On the other hand, grovelling like Atal was just as bad, if not worse. Demandred valued confidence, both in an ally and in an opponent.

Speaking of Atal… “And who is this?” Demandred demanded, indicating the youth with one of his boots. Today, he was dressed like a Cairhienin, which looked odd, given his height.

“This is Atal Mishraile, Great Master,” Taim said. He kicked Atal in the ribs as he spoke, to make him stand, which he did, so quickly that he almost stumbled into Demandred. That would have been awkward. “Mishraile was one of our earliest recruits and is a fine Asha’man. He is strong and reliable, and he has been asking for a chance to prove himself for quite some time, now.”

Demandred didn’t seem convinced. It didn’t help that Atal was flustered, and probably not for the right reasons. It made him look even younger than he was. “Great Master, I swear to-”

“You will speak when you are spoken to,” Demandred barked. Atal’s mouth shut with an audible click, and he turned an even darker shade of crimson. Demandred turned to Taim. “How old is this boy, Taim?”

Taim shrugged. “Younger than most, Great Master, but older than some.” That was a good answer. “I assure you, he will not disappoint.”

“No, I won’t, Great Master. I will do whatever you-”

“Of course you will do as you are told,” Demandred interrupted him. “That includes obeying my command not to speak out of turn.” Atal nodded energetically. His lips were pressed so tightly that Natael wondered if Taim or Demandred were using the Power to shut him up. “You will now take an oath upon the Binding Rod.” He produced it from a thin sheath that hanged from the belt at his waist. “You first, Logain.”

To Logain’s credit, he didn’t balk. His decision was made and he would see this through. It took less than two minutes for Logain to do the very thing he’d sworn never to do. His face never changed. He repeated every word clearly, looking Demandred in the eyes as he did so. After him came Atal, who stuttered a bit, but overall gave an acceptable performance.

“So it is done,” Demandred said. “I must leave now. Let me know when you will require the Binding Rod again. It had better be soon.” He opened a gateway.

“Wait!” Natael said. Taim gave him a warning look; Natael sounded too anxious. He did his best to speak calmly. This was a casual suggestion, nothing more. “Wouldn’t it be easier to leave the ter’angreal with us? We’d hate to bother you with this sort of menial task too often. Surely you have better things to do.”

Demandred didn’t say anything, but he made an uncharacteristic sound. It took Natael a few seconds to realise that the Chosen was laughing.

Natael had been nervous before, but now he was terrified.

“Oh, Nessosin. You are so predictable.” Demandred put his hands behind his back and paced the room. “Do you truly believe that I don’t know exactly what you’re up to?”

Natael felt like his entire body had turned to ice, despite the fire blazing in the hearth. It was all he could do not to quiver with fear. “I don’t know what you’re talk-”

“Don’t insult me by denying it,” Demandred growled, all trace of mirth gone from his voice. “I’m always a step ahead of everyone else, but I’m at least three steps ahead of you, Nessosin. I knew that you would do anything to worm your way out of this. I knew you’d try to curry the favour of both sides, in case you needed to make a last-minute volte-face, you opportunistic maggot.” He chuckled again, but this time there was no humour to it. “You dismissed your entire staff after our last interaction, as if that would prevent me from learning what futile schemes you were concocting.” He put one hand on Atal’s shoulder. “Your boy here has been working for me from the beginning, Nessosin. I took him under my wing the day after you so rudely rejected him. This is the second time he’s taken the oath.”

It was neither terror nor anguish now; Natael was in shock. Judging by Taim’s face, usually so carefully composed, so was he. Logain didn’t look stunned; his face was distorted by fury instead. Thankfully, he didn’t act on it.

“That’ll teach you to treat me like scum,” Atal told Natael with a vicious grin.

“So… What now?” Taim asked. He’d already digested Atal’s betrayal, or at least he looked like he had. He was cool and collected as he spoke to Demandred. “I think it’s safe to assume that, if you wanted us dead, we’d be dead already.”

“Why would I want you dead?” The Chosen gestured toward Logain. “You handed him to me on a silver platter. This was Moridin’s only condition for my continued involvement in the affairs of the Black Tower, that I Turn Logain to the Shadow, one way or the other. I had it done in less than a week, and without damaging the goods.” Now he sounded positively smug, the bastard. “And this is only the beginning.”

Taim scoffed. “Now that we know you know, there’s no way we’ll-”

“Keep feeding the Binding Rod with the unwary souls of your most powerful recruits?” Demandred supplied. “Of course you will. And those who refuse will be Turned regardless, soon enough. Speaking of which…” He extracted a folded piece of parchment from his pocket. “This is the report I would have expected to receive from you, but which came from Mishraile instead. A delegation of Aes Sedai in the vicinity, it says.”

Oh, Atal. What have you done, you petty, beautiful idiot?

“Given their numbers, I’d call it a small army, but they are still outnumbered at least six to one, a fact of which they are blithely unaware, if my sources are correct. They expect to find a rabble of incompetent peasants armed with pitchforks, or near enough. You are going to show them how wrong they are, but not by destroying them.” He smiled, again. That couldn’t be good for him. His lips were going to split for sure. “We will find a use for them.”

“The first man to discover the weave will be exempt of chores for a whole month,” Taim declared in front of the assembled crowd. This was greeted by profuse cheering and applause. Taim raised his hands and silence fell immediately. “You may experiment on whomever you want, provided that you have obtained their consent to do so.” He emphasised that last part. Taim was very pernickety about consent. At the Black Tower, rape was punishable by death. “It can be your wife, your sister, one of the maids… I don’t care, as long as they have previously agreed to it,” he said again, for good measure. “Am I making myself clear?”

A chorus of “Yes, M’Hael!” answered him. Taim wished them good luck and dismissed them, then stepped down from the platform.

“May I kill you now?” Logain asked the moment Taim was level with him.

“You may not,” Natael said quickly. “It wasn’t his fault, Logain. I am equally to blame.”

“Oh, fear not, bard, you’re next on my list. But perhaps I should start with that weaselly little son of a-”

“Enough!” Taim hissed. “You know that plans change every time someone makes a move. That’s how war works, Log… Asha’man Ablar. Demandred is a bloody mastermind, and we underestimated him. But now we know that he knows, which means we have the upper hand.”

“In what world do we have the upper hand?” Logain exclaimed. “We have both become Dreadlords against our will. The Shadow now controls most of the strongest male channelers alive and we have no way out. Moridin knows about it all, so we cannot hope to deceive him into giving us a Binding Rod. We are about to enslave fifty Aes Sedai, Turn them to the Shadow, then force them to Turn everyone else in this place.”

“Who cares about the Aes Sedai?” Taim retorted. “They have come to gentle us, Ablar. How do you think we would have handled the situation if Demandred had not ordered us to capture them alive? I would have stilled them, let them stew in their own despair for a few months, then I would have hanged them in the square for all the world to see.”

“That fate is still preferable to what we’ve been ordered to do to them,” Logain said.

Can’t argue with that, Natael thought. Demandred really was a devious bastard. It was a brilliant plan, of course, but so…flaming…evil.

“Not to mention our part in all of this. I don’t think I can do it, Taim. It was one thing to swear that reversible oath,” he said bitterly, “but to actually participate in the Turning process? It sickens me just to think about it.”

“But that’s what I’m telling you,” Taim insisted. “Demandred detailed his plan to us. We know exactly what he expects of us, and how we’re supposed to do it. Now all we have to do is find a way around it. Besides, we don’t have the required Myrddraal yet, and the Turning cannot be accomplished without them.”

“We’re Darkfriends, Taim! We cannot disobey a direct order from-”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Natael cut him off. He spoke in a low voice; they were starting to draw attention. “Aes Sedai are unable to lie, but they still manage to manipulate the truth until it’s barely distinguishable.”

“It’s easy for you to say, you didn’t have to take the oath!” Logain shouted.

“Peace, keep your voice down!” Taim muttered. “If you want everyone to know about this, just make a bloody announcement from the platform, why don’t you?”

That shut him up, at least for the time being.

“We will deal with this. There will be no Turning under my roof, not while I’m alive,” Taim vowed.

“Our roof," Natael corrected him. “I’m also in charge of this place, lest you forget.”

“Should you be, though?” Logain said.

Natael blinked. “Pardon me?”

“Let’s see: you were once one of the Forsaken. You are not under oath. Demandred made it clear that you couldn’t be trusted, and that you’d side with whomever was more likely to triumph in the Last Battle. So I ask again: should you really be in charge of the Black Tower? Should you be in charge of anything, for that matter?”

Natael’s mouth twisted in a sour smirk. “And I suppose you’d kindly offer to replace me? You’re an ambitious, power-hungry man, Logain. I see right through your holier-than-thou attitude. You’re no better than me.” He snorted. “Besides, if you want to point accusing fingers, let me remind you that it was Taim who suggested that we use Atal as secondary bait today.”

Taim seemed to swell with outrage. “If you’re trying to imply that I knew-”

“Well, you do keep involving the lad in our business despite my best efforts to-”

“Oh, cut it out,” Logain said wearily. “We all screwed up, it’s pointless to assign blame. The question is, what do we do with Mishraile now?”

Taim and Natael glanced at each other. Kill him for playing us, Natael wanted to say. For daring to betray us. He read the same answer in Taim’s dark eyes. “Hang him for treason.”

“Don’t you think that Demandred will punish us severely if we execute his favourite mole?” Logain asked.

“I don’t see how he could possibly punish us more than he already has,” Taim pointed out.

“Your lack of imagination is one of the reasons why you’d make a terrible Chosen,” Natael said, though not unkindly. If anything, it was a compliment. It meant that Taim’s mind was not as devious as the minds of the Chosen – including Natael’s own. “He could torture us within an inch of our lives. Or worse, he could ask Semirhage to do it. He could murder the few loved ones you have.” At least Natael didn’t have any of those. “He could destroy your reputation. He could have you poison the recruits who are overwhelmed by the madness. Thanks to Atal, he must know how you hate to do that.”

Logain’s eyes widened. “You’ve murdered some of the recruits?”

“Only one,” Taim mumbled.

“I’ve dealt with the rest of them,” Natael said. Only thirteen thus far – it was a low number, considering that there were several hundred channelers. Logain’s face was a mask of disapproval. “Poison is a mercy, Logain. When you find out how the ones we caught too late died, not to mention the innocent souls they took with them, you’ll understand that.”

“If you say so.” He still wasn’t convinced, but it was irrelevant to the matter at hand. “But we can’t poison Mishraile. We can’t claim that the madness took him, not if he’s been protected from the taint for months.”

Natael scoffed. “Aw, you believed that, did you? You’re not protected by your oath, Logain. That’s a lie we tell to every new Dreadlord.”

“So there's nothing good that came out of this complete fiasco? Nothing at all?” Logain protested.

Natael shook his head. “The taint is still there, still gnawing at your brains. Only the Chosen are truly spared its nefarious effects. Demandred knows that, so technically Atal could go mad at any moment, but it’s far-fetched. Demandred doesn’t believe in convenient coincidences.”

“Then we send him away,” Taim suggested. "As we did with Dashiva and the other bad apples."

“I have a better idea,” Natael said. “Now that we know what he really is, we could feed him false information. As soon as we come up with a plan to counter Demandred’s orders, we can use Atal for misdirection, deception or distraction.”

“He’s not the only mole, though,” Logain noted. “There must be others, even among the Asha’man who still live at the Black Tower, otherwise Demandred would never have revealed where Mishraile’s loyalty truly lies.”

“Well, we always knew that there would be spies, no matter how carefully we select the Asha’man.” Natael had not seen Atal’s betrayal coming, though. Not at all. In fact, he was still reeling with shock. Was this his fault? Did Atal do this just because of Natael’s rejection? Granted, it had been prompted by Taim and his silly ideals of professionalism, but ultimately it had been Natael’s decision. He couldn’t even remember why he’d welcomed the lad in his bed in the first place. Atal was pretty, but he had a subpar personality, to say the least. Was Natael really so shallow? Ugh, he could have slapped himself.

“I’m afraid that we can’t trust anyone but ourselves,” Taim said. “From now on, we keep our ploys secret. We will still raise Asha’man and prepare them for battle, of course, and reveal our general objective as well as Natael’s identity, but nothing more.”

“Are you saying that we are to trust Master Natael implicitly?” Logain asked.

“He’s never given me a reason not to,” Taim stated.

Thanks for the overwhelming vote of confidence, Natael thought.

“Neither have you…so far,” Taim went on, eyeing Logain with his customary intensity. “We’ll have to take our chances with each other. We don’t have a choice, at this point.”

Not that we had much of a choice to begin with.

“Well, whyever not?” Logain said wryly. “I’ve already forsaken my soul, thanks to you. What could be worse than that?”

Natael would have laughed, were he not afraid that it would sound hysterical. Those were words that ought never to be uttered aloud. The Great Lord never lacked imagination, when it came to making things worse.

Chapter Text

The hypocrisy!

Intriguing development

I wonder, what if…

Logain had departed. The meeting had been tense, but that was always the case. It was not like they had pleasant matters to discuss.

Under the pretence of finishing his glass of wine, Natael stayed behind in Taim’s study. M’Hael was brooding in silence, his dark eyes boring into the fire, likely replaying his latest argument with Logain and thinking of what he should have said.

Watching the two of them argue was highly entertaining. They were both intelligent, with a sharp wit and an even sharper tongue, and it was a delectable spectacle, when one wasn’t involved in their dispute. Logain, the hothead, usually ended up shouting, his face an angry red, and he tended to invade other people’s personal spaces. This time, he had even smashed his glass of water against a wall. Taim, despite his icy façade, had a rather short temper, though he rarely exploded with it. It showed in different ways: his words became more hurtful, he interrupted his interlocutor, his arguments were less and less rational…and he smirked a lot. That had always infuriated Natael, but it utterly enraged Logain.

A glass of wine in hand, a crackling fire in the hearth…and a tragicomic play with two very attractive lead characters. What an enjoyable way to spend one’s evening.

Today’s debate, much like that of the previous evenings, pertained to the Aes Sedai who were encamped nearby. Logain wanted to warn them, to explain what would happen if they attacked the Black Tower. Taim insisted that they had to follow Demandred’s orders…up to a certain point, at least.

“Have you ever wondered what it feels like?” Natael asked after a moment.

Taim rolled his eyes. “What is it that you want to whine about now?”

Natael bit back a scathing retort. “I’m not complaining, burn you, I’m just curious about the Warder bond.”

“Can we really call it that? Canler’s creation is not the same thing as the Warder bond. Not quite.”

No apology for his unnecessary remark, but Natael had not expected one. “Well, what do you want to call it? The Compulsion bond?”

“That’s essentially what it is…” Taim downed the remainder of his glass of wine. If Natael had counted correctly, this was his fourth of the evening – three more than usual. Logain had that effect on him.

“Do you think it works on men?” Natael asked out of the blue. Taim merely frowned at him. “Do you think a man can bond another man?” he clarified. “Or a woman another woman, for that matter. Has it ever been done, do you think?”

Taim scoffed. “The places your mind go to, honestly. What would be the point? A woman bonds a Warder for protection. Our men will bond the Aes Sedai to keep them under control. Why on earth would you bond another man? Have you forgotten about the secondary effects of the bond? The…emotion-reading, or whatever it is?”

That was precisely why Natael was curious to try it out, in truth. Ah, to delve into Taim’s mind, to finally know what he was feeling, specifically for Natael…

If he was feeling anything at all. Irritation, certainly. Anger, on occasion. But then there were these rare moments when Taim didn’t seem to hate him, these precious seconds when he let himself be vulnerable… When he was tipsy, for instance.

As he was now.

Unfortunately, when he had a drink too many, Taim tended to be hot-tempered and stubborn – much like a sober Logain. Natael had therefore two options: he could talk Taim into bonding him (just for a minute, as an experiment) or he could…surprise-bond him.

The pros: Taim was inebriated, which meant that his reflexes were slower. And once he was bonded to Natael, Taim couldn’t do anything to harm him. The cons: knowing Taim’s position on consent, bonding him against his will might get Natael executed. Would get him executed. He’d be hanged in the square like a petty thief the moment he released the bond.

The obvious solution was to never release the bond.

Natael concealed a smile behind his glass. A silly idea, of course. He may have had too much to drink himself. There was only one sip of wine left in his glass, and the carafe was empty. The moment he finished it, he would have no excuse to stay. He glanced at Taim, to gauge whether he should risk pursuing this conversation.

He had not noticed that Taim was holding saidin, and when he finally did, it was too late. His eyes widened, his mouth dropped open. He heard a glass shatter – was it his? He had no idea. He couldn’t think. An alien entity had breached the sacred privacy of his mind.

“Well?” Taim prompted him. “What does it feel like?”

“I… What did you… You-!” Natael stammered.

“I did what you asked,” M’Hael said innocently. “Now get up and jump on one foot.”

Natael spewed a dozen profanities, most of them in the Old Tongue, but he had no choice but to comply. Blood and ashes, it’s even worse than Compulsion. He hopped on his left foot for nearly two minutes before Taim relented. Even with the bond, his emotions were difficult to read. There was no smugness, no amusement. Some casual curiosity, perhaps, but not much else. “Enough. Sit down.”

“What…in the Pit of Doom…do you think you’re doing?” Natael panted as he let himself fall back into his chair. He was out of breath. Any form of exercise had that effect on him.

“I have to admit, it never crossed my mind to experiment with the bond, but I should have thought of it. We should test its abilities and limitations. For instance, will it affect you as the Warder bond? Will you be more resilient?”

“I think we can cross that one off the list,” Natael grumbled. He’d been tired before the meeting, but now he was exhausted. And hungry. He had not eaten since breakfast. It had been a long, busy day.

Taim nodded. “I can sense your fatigue. Your left ankle is sore from the hopping.” Natael glowered at him. “And you need to eat.”

“Yes, I do.” He stood up again. “Release me, and I’ll go get something from the kitchen. Then I’m going to bed.”

Taim ignored all of that. “You’re mildly annoyed, but not angry, which I find odd, considering what I just did, but perhaps you’re too tired for such a taxing emotion. Can you tell how I’m feeling?”

“You’re curious,” Natael said briefly. This was a terrible idea. He should never have brought it up. Then again, he hadn’t counted on being on the receiving end of the bond. “Now will you please release me?” No response. Taim was studying him, as if Natael was an entirely new species. “Taim?”

“Are you…sad?” he said in a low voice. “Why are you sad?”

“I’m not sad,” he huffed. “Let me-”

“Disappointed, then. I command you to tell me why, and truthfully.”

“Because…” A dozen lies came to mind, but he couldn’t utter them. “Because I can’t tell how you feel beyond the surface.” The words were dragged out of his throat by the compulsive element of the weave that formed the bond.

“Why does that bother you?” Taim kept on prying.

“Because I need to know. I need to know that it’s not…just me.” Was he blushing? Oh, Light, he was, wasn’t he? This was one of the most humiliating moments of his entire life, and there were plenty to choose from. What was worse, he had brought this upon himself. “Now release me,” he growled, “or I’ll have you hanged, Taim. I have the authority to-”

“You asked for this,” Taim said, without a sign that he was willing to let Natael go.

“I only asked what you thought it felt like! You interpreted my question as an invitation to…violate me.”

Taim scoffed. “Oh, please. I command you to answer me truthfully: did you not consider doing the exact same thing to me?”

“I…” This was almost painful, like trying to break an oath sworn on a Binding Rod. “…considered it, briefly. But I didn’t do it, did I?”

“And what did you expect me to tell you, anyway?” Taim went on as if Natael had not spoken. “I couldn’t possibly have a concrete answer for you unless I tried it out.” He sounded like a drunk attempting to rationalise a completely irrational decision.

Natael breathed in and out, slowly, and again, and a third time. “Well, now you know, and I have an answer to my question. Which means that you can…no, you must release me.”

There was a pause. Taim’s eyes never left him but, after a few seconds, Natael felt a sort of inner snap. It was nothing like the severing of his connection to the Great Lord, but it left him equally stunned, as if a part of him had been ripped out of his body. Painlessly, but still.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he warned Taim as he stood. Not without my permission, anyway.

He didn’t wait around for a reply or an apology. He couldn’t risk Taim taking advantage of him again.

“It’s not just you,” Taim whispered, just as Natael opened a gateway that led to his bedroom.

Natael hesitated, but only for half a second. Taim was drunk. He didn’t know what he was saying. Knowing the man, he would not remember any of this in the morning.

Or he would pretend not to remember, anyway.

Natael stepped inside the gateway without looking back.

Natael vainly attempted to catch a few hours of sleep, but eventually gave up and went for a walk instead. The frozen earth crinkled beneath his boots. He was glad that he’d remembered to wear his embroidered silk scarf, and happier still that his tailor had delivered his winter coat in time. The ermine fur was soft and warm and, according to his sources in the city, quite fashionable.

It was early enough that the only people he encountered were serving maids and men sneaking out to return to their barracks after a brief sleepover with their sweethearts or mistresses. Or lovers, to be more inclusive – and more accurate. Whatever Taim believed this could do to one’s reputation, it didn’t seem to discourage some of the recruits.

He found himself wandering near the training grounds, the only place that wasn’t eerily silent at this time of day. Clearly, Natael wasn’t the only one who had trouble sleeping.

Logain was hacking and slashing at a wooden dummy with a practice sword. He was shirtless, his back slick with sweat despite the sub-zero temperature. Natael admired the view for a while, as Logain grunted and exerted himself. The man’s stamina supply seemed endless. Had he been bonded by an Aes Sedai? Were those the effects of the original Warder bond? More likely, it was the boundless energy of a young and healthy man. After all, Logain had not yet reached his thirtieth nameday, though he seemed older (and occasionally more mature), thanks to his rough life experiences.

“Why don’t you join me, instead of staring at me? It’ll do you good, bard. You could use the exercise.”

“I’m in excellent shape, thank you very much.” He felt defensive, despite the validity of Logain’s statement, mainly because he was exhausted. And disliked being criticised as a general rule.

“You couldn’t catch your breath after going up the stairs to Taim’s study last evening. I’ve seen aged grandfathers in better shape.”

Natael sniffed in disdain. “What’s the point? You’ll whack me once and I’ll be on my arse in two seconds flat. Hardly the sort of thing to build one’s endurance.”

“Suit yourself,” Logain said. “What are you doing up so early, anyway? You usually sleep well past breakfast time.”

The recruits’ breakfast time, perhaps. As leader of the Black Tower, Natael wasn’t tied to the men’s strict schedule. He could wake up and eat whenever he bloody felt like it, no matter how many times Taim complained about it. After all, M’Hael had established himself as the role model around here. Natael often served as an example of the things the recruits were not to do. “I have a lot on my mind. Taim is being a pain in my…back.”

He remonstrated himself half a second later. That was not the sort of things he should say to Logain.

“That’s a euphemism, but you got the gist of it, I suppose.” There was a pause as Logain put his shirt back on. It clung to his sweaty skin, outlining the hard muscles underneath as if he was wearing nothing. “I don’t understand what you see in him.” He laughed at his own words. “Then again, I don’t understand what he sees in you, either. You two are such an odd couple.”

Natael, who was still distracted by Logain’s nearly see-through shirt, didn’t process the other man’s musings right away.

Wait, what?

His first instinct was to deny it unequivocally, but there was no judgement in Logain’s voice, no reproach. He sounded vaguely amused, if anything, but not in a mocking way. Therefore, Natael’s second instinct told him to investigate this most unexpected sentence until he knew exactly what Logain meant. “We…are?”

The man didn’t notice Natael’s surprise. He was busy rearranging the dummy for the recruits’ sword practice in the morning. “Truly, you quibble and squabble more than my parents, and they’ve been married nearly thirty years. It’s almost…charming. Well, it would be, if it didn’t constantly get in the way of getting things done.”

Did he really believe that Taim and he were a couple? As in, a romantically-involved couple? Natael didn’t dare ask him outright, for fear of being ridiculed if he interpreted Logain’s meaning the wrong way. “It doesn’t…bother you, does it?”

“That your lovers’ quarrels impede our business? Yeah, it does bother me. Argue in the privacy of your bedroom, for the sake of the Light. We have a lot of important matters to discuss, and it ought to be done seriously.”

“No, I mean…that we’re a couple. It doesn’t bother you?”

“I’m not a hayseed from some Light-forsaken country town, bard. I lived in a castle. I led an army. I’ve seen stranger pairings, believe me. Besides, it’s none of my business. As long as your private life doesn’t interfere with the affairs of the Black Tower, or with the current…quagmire, I’ll just pretend it’s not happening. Like everyone else does.”

Ah. Now that was another issue entirely. “Does…does everyone think that…”

Logain was now putting back the various weapons he’d used during his training session, and he was still oblivious to the fact that this was all a revelation to Natael. “Well, it’s hardly a secret, is it? You shared a tent at Dumai’s Wells. And here, you may have separate lodgings to keep up appearances, but unless you have some chores to attend to, you’re always together. You’re in Taim’s study, he’s in yours… Always talking in low voices, unless you’re bickering, and stealing longing glances when you’re pretending to be mad at each other.” Logain shrugged. “The men aren’t blind, you know. Also, they already know you’re a queer one. You had a fling with the dirty weasel when Mishraile first arrived, didn’t you?”

Natael didn’t know what to say. Not about the sordid Atal fling – he didn’t give a fig about that, not anymore. But was Taim aware of these…rumours? Natael doubted it. He’d be furious if he knew. And he would have nipped it in the bud as soon as he found out, too.

On the plus side, everyone already thought they were a couple…and nobody seemed to mind. Had Taim lied to him about the Third-Agers’ prejudice toward same-gender relationships? Logain made it sound like an almost mundane thing, even if it was usually discreet and not talked about.

Was Taim merely lying to himself? Was he ashamed of his…preferences? Or was he ashamed that he felt something for Natael, specifically? After all, he was who he was. Not everyone would be comfortable with dating a (former) member of the Great Lord's Chosen.

So many questions – even more than the ones he had when he left Taim’s study the previous evening. If he could bond Taim and force him to admit…

No, not that. Never that. That was a horrible trick, something only one of the Chosen would do. It was Compulsion. It was evil.

Natael was still miffed that Taim had used it on him, but he knew Taim well enough to know that the man would regret it when he came out of his drunken stupor in the morning. He would pretend not to remember any of it, of course, but the shame would be there, for the ones who, like Natael, had learned to read the signs. Taim would avoid eye contact. He would change the subject if it came too close to a matter he didn’t wish to discuss. He wouldn’t give Natael grief for being late, but he would be harsher to the recruits in compensation. That was his way of apologising.

Maybe it was a Saldaean thing. They weren’t the best communicators.

“You look a bit peaky, bard. You should try to get some sleep before roll call. Or, you know, before lunch.” He grinned at that. He was more prone to smiling when Taim wasn’t around, Natael had noticed.

“I…yes, I think I will.” There was no way he would sleep now, with his head ready to burst with new information, but he needed to be alone. He had much pondering to do, before he would even consider bringing up the matter with Taim.

“If I may offer some advice, before you leave?” Logain said. Natael nodded wearily. What now? “You should put a stop to it while you still can. Honestly, I’m surprised that you, of all people, haven’t yet learned this most essential lesson: don’t get attached. Never fall in love, because it will destroy you.”

Natael frowned; Logain had a dark past, that had been established, but it seemed that they’d only skimmed the surface.

But he was wrong. Natael had learned that lesson early on, the hard way and, as in many things, Elan had been the one to teach it to him.

He wasn’t in love with Taim, anyway. He believed that Taim would make an adequate partner, in these troubled times. Taim was solid, down-to-earth, capable. He was also nice to look at. But it would be temporary. Natael wasn’t looking to settle down or anything, and he was certain that Taim wasn’t, either. He wasn’t interested in love or even in a deeper commitment. He just wanted to survive. Everything would change after the Last Battle, no matter the outcome. Taim and he wouldn’t have to work or live together afterwards, and they would likely choose not to. After all, they could barely stand each other’s company.

Logain went on, unaware of Natael’s inner analysis. “Unfortunately, given the circumstances, I’m afraid it will destroy more than that, should it not work out. A scorned lover, working hand in hand with the guilty party, both leading the most potentially dangerous place on earth? It will end not only in tears, but likely in flames, too, bard. Let him go now, before it’s too late, before it can do irreparable damage to your professional relationship.”

Natael almost laughed. Taim and he weren’t even a couple yet and Logain was already suggesting an amicable break-up.

The odds were not in their favour, that was certain. But Natael had always followed the better odds, and that had led to his downfall. He’d lost everything. So why not go against what he believed to be the safest bet, for once? The consequences could be disastrous, but who cared, at this point? If he was going to die (and the odds, again, were not in his favour), he might as well enjoy himself while he was alive.

Chapter Text

A kiss, fair maiden

I will suck out your morale

And defile your soul

“You did what?” Taim demanded in a strangled voice.

“He kissed her,” Natael repeated helpfully.

“You… Why in the Pit of Doom… Why?!”

Logain shuffled his feet, his dark eyes scowling at the carpeted floor. He’d lost his confident attitude sometime between the last sentence of his report and Taim’s reaction to it. “That was the plan, wasn’t it?” he muttered. “You told me to bond the patrolling Aes Sedai if there was an opportunity to do so.”

Natael was confused, but he was enjoying himself immensely. Taim looked like he was having a stroke but, for once, none of his anger was directed at Natael. It was a pleasant change.

“Bond them, yes,” Taim said. His jaws were clenched so tightly that his enunciation was rendered nearly unintelligible. “Not kiss them! Where was the kissing part in the plans we made? Nate, did I mention kissing at any point?”

Natael took a sip of wine before responding. “I think I’d remember it if you’d mentioned kissing. Ever.”

“Of course you didn’t say it, not in so many words, but that’s how it’s done! Light, Taim, why do you think I was so reluctant to bond them?”

Taim was staring at him. “What the blazes are you talking about?”

“Well, that’s how Canler did it, isn’t it?” Logain insisted. “He kissed his wife and-”

At that point, Natael was laughing so hard that he didn’t hear the rest of Logain’s explanation. He spilled some wine on his turquoise shirt, but it was worth it. He hadn’t laughed like that in quite some time. It felt good. He expected Taim to chastise him for disrupting their meeting, but soon realised that the other man was laughing, too. He was pinching the bridge of his nose with one hand and holding his stomach with the other, shaking silently.

Logain crossed his arms over his chest, a thunderous look in his eyes. “What’s so bloody amusing? Is this some sort of practical joke? Because it ain’t-”

“When has a weave ever required physical contact to take effect?” Natael questioned him when his laughter abated. “The kissing is not necessary to the bonding process, Logain. That was just Canler being Canler. He and his wife can’t keep their hands off each other, not even in public. But you don’t need to seal the bond with a kiss, or whatever it is you thought you were doing…”

“Did all of the men do this?” Taim asked. His voice wavered slightly; he was struggling to get his mirth under control. Natael couldn’t help but smile; he didn’t think he’d ever seen Taim display amusement on this scale. It made him look ten years younger – his actual age, perhaps.

“Well-” Logain hesitated. “I was in charge, so I did it first, to demonstrate. I guess they just followed my lead.”

Natael let out another loud guffaw, which he quickly suppressed when he caught sight of Logain’s expression. “Ahem. Sorry.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Taim announced after a few seconds of silence, during which Logain tried to sear a hole through Natael’s forehead with his eyes. “I really, really don’t. I mean, I can’t even imagine what the witches must be thinking. They didn’t have a high opinion of us to begin with…”

“Eh, don’t worry about it,” Natael said. “From my point of view, you’re all dim-witted savages anyway.”

“I suppose some of us are,” Taim acquiesced.

“On the bright side,” Natael went on before Logain could strangle either of them, “you aren't stuck with the ugliest of the lot.”

That put an end to Taim’s uncharacteristic spell of hilarity. His face soured as if he’d bitten into a lemon. “What do you mean?”

“Well, that Brawley woman, she’s quite lovely. You know, for an Aes Sedai. Nice hair, pretty green eyes, and she knows how to accessorise…”

“You looked at her for two seconds and you remember what colour her eyes are?”

The colour of her eyes, her hair, her dress, her shawl, what gem was on which ring on which finger… He had a photographic memory. It was a gift – and a curse, sometimes.

It was Logain’s turn to laugh. “Are you jealous of an Aes Sedai, Taim?”

“I’m not jealous. I’m just saying, it doesn’t matter if she’s attractive or not. You shouldn’t have kissed her. She’ll think we’re all insane already.”

Deny it as he may, he was jealous, Natael noted. He tended to change the subject when it wasn’t to his taste, and he contradicted himself. A moment ago, he was laughing at Logain’s hilarious blunder, now he was scolding him.

And now that he thought about it, it was a shame that only Logain had erred in this fashion. Taim and Natael’s brief experimentation with the bond would have turned out quite differently, if Taim had tried it Canler's way…

“Nate?” Taim repeated. “Are you still with us?”

Natael blinked. He’d missed part of the conversation, apparently. “Huh?”

“Is he always this articulate?” Logain asked with a smirk.

Taim ignored him. “As Ablar was saying, there is one tiny bump in our plan.”

“Why am I not surprised? There’s always a bump. Well, usually, it’s more of a massive, lethal and unforeseen complication, but-”

“Can you pay attention for a second?” Taim barked. Natael nodded with bad grace. “We miscounted the number of witches. We are one man short for tomorrow’s expedition.”

“So? Let’s anoint a new Asha’man and have him kiss the last Aes Sedai.”

Logain was unimpressed both by his wit and his suggestion. “We’ve already taken risks, promoting so many men in such a short time. There are at least half a dozen I’m not entirely sure we can trust.”

“Besides,” Taim continued, “according to Ablar’s captive, their leader is among the stragglers, a woman named Toveine Gazal. Wouldn’t it make sense to bond the Head Witch to one of the leaders of the Black Tower?”

Natael dazzled him with a smile. “Are you volunteering, M’Hael?”

“Well, Gabrelle says that Toveine is Saldaean…” Logain said.

“All the more reason for me not to bond her. We would make an explosive pair,” Taim argued.

“You’d make an explosive pair with anyone!” Natael countered. “What if she figures out who I am?”

“Peace, Nate, even bonded, she can’t read your blasted mind. If you’re discreet-”

“Have you ever known me to be discreet?”

“Alright, tell you what,” Logain interrupted them. “Why don’t you leave the decision to fate?” He extracted something from his pocket: a dice. “Whoever rolls the lowest number bonds the woman. Fair?”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Natael said. He had no luck at games that involved chance. He was no Mat Cauthon.

“Then it’s probably fair,” Logain said firmly. “Taim, you go first.”

“At least shield him,” Natael said. “Otherwise he’ll cheat.”

Taim sneered. “Shield us both, then. Otherwise he’ll cheat.”

Logain didn’t bother to argue with them and simply complied. Taim rolled a two. His eyes flashed with aggravation as he handed the dice to Natael, who beamed, feeling smug and anticipatively triumphant.

He closed his eyes. There was no way he could lose. Well, there was a way, but the odds were overwhelmingly in his favour. He’d never understood mathematics, to Elan’s despair, but that was clear, even to him. Don’t roll a one. Don’t roll a one. Don’t roll a one. He shook the dice in his enclosed fist three times before releasing it.

Then he opened his eyes, and gaped at the treacherous dice in speechless horror.

Natael reluctantly left the cover of the trees and planted himself in front of the oncoming Aes Sedai. The woman who led them, Toveine Gazal, appeared to be of the Red Ajah, if her red shawl and crimson dress were any indication. She looked stern, intelligent, and proud. In other words, very Taim-like. It was unfair; M’Hael should be here today, not him. That cursed dice! Next time his fate had to be decided by such arbitrary means, he would demand to have a champion roll the dice in his stead, as if it were a duel, and have Mat Cauthon fetched immediately.

“Halt!” the Aes Sedai called. “You, there! Out of the way! I am-”

“I know who you are, Mistress Gazal.” Natael bowed slightly, flourishing his ermine coat as if it were a gleeman’s cloak. “Pleasure to meet you, I’m sure.”

The Aes Sedai studied him for a moment. “And who might you be?”

“Jasin Natael, Official Court Bard of the Lord Dragon, at your service.”

Gazal scoffed. “A bard?”

The plan was working so far; Taim had known that they would dismiss him as soon as he introduced himself under this title. They weren’t on their guard, despite the proximity to the Black Tower and the fact that he was a man. They didn't consider him a threat – or perhaps they simply underestimated him, even though their sisters had been captured the previous day. Then again, Natael was alone.

On the road, that was. There were three dozen men hidden in the bushes and trees, some concealed by saidin. The Aes Sedai were outnumbered nearly two to one. Apparently, none of them possessed a ter’angreal that could detect a man channelling in the vicinity.

Natael grabbed his lyre from the strap at his hip and strung it dramatically. “Aye, my dear ladies.” He played three more notes. “Here’s a song I composed in honour of your visit. Oh, sweet she was, and pure and fair-”

“Enough of this! Let us pass, you fool. We have important-”

“Important matters to attend to?” Natael cut her off. “Yes, I’m aware. I’m here to distract you while my men shield you.”

The woman’s face didn’t change, and for a moment Natael was afraid that the men had deserted him and left him to deal with a small army of Aes Sedai on his own, armed only with his lyre. Thankfully, Gazal’s subordinates were not as poised as she was; two of them wailed when they realised that they were cut off from the Source, and one of them fainted. Logain caught her before she could fall off her horse.

The rest of the men revealed themselves. Gazal surveyed them from her perch – her horse was a gigantic steed whose size contrasted with that of its mistress – then turned to look over her shoulder at her sisters. She shushed them, of all things, before returning her attention to Natael. “Who are you, really?”

“Exactly who I said I was,” he replied amicably. “Though I’m also known as Ghraem, co-leader of the Black Tower. Not so much at your service.”

“I see. And what is it that you intend to do with us, Master Natael?” A sign of defiance, that she refused to address him by his title. In fairness, though, it’d never occur to him to call her “Toveine Aes Sedai”. None of them deserved that ancient, noble title, least of all a Red.

He made his way toward her, playing a few cheerful notes on his lyre. “I want to kiss you,” he said, gazing into her eyes with faked adoration. She was actually quite pretty. How nice of Elaida to have sent them her most attractive minions.

Nothing he’d said before had perturbed Gazal in the slightest, but her steed was shifty now, sensing its mistress’s discomfort. “I…beg your pardon?” she said politely, certain that she’d misheard.

“He wants to kiss you!” one of the men repeated loudly.

“Kiss her!” another shouted.

Soon most of them had taken up the chant. Kiss her, kiss her!

Logain’s face was the same colour as the wine Natael had spilled on his shirt the previous night. Natael wondered if it was genuinely expected of him to kiss the bloody woman. That was definitely not part of the plan he’d been loath to follow to begin with. Hadn’t Taim explained to everyone that kissing wasn’t required to form the bond?

Or were the men messing with him?

Gazal, despite her remarkable calm under the circumstances, had gone two shades paler. I wonder what she’s thinking. Is she afraid that I’m going to sexually abuse her? Light, I hope not. That’s quite distasteful. Then again, what else could she possibly be thinking? She must believe us to be the dim-witted savages I mentioned last night.

“Don’t listen to them,” Logain whispered. He’d let the delicate Aes Sedai in the care of another man. “You don’t have to do it Canler’s way. They’re just teasing you. Well, you and the women, really.”

“That’s not teasing,” Natael whispered back. “Look at them; they’re flaming terrified.”

It was true. Gazal was holding on to her countenance by a thread, but her sisters, though they were obeying the shushing command, were not faring so well. One was weeping silently. Two more had brought their horses closer so that they could embrace each other. Another had her eyes closed and seemed to be praying.

“Make them stop,” he told Logain. He was well aware that the men wouldn’t stop chanting if he ordered it, but they listened to Logain when he whistled and yelled at them to shut up or else.

Natael turned his attention to Gazal again. “There will be no kissing or anything of the sort.” He sighed deeply. “But you will curse me, alright, when you understand what I’ve done to you.”

“It’s all your fault, Toveine!”

“What were you thinking? We lost half of our sisters, and still you insisted on pursuing the mission?”

“Did you seriously believe that they could be reasoned with? They are men!”

“Male channelers!”

“Enough!” Natael shouted. Toveine’s emotions, unlike Taim’s, were neatly divided: there was anger, of course, at what Natael had done to her. A Red, bonded to a man! It was sacrilegious. There was shame, for being ambushed and captured without having the chance to put up a fight. There was regret, for not shielding or gentling him on the spot. There was dread, now that she’d seen the inside of the Black Tower, with its milling crowd of male channelers. And, no matter how hard she tried to suppress it, there was fear. Oh, and she was a bit hungry, too. She’d refused to have dinner. “Blimey, what a cacophony. Leave the woman alone. She’s not to blame. Elaida sent you on a suicide mission and abandoned you when she realised her mistake. Blame her.”

“Actually, I think I’ll blame you,” one haughty Grey said. “You revolting piece of-”

“Shut up!” her bondmate commanded. He was a young recruit whose name Natael couldn’t remember. “You will respect Ghraem and M’Hael and Logain and obey them as you would obey me!”

“Woah, easy, lad,” Natael said, though he was pleased to be included, for once. “Use the power of your bond wisely. It is not to be toyed with.”

“Is that her?”

Natael’s head followed the voice to find Taim standing nearby, hands behind his back. “Yes, M’Hael, this is Toveine Gazal of the Red Ajah, leader of the Incapacitated Sisterhood of We-Badly-Underestimated-You.”

Toveine rolled her eyes – Natael had already noticed that she did that a lot. Another Saldaean thing, he presumed. “Taim.” She said his name with such rage and contempt that Natael felt it reverberate through the bond. “You will pay for your heinous crimes, you-”

“Shhh,” Natael said, imitating Toveine’s earlier orders to her sisters. “You will speak when spoken to. And you will address us by our proper titles: M’Hael and Ghraem.”

She wanted to protest. She wanted to insult him – both of them, really. He could tell, but she was incapable of doing so, thanks to the bond. “Proper titles,” she said instead, sneering. “Titles given to you by yet another monstrosity, that al’Thor boy.”

“Actually, we gave them to ourselves,” Natael informed her. “If you can call yourself an Aes Sedai, why shouldn’t we have grandiose, meaningless titles?”

“What exactly did you hope to achieve, coming here?” Taim demanded, ignoring the titles debate. “To gentle us all? Did you even bother to scout the place, to get a better idea of our numbers?” Rhetorical questions; it was obvious that they had not. They had underestimated them from the beginning.

“There may be strength in numbers,” Toveine said, “but our strength is even greater, for we have experience, skill and respectability on our side.”

“Says the woman bonded to the bard,” Taim said wryly.

Natael gave him a flat stare. “The bard sacrificed himself greatly today, gave up his basic right to privacy and is now stuck with this…woman for the unforeseeable future. A bit of gratitude would be most welcome.”

Taim shrugged. “The dice weaves as the dice wills.”

“To the Pit of Doom with your bloody dice!”

“Another domestic fight, eh?” Natael heard someone murmur. Three men in the back sniggered at the comment.

Taim either didn’t hear or chose to ignore them. “Ghraem, we will continue this discussion in my study. Bring the witch.” He opened a gateway and disappeared.

“What is it that you are hoping to accomplish, holding us here?” Toveine demanded the moment she stepped out of the gateway into Taim’s study. Natael had sensed her reluctance at using it, since it had been woven into existence by a man, but she had not complained. “If you’re after a ransom-”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Taim snapped.

Toveine waited a few seconds, perhaps thinking that Taim was going to answer her question, but he didn’t. “Then what?” she prompted him. “We cannot teach you-”

“Oh, for peace’s sake! The Aes Sedai superiority complex is seriously getting on my nerves, sister.”

Toveine remained silent a moment, and Natael had a feeling that she was too proud to repeat her question a third time. On the other hand, he could also tell that Taim was enjoying this. In other words, they were going nowhere with this. “We…just need you to stay here for a while,” Natael said. “Hidden from sight. The other recruits cannot know that you’re here. You’ll have to be discreet.”

“What mad scheme is this?”

“We’re not mad,” Taim growled. “Believe it or not, we’re trying to protect you.”

Toveine stared at him wide-eyed, then turned to Natael. “Protect us? From what? The other men?”

“…sort of?” Natael said hesitantly. “Look, no one’s going to hurt you. Any of you. That’s a promise. When the time is right, we’ll let you go, alright? But at this very moment, you’re safer here than anywhere else. You have to trust us.”

“Give me one good reason why I should trust you,” Toveine challenged him. “The scrawny bard with the otherworldly accent and the vicious, mass-murdering False Dragon.”

That was an easy one. “Because you don’t have a choice.”

Chapter Text

I saw the queen’s butt

And her bare, royal bosom

But it’s not the point

“What do you mean, she undressed in front of you?”

Toveine Gazal had taken residence in the room adjacent to Natael’s. Such proximity wasn’t necessary, strictly speaking, but caution dictated that they should keep an eye on the Aes Sedai they’d bonded. Or so Taim claimed.

Unfortunately, they didn’t have nearly enough space to house the Asha’man, as well as the Aes Sedai, in the palaces. A new construction was therefore underway. Instead of a palace, it would be…an inn, of sorts. The official explanation was that each Asha’man should have his own room; in truth, the men would still have to bunk two or three per room. They would sleep in this new building, once it was completed, in a day or two, while the women would be divided between the two palaces. Gabrelle had decided to stay with Logain in his barracks, a suspicious arrangement in Natael’s opinion. Knowing Logain, he was afraid that it wouldn’t take long until the two of them shared more than living quarters.

“Well, some Aiel women barged into the sitting room and told her to take off her clothes. And she bloody did!”

Natael was still a bit shaken – and immensely confused. He’d seen plenty of naked women in his life, had often helped them removed their garments, in fact, but for a would-be queen to fully undress in front of three complete strangers, for no reason that Natael’s mind could conjure… For that matter, her royal status was hardly relevant; why would anyone do that? Was Elayne Trakand trying to destabilise them?

If so, she’d succeeded.

But why?

Granted, the Black Tower was a thorn in her foot – in Andor’s foot – but what sort of insane strategy was this? What was she trying to achieve? All Natael felt like doing at the moment was tell everyone what he'd witnessed, in the hope that someone could explain to him what had happened.

Taim and Logain had suggested an obscure Andoran tradition, but Gabrelle, Logain’s bondmate, had never heard of anything quite like it – and not only was she Andoran, she was a Brown sister.

Toveine was equally puzzled, but she came up with a much more likely explanation. “Must be an Aiel custom,” she mused. “Wouldn’t even be the most absurd one.”

Natael, who had spent several months in the Aiel Waste, agreed. “But Trakand isn’t Aiel,” he remarked.

Toveine shrugged. “Plenty of them to be found everywhere, nowadays, thanks to the al’Thor boy. The savages must have converted the girl to their wicked ways.”

“But…why would she comply to this bizarre request at such an inopportune time?” Namely, when she had male visitors in her sitting room. Had al’Thor commanded her to obey the Wise Ones? Was Trakand merely a puppet of the Dragon Reborn? It seemed unlikely. The girl had been annoyed whenever the lad was mentioned, and she was beyond furious that the Asha’man had carved part of Andor to build their…compound. That was the word she’d employed. She would not use the preferred term and call it the Black Tower. “Does she have any clue how it made her look? It sapped both her authority and her sanity in one clean stroke! No one is going to take her seriously after this. She’s never going to be queen.”

“Does it really matter?”

“What do you mean?”

Toveine sniffed. “Whoever ends up on the Lion Throne, they won’t be able to remove you. They can make your life slightly more difficult, perhaps, but that’s it.” Indeed. Any attempt to attack the Black Tower was doomed to fail; it would be like trying to take over the White Tower.

Even if the Aes Sedai weren’t divided, all of the female channelers in the world would be hard-pressed to dislodge the Asha’man, and any battle of this scale between male and female channelers would likely cause a second Breaking, or near enough. If there was any hope to defeat the Great Lord, they would have to stand together against the Shadow. Somehow, al’Thor would have to unite the two Towers before the Last Battle. Well, al’Thor or someone else. The Dragon Reborn was a busy man.

“So why does it matter if Elayne becomes queen or not?” Toveine went on. She didn’t give him an opportunity to reply. “Besides, I wouldn’t be so sure that she won’t. She has the Dragon Reborn’s support, after all. And if she’s anything like her mother, she’s more cunning that you give her credit for.”

“It’s hard to credit her with anything after she pulled something like this!”

“Peace, are you still hung up on this?” someone called from the door. “Pull yourself together, Nate.” Taim strode into Natael’s study without an invitation, exactly as he’d done a few hours ago at the Royal Palace. In all likelihood, it had contributed to the surly welcome they’d received. “Surely you’ve seen naked women before. It’s not that much of a novelty. She’s not even that good-looking.”

He was wrong there. Elayne Trakand was nothing short of beautiful, in all physical aspects. It was her personality that left a lot to be desired. In this, she wasn’t that different from Taim – though if Natael had said that in her presence, she would have balefired him on the spot. He had a feeling that it had been a close shave as it was. The girl had mostly ignored Natael and even Logain, but the looks she’d given Taim were full of mistrust and anger.

Toveine, he noticed, was smiling. Smirking, really, but he couldn’t figure out why. Something she’d felt through the bond? An idle thought? Her emotions were easy to read, but they didn’t always make sense to him. At the moment, she was amused, but also…disgusted, for some reason.

Natael poured himself a cup of wine. It was a bit early for that, but he needed it. He didn’t offer one to either of the other two. “If Trakand isn’t to your taste, Taim, no woman will ever be good enough for you.”

Taim regarded him as if he were a female channeler – or something else he immensely disliked and found revolting. “I...didn’t come here to discuss the girl’s attractiveness,” he said prissily. “We must plan for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

Taim rolled his eyes. “She’s coming to visit, you nitwit! Were you too enthralled by her nudity to register that information?”

“Oh. Yes. I mean, no, I wasn’t.” He cleared his throat. “What about it?”

Taim closed his eyes and briefly massaged his temples. “Well, we have fifty captive Aes Sedai to conceal from her.”

“What’s fifty women in a sea of male channelers?” Logain said. He was standing on the threshold, shoulder against the frame.

Was the whole Black Tower going to barge into his study without being invited?

Do not ask that! he scolded himself. Have you learned nothing? The moment you ask yourself that sort of question, someone else does come in and, like as not, it's Demandred. Or worse, Moridin.

“Elayne will be too focused on the army we’ve assembled here to notice the gals,” Logain went on. “They’ll be told to keep to their lodgings until Elayne is gone, and that’s it. Surely she won’t inspect every single room we have. Besides, the White Tower being what it is at the moment, Elayne must have no idea that Elaida sent these ones to gentle us.” He walked into the room, poured himself some wine and sat down in Natael’s favourite chair. “I wonder if she’ll get naked again,” he speculated, a faraway look in his eyes.

“If she does, I hope she has the sense to do it in front of them, rather than in front of you,” Toveine snapped.

Logain greeted this with a strong, charming laugh, and he gave her his best smile, which had no effect on Toveine. She wasn’t easily seduced. Natael, on the other hand, was captivated. Life was so much better when Logain smiled.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Taim demanded.

Natael was going to deflect that question and forge ahead with the matter of Trakand’s upcoming visit, but Toveine spoke before him. He wished he’d commanded her not to talk without his permission, but it was too late. “That he’s a pig, and that you’re as interested in seeing Elayne Trakand’s bare buttocks as in seeing an actual pig. Much safer for her to undress in your presence than his. Even if you are still a male channeler,” she added as an afterthought. “Sort of.”

“’Sort of’?” Taim repeated.

“Hey, don’t be like that,” Logain chided her. “He’s still a man. I don’t care for your attitude, Toveine Sedai.” He turned to Natael, who, for once, had no idea what to say to defuse the situation, or to remove that expression from Taim’s face. “Well, do something. Tell her to shut it, Nate. Or, better yet, send her to her room, so that we can talk amongst ourselves. She has no business listening to this.”

“Stop talking and go to your room,” Natael said weakly. “Don’t try to eavesdrop.”

Toveine was obviously tempted to defy him despite the bond, but in the end she executed her orders without a word. She didn’t close the door behind her, but Logain seized saidin and slammed it. “What a…witch,” he muttered. “Man, I’m glad I picked Gabrelle.”

Natael glared at him. He hadn’t picked Toveine at all. She had been forced upon him by a loaded dice.

“Nate, what did she mean?” Taim demanded.

Natael buried his face in his cup, though it was empty. Taim didn’t know about the rumours, then. He didn’t know what the men thought he was – what everyone thought he was.

Chances were, Taim himself didn’t know what he was, or refused to accept it.

“Don’t pay attention to her,” Logain said when Natael didn’t reply. “She’s an old hag. She’s a Red hag. They’re not exactly known for their…open-mindedness.”

Natael glanced at Taim. He still had no clue, judging by his expression. He was usually too proud to repeat a question, or even to ask it in the first place, sometimes, but not today. He wanted to get to the bottom of it. “Open-minded about what?”

“About you and Nate, of course,” Logain replied.

Natael seriously considered opening a gateway to a desert island in the middle of the Aryth Ocean and never coming back, but he seemed frozen in place. He had no choice but to witness his world crumble to pieces around him.

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much, though,” Logain went on. “As I already told Nate, the men don’t mind. Sure, they make jests, but it’s all in good fun, no harm intended. I always straighten them out if it gets out of line.” He leaned forward, unaware that Taim’s face was now dangerously blank. “Now, about Her Royal Nakedness's visit-”

“What about Nate and myself?” Taim insisted.

Logain looked up, frowning. “Well-”

“Logain, can you give us a moment, please?” Natael interrupted him.

He hesitated before standing up. “Er, sure. I’ll wait outside.” He headed for the door. “Mm, come to think of it, I’ll go down to the kitchen. I’m starved.” The door closed behind him.

“What in the Pit of Doom is going on?” Taim thundered. Of course. Now that it was just the two of them, he didn’t have to hide his temper or even rein it in.

“It’s just a silly rumour,” Natael said. He affected a casual tone, but knew it wouldn’t fool Taim. Burn Logain! It was one thing for Toveine to run her mouth, but did he have to implicate Natael by implying that he’d known all along?

“What silly rumour? Natael, I swear, if you don’t spell it out for me right this instant, I will obliterate you!” To show that it wasn’t an empty threat, he seized saidin.

“Well, for some reason, the men seem to think that you and I… That we…” Ugh, why was it so hard to say it out loud? He’d dreamed about it. Had seriously considered asking Taim, to make it real, instead of it being a mere rumour.

And he’d always chickened out at the last moment.

Toveine’s arrival had not helped, obviously, and after what she’d said today, it would be nearly impossible… Could he even salvage any sort of relationship with Taim at this point? After all, by keeping the rumour to himself, Natael had essentially been lying to him.

“…that we’re involved in a romantic relationship,” he finished lamely.

Taim didn’t react. His face was utterly impassive. He turned his back on Natael, edged toward the table and poured himself a cup of wine. He filled it to the brim and began gulping it down.

Natael took that opportunity to defend himself. “I didn’t start the rumour, Taim. Maybe Atal did.” Natael had a strong feeling about this. “But you heard Logain, nobody minds. It’s not a big-”

“How long have you known?” Taim demanded. His cup was empty already.

“Um…just a few days.” That was the truth. Depending on how one defined “a few”, of course.

“And you did nothing to dismiss it as a ridiculous, completely unfounded rumour? You didn’t laugh it off when Logain mentioned it to you? If you two talked about it, why does the man believe it to be true?”

“I…never confirmed it.”

“Nor denied it, apparently,” Taim growled.

“You see, I was thinking…” Better to do it now, right? He wouldn’t get another chance, now that the cat was out of the bag. “I figured, since everyone already thinks we’re a couple, and they don’t have a problem with it… Well, we did discuss this before, didn’t we? Would it really be such a crazy-”

“Discussed it? You mean that nonsense of a conversation we had back at Dumai’s Wells?” Taim scoffed. “Nate. This is insane. You’re insane. The taint has turned your brains to mush. I don’t…think of you that way. Never have, never will.” He paused to refill his cup. “You or any other man. I’m not…like that.” He downed his second cup as if it were milk – his second since he’d walked into Natael’s study, that was. For all he knew, Taim had already had a few. “You have to stop making potentially damaging assumptions about me. You may not care for your reputation, but I do. Tomorrow, first thing in the morning, before Trakand arrives, you and I will make an official announcement in front of everyone. Anyone caught jesting about it afterwards, or even mentioning it, will be severely punished, to deter the others. Am I making myself clear?” He stood straight, and his expression was stern, but his speech was garbled by the wine.

Natael considered meekly agreeing with this. He really did…however briefly.

“If you have no problem lying to them, you go ahead, but I won’t. Deny it all you want, you know that these ‘assumptions’ are more than that. And, contrary to what you led me to believe, they are not as damaging as you said they could be. Your reputation is safe, Taim. The men still respect you. Burn me, even Logain respects you, though he won’t say it out loud. Is it because of Toveine? Do you really care what an Aes Sedai thinks of you? What a Red Aes Sedai thinks of you? If it bothers you that much, I’ll deal with her. She won’t utter a word ever again, I promise you that.” After all, maiming was his specialty, according to the buffoons of this Age. Not music, but the maiming of his musical competition. Might as well give the populace what they expected.

“This is the taint talking,” Taim murmured. “I ought to slip some asping rot in your wine carafe.”

“And here we go again,” Natael said with a heavy sigh. “Threatening to kill me when what I say makes you uncomfortable, blaming the taint… I am perfectly lucid. We both are, but only one of us is deluding himself.”

“I’m not-”

“Get out of my study,” Natael said. His voice was low, but firm. “I can’t reason with you when you’re like this. Come back when you’ve sobered up. I’ll discuss Trakand’s visit with Logain and we’ll make the necessary arrangements without you. You’re in no condition to make important decisions.”

When he was drunk, Taim often had trouble keeping a straight face. Shock was painted on it now. Natael could almost read his thoughts: how dare he talk to me like this? How dare he imply that I’m drunk? How dare he order me about as if I were not superior to him in every single way?

“I’m tired of this endless, confusing back-and-forth between us, Taim,” Natael whispered. “I’m tired of your moodiness. Your attitude towards me changes every day, if not hourly. It’s messing with my head worse than the taint ever could. I need to know exactly where we stand. I can’t go on like this. I will go mad if you keep acting this way, with nary a care for my feelings. I do have feelings, you know. All of the Chosen do, contrary to popular belief.”

If anything, the Chosen felt too strongly – that was what led them to the Shadow.

He half-expected a drunken tirade telling him that he had it all wrong, that Taim’s attitude was the same towards him as it was towards everyone else, that he was reading too much into meaningless words and actions.

Instead, Taim let his empty cup fall to the floor and silently exited the room, without so much as a glance in Natael’s direction.

Natael stirred in his sleep. Elayne Trakand, clad only in her birthday suit, was visiting the Black Tower and nothing was going as it should. The men were drunk; the captive Aes Sedai were out in the streets, wearing their shawls; Taim and Logain were locked in a duel to the death. Natael was futilely attempting to deal with it all by himself, until Demandred and Moridin arrived, deemed him unworthy of the Chosen and murdered him. The Great Lord then decided to bring him back and give him a new body to punish him further for his failure.

He woke up with a wordless scream when he held up a mirror and realised it reflected Toveine’s face.

He was sweaty, his covers were tangled. Did I scream out loud? Did Toveine hear it?

At the thought of her name, he shuddered. That thrice-cursed bond was driving him mad. Everything in this flaming place seemed designed to drive him mad.

“Nate? Are you alright?”

Natael nearly fell off his bed. He turned toward the voice, but the room was too dark. He could barely distinguish a silhouette. Well, he didn’t need to see; he knew who it was. “What in the Pit of Doom are you doing here? You scared me half to death!”

“I’m sorry,” Taim mumbled. “I wanted to…talk to you, but you were already asleep. So I…”

“Waited by the bed and watched me sleep like some sort of deranged pervert?” He meant it as a joke, but he sounded dry and ill-tempered, perhaps because he was still miffed – both about their earlier conversation and about almost suffering a heart attack, just then.

There was a muffled sound. “You were tossing and turning and babbling in your sleep. I thought I should stay, to make sure you were…” Some rustling, and the silhouette stood. “Never mind. We’ll talk…later.”

“No!” He sat up straight, rearranged the covers around him and, seizing saidin, he conjured some light. Taim held a hand before his eyes to protect them from the sudden glare. He was wearing a black, silky robe. Natael couldn’t help but notice that even that was embroidered with colourful dragons on the sleeves. “You’re sober, right?” Taim nodded, slowly lowering his hand as his eyes adjusted to the light. “Then let’s talk now. I’m wide awake, anyway. Thanks to you.” The nightmare was more to blame, in truth, but Natael was feeling petty. “Sit down.”

Taim didn’t move. “It can wait until morning, Nate. I-”

“Sit. Your arse. Down,” he repeated forcefully.

This time he complied and returned to the nearby chair. He usually sat regally, as if any seat was a throne to him, but now he was slouching and looking awkward. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“I want you to give me an honest answer: do you have feelings for me?”

Taim was fidgeting with one of the cushions. He wouldn’t meet Natael’s eyes. The sound he produced next was impossible to identify.

Natael deemed it vain to repeat the question. Taim wouldn’t commit to a proper answer. “Well, I do. I have feelings for you. Romantic feelings.”

There. He’d said it.

He wasn’t struck down by lightning. He didn’t suffer a stroke. Time didn’t stop, the moon didn’t fall out of the sky, the world didn’t end. Taim didn’t burst into flames, either.

“I know that you think this is improper,” he continued. He was determined to say his piece, now that he’d finally opened up. “Toveine certainly seems to agree with the sentiment. But Logain doesn’t. The men respect us – you – enough to pretend that it’s nothing out of the ordinary. Will others be bothered by it? Yes. Will they whisper about it behind your back? Sure. Will they try to bring you down, to sully your reputation, to slander you? You can count on it.” He removed the covers and sat at the edge of the bed, facing Taim directly, though the other man’s gaze was still locked on the ground at his feet. “They may even attempt violence. But you know what? It doesn’t matter. For one thing, because you can destroy anyone without lifting a finger and, for another, because you won’t be alone. I’ll be there for you, Taim. Come what may, I’ll have your back. And so will our men. You’re not alone,” he repeated softly.

Taim was still and silent for such a long time that Natael wondered if he’d broken the man’s mind. Eventually, Taim looked up, his dark eyes shining with their characteristic intensity, and asked a single question: “May I sleep here tonight?”

Chapter Text

Bloody Aes Sedai

She has ruined everything

What the hell, Barid?

This time Natael was awoken by someone knocking on the door, not by some monstrous dream. It was a pleasant change, because that sort of nightmare was becoming recurrent. Last night, however, he couldn’t remember dreaming about anything. He’d been exhausted, but it was the good kind of exhausted, for once. He’d had a dreamless, peaceful night.

When he opened his eyes, he realised that he’d overslept a bit more than usual, judging by the position of the sun.

The person at the door insisted, knocking harder and with some urgency. Natael didn’t care. He turned around to watch Taim sleep.

It was a wonder that the frantic knocking hadn’t woken him up yet, but there he was, snoring softly, lost to the world. Natael smiled – mostly in triumph, but also at how adorable this was.

“Nate, for the love of the Light, open the door!”

Oh. It was Logain. Perhaps it was important, then. Natael groaned, but he removed the covers, carefully, so as not to wake up Taim, and looked for his robe. He located it – it had landed on his dressing table – put it on quickly and opened the door. “Good morn-”

“Do you have any idea where Taim is?” Logain cut him off. He sounded out of breath. “Please tell me that you do. I can’t find him anywhere – he’s not in his room, not in his study, no one has seen him. The man is never late, why does he have to be late today, of all days?”

Natael grinned and pointed a thumb behind him. “He’s asleep, Logain.” Well, either that, or he was pretending to be, so that he wouldn’t have to face Logain, Natael, or reality in general. Natael honestly believed that he was sound asleep, but there was that possibility to consider.

Logain’s face turned a shade darker. “Oh. Um…well, that’s good. You two made up, then.” He cleared his throat, looking away. “Please wake him and tell him to get his arse outside as soon as possible.”

That was when Natael finally realised that something might be seriously wrong. “Is there a problem?”

“Elayne’s here, Nate. You know, the naked queen?” Oh, right, her. “Well, she’s not naked now, unfortunately, but she’s here, and she demands to see Taim. Don’t know why she insists on talking to him – I told her I could show her around, but she’s a stubborn brat.”

“M’Hael will be down in a few minutes, you can tell her that.” Natael closed the door, sighing. This was not how he’d imagined their first morning together, but hey, they had a compound to rule.

He returned to the bed and sat beside Taim, who had not moved an inch. If he was faking, he was doing an outstanding job. Natael poked him in the shoulder. “Wake up.”

Nothing.

He leaned forward and spoke directly in his ear. “Taim, it’s past breakfast, your palace is on fire, and two men have gone mad and destroyed half the Tower while you were sleeping.”

No reaction. Huh.

“Al’Thor came into the room while we were both asleep. He’s making a public announcement as I speak.”

Taim was dead to the world.

Well…desperate situations called for drastic remedies. Natael kissed him awake.

Taim stirred and pushed him away, eyes still closed. He turned over and muttered into his pillow. “One more minute.”

“We don’t have a minute. Elayne Trakand is here. Unless you want her to see you naked, you’d better get a move on.”

That did the trick. Taim sat up, eyes wide. “She’s here?!” He looked out the window and cursed profusely. “Blood and ashes! Why didn’t you wake me up?”

“That’s all I’ve been trying to do for the past five minutes!” Natael protested.

Taim lifted the sheets…and then covered himself again, his face turning an alarming shade of crimson. “Where are my clothes?” he mumbled.

“It’s too late, you know. I’ve seen it all,” Natael said with a grin.

Taim glanced at the floor, but his discarded robe was somewhere on the other side of the bed, if Natael’s memory served. He didn’t offer to fetch it for him, though. But Taim didn’t let that stop him. He grabbed the sheets and stood with them carefully wrapped around himself, then he seized saidin and opened a gateway leading to his own bedchamber. “Meet me in the courtyard in five minutes,” he said, with all the dignity he could muster.

Five minutes was about the time it took Natael to stop giggling, but he was down in the courtyard within the next half hour (or so).

Taim stood rigidly in front of Elayne’s horse, hands behind his back, not a hair out of place. Logain was trying to get the attention of the Captain-General of the Guard. It made sense, considering that she was a woman. A pretty one, too, with long, braided golden hair. She was doing her best to ignore him, all the while keeping an eye on everyone else. She seemed to take her job very seriously and the bow strapped to her back was more than a mere adornment, Natael guessed.

Before he could take the dozen steps that separated him from the visiting group, Elayne and her retinue headed for the gates. Taim stared after them a moment longer, to make sure that everyone got out, then he turned in his direction, his mouth quirking in a half-smile. “The future queen sends her regards.”

Natael joined them at a leisurely pace. “She didn’t even notice that I wasn’t there, did she?”

“Nope,” Logain concurred. “Your name was never mentioned.”

That was more than a little insulting, but he was used to it. “Well, how did it go?”

“Without a hitch,” Taim replied. “She asked a lot of questions, insisted on talking to several men, women and children, and visited some of the barracks. She wanted to make sure that we observed the basic rules of hygiene.”

“She seemed surprised that we do,” Logain put in.

“Well, we’re men,” Natael noted. “Women always expect us to be unwashed pigs, especially when left to our own devices.”

“She obviously doesn’t know you, then,” Logain said. “How many times a day do you bathe?”

“Only once.” Taim smirked knowingly. “Sometimes twice,” Natael mumbled.

Logain grinned. “That’s more like it. Anyway, she was ‘satisfied’ with what she saw. I’m going to let the Aes Sedai know that she’s gone. Meeting in Nate’s study after supper?” Taim nodded, and Logain departed before Natael could agree to host the meeting.

“So…that went well,” he said when Taim and he were alone.

“No thanks to you.” The words were meant to be harsh, but there was no heart in it. Sometimes Natael wondered if Taim said these things merely out of habit.

“I had to make myself presentable. Thanks to you, my hair was a mess.” Taim pretended to be fascinated by a thawing patch of snow. “And I couldn’t decide what to wear.” That was the case every day, but even more so when royalty was visiting. He’d settled on a simple grey shirt, his emerald vest, and his new snow fox fur coat. It was freezing outside. He could make himself ignore the cold, but it was easier to do that when he wasn’t, in fact, cold.

Taim was wearing one of his black coats, as usual, with dragons embroidered at the sleeves. It was a light coat, designed for warmer weather, but he liked to show off his ability to ward off the cold, especially in front of female channelers. “What now?” he said in a low voice.

What an odd question. Taim always had something to do, and he certainly never asked Natael what it could be. “Well, I don’t know. Don’t you have a class? I think I’m supposed to teach a group of-”

“I meant with us. What happens now? What do we do?”

Natael hesitated. He felt ambushed – did they have to discuss this here, now? What was there to discuss, anyway? They’d slept together. If Taim felt like it, they could do it again. If he didn’t – well, they wouldn’t. It wasn’t that complicated. He tried for a humorous answer. “Um…do it in your room instead of mine? At least Logain won’t panic when he can’t find you.”

“Is everything a joke to you?” Taim demanded.

Mm. Wrong answer. “No, I just-”

“I haven’t been sleeping in weeks because of what you said at Dumai’s Wells. Weeks, Nate. I couldn’t decide if you were serious, or if it was yet another attempt to destabilise me. Not to mention everything you’ve said since then. Yesterday, you scolded me for not being truthful, and now you jest about it?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you want me to say!” he retorted. “I thought it was fairly…straightforward. We sleep together whenever you feel like it – if you ask me, it can be every night – but if you’re uncomfortable about it, might as well end it now, before…”

Before what? Before it becomes too serious? Before I actually fall for you?

Taim moved closer to him. “It’s too late for that,” he said quietly. “For that…’before’, no matter how you meant to finish your sentence. I wouldn’t have stayed last night if I wasn’t over the ‘before’ part already, Nate. I thought you… Peace.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I knew it was a bad idea. I bloody knew it!”

A few people, mostly recruits, were walking by at such a slow pace that they looked like sleepwalkers. Natael sent them running with a scowl.

“Let’s talk about this later,” he murmured. “But it’s not what you think,” he added, hoping to reassure Taim somewhat. “It’s not an Atal-like fling. I swear.”

He was serious about this. He wasn’t entirely certain how he felt about Taim, exactly, but he did care for him. And he wanted this to last. At least as long as they were both alive.

But he was afraid. This, he wouldn’t admit to Taim, because it was too long a story to tell. He’d been hurt before – badly enough that it had eventually led to him turning to the Shadow.

When he was a lad, and even as a relatively young channeler, his life was but a long series of flings and short-lived affairs. He dated mostly women, some young enough to be called girls, the kind who was impressionable enough to think of him as a famous artist, even though back in the day he was merely a struggling one. He seduced them with songs, which he claimed he’d written just for them. He never loved any of them – he usually forgot their names before morning.

Then he’d met Elan.

Elan, who had turned his world upside down.

Elan, who had destroyed him. He’d ruined his career, his life, everything in under five minutes.

Elan, who had betrayed him, as he had betrayed everyone else.

But he couldn’t tell Taim about that, could he? What would he think of him? He’d never agree to share his bed again after hearing that.

“Fine. After debriefing with Logain, we’ll talk,” Taim said. His face was a mask. Natael could only hope that he would give him the benefit of the doubt and hear him out. He hadn’t meant to sound callous. It was too late to make amends, though. Taim was walking away.

“I can’t do this,” Toveine announced the moment Natael stepped into his study.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded. “You were supposed to stay in your room!”

“While Elayne was visiting,” Toveine underlined. Bloody Aes Sedai! They were taught from early on to lie without lying and to find loopholes in everything. “Logain came by to say she had departed.”

“Well, from now on, you are not allowed in my study or in my room without my permission.”

She ignored that. “You must release me from this bond.”

Natael scoffed. “Yeah, right.” He sat down in his chair and closed his eyes. All he wanted to do was think about what to say to Taim this evening. How to make up for-

“I beg you.”

His eyes sprung open and he gaped at Toveine. She was begging him? He didn’t know how to respond to this.

“Please, Natael. Ghraem,” she insisted, even using his proper title. Her voice was flat, but her eyes shone with unshed tears. Blood and ashes! “Transfer it. To anyone.” There was a pause. “Anyone but you and…him.”

She’d called Logain a pig the previous day, so he assumed that him was Logain. “Logain already has a bondmate, anyway,” Natael said. “And there’s nobody else-”

He should have investigated the bond instead of basing his assumptions on Toveine’s words. “I’ll take Logain over that…creature any day. I’ll take him regardless of the scandalous things he does to Gabrelle. Please. I can’t endure this even one more night. I never thought you’d actually…” She trailed off.

Him was Taim. Of course. That was why the bond blazed with hatred, why her face was twisted with revulsion. She thought Logain was a pig, and she was mildly disgusted by him, but only mentions of Taim brought on this sort of reaction. He had never fully understood why…until now.

“It’s wrong. It’s unnatural. It makes me sick. Please, I beg you, you have to release me. Bond me to the lowliest man you have, I don’t care. But this is… This is…” She was silent for a moment, possibly looking for a word stronger than wrong and unnatural. Natael was too stunned to provide one. “It’s torture worthy of the Forsaken, Natael. You can’t do this to me. I’m an Aes Sedai, for peace’s sake!”

Whoa. For once in his life, he was speechless. Truly and utterly speechless. How could anyone be so hateful of something that was absolutely none of their business? Except one of the Chosen, that was. Was Toveine Black Ajah? Then again, maybe it was just a Red Ajah thing. They had strange opinions about men.

“Are you even listening to me?” she demanded, hands on her hips. Natael could only stare at her. She sniffed. “Very well.” She stomped toward the window and opened it. “If you do not release me, I…” She made a gagging sound. “I will…”

She couldn’t finish her sentence because of the oath she had taken when she became an Aes Sedai. He could feel that she was bluffing through the bond, too, but just to be safe he ordered her not to jump. “You will not harm yourself in any way.” Toveine screamed in frustration. “Shut up!” She did, however reluctantly. “Close the window.” She did that, too. She didn’t have a choice. He could read the murder in her eyes.

This was a situation that he had not anticipated. How could he have? What was he supposed to do now? Tell Taim?

No. If Taim knew that Toveine was threatening to commit suicide because of what they’d done, he would never so much as talk to Natael again. Natael would not lose a night’s sleep if Toveine somehow managed to kill herself despite his orders, but Taim was another matter entirely.

“You will never discuss what just happened with M’Hael,” he said softly. “Is that clear?” Toveine gave him the tiniest nod in response. Her fists were balled tightly at her sides. “Now return to your room and stay there until further notice. I need to think.”

What he needed was a drink, but he had to keep a clear head. Seizing saidin, he opened a gateway.

It was Gabrelle who opened the door. She was fully dressed, but her hair was somewhat untidy. “Ghraem.” She always greeted him politely, unlike…well, everyone else.

“Gabrelle Sedai, I must speak with Logain. In private, if you will.” Logain could have simply ordered her to leave, but Natael believed in asking nicely – at least to begin with. Gabrelle had a good head on her shoulders. She may be manipulating Logain by sleeping with him, but as long as Logain was aware of it, it should pose no problem. Natael suspected that he enjoyed being manipulated in this fashion.

She nodded. “I will be in your palace when you’re done, Ghraem. I'll stay with my Brown sisters.” She knew that she couldn’t wander the grounds without an escort. Logain had perhaps forbidden her to do it, or he trusted her not to. Either way, she was out of the room.

Natael stepped inside and found Logain seated at his desk. “Something wrong?” he asked without looking up from his papers.

“Yes. Quite wrong,” Natael said without preamble.

Logain stood up and sat on the desk, a frown marring his handsome face. “What? Does Elayne know about the Aes Sedai?”

Natael shook his head. Logain had not offered him a seat, but he rarely remembered to do that. He sat down on the unmade bed. “Toveine is the problem.”

Logain offered him a sympathetic smile. “I’m sorry you got stuck with her, Nate. I really am. She seems like a handful. I would palm her off on someone else, but I don’t trust anyone to handle her. She’s-”

“We have to find someone else. I can’t be bonded to her, Logain, she’s…” He considered his next words with care. “…suicidal. She threatened to kill herself if I didn’t release her.”

Logain raised an eyebrow, but there was no alarm in his expression. “I assume you commanded her…not to do that?”

“Obviously,” he replied with some annoyance. He wasn’t stupid. “But this is a temporary solution. Surely you understand that. If she feels that strongly about me-”

“You could suggest that she masks the bond.”

Mask the bond? “We can do that? How?” No one had mentioned this before.

“Mm, you’ll have to ask Gabrelle. She’s the one who came up with it. She masks it when she wants to be alone with her thoughts. It’s not…completely effective, but it helps.”

Natael doubted that it would satisfy Toveine. “I’ll have Gabrelle explain it to her. But…we still need to find someone else to take the bond.”

“Why does she hate you so much?” Logain enquired. He sounded genuinely curious. “You haven’t done anything to her, have you?” A trace of suspicion. It seeped into his voice, on occasion; whenever he remembered who Natael truly was.

“Of course not, don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped. “It’s just…” His brain waved for attention. Ah, finally, an idea. “She figured out who I am. And…well, you can’t expect her to be fine with it. It would perturb anyone.”

“Yeah, that’s a problem, alright. Guess Taim will have to take over the bond.”

“No!” Natael exclaimed. Logain eyed him with some concern. “I mean…you know what Taim did. In Saldaea. And he killed some Red sisters when he escaped. She hates him, too.”

If Logain noticed that he wasn’t as eloquent as usual, he didn’t remark upon it. “Nate, there’s no one else. I told you, it was dangerous enough to raise so many men all at once to bond the Aes Sedai. We can’t risk it.”

Natael hesitated. “Can’t you do it?”

“I already have one!” he protested.

“It’s not like bonding Gabrelle has been a burden to you,” Natael pointed out. He gestured at the bed, which had obviously been more than merely slept in.

Logain opened his mouth to retort, then closed it. He stood and paced the room, muttering under his breath. Natael only caught a few choice curses.

“Fine,” he growled after he’d passed Natael about a dozen times. “I’ll bond her. But as soon as we raise a new Asha’man, he takes over for me. And he’ll take Toveine, not Gabrelle.”

“Of course.”

Logain stopped in his tracks to glare at him. “Why did you come here to ask me to do this? Couldn’t it wait until our meeting tonight?” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Is there something you’re not telling me, Nate? Is there a reason why Taim should not be part of the decision process regarding this matter?”

Natael sometimes forgot that Logain was, in fact, quite intelligent. Or observant, at least. Either way, he was caught. He felt an abnormal amount of shame for lying to Logain. It was quite uncharacteristic of him. “Toveine doesn’t want to be bonded to me because of my…relationship with Taim,” he admitted.

“But if she masks it…”

“I don’t think it’ll help. It’s not the fact that she can…feel things through the bond that bothers her, or not just that. She actually said she’d rather be bonded to you, despite…Gabrelle. I think it goes deeper than that. She can’t…stand the thought of… She said it made her sick. That it was…unnatural and wrong.”

Logain was silent for a moment. “So she doesn’t know who you are, then?”

Natael shook his head. “Certainly not.” He would have felt more than revulsion through the bond, if she did. There would be fear, at the very least.

“Tell you what,” Logain said. “We’ll give that explanation to Taim, because it’s a plausible one. He doesn’t have to know the truth. He’s obviously not…comfortable with the whole thing.”

“He’ll come around,” Natael murmured. “But thank you for doing this. It’s quite the noble sacrifice.”

“Eh, it’s what I do.” He let out an exaggerate sigh, but Natael noticed that he was smiling.

“How could she possibly know who you are?” Taim demanded. The false explanation may be plausible, but it wasn’t enough to convince him.

“Well…she mentioned my accent before.”

Taim shook his head. “That’s not enough to suspect someone of being one of the Forsaken.”

Logain came to his rescue – again. “She must have overheard some of the Asha’man talking about him. We’ve told them to be discreet, but perhaps they accidentally called him by his alias within her earshot. Either that, or she was eavesdropping and they didn’t notice her. Natael has been too soft on her. The lass needs disciplining, and I’m willing to provide.” He grinned.

Natael could tell that Taim was still not quite convinced, but he decided not to argue further, possibly because, in the end, it was more convenient this way. “Very well. But are you certain that you can handle both of them?” he asked Logain. “I’d do it myself, but it seems that she’s no fonder of me than she is of Nate.”

Logain waved his concerns away. “I’ll be fine. Until we find someone else,” he hastened to add.

Taim nodded. “Call her in, then. Might as well transfer the bond now. We wouldn’t want to torture her any longer than strictly necessary.”

Natael stood to go, but Logain raised a hand. “Don’t trouble yourself.” He banged against the wall behind him, which was common with Toveine’s room.

A minute later, she knocked on the door. Logain seized saidin and opened it. “Get in.” Taim glanced at him, frowning, likely surprised by the coldness in Logain’s voice.

Toveine didn’t move. She was a picture of modern Aes Sedai calm and arrogance. Logain’s face turned red and he stood, perhaps to dislodge her with physical force, but Natael held him back. “Toveine, get inside. Now.”

She marched forward, but her expression didn’t change. The bond, however, told a different story. She was terrified. She probably thought that they were going to kill her, and she was intent on not showing just how scared she was. She wanted to die with dignity.

Natael wished he could let her believe that she was going to die for a moment longer, because she deserved it, but Taim spoke up. “Logain will take up your bond.” Thankfully, he didn’t say why. After all, Toveine had no idea who Natael really was. Logain and he had considered telling her, to turn the lie into an almost-truth, but they’d eventually decided against it. With luck, she’d never find out.

She grimaced, the disdain plain on her face, but the bond was flooded with waves of relief. “It’ll have to do, I suppose.”

Logain exhaled slowly. Natael imagined that he was already regretting agreeing to this. “Light help me.”

“Proceed, then,” Taim said.

“I think not,” someone else contradicted him. Demandred stepped out of the shadows like a flaming Myrddraal.

Logain almost fell off his chair. “Blood and ashes, man! How long have you been here?”

Demandred raised an eyebrow.

“He means, um, you should have warned us of your visit. We would have had a few refreshments ready,” Natael stammered. Darkness within! It was one thing to pay them a surprise visit, but how often did he conceal his presence to spy on them like this? And none of them had noticed!

Ugh, and Toveine was here. What was he thinking?

“The woman will remain bonded to Nessosin. That is an order.”

To her credit, Toveine didn’t react outwardly, except for a slight tension in her shoulders, but it was clear through the bond that she’d connected the name with another one: Asmodean. She was terrified again. She was a smart woman; if she knew who Natael was, she must have guessed that the newcomer was someone even worse, to dare give him orders.

“Why?” Logain demanded.

Oh, the impetuosity of the young. This was strike two; another outburst, and Logain would receive some form of punishment, to deter him from speaking his mind in front of the Chosen.

“Because I said so,” Demandred said, very softly. “Do no question me again.” A moment later, he had disappeared through a gateway.

The silence in the room was suffocating.

“I knew it,” Toveine whispered. “The Black Tower is a nest of Dreadlords and Darkfriends. With a name like that, what else did we expect?” She seemed to be talking to herself.

Logain rolled his eyes. “Don’t be so bloody dramatic, woman. It’s called the Black Tower because you have the White. Don’t read too much into the name.”

“Don’t be so dramatic?” she repeated, her voice more high-pitched than usual. “You’re all Forsaken!”

“Um, well, technically, they’re Dreadlords,” Natael said. “And I’m-”

“You can’t fool me, Asmodean. I know exactly who and what you are!”

“I don’t know why you’re so upset,” Taim said slowly. “I thought you already-”

Oh, Light have mercy. “Of course, she knew that already, prior to Demandred’s visit.” Toveine’s eyes widened at the name, despite the fact that she must have guessed who he was – or at least narrowed it down to a few For…Chosen.

Forchosen. Sounds about right.

Thankfully, Toveine was too shocked to incriminate him further. “She’s just distraught because she didn’t know the extent of our connection to the Shadow. Perhaps we should clear the air…” He glanced at Logain for support.

“Er…yeah. Might as well. Considering what she already knows, it’s actually safer to tell her everything. Right, Taim?”

Oh, they certainly weren’t fooling him. “Do what you will,” he said, standing up. “I’m going to bed. Alone,” he muttered as he passed Natael on the way out.

Chapter Text

Time is running out

That’s a lot of conditions

I screwed up again

Natael knocked on the door to Taim’s bedchamber, but there was no reply. He hesitated for a few minutes. Was it better to wait for Taim to calm down, or barge in and have a serious discussion, whether Taim wanted it or not?

Natael decided that it couldn’t wait. At the risk of infuriating Taim even further, he stepped inside the room. It was plunged in total darkness, so he wove a small ball of light to guide himself to the bed. Taim pretended to be asleep, buried under the covers, or at least he didn’t react to Natael’s presence. He wasn’t snoring, though, so Natael knew he was awake. “We should talk about it, Taim. It’s never a good idea to go to bed angry.” No response. “Please?” Nothing. Not even an exasperated grunt. Natael sat down on the bed. “Come on, I know you’re not asleep.” He put a hand on the pile of sheets under which Taim lay.

“Go away,” he finally muttered.

Ah, progress. He was acknowledging Natael’s existence. “Look, I was just-“

Taim sat up, throwing off some of the blankets. “You lied to me! What’s worse, you lied to me and you involved Logain in your deceit.”

“I was trying to protect you!”

“I don’t need your protection!” he barked. “I need you to be honest with me. A relationship cannot be based on lies, no matter how pure your intentions!”

Natael smiled tentatively. “So you do want a relationship.”

Taim didn’t return his smile. Judging by his expression, he might never smile again. “I did. For a few hours, I did. I let myself believe that it was possible. But you always mess up everything, don’t you? Last night was perfect, but you just had to ruin it, mere hours later.”

Last night was perfect.

Natael fumbled for more excuses. It couldn’t end like this, before it even had a chance to begin. “Toveine is vile, Taim. She despises us, not because we swore an oath to the Shadow, but because we spent the night together.” To be fair, now that she knew about the Shadow thing, she probably despised them for that, also. “I didn’t want you to find out because…you’re having trouble with this as it is and I…I was afraid it would dissuade you forever. I didn’t want to jeopardise what we have – what we could have – on account of one biased Aes Sedai.”

There was a long pause. Natael hated long pauses in serious conversations. He wished Taim would just speak his mind without thinking about it too much. Maybe he should have brought wine. Taim was more candid when he was inebriated. The problem was that he usually forgot everything he'd said the next day – especially the nice things.

“I already knew that she was vile,” Taim said eventually. Natael breathed out in relief. “She’s an Aes Sedai, and a bloody Red at that.”

“Yes, well, even by Red Ajah standards, she’s awful.” He chuckled. “Even by Chosen standards, she’s awful. None of them feel that way toward people like us. In fact, some of them are like us.” Rahvin and Graendal lusted for men and women alike. Mesaana enjoyed the company of women exclusively, as did Moghedien. And Elan…well, he didn’t lust for anyone nowadays, but he used to prefer men to women.

“I’m not sure I like that comparison,” Taim noted.

“All I’m saying is, we shouldn’t care what anyone thinks. And I shouldn’t have lied to you. It put too much credit to Toveine’s hateful beliefs.” He put a hand on Taim’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

Taim sighed. “That’s a start.” Then he added: “Just get under the covers. I’m too tired to be mad at you. I need to sleep.”

Natael was happy to comply. He snuffed out the saidin-woven light, lifted the covers, lay down behind Taim and held him close. Before a minute had gone by, Taim’s breathing had slowed and he started snoring lightly, as he always did. Natael wasn’t tired – or rather he was, but his mind was too encumbered to shut down.

The discussion they were supposed to have regarding their future together had been curt short, in light of recent events, but Taim would want to have a serious talk the next day, certainly. He said he was too tired to be angry, but what would happen when he awakened fully rested? Would his anger be renewed, perhaps stronger than before? Would Natael have to apologise again? He would if he had to. He would do anything to give this – whatever it was – a chance to work out. Toveine’s behaviour had made him realise just how much he was willing to do for Taim. He would have killed her, had it come to that. He still might. Now that he was stuck with her indefinitely, he might indeed.

Why did Demandred insist that she remain bonded to Natael? Why did it matter? Was it merely a casual form of torture, designed for both Toveine and himself?

And how long had Demandred been in the room, before he revealed himself? Did he spy on their meetings every evening? Did he spy on…other things? Surely he had more important matters to attend to but, regardless, they would have to be even more cautious from now on.

The door opened. Natael looked up, frowning, but it was too dark to see anything. Who dared…?! Then he chided himself. A servant, most likely, here to clean the hearth or pick up Taim’s dirty laundry. They should have knocked, at least, regardless of the hour, but Natael let it go. It didn’t matter. They had not interrupted anything important.

“Wake up,” someone murmured.

Not a servant after all; Natael recognised Atal’s voice. He let go of Taim and shifted in the bed. “What are you doing here?”

“I have a message from the Master.”

Now that he was not one of the Chosen anymore, Natael realised just how ridiculous that sounded. “What now?” Demandred had already given them orders. What could he possibly want at this time of night?

“The Master just received confirmation that the Myrddraal will be here in a few days. You must be prepared to begin the Turning process as soon as they arrive. The Master will be here for a demonstration. The bonded Aes Sedai will be the first to be transcended.”

Transcended? Did the lad even know what Turning was? Even if he didn’t, he should be clued in by the presence of the Myrddraal. “A demonstration?” Natael repeated feebly. He knew exactly what Atal meant, but he had not expected this to happen so soon. Demandred was ahead of schedule. Perhaps on purpose.

“The Master wishes to witness the transformation of a few witches,” Atal clarified unnecessarily. “After they’ve been Turned, they will assist us in the process of Turning the lowlier men.”

“Um…very well.” What else could he possibly say? No, thank you? At the very least, it would make Atal go away. Him being here in Taim’s room was extremely awkward.

Atal made no sign of leaving. “I can’t believe you lured M’Hael into your bed.” Technically, it was Taim’s bed, but Natael had done the luring, alright. “The madness must have taken hold of his senses. I wonder how he’ll react, when you inevitably push him away and break his heart.”

“I’m not going to-”

“Does he know what a selfish bastard you are? Does he understand that you’ll leave him as soon as you sniff out a better opportunity?”

“I won’t-”

“You may tell yourself that you won’t. We lie best when we lie to ourselves, don’t we? But when things really go tits-up, you’ll be out of here before anyone can say ‘coward’.”

Natael figured out the meaning of “tits-up” from context, though he’d never heard that colourful idiom before. “If I wanted to leave, I would have done so already,” he growled.

He couldn’t see Atal, but he could almost hear him sneer. “We’ll see. I’ve already placed my bets… Nighty-night, lover.”

He exited the room without a sound, leaving Natael to consider the best way to murder him. And the consequences of such an act. How cross would Demandred be? What punishment was Natael willing to suffer for the pleasure of wringing the neck of that weaselly-

“I do know that you’re a selfish bastard,” Taim said in a sleepy voice. “I know what I’m getting myself into.”

Natael turned his head. He hadn’t realised that he was awake. “Did you hear everything he said?”

“Mm-mm. Talk about it in the morning. Sleep now.” Natael closed his eyes. There was silence for a moment, but silence meant that Taim was still awake. “Move closer, I’m cold.”

Once again, Natael was happy to oblige. This time, he fell asleep before Taim began to snore.

“Well, it makes sense,” Logain said the next evening. “Demandred couldn’t have said that in front of Toveine. She would have panicked.”

Natael wished that the meeting was over, though it had only just started. He really wanted to talk to Taim alone. There had not been an opportunity that day, and their morning had been rudely interrupted by a recruit gone mad. It was barely dawn when Natael had stumbled out of bed to fetch a vial of asping rot poison. Taim and Logain had dealt with everything else: coordinating efforts to put out fires, Healing the few injured, comforting the madman’s loved ones – a wife and three young daughters. Thankfully, Logain was good at that sort of things, because it was not Taim’s cup of tea.

“Couldn’t he? He had no problem showing up in the middle of our meeting and revealing my identity.”

“Perhaps Demandred believed that she knew already,” Taim said with feigned casualness. He pretended to examine his nails.

Yeah, he was still angry about Natael’s lie, apparently. “Mmph.”

“Whatever his reasons,” Logain said, without a care for the sudden tension in the room, “the moment we’ve been dreading is upon us, sooner than anticipated. We’re pressed for time. We need to devise a plan tonight.”

Natael scanned the room reflexively before speaking. They’d checked it for intruders, it was fully illuminated and there were Power-woven wards in place, but one could never be too careful. “We have to warn al’Thor,” he said. “It’s our only chance. We could attempt to ambush Demandred, the day of the…demonstration, but it’s risky. Too risky, if you ask me. And even if we succeeded, we’d have Moridin to deal with, afterwards. If we somehow manage to kill Demandred, the Great Lord shall be very cross.”

“And we’d reveal ourselves as enemies of the Shadow,” Logain added. “And Taim and I would be acting against our oaths. It might kill us.”

“We’re likely to die either way,” Natael said fatalistically.

Taim didn’t look quite as concerned as Natael felt. “Now does seem like a good time to involve al’Thor. But we must remain discreet about it. We’ll have to take a gamble whatever we do, so let me suggest this: Logain will leave the Tower, and-”

Logain stared at him. “I beg your pardon?”

Natael was surprised, too, but mainly because Taim had called him Logain. He’d never done that before.

“Let me finish,” Taim commanded. “You leave the Tower with half of the Asha’man and all of the Aes Sedai. The men will have to bond two instead of one, but that’s a necessary burden.”

“I don’t see where you’re going with this,” Logain said. “It makes no sense. Demandred is bound to-”

Taim gestured for him to be silent. “We’ll fake a rivalry between us. Between you and I,” he clarified. “Thanks to his own experience, Demandred will not question it. Why, anyone would expect it. We’re both immensely powerful, former False Dragons, now rival Dreadlords…and prideful. It irks you that you’re not our equal, but the men have taken a liking to you and see you as a leader. Your arrival has disrupted our ranks and divided the loyalty of the men.”

Was he building on his story, or merely listing facts? Natael wasn’t sure. Some of the men did seem to consider Logain the third – and unofficial – leader of the Black Tower. Because he’d been Healed after being gentled, many recruits sort of…worshipped him, for no good reason – if they should worship anyone, it ought to be the woman responsible for the Healing. Or did they admire him because he’d escaped the Aes Sedai? Either way, despite their devotion for Logain, the men still respected M’Hael. Their loyalty wasn’t divided. It went to both of them.

“A plausible lie,” Logain said. “But you saw right through ours, last night; what makes you think Demandred will be so ready to believe this? Especially given how convenient it is that the Aes Sedai will be safely out of reach right after he ordered us to Turn them.”

“But that’s the beauty of it: you left precisely because of that,” Taim said with the hint of a smug smile. “We argued about it after we relayed Atal’s message and you decided to leave with the witches… Not to save them, but because you want to keep them to yourself. For your own army. Perhaps you still believe yourself to be the true Dragon Reborn… Or you want to make your mark as an independent Dreadlord, in the hope of becoming one of the Forsaken. It’s up to you.”

“Good thinking, especially that last option. With that many women, you could form a rather large circle,” Natael mused. “It is something any powerful and ambitious Dreadlord would-”

He stopped talking when he realised that the other two were giving him their “huh?” faces. “You don’t know what a circle is, do you?”

“Nope,” Logain replied. Unlike Taim, he had no trouble displaying the extent of his ignorance.

“Perhaps we do, but under another name,” Taim said. Unlike Logain, he refused to acknowledge the fact that he didn’t know everything better than everyone else.

How adorable. “A link?” Natael supplied. Logain shook his head. Taim didn’t commit to a response, but his lips tightened, betraying his frustration. “Women can link together to form a circle. Thus linked, they can channel with more strength, though it has several limitations. Only one of the women can weave. Up to thirteen women can form a circle, but if you add male channelers to it, it can grow and become even stronger. With the right proportion of female and male channelers, one can form what we call a full circle.”

Logain’s eyes shone with interest. “How many-”

But Natael had anticipated the question. “Seventy-two. But it requires more women than men. Fifty wouldn’t be enough, I think. I don’t remember exactly.”

“Did it never occur to you to tell us that it was possible to do such a thing?” Taim demanded.

“I honestly thought you knew!” he protested. You ignoramuses, he wanted to add. He didn’t dare risk angering Taim further, though. “Since we didn’t have any female channelers at our disposal until recently, the subject never came up. Men alone cannot link.”

“That’s hardly fair,” Logain grumbled.

“I don’t make the rules.”

“That’s all well and good, but we’re digressing,” Taim said. “Let’s say that Logain wants the Aes Sedai all to himself so he can form his own private army and perhaps generate a full circle.” Logain and Natael nodded. “You will leave the Tower, find al’Thor, explain precisely what’s going on here and request his assistance to rid us of the Forsaken. Of Demandred, at least. The women will be safe, some of our men, too and, more importantly, so will you.” Natael frowned at that. “At least one of us ought to be alive for the Last Battle,” Taim clarified. “I doubt that Demandred will waste time and resources to find Logain when he has us at his disposal.”

“He might kill us as punishment for letting Logain go, though,” Natael pointed out.

“I doubt he will kill either of us, not now. He needs us. He cannot manage whatever land he’s infiltrated and the Black Tower at the same time.”

Wrong, Natael thought. He needs someone to be in charge here, but it doesn’t have to be us. It could be Atal. It could be any Dreadlord.

Logain leaned forward. “You’re being unrealistically optimistic, but be that as it may. How do you explain that I bonded the other half of the Aes Sedai?”

A very good question. Natael turned to Taim for the solution.

“You…staged a coup…” Taim said slowly. Oh, pity. He had not thought of everything. How disappointing. “You threatened to kill…our men’s loved ones if they didn’t surrender their Aes Sedai to your men.” He allowed himself a smug half-smile for coming up with that on the cuff.

“And when Demandred questions his multiple minions and realises that there was no coup?”

“We could stage a mock coup,” he retorted, the smile dying on his lips. Taim never welcomed criticism, even if it was constructive. “We’d warn everyone of what’s coming and plan it so that there are no casualties.”

“You’d have to warn the entire Tower, Taim,” Logain said. “Including Demandred’s people.”

“Not necessarily-”

“Yes, necessarily,” Natael said. “Otherwise any young recruit who witnesses the scene would play the hero and attempt to stop Logain and his men. There are bound to be casualties. And if we warn everyone, Demandred will know what we’re planning. And everyone will know about the Aes Sedai. It just won’t work.”

“Half of the Aes Sedai must remain here, if Demandred is to believe your story,” Logain said. “I will leave in the dead of night with twenty-five men and their bondmates. We’ll incapacitate the guards and anyone who questions us on the way out, if necessary. That will give our story some substance.”

“But what about the remaining Aes Sedai?” Taim insisted. “There has to be a way to protect them…”

How strange to hear Taim say that. He despised the witches but, not unlike al’Thor, he was overly protective of women in general. “They can swear the oath,” Natael said. “Like Logain did. Like you did. At least they won’t be Turned. I still think we can reverse it, eventually.” He eyed Logain when he said that, but the man ignored him.

“It’s the best we can do on such short notice,” Logain concurred. “But will they agree to it?”

Natael was tired of saying this, but it was still an accurate statement. “They don’t have a choice.” Well, technically, they did, but surely they were intelligent enough to understand which option was best for them. Which option would keep them alive until they could return to the Light.

“More importantly,” Taim said, “will Demandred agree to this?”

“Why wouldn’t he? A Dreadlord or Black Ajah sister is better than a mindless puppet.”

Taim regarded him, his eyes boring into his very soul and exposing the darkness within. “If you say so… I suppose you would know.”

“I’ve never Turned anyone!” It was true...but he'd done some equally horrifying things, so it was best not to pursue this argument.

Taim had the same thought. He turned to Logain. “That leaves one small issue.”

“What’s that?”

“Demandred might not believe our story for one very specific reason. Because of Atal, he knows how often we meet, and the lad has never seen us argue. No one has. We’ve had disagreements, of course, but never in public.”

“You want us to simulate arguments out in the streets?” Logain asked, a somewhat bewildered expression on his handsome face.

“And perhaps a physical fight,” Taim added. “Nothing wild, just…some pushing around, a few harmless punches…” His eyes were oddly bright when he spoke, and Natael could have sworn that he was resisting the urge to smile. “On the day before you leave.”

Incongruous as it sounded, it was actually a good idea. Not everyone would witness the scene, but the entire Black Tower would hear of it before sunset. And, as Taim had pointed out earlier, people expected them to be rivals. Frankly, he was astounded that they were civil around each other most of the time.

Logain scratched his beard. “Well...if you insist.” He grinned then, and Taim finally allowed himself to smirk.

Natael had no idea if they were friends or if their supposedly made-up rivalry was real and concealed under layers of decorum out of sheer necessity. Either way, he hoped they wouldn’t end up like Lews Therin and Demandred, because that was how their ugly rivalry had started. An unlikely friendship between two very different people, an amicable sense of competition…and then obsessive jealousy, full-blown hatred and a surprise volte-face which had prolonged the War of Power and thus affected all of mankind. Which still affected mankind to this day, in fact.

A few minutes later, they wrapped up the meeting and Logain bid them good night. Natael lingered in Taim’s study, nursing his wine, while Taim wrote today’s report. Would he want to talk now? Was he too tired? Would he refuse to talk altogether? Had he given up on Natael?

Whoa, easy there. Let's not jump to conclusions. "Um, Taim... When you're done with this, can we talk about-"

“It’s simple enough, Nate,” Taim said without looking up. Natael moved closer. “I’m willing to give this – to give us – a trial run. No public displays. No mention of it to anyone else. Ablar will be gone soon enough, anyway.” There was an unmistakable trace of satisfaction in his voice and Natael noticed that he was back to calling him Ablar. “You have to take this seriously. No more joking around. And quit ogling the recruits.”

“I don’t-”

Taim finally turned his head toward him. “You do. Atal, Narishma, even Ablar…it has to stop. It’s immature and vulgar, for one thing, and for another I don’t like it.”

Natael had a hard time keeping a straight face, though it was a sensible argument, he supposed. “Fine. No ogling.” No ogling men, anyway. Taim hadn’t said anything about women.

You idiot. He’s right to call you immature. You have to take this seriously, otherwise you’ll lose him.

“You will keep on calling me Taim or M’Hael,” he went on. “No ridiculous pet names.”

He shouldn’t have said that. It had never even occurred to Natael that he could use a pet name for Taim, but now that was all he could think about. “What about Mazrim?”

“No one calls me that,” Taim snapped. “And you won’t, either. Ever.”

“Fair enough.” It felt weird, anyway. He would have to think of something else – once the trial run was over, of course.

Taim took a deep breath and continued in a lower voice. “You may sleep with me…but you won’t be living here. Keep your clothes and frivolous belongings in your own room. And stay there during the day, if you have nowhere else to be. I need my space.”

Also fair. Natael liked to have his own space, too. “Can we sleep together every night?”

He was rewarded by a nice blush, as he’d expected. His answer was a barely-audible “yes”.

“Well, it’s dark outside, so this qualifies as the night, right?” he said with a grin.

“I have to finish my report,” Taim muttered. He returned to his paper.

“You’ve set several conditions for this trial run, but may I set a few of my own?”

Taim let his quill drop with a sigh. “I suppose.”

“From now on, I will write the daily reports, even though nobody reads them. You need more sleep than I do – why, I slept for three thousand years, didn’t I?”

Taim arched an eyebrow. “You’ll write a report tomorrow and I’ll decide if it’s adequate, before I agree to this.”

“I’m not a child, Taim. I know how to write a bloody report. I’ve written plenty, in my time.”

“Fine, fine. What else?”

“Instead of giving me the silent treatment for hours or days, you will let me know when I’ve done something wrong and we will discuss it right away. You want honesty, and so do I, but to be honest with each other, we need to communicate. Don’t let these things fester. That’s how one becomes Forsaken.”

Chosen, blimey. Then again, does it really matter? It’s just a word.

Taim welcomed that remark with a ghostly smile. “I’ll let you know everything you’re doing wrong, fear not.”

Mm. That didn’t bode well. But it was better to be criticised until you learned than to keep screwing up until everything blew up in your face without warning. “Please do. Anything you’d like to tell me now?” Might as well get this out of the way.

“I need to know that you will stand by me. Whatever happens.”

He’d expected Taim to list his minor failings and explain how to correct them, but this was on a different level. Taim needed reassurance. He needed to know that, trial run or not, Natael was committing to the relationship. Taim wanted what Elan had never given Natael. He did not realise it, but it was also a risk for Natael to invest himself in this relationship. He’d been hurt before, and he didn’t wish to repeat the experience.

Whatever happens. That was a difficult promise to make indeed. Whatever included of lot of potential disasters, given the current state of things.

He settled for an answer that, he knew, wouldn’t satisfy Taim. In fact, he regretted the words the moment they were out of his mouth. “I’ll try.”

It might have been better to say nothing at all.

He couldn’t quite read Taim’s face, for once. Was he disappointed? Resigned? “I said I knew what I was getting myself into,” he said softly, “but I may have spoken too soon.”

“I meant-”

Taim cut him off. “Doesn’t matter. I know I’ll regret it if I don’t give this relationship a try, and I’ll probably regret giving it a try, too, so, either way…” He shrugged and returned to his report, dipping the quill in the inkpot. “Either way, I foresee regret in my future. I’m tired of being lonely, though, so the trial run makes more sense.” He wrote down a few words. Incident in the early morning: Soldier gone mad. Subject had to be neutralised and disposed of. Casualties: one. “Go to bed. I’ll join you in a moment.”

Natael considered a firmer reply to Taim’s question, but it was too late. Taim wouldn’t buy it.

He had been granted a trial run, but he may have already doomed their relationship.

No. That’s the coward’s way out, to admit defeat without putting up a fight. You know what to say to make him understand, even if you don’t like it. Honesty is key, remember?

“Before you finish that report,” and before I lose my nerve, “I need to tell you something.” He was the one who had insisted on better communication, after all. Taim groaned in annoyance, but he abandoned the quill again. “I need to explain why I’m…reluctant to make promises or to fully commit to you.” He downed his wine, but that wouldn’t be enough, not for this story. He poured himself another cup, then poured one for Taim. He would need it, too. “I need to tell you about Elan.”

Chapter Text

I slept with the boss

Please don't hold it against me

This plan is madness

“So…Elan Morin Tedronai.”

Natael nodded. Taim had not touched his wine yet, but the night was young.

“Ishamael…and you. Together.”

Perhaps he ought to feel desperate that Taim was having trouble digesting the news or forming full sentences, but all he felt was relief. The cat was out of the bag, as they said in this Age. Whatever else Taim learned about his past, it couldn’t be any worse than this. After all, he already knew about all the maiming and the tragic…incident involving Natael's mother.

“Ishamael…who is now Moridin. The Nae’blis.”

Still processing. Natael waited in silence, taking an occasional sip from his cup. He had not needed as much wine as he’d feared…but the night was young.

“I’m sorry,” Taim murmured. “I’m glad that you told me, but it’s…”

“…a lot to take in. Yes, I know. You’re handling it better than I anticipated, to tell you the truth.” He hesitated for a moment, then threw caution to the wind and took Taim’s free hand in his. Taim didn’t recoil at his touch. “If I’d listened to my old self, I would have taken this confidence to the grave, but you deserve to know. When you really think about it, you know very little of my past – except for the obvious Shadow-related facts.” He didn’t even know about Natael’s many accomplishments and awards as a musician, but that was a conversation for another day. “It seems that no one bothered to write my biography after the Breaking, and I was too young to write one myself before everything went pear-shaped.” Lews Therin, Elan and Barid Bel, among others, had authored an autobiography, but they were at least a century older than he was. Accomplished channelers commonly wrote about themselves when they were middle-aged, not before.

“You’re right. The fact that you’re Asmodean, the infamous Forsaken, tends to eclipse everything else. I never gave a thought about what your personal life was like before the Collapse. You could have been married a dozen times and have a hundred children-”

Natael chuckled. “No, don’t worry, I don’t carry that much baggage. I never wanted children and, before I met Elan, I didn’t think I could ever commit to one person for too long. My record before him was four months.”

“Four months,” Taim mused. “That’s about how long we’ve known each other.”

“Right. And I’m still here!”

At last, Taim smiled.

“Anyway. All you had to judge me by until now was my fling with Atal, which, as we all know, was a horrible, horrible mistake. I just wanted you to better understand my…reluctance, earlier, when you asked-”

“No, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have pressured you. I suggested a trial run, and then immediately demanded a steadfast commitment. It was inappropriate. We should take things more slowly.”

“No, we shouldn’t. On the contrary.” Taim scowled. “We could be dead in a week.” If they were lucky. More likely, it would be in a few days, when Demandred returned with thirteen Myrddraal. “We don’t have time to take things slowly. I will do whatever I can to make you trust me, to deserve you, not to disappoint you. I want to be worthy of you. I may only have days to succeed, but I will do my best.” He had no idea where the words came from. He’d never made such a speech before, but he was taking his own advice: don’t think too much and say what’s on your mind. He may never have another chance to do so. “I will not leave you. This time I’m in for the long run…however long that may be. I will be with you until the bitter end.” It would be bitter but, together, perhaps they could make it bittersweet, at least.

Taim was struggling to form a semblance of response. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. Instead of speaking, he drank some wine. Some, then all of it. “I’ve been rehearsing this conversation in my head all day, repeating to myself what I needed you to know and what I wanted to hear before I could make a decision. I wasn’t convinced before…” He’d made that clear, what with that talk of impending regret. “But this…this is what I didn’t know I needed to hear. If that makes sense.”

Natael squeezed his hand. “As much sense as a madman can make.”

“Toveine, I know how you feel about us, but you have to get over it. Your life is at stake, and that of your sisters. We need to-”

“My sisters despise me. They believe I’m responsible for this…catastrophic development.”

Well, to be fair, she was. The leader of an army was always considered responsible when something went wrong. She’d led them to capture. She was following orders, true, but she had failed to reconnoitre the enemy base, which was really the basics of warfare. If she’d known just how many men were being trained at the Black Tower, and how capable they were, she would have turned around. Anyone in their right mind would have. She’d made the arrogant mistake of underestimating the enemy and stubbornly refusing to acknowledge the possibility that she may be wrong about it.

“Is there perhaps another among you whom they consider a leader?” Taim asked. Until then, he’d ignored Toveine. He was seated on the windowsill and looking down on a group of Soldiers practicing the old boulder-exploding trick under Logain’s watchful eyes. “Did you nominate a second-in-command?”

Toveine flinched when he spoke, but she didn’t glance at him. In fact, she was doing her best to pretend that neither of them were here. When she divulged information she was reluctant to pass along, she mumbled almost unintelligibly, perhaps in the hope that they wouldn’t understand her. “Gabrelle was supposed to take over if something happened to me.”

Ah, yes, Gabrelle, the unassuming Brown who was sleeping with the enemy. She was as much of a pariah as Toveine herself.

“That won’t do,” Taim said. “Is there a woman that they might look up to, perhaps someone with more experience or older than the rest?”

This time it wasn’t mere reluctance. She was fiddling with her Great Serpent ring. There was something she wasn’t telling them. “Were you really in charge, Toveine?” Natael demanded.

“Yes, I was!” She sounded defensive. “Elaida gave me command of our party.”

Ugh, he was going to have to ask exactly the right question. “Was anyone bothered by this? Someone who should be…above you?”

Her lips tightened, as if it would prevent the words from escaping her mouth. “I’m not the most powerful channeler among them.”

If Natael had not been standing next to her, he might not have heard her. Indeed, Taim left the windowsill to stand closer to them. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Is this how Aes Sedai determine their hierarchy? By their strength in the Power?” That was idiotic, but Natael had come to expect the worst of this Age. Toveine made no reply. “Answer me. And speak up, for pity’s sake.”

“Yes,” she said. “Yes, that is how.” She glared at the floor as if it were its fault that she’d been forced to reveal this secret.

Natael and Taim exchanged a look. It was so arbitrary… Of course, the two of them were strongest among their recruits, but that was irrelevant; al’Thor had not designated them because of that.

“Then it’s fair to assume that the most powerful sister in your group resented Elaida’s decision to put you in charge of the expedition from the beginning,” Taim said.

Toveine nodded. “Oh, come on, just give us her name!” Natael exhorted her. “Time is not on our side.”

“Lemai is stronger than I am…”

Lemai Ambani, who was bonded to Hardlin, if Natael’s memory served. Another Red. No wonder she resented Toveine being in charge.

“There’s another one, isn’t there?” Taim asked softly. Natael gave him a quizzical look. He wasn’t bonded to the woman, but he could read her better than Natael could.

Toveine sighed. “Desandre. She is considered slightly superior to Lemai, but only because she completed her training earlier. Their strength in the Power is roughly equivalent.”

Desandre Alraed…a Yellow, Natael thought. She was bonded to Einar.

“There’s something else she’s not telling us,” Taim murmured. He circled around the Aes Sedai, hands behind his back. “Are they planning something? A coup?”

Toveine shook her head, but that wasn’t enough. “Answer with words,” Natael ordered her.

“There will be no coup anytime soon,” she said. “It would be futile.” Natael didn’t see how they could even try – they weren’t allowed to channel unless their bondmate gave them permission, and even if they could, the men would be forewarned by the bond.

Toveine finally gave in under their stares. “But Gabrelle encouraged everyone to stay united and to let Desandre and Lemai take charge. They instructed the sisters to be civil to their bondmates, until they were eventually led to believe that the Aes Sedai were subdued and could be granted some modicum of freedom.” She sniffed. “Gabrelle took that recommendation a bit too far, if you ask me.”

“Nope, no one asked you,” Natael said.

Taim ignored that last part. “Right, so they’re scheming to attempt something in the future, after they’ve lulled their bondmates into trusting them, but we’d figured that out already, thanks to Gabrelle,” Taim noted. “I mean, Ablar is attractive, but she moved into his bed too fast. She isn’t fooling anyone, though Ablar appreciates her efforts, no doubt about it.”

“Well then. We need to talk to Desandre and Lemai,” Natael said. Toveine had no influence at all on her sisters. She was completely useless to them, in truth, whether she served the Light or the Shadow. Demandred had to know that. So why had he insisted on keeping her bonded to Natael? More and more, he thought it was a form of torture, of punishment.

“What is going to happen to me?” Toveine questioned them.

Taim shrugged. He didn’t care one way or another; he’d told Natael last night. If not for Demandred’s orders, she would probably be dead by now. “I’ll go gather the real leaders of the Aes Sedai. Join me in my study in half an hour?”

Natael nodded. “I’ll be there, my love.”

Silence fell in the room. Taim, who had been heading for the door, turned to gawk at him, his cheeks reddening.

Um…what did I just say? BLOOD AND ASHES, WHAT DID I JUST SAY?

Taim seemed to be wondering the same thing. His eyebrows were trying to climb into his hair.

Even in their most intimate moments, Natael had never called him that. It had come out of nowhere, just like his short-but-intense speech the previous evening. He must be going mad. It was not that he didn’t mean it, but the timing was…unfortunate, what with Toveine being there.

He could feel her emotions through the bond, but he chose not to acknowledge them. Let her choke on her revulsion.

The silence grew oppressive. Should he say something? But what? Sorry? He was only sorry that Toveine had witnessed the scene. In other circumstances, this lapse may have been considered romantic, or at the very least adorably awkward.

After another few seconds, which felt like several hours, Taim cleared his throat. “Er, yes, good. Half an hour. I’m going now,” he announced unnecessarily. He practically ran for the door.

Toveine’s eyes followed Taim on his way out, then she turned to Natael again. Whatever she thought of what had happened, it had been replaced by a throbbing urgency that Natael could sense within the bond. “You cannot dispose of me,” she stammered. “Dem… The other Forsaken said so. And you have to obey him, do you not? For some reason, he is above you, just like Lemai is above me.”

She still believed that Natael was one of the Forsaken. Then again, they had not refuted that belief. “In a few days, your fate will be decided.”

“What happens in a few days?”

“Demandred will return.” He didn’t tell her why. First, they had to make plans with Logain and the Aes Sedai. Then they’d decide if Toveine ought to be included…or if she would become an inevitable sacrifice in their ploy to save the others.

“Toveine has explained to us how Aes Sedai work out their hierarchy. Apparently, the two of you are the most powerful of your party and the weaker channelers listen to you. Is that correct?”

Taim was seated at his desk and facing Desandre and Lemai. Since this was Taim’s study and all the chairs were occupied, Natael had the windowsill and Logain was leaning against the wall behind the desk, arms crossed over his chest. Desandre and Lemai’s bondmates were waiting outside the room.

“It is correct, Master Taim,” Desandre confirmed, her face expressionless. She had Logain’s Ghealdanin accent, Natael noted. He wondered what she thought of the man – a False Dragon, a reborn channeler, Gabrelle’s bondmate and bedmate. Toveine loathed Taim and didn’t try to conceal it, but Desandre had barely spared Logain a glance.

What did the White Tower Aes Sedai make of Logain? Had they heard that he’d been Healed? At least a few of them must have known him, while he was their captive in Tar Valon. They knew he’d been properly gentled. They may even have participated in the gentling.

It wasn’t relevant to the present matter, but Natael was curious. Perhaps he’d enquire another time.

“When we captured you, we assured you that we would do our best to keep you comfortable, and we swore that no harm would come to you,” Taim went on.

Desandre nodded. “And you have been true to your word, thus far.” Lemai had yet to utter a single sound or make the tiniest gesture. She sat so still that she could have been a statue. Did she even blink?

“Well, it’s about to change.”

Finally, a sign of life: Lemai arched an eyebrow. She didn’t say anything, though. That was Desandre’s job. “I assume that you intend to elaborate.” Even following Taim’s ominous statement, her face betrayed no emotion. Natael wondered if Einar felt something through the bond.

“We genuinely mean you no harm,” Taim explained. “We took you captive and bonded you because we were following orders.” That first sentence was a bald-faced lie. Had it been his decision, Taim would have annihilated their party and shown little remorse afterwards, knowing that they had similar intentions regarding the Black Tower.

“The Dragon Reborn ordered you to bond us?” Desandre asked. “That is, provided that you take your orders from him…”

There might be no need for a long-winded explanation, Natael realised. She seemed to have guessed that al’Thor had little influence over the Black Tower. Well, it was hardly a secret.

“That particular directive came from the Forsaken Demandred,” Taim said.

Blood and ashes, they were good Aes Sedai. Lemai briefly touched her Great Serpent ring, but Desandre’s face was a mask. Elaida should have put these two in charge from the start.

“Are we to deduce that the Black Tower is under the control of the Shadow?” the Yellow said.

Taim didn’t hesitate. “The Shadow certainly thinks it is.”

“A bold statement,” Desandre noted. Natael silently agreed. “Are you not a Dreadlord?”

“Technically, yes,” Taim conceded, “Asha'man Ablar and I are Dreadlords.”

Desandre politely indicated Natael. “What about him?”

“Ghraem is not a Dreadlord,” Taim said. He didn’t expound on the matter. “We decided to become Dreadlords of our own free will because it was preferable to the alternative,” he continued.

“Death?”

“Turning.”

Ah, that did provoke some reaction, which gave them a semblance of humanity. Desandre’s brown eyes widened in horror and Lemai once again touched her ring, muttering under her breath, eyes closed.

“Although that is essentially the same thing,” Taim said. “Anyway, I’m afraid that you will soon be faced with the same choice…which is not a real choice, as I’m sure you understand.”

Desandre remained silent. Lemai’s eyes were still closed, her head slightly bowed, as if she were praying.

“Some of you will have to become Black Ajah in order to survive,” Taim said. “There is no other way.”

“Some of us?” Desandre repeated. She didn’t sound so calm now, and she’d paled visibly.

“The rest will be leaving with me,” Logain announced. “Half of you will be spared the Oath Rod, but the ones who stay here must willingly turn to the Shadow…to avoid being Turned to the Shadow.”

Aw, he was using their infallible argument! Perhaps he finally saw the sense in it.

“Why can’t we all leave with you?”

Logain succinctly explained the situation, and why it was important that Demandred believed he’d left the Tower for all the wrong reasons. Trusting Lemai and Desandre to be unaffiliated to the Shadow in any way was a risk, but they had no choice. “Believe me, picking out the men who will follow me has been a quandary. At least you won’t have to make that choice.”

The Aes Sedai looked at each other. Eventually, Lemai nodded and Desandre returned her attention to Logain. Did they communicate via telepathy? Women sometimes seemed to be able to do that. “Are we part of the-”

“We thought it best to separate you,” Logain explained, “so that each group of women will have a leader. Lemai, you will be leaving with me. Desandre, you’ll be in charge of the soon-to-be Black Ajah sisters.”

Silence followed that statement.

“I choose death,” Desandre whispered after a moment. Her eyes shone with intensity. "Death on my own terms."

Natael chuckled uneasily. “Now, now, don’t be so dramatic. The good news is that the oath you will swear to Demandred is reversible. As soon as we can obtain a Binding Rod, you will be released-”

“And when will that be, Ghraem?”

“Well, we don’t know yet, but with you on our side, it may be easier than we thought. There’s one at the White Tower, is there not?” No one replied, so he forged ahead. “You could borrow it somehow, and then-”

“Elaida will not allow us to return to the Tower,” Desandre said harshly. “Not after we’ve been captured. We’re tainted now.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Taim barked. “The taint is not contagious, burn you!”

“I meant that no one will trust us, you fool, not after we’ve spent so much time here, and especially if they find out that we've been bonded. Elaida will have us stilled and executed for our failure, if we ever set foot on Tower ground again.”

That was a good point. By all accounts, Elaida was not entirely sane herself. “Regardless, there are other Binding Rods out there...”

“And while you search for one, likely in vain, what will happen?” Desandre insisted.

Natael frowned. “What do you mean?”

“We know of this process you name Turning, Ghraem. We know that you require women to Turn men, and vice versa.”

“’Require’ is a strong word,” he muttered. "It can be accomplished with any thirteen channelers."

“But it renders the process easier, does it not?” He nodded reluctantly. “And is it not logical and rational to suspect that you will make use of us to that end? To assume that Demandred will ultimately demand that you Turn every unwilling Black Tower recruit to the Shadow before the Last Battle?”

What was she, a bloody White? “That’s the idea. But we won’t allow it!”

“How will you prevent it?” she countered. “Some men will refuse to take the oath, no matter what you say. What will you do with them? Send them away, like Logain? Will this trick work more than once, do you think?”

It wouldn’t. They’d be lucky if Demandred bought it this one time.

“I choose death,” Desandre repeated. “I’m a Yellow, Ghraem. It is my Light-given mission in this life to Heal people, not to poison their souls.”

“Why don’t you fight him?” Lemai looked up at all three men in turn.

Well, well. Look who was talking now.

“Him…Demandred?” Logain asked.

Lemai nodded. “You have fifty loyal Asha’man at your disposal,” she said, “and fifty of us. We may not be loyal to you by choice, and I disapprove of your methods, whatever your true intentions, but, ultimately, we do serve the Light, all of us. Against those odds, even one of the Forsaken doesn’t stand a chance, I should think.”

“Yes, we’ve considered that possibility,” Taim said, “but Demandred is only one of them, and he answers to his own leader, the Nae’blis, who is none else but Ishamael.” That brought on its own set of minuscule but very human-like reactions.

“We could kill Demandred,” Natael said, “but we would incur the wrath of the Dark One himself. He’d send every remaining Forsaken against us, and our punishment wouldn’t be plain old death. It would be much worse than that. Semirhage is still alive, according to our latest reports.”

“And,” Logain added, “apparently the Dark One can bring back dead people now. Demandred’s death would be but a temporary respite.”

Well, they could balefire him…but balefire was dangerous. Even the Chosen were reluctant to use it.

Lemai had more arguments, though. “You have hundreds of channelers here. You have fifty Aes Sedai who can link. The Dragon Reborn himself is supposedly on your side. We can withstand anything, if we’re united. Besides, why would the Shadow waste pawns to destroy us, when the Last Battle is coming? Surely, when this...Nae'blis realises that the entire Black Tower has rebelled against the Shadow, he'll admit defeat and move on.”

“She does have a point,” Logain remarked. “All of our Asha’man are already aware of the situation. Once the Aes Sedai are in the know, we could team up and get rid of Demandred once and for all. And we’ll do Moridin in if he shows up.”

“Sure, and why not take the fight directly to Shayol Ghul, while you’re at it? Feel like taking on the Great Lord with your bare fists?” Natael said with a smirk. Had Logain gone mad? That was not the plan!

“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” Desandre asked quietly. “You’re a Forsaken.”

Natael blinked at the unexpected question. “What? No, I’m… Why would you think that?”

“You’re the only person I’ve ever encountered who calls him the Great Lord,” Desandre pointed out. “We servants of the Light prefer the term ‘Dark One’.”

Darkness within! He’d slipped again. “Alright, fine. I used to be one of them.”

“Asmodean,” Desandre said. It wasn’t a question. Well, by process of elimination, it was easy to determine his identity.

“Yes, but now I’m really just Ghraem. I haven’t even-” Taken the oath, he was about to say. But it was best to keep that information to himself.

“This is neither here nor there,” Taim interrupted. “We should discuss the pros and cons of Lemai’s suggestion.”

Natael stared at him in shock. He was willing to consider this? “You can’t be serious!”

Taim slowly massaged his temples. “Aren’t you tired of pretending? Demandred is always three steps ahead of us, but I doubt he’ll see this coming. The idea has merit, mainly thanks to the element of surprise from which we can benefit.”

“He always comes alone,” Logain said. “I wouldn’t dare underestimate him, even with such overwhelming odds in our favour, but you have to admit that it’s…feasible.”

“Of course it is feasible,” Natael snapped. “That’s not the issue! The consequences-”

“We’ll deal with the consequences,” Taim said quietly. “Why, we’ve dealt with the consequences of every stupid decision we’ve made so far, haven’t we? If nothing else, we know how to improvise.”

“This is pure madness,” Natael murmured.

Logain chuckled. “Well, it was bound to happen sooner or later, mm? Come on, Nate, don’t be such a killjoy. Let us all be mad together.”

Taim smiled as his eyes sought Natael’s. “Yes, my love. Let’s.”

How could he say no to that?

Chapter Text

Black Tower: zero

Demandred: I stopped counting

But wait, it gets worse

Natael was looking out the window at Logain’s departing silhouette. The guards at the gate didn’t try to stop him. There were only twenty people in his party; after a long discussion and hours of planning with Desandre and Lemai, they’d decided that it would be safer for most of the Asha’man and Aes Sedai to remain here at the Black Tower, considering what they intended to do. Logain had not wanted to leave at all, but someone had to talk to al’Thor.

“He’s gone,” he told Taim, who lingered in bed.

“Good. Everything is going according to plan.”

So far, yes. But this was only the beginning. Convincing the Black Tower that Logain and Taim were at odds was the easy part.

“Tomorrow I’ll announce that Logain went on a recruiting trip, and everyone will know that I’m lying to cover up the fact that he left because we fought.”

Some pushing around, a few harmless punches… That was how Taim had described it when he’d first mentioned it. He’d ended up trying to choke Logain with his bare hands, and in return Logain had broken Taim’s nose. And the things they’d yelled at each other… There was some pent-up rivalry between them, alright.

But Logain had not left angry. He was satisfied that everyone believed the fight had been an actual one, and not in the least staged – which, in the end, was the case. Still, when they’d met in Taim’s study a few hours later, both men had laughed and complimented the other’s injuries, though they were Healed by then. “Ugh, men,” Natael had muttered, since there was no woman in the vicinity to utter the timeless remark and to roll her eyes with long-suffering fondness.

“Come back to bed,” Taim murmured. “This may very well be our last night together and I don’t want to waste a single minute.”

“Demandred didn’t tell us exactly when he would return,” Natael noted, though he obediently joined Taim under the covers. “A few days, Atal said.”

“I forbid you to mention either name when we’re in bed,” Taim said. “It’s not conducive to a good night’s rest. Or to…other things.”

They spent some time doing those other things, but Taim was exhausted and fell asleep soon afterward. Natael watched him sleep for a while. Could it really be their last night together? He didn’t want to think that. They’d had so little time…

Just as he was following Taim into slumber, there was a loud knock on the door. Natael was up in a second and, after hastily tying his robe, he opened the door while Taim rubbed the sleep out of his eyes.

It was Atal. He leered unpleasantly. “The Master wants you to be ready for the demonstration in half an hour. Don’t be late.”

He disappeared in a gateway before Natael could respond.

“It’s the middle of the bloody night!” Taim complained. “Why does Demandred always show up so early or so late?”

“I suspect it’s because he has settled in a land where the sun sets at a different time than it does here,” Natael said absent-mindedly.

“Seanchan?” Taim mused.

“Perhaps – far to the East, or far to the West. Either way, we’re lucky that Logain didn’t delay his departure even by an hour. Come on, we better get dressed. We want to look our best for…” Our own funeral? Demandred’s? “…whatever’s to come.”

They assembled in Natael’s ballroom. Yes, there was a ballroom in his palace – a good thing, too, because it was the only indoors room that could hold so many people: forty Aes Sedai and their bondmates, plus Toveine, Taim and Natael. They all awaited Demandred’s arrival with various signs of agitation. They all knew the plan, except Atal, the only agent of the Shadow they knew of. His bondmate, Gylli, a short sister of the Yellow Ajah with luminous green eyes, was supposed to keep out of the circles, so as not to alert Atal.

There were going to be three circles. Taim, Toveine and Natael would link, with Taim in control. Desandre would form a circle of thirteen women and some of their bondmates and she would lead it. Adrielle Sedai of the Grey Ajah, Mezar’s bondmate, would lead the last circle, which would include the rest of the women, all weaker channelers, with a few men thrown in. The rest of the Asha’man would provide personal wards for the leaders of the circles, in priority, and deal with the Myrddraal while the circles primarily targeted Demandred.

Natael didn’t think it could go wrong. Demandred always came alone, and the thirteen Myrddraal didn’t stand a chance. Besides, the Chosen couldn’t possibly expect this. The Aes Sedai had been warned just now, at the last minute, as planned, so that even if there were Black Ajah sisters among them, they could not relay the information in time. They had operated the same way with the Asha’man, just in case. Only Desandre and Lemai could have betrayed them, but Natael had a good feeling about them.

He hoped he was right. Their lives literally depended on it.

They wouldn’t give Demandred a chance to find his bearings, either. The moment he came out of the gateway, they would balefire him.

Natael didn’t like to toy with the deadly weave, but Taim had eventually convinced him. If they didn’t use it, Demandred would return, and he’d be angrier than ever, especially if he ended with a body that was not to his liking. Natael briefly imagined Barid’s horror if he was somehow returned to this world inside Lews Therin’s old body… Of course, that body had become part of a mountain, but the Great Lord must have an assortment of look-alikes precisely in case Demandred died a non-permanent death. The Great Lord could be a real jerk and he had a perverted sense of humour.

Yes, Natael was fairly confident in their chances. They had thought of everything, had they not?

It was too late, anyway. A gateway had appeared.

Myrddraal came pouring out of it. The channelers waited – they had to hit Demandred first.

And here he was, looking quite majestic in a white shirt, black trousers and a deep blue velvet coat. Great clothes to die in, Natael thought just as everyone seized the Source and linked. They hadn’t had a chance to practice, but they came together smoothly. Taim used balefire before Demandred could do or say anything.

The blinding beam of destructive light went through Demandred. The wall behind him vanished, revealing part of the main hall. The Chosen rolled his eyes then glanced down at the spot where the weave should have hit and disintegrated him.

Everyone was staring at him in shock, but Taim recovered quickly, just like Desandre. They liberally attacked with weaves of all elements. Demandred remained unscathed.

It wasn’t a ward, Natael thought. A ward would have repelled their weaves. It was almost as if…

As if Demandred wasn’t there at all.

“It’s a projection,” he murmured. One of the most complex weaves in existence, and difficult to maintain. Indeed, Demandred flickered for an instant.

“You actually did it,” the projection said when the channelers ceased fire. “You tried to kill me. Your stupidity never ceases to amaze me.” The voice broke in places and Demandred flickered again.

He’s always three steps ahead.

They were going to die, Natael realised. This night would be their last, just as Taim had predicted. He fumbled blindly for Taim’s hand and squeezed tightly when he found it. Taim nearly crushed his fingers in return.

Please, kill me first. That was a horribly selfish wish, but he couldn’t bear to see Taim die before him, even if he outlived him only for a second.

“Unlink now, and I will consider giving you a second chance,” the projection said. “Or is it your third already? I’ve lost count.”

That had to be a lie. He couldn’t let them live after such a rebellious move.

Desandre shouted wordlessly and threw her hands toward the Myrddraal. Three of them exploded, but the rest remained immobile.

Demandred shrugged. “Eh, I have spares. Atal?”

Natael turned to look for the rat, but it was too late. He was behind Desandre, knife in hand. He cut her throat wide open. The Aes Sedai who was closest to her screamed as blood spattered the right side of her face, and a few others stepped aside, their eyes wild. It was rational to assume that the link they were forming was gone.

Demandred nodded approvingly. “Adrielle?”

“As you command, Great Master,” the beautiful Grey whispered. She gestured at her sisters from the other circle and they stared at her in horror. Natael couldn’t tell what she’d done, but presumed that they’d been shielded. The rest of Adrielle’s circle moved as far from her as they could when they realised that there was a member of the Black Ajah in their midst, but they couldn’t leave the circle while Adrielle had the lead.

“Release saidin, Taim,” the projection commanded. “Release it and your men will live. You will live. Adrielle’s circle is more powerful than yours. She’ll kill everyone in this room, if I command it.”

Taim turned to Natael. He looked older than he did an hour ago, his eyes bright with rage, but he knew they were defeated. They had made an impossible mess of things. Demandred had once again foiled their plans, and he wasn’t even here.

Should they die in a blaze of glory, in an attempt to kill at least Adrielle or Atal? Or should they surrender, in the hope that their men and the Aes Sedai of more colourful Ajahs would be spared?

Taim surrendered the lead of the link to him and let go of saidin. Atal shielded him right away. It was Natael’s decision now. He looked at the men, at the Aes Sedai. He noticed that no one was taking any initiative; they awaited his orders. They did respect him.

The fools.

“Alright, you win,” he told the projection. He released the Source and signalled for the non-linked men to do the same.

Atal shielded him, too and, as soon as the Asha’man let go of saidin, more people came out of the gateway. Men, bearing tattoos and not a lot of clothes, snarling and jeering wordlessly. There were about twenty of them…all channelers. They shielded the Asha’man. The ballroom was now quite crowded.

Natael briefly tried to figure out who these newcomers were and where they hailed from, but he honestly had no idea. Seanchan slaves, mayhap? They looked like primitives, even more uncouth than the Aiel. But the Seanchan killed men who could channel, didn’t they? They only enslaved female channelers.

Anyway. It didn’t matter at this point. Natael had to salvage something from this wreckage. “Do what you will with me, Barid. It was my idea. Don’t punish the others for it.”

The projection winked out of existence, and a few seconds later the real Demandred stepped out of the gateway. “Predictable as you are, I assume that your initial plan was to make them all swear the oath, to avoid having to Turn them.”

Natael nodded. There was no point denying it.

“You promised everyone that you’d reverse the oath as soon as you could obtain a Binding Rod, so that the sheep would get along with your ludicrous plan.”

Natael said nothing. Demandred was monologuing; their fate would be sealed when he was done pointing out their many failings and crushing their hopes and dreams.

“And I take it that Logain has left to seek exterior assistance, since you’re so clearly unfit to deal with me on your own, even when you outnumber me eighty to one.”

Blood and ashes! They had not even had a chance to lie to him about Logain. “We had no way of knowing that Adrielle was Black Ajah!” Desandre had vouched for all of her sisters – she’d actually recommended Adrielle as the lead of the last circle, because she had more experience with linking.

“Is Logain looking for Lews Therin?” Demandred went on, ignoring the last remark. Nobody replied, but he took their silence as confirmation. “Well, I wish him luck with that.” Demandred was not the sarcastic type, so it was difficult to tell if he was serious or not. Perhaps he simply didn’t care. He didn’t consider any of them a threat.

“Now. We’ve wasted enough time on social niceties, I think. Taim, pick out ten of your men. They will swear the oath tonight. Adrielle, select twelve of your sisters for the same purpose. You will Turn the rest later.” He narrowed his eyes as he surveyed Natael. “I strongly suggest that you do not send them away. There will be guards outside from now on. Any woman leaving the Tower will be balefired on sight.” Adrielle was already marching twelve Aes Sedai in front of the Chosen. Taim had not even started. Natael released his hand and gestured for him to do the same.

Just when he registered the fact that the gentlemanly thing to do to spare his lover would be to select the men himself, he realised that they didn’t need to do it. Nearly half of their Asha’man took a step forward, volunteering for the ordeal.

Oh, the fools. The loyal fools.

“Furthermore,” Demandred went on, paying no attention to the selection process, “you will no longer Travel out of the Black Tower. You won’t be able to open gateways.”

Natael scowled darkly. How was that even possible? But Demandred didn’t expand on the matter. He glanced at the men aligned in front of him. “Too many. Atal, pick ten of them.” It was done at random, as far as Natael could tell. “Good. Now form a line and listen carefully. You will all swear the same oath, and I do not intend to repeat it for each and every one of you.”

It was done in record time. The first Aes Sedai in line, a pretty White named Meline, tried to make a run for it. It was her bondmate who caught her. He whispered soothing words until she stopped sobbing. Demandred looked on impatiently. “The next one who does that will be locked up with my men for the rest of the night, and their bondmate with the Myrddraal.” That threat hurried the process along.

Natael was looking forward to burying himself under the covers, holding Taim close and praying that this had merely been a terrible nightmare.

But the nightmare was far from over.

“Now,” Demandred intoned. “The demonstration.”

Natael shook his head. “There’s no need for a demonstration,” he said. “I’m sure that everyone will happily take the oath. Great Master,” he added for good measure. “Really, there’s no need to Turn anyone at all. It would be a waste of-”

Demandred’s lips quirked into a smirk. It was disturbingly reminiscent of Taim’s smile, except that Taim’s was devoid of cruelty. “Well, you do need to be punished in some fashion,” he said. “Moreover, I expect you to begin the Turning of all your recruits as soon as tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. They had to come up with an excuse not to Turn everyone by tomorrow.

It was impossible.

And Demandred was sure to check up on their progress – Atal reported to him daily, if not hourly.

Perhaps everyone could study the poor sod who was about to be Turned and pretend to have had their souls wiped out? Natael could give lessons in theatrics-

“Taim,” Demandred said. “You will serve as an example. Natael is a capable administrator, I’m sure he can manage the Black Tower on his own.”

The ground seemed to crumble under Natael’s feet. “No, no, no, you can’t do that.” He thought he was shouting, but the words came out in a low murmur, barely audible. At his side, Taim had gone pale, but he held himself upright. Defiant to the end.

But it couldn’t end like this! Natael stomped forward. “This is a waste of resources, Barid. He’s nearly as powerful as al’Thor. With Tarmon Gai’don upon us, you can’t just-”

“We’re going to Turn him, Natael, not kill him. He will serve us in the Last Battle just as well. And it will suppress his murderous attitude toward me, which I consider a bonus.”

“He won’t be of any use to you,” Natael growled. “Because he’ll be dead. I won’t let him live like that. And I won’t live without him. I’ll burn this whole place to the ground and turn myself into a bloody mountain, if you take him from me. You’ll lose us both. You’ll lose the Black Tower. Might as well kill us now…or Turn someone else.” That was, once again, horribly selfish, not to mention a dangerous gamble. But Demandred was a gambler. Could he afford to squander two of the most powerful male channelers alive and their hundreds of recruits? How would the Dark One react to this?

“I could take over for them, Great Master,” Atal offered. He sounded petulant…or jealous. Perhaps because Natael had never threatened to turn into a mountain for him. “We don’t need them. If we dispose of them now, I promise you that, by next week, every single man and woman of the Black Tower will worship the Great Lord of the Dark, as I do. All of them, including the servants and the children.”

The taint must have melted his brains. Who would Turn an innocent child, for pity’s sake?

Demandred didn’t seem to hear anything the weasel was saying. His gaze was still on Natael, though he glanced at Taim once or twice. His face was as expressionless as usual, but there was a strange, indescribable look in his eyes.

“Besides,” Natael pointed out as an afterthought, “you only have ten Myrddraal now.”

“I told you I have spares. There are sixteen more waiting on the other side of the gateway,” Demandred replied absent-mindedly. “I knew you’d try to take out some of them when you realised you couldn’t kill me.”

Usually, when he said things like that, he sounded smug, but he appeared preoccupied by Natael’s speech. “I could shield you and tie it,” he said in a low voice, in the Old Tongue. His eyes were still on Natael, but unfocused. “No, that wouldn’t work. You may need to defend yourself.” Was he talking to himself now? “We still need you for the Last Battle. You will serve, in the end, one way or another, whether you like it or not.” There was a pause as, Natael supposed, the voices in Demandred’s head debated his options. Was he mad? Natael had been led to believe that the taint couldn’t affect the Chosen, but what if that, too, was a lie? “I can’t leave Blondie in charge, he’s not competent enough and everyone hates him.”

Blondie? That had to be Atal. Natael would have laughed at the nickname, in other circumstances.

“And Taim is extremely competent, no doubt about that. Turn Asmodean instead of him? No, that’s forbidden.” Demandred sighed. “Curse Elan and his whimsies.”

Natael wondered if the Chosen remembered that he could understand the Old Tongue and, for that matter, so could Taim, at least in part. Natael had been teaching him.

“You do realise that this will have to end someday, yes?” Demandred said in the Common Tongue. “Your ridiculous attempts to get the best of me, your will to defy the Shadow. You cannot win. You will be subdued eventually. I will Turn you both myself, when the time comes, if there’s no other option. If you refuse to accept the boon that has been offered you. A second chance for you, Asmodean, and an opportunity to surpass almost everyone else, Taim. Immortality, untainted saidin. Why are you being so stubborn about this? What does the Light have to give you, but a chance to sacrifice yourself in vain?”

Once again, under different circumstances, Natael would have agreed. But the Light did have something to offer that the Shadow could never match: Taim.

“I volunteer,” someone said suddenly.

Everyone turned to look at Toveine, including Demandred. “Volunteer for what?”

“Turn me, Forsaken. I volunteer for it.”

There was a collective gasp among the crowd. Taim was shaking his head. “Don’t be silly, Toveine. Why would you do that? Do you have any idea-”

Demandred raised a hand. “Let the woman speak.”

Let the woman sacrifice herself, burn you! Natael wanted to shout to Taim. She’s trying to save you! For literally no reason that Natael could fathom but, to be honest, he didn’t care. He didn’t like Toveine. Nobody did. It was a win-win solution – Toveine was asking for it, and they’d be rid of her repulsive personality, once she became a mindless monster.

Toveine took a step forward. “I have failed my sisters. I led them into a vicious trap. It’s my fault that they will all end up serving the Shadow.” Her voice trembled slightly, but her back was straight, her expression cold and haughty. “I accept this as punishment for my failure. Let me be the first, so that the others will...come to the right decision.”

Natael was all for it, but he had to admit that Toveine was exaggerating. She deserved a good strapping, perhaps, but Turning? No one deserved this. Surely her sisters were going to talk her out of it.

“You are still bonded to Natael, yes?” Demandred asked. Toveine nodded, her face twisting into a grimace at the reminder. “Mm. Yes, that is… That will be an adequate alternative, I think. After all, that was the plan, initially.”

Natael glanced at the rest of the Aes Sedai. None of them said a word, not even to each other. They were all staring at the ground.

Taim, Logain and Natael had considered sacrificing Toveine, sure, but…well, that was before they decided to attempt-murder Demandred. The idea had been quickly discarded – Desandre had been shocked to hear it, in fact. But Desandre was dead.

Were they really going to let it happen? Taim looked as conflicted as Natael felt. They both had good reason to despise Toveine, but-

Demandred had moved closer to the gateway and was saying something in a foreign language that even Natael didn’t recognise. It reminded him vaguely of the Old Tongue, but the words were warped and sounded wrong. A few seconds later, three Myrddraal emerged from the gateway.

There were thirteen now.

“Atal, fetch a chair.” The lad ran to obey. “The men who have sworn the oath will stand on this side,” Demandred went on, indicating the place where they should stand. “Adrielle, you will not participate, but you will demonstrate for your peers, so that the women can copy your weaving later.”

The Asha’man advanced reluctantly. They kept glancing at Taim and Natael for clues, for any indication that they should do something, anything, to prevent this. Taim shook his head sadly. There was no avoiding this. Only a miracle would save Toveine now, and Natael didn’t believe in miracles.

Atal returned quickly and the Myrddraal gathered on the side opposing the Asha’man. Some of the recruits were shivering.

Demandred cleared his throat. “Natael, Taim – we need thirteen channelers in total.”

Oh. Right. Natael was usually better at mathematics but, after Taim had narrowly avoided being Turned, he’d stopped worrying and had not considered the fact that he’d have to participate. He tasted bile at the back of his throat. He’d never done this before. He’d never expected to have to – this was a task reserved for Darkfriends, not Chosen. This time, it was Taim who sought out his hand.

“Hurry up, we’ve wasted quite enough time already,” Demandred urged them.

They stood at the end of the line. Natael was next to a sniffling Einar, whose eyes were red-rimmed. He had not gone on a revengeful killing spree following Desandre’s brutal murder, but he’d felt it, alright. Natael wondered what would happen to himself, when Toveine was Turned.

Demandred gestured to his tattooed men, who removed the shields of the newly sworn in Asha’man, then Atal began the Turning process. The Asha’man, Taim and Natael imitated him.

The good news was that it didn’t last long – with so many male channelers against her, Toveine didn’t stand a chance.

The bad news was that it was the second-most horrifying thing Natael had ever witnessed, and he had been around during the War of Power. The first place would always be attributed to Trollocs devouring live humans, but this was a close contender.

The Asha’man were either white or grey in the face. One of them was crying. Taim looked like he was about to be sick.

As for Toveine…why, she’d never looked better. She was smiling, though it was distorted into an inhuman rictus. She’d screamed for about five seconds, but it had been cut short. She’d had convulsions. And then it was done, in under a minute. She’d sat up straight in the chair, her empty eyes staring at nothing. The bond she shared with Natael was not profoundly altered, but it had gone…flat. As if Toveine were in a coma, or sound asleep. There was no emotion, no pain, nothing strong enough for him to feel. She might as well be dead.

“Good work,” Demandred said. “Get some sleep now. We’ll start again tomorrow. Atal, Adrielle, keep the cattle in line until then. Make use of the other Friends of the Dark if need be. Taim, Natael…I trust you won’t do anything even more idiotic than your pathetic attempt on my life. You would live to regret it – well, one of you would. The other would suffer the same fate as your mother, Natael.”

Natael numbly turned around, but the Chosen had already disappeared through the gateway. His exotic channelers tied the shields they maintained on the Asha'man then followed their master.

Natael had almost forgotten about the other Aes Sedai, mainly because they’d remained entirely silent during the whole awful affair. He’d expected tears, remorse, fear. But their faces were blank, as if they were the ones who’d been Turned. “May we return to our rooms, Ghraem?” one of them asked politely. He couldn’t remember her name. He could barely remember his own.

He tried to reply, but no sound would come.

Atal sniggered. He sounded more and more like Coteren, the brainless bully they’d ditched after Dumai’s Wells. “You do realise that he’s not really in charge here, yes? You will obey me, from now on, cattle.”

Everyone ignored him. Even Adrielle rolled her eyes.

“Yes, you may return to your rooms,” Taim told the Aes Sedai. “We’ll…convene tomorrow.”

To try to get ahead of this thing, Natael wondered? How could they? Everyone would have to take the oath. That was the best thing they could hope for, but even that seemed unlikely, at this point. Turning was frighteningly fast, and Demandred wouldn’t want to waste his precious time swearing everyone in. But perhaps the Chosen would be in a more sunny disposition the next day. They could try to convince him…

“Everyone, get to bed,” Taim said in a louder voice. “We will make arrangements in the morning.”

Atal started to protest, but Adrielle grabbed his arm and whispered a few harsh words in his ear. They herded the Aes Sedai out of the ballroom, and the Asha’man followed.

“Maybe Desandre had the right of it,” Taim murmured when they were back in his chambers. He was seated on the edge of the bed.

“She’s certainly better off wherever she is,” Natael concurred. He was pacing the room. He felt restless.

“We should consider…” He trailed off, but he looked into Natael's eyes. He didn't need to finish his sentence.

Mass murder, followed by suicide. It had crossed Natael’s mind, in the short time they’d worked on Toveine. If the Light couldn’t have the Asha’man, then nobody could. If the Shadow truly claimed the minds of the hundreds of recruits they’d assembled here, not to mention the Aes Sedai… It would be a devastating blow to the armies of the Light, when the time came.

Their options were growing scarce.

“We could disperse the men,” Natael suggested. “Send them away in groups of ten or twenty and scatter them across the lands. They should be safe, that way.” Although without gateways, they wouldn’t go very far…

“That’s something to think about,” Taim said, though without much heart. “We should get some rest, Nate.”

“Not sure I can sleep…”

“Then let’s not sleep. But come to bed anyway.”

Natael’s shirt had just come off when something inside him snapped. He gasped loudly against Taim’s mouth, and Taim misinterpreted it at first. Natael gently pushed him away, breathing hard. “There’s something wrong,” he said.

“Are you hurt?” Taim asked, a concerned look in his eyes.

Natael shook his head. “It’s Toveine. The bond…it’s gone.”

Taim didn’t have time to enquire further; a scream pierced the night. They gathered their clothes in a hurry, but the door banged open before they could investigate. “M’Hael,” Asha’man Gorman panted, “Ghraem.” He gulped down some air. “The Aes Sedai…”

“Did they kill Toveine?” Natael demanded. She had to be dead. Only he could remove the bond.

Gorman hesitated. “Er…yes, m’lord, but, um…also…“

“What?” Taim snapped. “Speak, man!”

“They’re all dead. The Aes Sedai, that is.”

Taim and Natael exchanged a confused look. Had the man gone mad? It was impossible!

“And, um, a few of the men.”

What in the Pit of Doom? “What happened?” he barked at the poor Asha’man. Don’t shoot the messenger, he reminded himself.

“Well, um, it appears that…the ladies ganged up to attack Adrielle Sedai. Um, because she was Black Ajah, I guess…” He trailed off.

“Yes?” Taim prompted him.

Gorman cleared his throat. “They were shielded, so they strangled her with...with her own shawl. Mezar tried to defend her…um, for some reason.” Well, he was bonded to her. Black Ajah or not, there was a connection between them. “So they killed him, too.” Gorman nodded.

And Adrielle’s death had released at least some of the Aes Sedai from their shield, certainly. “Alright, that explains the death of three people, out of forty or fifty. What about the rest?”

“They must have killed Gylli next, because Atal came running. Maybe they used her as bait. Anyway, the Aes Sedai who could channel blasted Atal apart.” He gagged. “There were bits of him everywhere on the floor and walls.”

This, at least, was very satisfying. Natael only regretted that he hadn’t been there.

“And then?” Taim asked wearily. He was so tense, the tendons in his neck stood out.

“A handful of Dedicated and Soldiers arrived next, I’m told. Likely Darkfriends.” He spat at Natael’s feet, but Natael didn’t hold it against him. “The ladies made short work of them.”

Blood and ashes, they would have to pry all the details out of him, wouldn’t they? “And then?” Natael prompted him.

“One of the Aes Sedai must have stolen your supplies of, um, mercy poison, m’lord. After the initial bloodbath, they seem to have passed peacefully enough. There wasn’t enough for all of them, though, so, um…they found other ways.”

Goodness. They were a determined lot, he had to give them that. “Who screamed? Was it one of them?”

“Oh, no, m’lord, that was the maid who found them. And there was another maid in the corridor when it all happened, which is how I know how things went down. She’s, um, a bit, um…”

“Shell-shocked?” Natael supplied.

“Traumatised?” Taim offered.

“Hysterical,” Gorman said. “That’s the word I was looking for, m’lords.”

Understandably so.

Well. Aes Sedai couldn’t harm others unless their lives were at risk…but apparently they could harm themselves whenever they felt like it. Or did they feel that their lives were at risk? That was entirely possible, given the circumstances. He had ordered Toveine not to harm herself, but the other Asha’man had had no reason to give the same command to their bondmates. Who would have thought it was necessary?

Gorman cleared his throat. “Um…also…”

Oh, come on! It couldn’t get any worse than this, surely. “What?”

“Einar and the other men who had to take the oath followed the Aes Sedai’s example. And, um…well, with their bondmates dead, some of the rest… I s’pose they were…distraught, and…”

“You said a few of the men!” Natael exclaimed. “Blimey, how many are dead?”

“Three Dedicated, two Soldiers and, um…” He gulped down noisily. “Er…twenty-two Asha’man, m’lord.”

Twenty-seven men. They’d lost twenty-seven men in one night. In one hour.

That was when he noticed that Taim was no longer standing at his side. He’d taken a seat in one of the chairs. He looked absolutely wrecked by the report. “Er, Gorman, thanks for…” Having the guts to deliver the news? The man must have been terrified out of his wits. “Go down to the kitchens and tell Annie I said you could have a drink. Have a bottle of your choice. We’ll take care of the rest. Go on.” He shooed the Asha’man.

He joined Taim and sat on the armrest. “Are you alright?” Stupid question. He looked terrible, and no one in their right mind would be alright after hearing this. “Anything I can do? Do you want some wine? A massage? Both?”

Taim shook his head. “We’re doomed. I mean, we were already doomed, but this is…”

The last straw, Natael thought. Except it wasn’t. It was the opposite. “Don’t you see?” he murmured. “The Aes Sedai saved us. I doubt that it was their primary intention, but they did.”

Taim glared at him as if he’d gone mad. “Forty women died tonight, Nate, and more than half of our remaining Asha'man.”

“Yes, but if we have no female channelers, we can’t Turn the men who are still alive,” he explained. He doubted that the women had sacrificed themselves for their sakes, but perhaps they had at least thought of that. After all, they were servants of the Light. “And they rid us of several Darkfriends. Including bloody Atal. Best of all, Demandred can’t blame us – Adrielle and Atal were supposed to keep them alive until tomorrow, not us.”

Taim’s face froze for a moment. “Well, I suppose so, but… The human cost…”

“…is lesser this way,” Natael finished for him. He knew how it sounded, and it may be callous, but it was the truth. The sad, sad truth. Appalling as it was, it was the best thing that could have happened. “It was them or the entire Tower. Demandred will be in a rage, but what can he do? Until the rebel Aes Sedai or the White Tower send emissaries, or an army, we’re in the clear. There’ll be no Turning for a while. Hopefully until Logain makes contact with al’Thor and returns with help.” He leaned his head in the crook of Taim’s neck. “There’s hope for us yet, my love.”

"Really?" Taim whispered. "Because I'm beginning to think that Turning me won't be necessary. My soul is already as black as it can get."

"It isn't your fault. The Aes Sedai made their decision." Just like Toveine knew they would. Had she foreseen this? Was that why she'd sacrificed herself? "Besides, I won't let Demandred Turn you. I wasn't bluffing, earlier, you know."

"I know. I'd do the same for you."

They sat in silence for a few minutes, but they had already indulged too much. They had quite a lot of bodies to bury before morning, and an elaborate cover-up story to invent.

Chapter Text

Palace to ashes

Sorry about the fun songs

You old curmudgeon

“No, let me do it,” Taim insisted. “The maids have seen enough blood for one night. Talk to them, make sure they don’t tell anyone else about this.”

“Darling, you cannot clean this entire floor by yourself.” There was blood everywhere, and so many bodies… It was nauseating.

“I have to.”

Natael sighed. He didn’t have to; he felt that it was his duty. That was not the same thing. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just…burn the place down?”

Taim looked at him with a scowl. “The whole palace? Are you insane?”

“Well…it’s a good cover story. Atal revealed himself to be a Darkfriend, there was a confrontation… Something caught on fire and they were too busy fighting to put it out. It would explain how we lost all these Asha’man, too…” The Aes Sedai were not really a problem, since few people knew of their presence and, if they did, they didn’t know what they were. They’d lost many men, though. Their families would demand an explanation.

“That’s…” He slowly massaged his temples. “Yes, I understand your reasoning. I suppose…” He trailed off, his gaze unfocused.

Natael squeezed his shoulder to bring him back to reality, no matter how awful it was at the moment. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll talk to the maids, then I’ll set the fire after all the living people have been safely evacuated. You should get some sleep.”

“I should at least report this to al’Thor. That way, Logain will know, as soon as he finds the Dragon.”

“It’s not important right now,” Natael admonished. “You have to sleep. You look like death.”

Taim smirked. “Thanks, darling.”

“Hey, you asked for complete honesty in our relationship. Telling you when you look terrible is just me doing my part. Now shoo. Take a sleeping draught if you must. I’ll join you when I’m done cleaning up.”

Taim mumbled under his breath, but he did leave. Natael was almost certain that he wouldn’t go to bed, but at least he wouldn’t have to deal with this nightmare.

“Gorman!” he shouted. The Asha’man must have been nearby, because he was at Natael’s side two seconds later. “Where can I find the maid who witnessed most of the carnage?”

“She’s in the kitchen, m’lord. I, um, shared some of the liquor you allowed me to take earlier. She’s not drunk, though. She can hold her liquor, that one.” He sounded impressed.

Natael started walking toward the kitchen and signalled for Gorman to follow. “What’s her name? Does she have any family?”

“Her name’s Tamzin. She, um, doesn’t have any family here at the Black Tower, but she’s…that is, she was Asha’man Ingozi’s, um, sweetheart. He, um, was one of the men who swore the oath...”

And therefore one of those who had perished. Twenty-two Asha’man, dead. That left only eighteen of them; the rest had gone with Logain. A handful of Dedicated would be ready for a promotion in a few weeks, but if they couldn’t open gateways, how were they supposed to recruit more men? Had Demandred even thought of that? Men still arrived from Caemlyn regularly, but it was a trickle compared to the numbers they had at the beginning.

“Gorman, how many people know what happened?”

“Just a handful, m’lord, all servants who work at night. We did our best to, um, contain the situation.”

Natael nodded. “Good. Let me speak with Tamzin in private, then have them assemble in my study with the Asha’man.”

Gorman saluted and left. He was more efficient than Natael had initially assumed. He took a deep breath before pushing the kitchen door open. There were two maids; he presumed that the one who was partially covered in blood was Tamzin. She sat on a stool, trembling hands holding a cup of clear liquid – the liquor Gorman had shared with her, certainly. The other woman was sitting on the floor, her back against the wall, hugging her knees. Not for the first time, Natael wished that Logain were here.

“I need to speak with Tamzin alone, please,” he said. Neither woman reacted. Oh, bother. He squatted before the other maid, whose name he hadn’t thought to ask. “Hello?” No response. “What’s your name?” Nope, nothing.

“Her name’s Ionadh, Lord Ghraem,” Tamzin said. “She’s very shy, even…” She trailed off and took a sip from her cup. “I mean, she’s always shy.”

“Ionadh, I need you to go to my study and wait there for a bit, yes? Can you do that, please?”

Apparently not. She was completely unresponsive.

“Maybe…maybe we should go to your study, Lord Ghraem? If she won’t move.”

Uh. Outsmarted by a maid. He must be tired. “Let’s do that.”

After three flights of stairs, Natael was already missing gateways. He tried to conceal the fact that he was utterly out of breath by holding the door open for Tamzin. Once inside, she stood at a respectable distance from the desk, as if she were trying to disappear into the background. Well, that was probably what she usually did. Force of habit and all that.

When he felt confident that he could speak without wheezing, Natael offered her a seat, which seemed to surprise her. She sat down gingerly, at the very edge of the seat, her back straight. She was pretty, Natael noted. Not that it was in any way relevant. “I won’t ask for a full account of the night’s events, since you’ve already talked to Asha’man Gorman, but I need a favour from you, Tamzin.”

“I won’t blab, my lord. I never told anyone about the Aes Sedai. Please, you don’t need to kill me. Or Ionadh. She won’t snitch. She barely talks to anyone.”

Natael gaped at her. It had never even occurred to him… Perhaps it should have, but he had not considered murdering the maids who’d witnessed the scene. “I…wasn’t going to. But how did you know they were Aes Sedai?”

“The faces, Lord Ghraem. When I was little, my parents took me to the White Tower to be Healed, because I had a bad fever. I recognised them for what they were right away.”

“Good. I mean…it’s good that you kept it to yourself.”

“My lord, if I may ask a favour…”

“Go on.”

“Asha’man Ingozi wanted his remains to be returned to his native Arafel, if anything ever happened to him. He wanted to be buried next to his brother. Will that be…possible?”

Natael pretended to mull it over, but it was out of the question. Without a gateway, it was impossible. “I’m afraid not. We can’t…that is, we have decided to suspend Travelling for the time being.”

“Could I perhaps take a leave of absence to do it myself? On foot? I could borrow a cart…”

She really cared about the man. But Demandred had warned them: any woman who was caught leaving the Tower would be killed on sight. They wouldn’t bother to figure out if she was an Aes Sedai or not. “I can’t let you do that. It’s too dangerous. Besides…we’re going to burn everything down. The building, the bodies…all of it.”

She bowed her head in disappointment. “I understand.”

“Perhaps…you could hold on to his pins, or another keepsake, and travel to Arafel when…when it’s safer. Bury something next to his brother’s grave and mark the place.”

“Yes, I think he would have liked that.”

“Go retrieve it now. I will talk to the Asha’man, then we’ll have to evacuate. Would you make sure that Ionadh is not in the kitchen when we set the palace on fire?”

“I will. Thank you, Lord Ghraem.” She stood and curtsied, then left the room without turning her back on him. Very proper.

Gorman poked his head inside the room after she departed. “M’lord? I’ve gathered everyone as you asked. We were waiting outside until you were done…”

“Bring them in.”

Eighteen Asha’man. Two more maids and a valet. Natael explained what they were going to do and once again asked that no one speak of what they’d seen. The servants would be relocated in Taim’s palace. The Asha’man would have plenty of room there, too, now that their number had been so brutally reduced. He sent the servants away, then had to talk to the Asha’man alone.

“I’m sorry for what happened,” he declared. “We tried our best to… Taim and I did what we could to prevent this. We really did. I’m sorry it wasn’t enough.”

“Will we have to swear the oath, Ghraem?” Asha’man Nuorekas enquired. He was nineteen, barely a man, but he was a capable channeler who could keep a cool head in stressful situations. “Or will the Forsaken demand that you…Turn us?”

Natael hesitated. He had no idea what Demandred would say or do, how he would react to this unexpected development, but Turning, at least, was out of the question. Without the Aes Sedai, Turning men would be a real hassle, a waste of time.

“What happened tonight is dreadful, obviously, but the silver lining is that there will be no Turning for quite some time. Perhaps the Aes Sedai did what they did with that knowledge in mind, or perhaps not, but either way they have saved the rest of you. Never forget this. The witches’ sacrifice saved your lives.”

“We won’t forget, Ghraem. May they shelter in the palm of the Creator’s hand, and may the last embrace of the mother welcome them home,” Nuorekas murmured.

“Yes…indeed. Um, has anyone seen the Myrddraal?”

“The Aes Sedai wanted to destroy the Shadowspawn, m’lord,” Gorman said, “but they couldn’t find them. We assume that they left when they saw what was going on.”

Natael doubted that. Humans would have been afraid for their lives, but Myrddraal couldn’t feel fear. They instilled it in others, but never experienced it. “They must still be here. Concealed in the shadows, awaiting Demandred’s return.”

“Should we locate them and slay them, Ghraem?”

“No, leave them be. On their own, they’re useless for Turning. Demandred will want them back so they can be put to better use.” He stood. “Gather your things, Asha’man, and make sure there’s no one else in the building. We’ll set the fire in half an hour.”

They waited in Taim’s study.

The fact that they had to wait for so long was a good thing, in Natael’s opinion. It meant that, if Demandred still had Darkfriends at the Black Tower, they didn’t have a direct way to contact the Chosen. If he had heard about last night’s events, surely he would have showed up before nightfall.

“Is he going to kill us, this time?” Taim enquired. He didn’t seem worried or really interested in the answer; he was just making conversation. He had not slept at all, just like Natael had predicted, but he had pretended to be asleep when Natael had returned from the smoky remains of his palace, well past dawn. Burning the place down was the easy part; the fire had to be controlled and put out when enough of the building was destroyed by the flames. It had taken hours.

Natael had made an announcement to the people – most of the Black Tower population, really – who had assembled to witness the fire. He explained that Atal Mishraile had betrayed them, and that many brave Asha’man had given their lives to stop his evil plan to destroy the Black Tower. No one questioned his words. Demandred was right about Blondie: nobody liked him very much.

Natael had given everyone the day off, following this tragedy, so that the families of the fallen Asha’man could grieve in peace and decide what they would do next. Natael invited them to stay at the Black Tower, insisting that they were safer here than anywhere else in the world.

There would be a memorial ceremony the next morning, he had told them. Taim and he may not be alive to see this through, but Gorman and the rest of the Asha’man would, certainly.

“He might,” Natael replied in the same tone. He was exhausted. Unlike Taim, he wanted to sleep and had no doubt that he could, but there was simply no time. “In his rage, he might. If he can control his temper…probably not.”

He won’t kill me, anyway. Taim’s life was the one that was really at stake here, which bothered Natael more than anything else. But what could he do about it? He would duel Demandred to the death if it came to it, but he had no chance of winning.

All they could do was wait. They did so in silence, sitting side by side on the desk, Natael’s hand covering Taim’s.

The moon was high in the sky when the Chosen finally returned. Demandred used the door, for once, though he didn’t knock, of course. He didn’t kick it open, either. He stood tall in the doorframe, arms at his side. His fists weren’t clenched. His face was as impassive as usual. “Well. You did it, Joar. You actually did something I did not expect.”

In other circumstances, Natael would have gloated. Rarely had anyone gotten the drop on Demandred, arguably the greatest general the world had ever known. In this case, though, he had to convince Demandred that he was not responsible for this tragically convenient development. “It was their own decision, Barid. Believe me, we were as surprised as you are.”

“In fact, had they submitted the idea to us beforehand, I would have refused,” Taim added. “We took a gamble last night, attacking you, but this is a different matter entirely.”

They weren’t even lying. It was a good thing that the Aes Sedai were gone, but they would never have agreed to this madness, had they known what the women were planning. There was much distrust and little liking between them, but they were human beings. That was a lot of people to sacrifice in the vague hope that it would solve a single problem.

Demandred asked something that Natael had never expected to hear from him, no matter the addressee. “How are you feeling, Joar?”

Natael and Taim exchanged a confused look. “I’m…fine?” he said eventually. "Bit tired, though."

“Why do you ask?” Taim demanded, his voice heavy with suspicion.

“Were you not devastated by what happened to that woman you bonded? The Turning, then her sudden death?”

Natael felt a spark of anger. “By the blood falls! Is that why you commanded me to remain bonded to her? Why you wanted her to be Turned before the rest? In the hope that it would torment me?”

“Why else?”

Natael scoffed. “But why? What have I ever done to you? We’ve never worked together, and I don’t remember even talking to you. It can’t be because I betrayed the Shadow. You hated me before that. You’ve always despised me.”

“You know perfectly well why, you buffoon!” Demandred thundered. Oh, now he was in a rage.

Taim arched an eyebrow, but Natael was absolutely mystified. “What, did I maim someone you knew? Is it because of that one time I talked with Ilyena and made her laugh?”

Demandred rolled his eyes. “The songs, you idiot. The bloody songs.”

Natael stared blankly at the Chosen for a moment, then he understood. Unfortunately, his first reaction was to laugh. Demandred’s eyes flashed with fury.

“You hate him because of his music?” Taim said. “He’s really not that terrible.”

That cut the laughter short. “’Not that terrible’?” Natael repeated in a strangled voice, letting go of Taim’s hand. Demandred was all but forgotten. “Wow. Just…wow. What wonderful praise, my dear.” Not that terrible?! “You uncultured swine! I’m the greatest musician who has ever lived!”

“You’re average and you know it,” Demandred said. “Elan knew it, too. He just wanted to recruit you, and your ego had to be flattered.”

“But you can’t dislike someone so strongly simply because you find their music…average,” Taim said.

“That’s not what he’s talking about,” Natael said dryly. Did Taim even realise how insulting he was being? He was worse than Demandred! “He means the songs that I used to perform at Shayol Ghul. It’s their content that he disliked, not the performance itself.” He sighed. “It all started with Lanfear. She was always late to our meetings, you see. Hours late, sometimes. We had to pass the time. Some played sha’rah, others gambled at cards or dice. A few actually made conversation, but that was a rare occurrence. We couldn’t drink, because it was best to attend these meetings sober, and food spoils quickly, that close to the Bore. One day I came up with an idea for entertainment. I made up a song about Lanfear and her fashionably late arrivals. Sammael nearly choked on his own laughter. Even gloomy Moghedien sang along, in the end. It became our unofficial anthem, and I would perform it at every meeting. Soon, whenever someone was late or had simply not been summoned, I would write a few lines about them and sing. It became a tradition, of sorts. And…well, Demandred was usually punctual to a fault, but…”

“There was an ambush!” Demandred complained. “I wasn’t late on purpose, burn you!”

“I would never have dared,” Natael hastened to say, “but the others insisted! You were the only one who didn’t have a song.”

“I never asked for one!” Demandred growled.

“You people are insane,” Taim muttered. “Flaming mad.”

Demandred rounded on him. “You wouldn’t say that if he made a song about you. It was hurtful and humiliating. There was nothing amusing about it.”

“Because it was too close to the truth?” Natael wondered innocently.

The Chosen’s jaws were clenched. “I swear, the moment Elan has his back turned, I will kill you with my bare hands, Joar. But I’ll murder Taim first, so you can watch.”

Taim feigned to ignore that threat. “I was so sure you hated him because of…well, me. I mean, because we’re together." He was turning redder with every word. "Because he likes men.”

That took Demandred aback. “Why in the Pit of Doom would I even care about that? It’s a risky tactic, but that’s his problem, not mine.”

“Tactic?” Taim repeated in a puzzled tone.

Of course Demandred would believe that Natael was with Taim for tactical reasons. The man wouldn’t know affection or caring if it bit his hooked nose. “The people of this Age can be surprisingly judgemental about that sort of things, actually,” Natael noted.

“Well, not in-” The Chosen cut off abruptly. Taim and Natael stared at him. Had he been about to reveal the name of the nation or city where he had established himself? Could Demandred come so close to making such a gigantic blunder? He must be rattled. Regardless, that was another clue, which Natael stored carefully in his mind. A land where two men could be together without raising eyebrows. Interesting. Maybe they should move there, when they figured out where it was.

Demandred did his best to pretend that nothing had happened. “Enough about the past, enough about the dead Aes Sedai. You will stay the course. The plan is still to Turn as many men as you can before the Last Battle.”

Natael frowned. “You can’t be serious. We have no women, Barid. How are we supposed to-”

“You know as well as I do that channelers of the opposite gender are not a requirement, Joar. They facilitate Turning, but are not necessary to it.”

“Don’t do this, Barid. I’m sorry, alright? I apologise for the song and its irreverent lyrics. Come on, only half a dozen people even remember-”

“It’s ‘Great Master’, to you, worm!” the Chosen barked. “You will obey me. I expect to see mindless Dreadlords whenever I come to visit and, since Atal is gone, there will be no warning.”

Natael opened his mouth again, but Demandred forestalled him. “I will not bring the Binding Rod again. You will Turn every single one of your channelers before Tarmon Gai’don, and that is final. And don’t you dare murder your own recruits. Atal may be gone, but I still have eyes and ears at the Black Tower. Now get to work, you maggots!”

“What was the song about?”

Natael turned to Taim, scowling. “Really? That’s what you retained from this entire interaction?”

Taim shrugged. “Nah, there’s also the Turning, you being mad at me… But I’m curious. Was it about Lews Therin? I bet it was.”

“Obviously. I compared them in…various ways. I suggested that Demandred joined the Shadow because Lews spurned him and replaced him with another, more attractive bimbo. It wasn’t the fact that they were both men that made it funny,” he clarified when he caught the look on Taim’s face. “You heard Demandred. He doesn’t care about these things. It’s just because it was Lews Therin, and he hates Lews more than he hates me. Which, apparently, is still quite a lot. I never imagined… It was during one of our last meetings before the Bore was sealed that I made up the Demandred song, so it didn’t become the famous Lanfear ballad everyone knew by heart and loved, but it was…catchy. I didn’t even know he’d heard it, honestly. Everyone knew better than to say such things where Demandred could hear.”

“I’m sure these songs will make a brilliant return when we’ve defeated the Shadow,” Taim said. “But until then-”

“Only if they’re sung by someone who is more than not that terrible,” Natael noted. Did he sound bitter? Of course he did. Taim’s opinion was the only one that mattered, and Taim didn’t care for his music. It was the Elan debacle all over again.

“You have to know I didn’t mean that,” Taim protested. “Nate, I know nothing about music. I resent the words ‘uncultured swine’, but in this particular instance, it’s true, I am. You sound good to me. More than good. Come on, don’t be so grumpy. You know I love you…r music. Your music.” He cleared his throat. “You were right, we should focus on the matter of Turning.”

“Aw. I love you…r awkward attempt at changing the subject,” he said with a bright smile. It was nothing like the Elan debacle. If anything, it was the exact opposite. His heart wasn't shattered; it was fuller than ever. In fact, despite the circumstances, he felt almost...happy.

“This is a pretty serious issue, Nate,” Taim scolded him, though he was clearly holding back a smile. “What will happen if we use men to Turn other men? What’s the difference with what we did to Toveine?”

“I don’t know, exactly. I’ve never seen it done. The Chosen usually avoid it, because it takes time, and it drains the channelers. The ones who do the Turning and the ones being Turned,” he explained. “I’m guessing it will be awful. Are we really going to do it?”

“Do we have a choice?” Taim asked quietly. “Except…what Demandred forbade us to do. You know…killing everyone, including ourselves.”

“Maybe we should discuss the situation with the Asha’man. We’ve made all the important decisions on our own so far, and look where it led us… They may have suggestions. Hopefully good ones. But it'll have to wait until tomorrow. I need sleep, and so do you. Come to bed.”

Taim followed him to the bedroom without protest. They snuggled comfortably under the covers. Natael was already half-asleep, but Taim had one last request: "I don't think I can sleep until I've heard the song." Natael groaned. "Please?"

"It's in the Old Tongue. You speak it decently now, but I doubt you can understand the masterful wordplay and subtle innuendos..."

"Try me."

Natael made a show of being forced to sing against his will, but of course he didn't mind. He would stop performing when he was dead, not a moment sooner.

He ended up singing half of his Shayol Ghul repertoire before realising that Taim had fallen asleep.

Chapter Text

A new toy for me

I love arguing with you

Yay, we won this round

Natael read the report a second time, his eyes widening. “Why am I only seeing this now?” he demanded.

The young Dedicated, Ideges, wrung his hands, staring at the ground. “Respectfully, Ghraem, Asha’man Mishraile assured me that he would take it to you right away… That was some time ago, though. Before we found out that he’s…er, was a…” He nearly choked on the last word, which came out in a barely audible whisper: “Darkfriend.” He went on in a halting tone. “After the…incident at your palace, Lord Taim had us arrest Asha’man Mishraile’s…er, good friend, Dedicated Altmann. In case he was also a…”

“Darkfriend, yes, I’m aware of this.” They had hanged Altmann the day after the fire. He’d attacked the men who were supposed to bring him in for questioning, which was an admission of guilt if ever there was one.

“It took us a while to sort through his things,” the Dedicated apologised. “There was much correspondence, most of it indecipherable.”

“What do you mean?”

“’twas written in some sort of code, m’lord. This report, they merely intercepted it, which is why it’s not in their evil language.”

“I’ll take a look at the Shadow letters.” He doubted he would be able to crack the code, but it was worth a try. There could be priceless intelligence in these messages – instructions from Demandred, insights into his plans, and perhaps more clues regarding his whereabouts. “Was there anything else of note?” He dearly hoped not. This was bad enough.

The Dedicated hesitated. “…no, Ghraem.”

Natael sighed. “I know you’re lying. Do you want to spend the next two months testing new recruits?” It was considered the most tedious chore among the Dedicated.

“Well, there was a…portrait. Of you, m’lord. A fairly accurate one, but it was…defiled. The eyes were scratched out, they drew a silly moustache, and, er…”

“Yes?” Natael prompted him, though he wasn’t sure why. You’d think he had heard enough, wouldn’t you?

“It was pinned to the wall just above the chamber pot.” He cleared his throat, looking away. “There were stains…” he muttered.

“Classy,” Natael said dryly. “Thank you, Dedicated. You are dismissed. If you happen to see M’Hael, please let him know that I need to talk to him in the study.”

“I’m right here,” Taim called from the door. Ideges saluted them both and made a quiet exit. “What’s the problem this time?”

“Why do you assume it’s a problem?”

Taim raised an eyebrow as he settled into the chair across from Natael. “Is it not?”

“Of course it is, but you shouldn’t be so pessimistic all the time, darling, it’s bad for you. You’ll get wrinkles centuries before you’re due.”

Taim groaned in despair. “Just tell me.”

“It seems that my old colleague Aginor – you may remember him as Corlan Dashiva – and some of his friends of a certain shade attempted to murder our lord and future saviour.”

Taim’s face didn’t change. “The key word here is ‘attempted’, I think. They’re not the first to try, and they won’t be the last. Why is it so important?”

“Well, they’re Asha’man… They’re our responsibility.”

“One could argue that they’re al’Thor’s responsibility. The amnesty was his idea.”

“But we gave him the bad Asha’man on purpose… Something like this was going to happen sooner or later.”

“Except that nothing happened,” Taim countered. “Was al’Thor injured?”

“No, but…” Natael leaned forward on the desk. “Are you alright?” He was acting strangely. He’d spent the past few days wallowing in guilt over something that was entirely beyond his control; why was he suddenly intent on blaming al’Thor for this when he had to know that it was indeed partly their fault?

“If it was so bloody important, why didn’t he come in person to let us know?” Taim said, ignoring Natael’s last question. “We don’t even know where he is. How could we have prevented it? He tells us nothing. He never visits. And yet he expects us to ward off the Light knows how many Forsaken and protect everyone…”

Ah…the guilt had shifted to anger. Anger that Taim had apparently decided to direct at the farm boy… As if not enough people felt angry at the Dragon Reborn already.

Also, this was how most of the Forsaken had become Forsaken (no matter how much they preferred the term “Chosen”). Natael didn’t want Taim to follow that path. It would destroy him – destroy them both.

“Al’Thor is younger even than you, Taim, and he’s spent most his life herding sheep. He’s barely a man, and he has been burdened with the fate of the entire world. I know that you once coveted the title, but after being in charge of several hundred people for a few months, and failing them so many times, do you still wish you were the Dragon Reborn? Do you want that weight on your shoulders? Do you really believe that you would do a better job? You still haven’t fully processed what happened at Dumai’s Wells, let alone the whole Aes Sedai mess. Al’Thor has to process things like that weekly, if not daily.”

Taim was staring at him, more surprised than angry now. “You’re defending him? After everything? He could have-”

“We decided not to ask for his help at the beginning because we thought he couldn’t be trusted. Now we’ve sent Logain on his trail in the hope that he’s sane enough to forgive us and come to our aid, even if it’s too late for the people we’ve already lost. Some of them can be saved, Taim. We still don’t know if our latest strategy will work, if it will even buy us some time.”

“I highly doubt it,” Taim mumbled. “It’s the most ridiculous idea I’ve ever heard. A child would have come up with something better.”

“And yet you had no alternative suggestion,” Natael reminded him. “We voted, Taim. The Asha’man were unanimous. You cannot deny them the right to defend themselves, no matter how…unorthodox the method.” He waved the subject away. It had caused quite enough arguments. “You cannot blame al’Thor for what happened. You cannot blame yourself. The only person to blame is Demandred. The Shadow is the enemy, Taim. You must remember that. If they manage to divide us, they have already won. Besides, knowing al’Thor, he already blames himself for everything, even if he’s not aware it’s happened yet.”

“That makes no sense.”

“It would, to him.”

Taim was silent for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “What happened to the Asha’man who attacked him?”

“They escaped.”

“Does al’Thor expect us to hunt them down?”

“There were no instructions, merely a brief account of what happened.”

Taim rolled his eyes. “As usual. Well then, we’ll declare them deserters and traitors and await further information from al’Thor or from our eyes and ears.”

Come to think of it, it was odd that their spies – few and scattered as they may be – had not reported the incident.

“Without gateways,” Taim went on, “there isn’t much we can do anyway.”

“Good, you are both here,” someone else said.

Oh, bother. “Back so soon?” Natael said in a resigned tone, looking up as Demandred entered the room without an invitation.

Taim had tensed visibly. “It’s only been a week. We’ve only had time to Turn two-”

“Yes. I saw one of them outside.” Natael nearly exhaled with relief. Taim’s eyebrows rose, but he masked his surprise before Demandred could notice. “But it is not why I’m here today.”

Ugh, what now?

Demandred shooed Taim out of his seat and took it for himself. Taim didn’t complain; he leaned against the desk, arms crossed. Natael didn’t think he’d ever seen Demandred sitting in the presence of potentially hostile people, and unshielded channelers at that. Was he tired? There were shadows under his eyes, but those had been there since the War of Power. He notoriously slept only a few hours a night, when he slept at all. “We have a problem.”

That didn’t bode well. The use of “we” was especially ominous.

“Lews…” The Chosen pinched the bridge of his nose. “Al’Thor has gone mad.”

That was more than a problem. It was a bloody disaster. Natael didn’t dare look at Taim, for fear of seeing his own despair reflected in his lover’s eyes.

“What happened?” Taim enquired. He didn’t sound desperate, or even worried. Vaguely curious, perhaps.

“Nothing has happened yet,” Demandred replied. “But he plans to destroy the world.”

“That doesn’t sound like something the lad would do on purpose, let alone plan to do,” Natael noted.

Demandred shook his head wearily. He’d never looked more vulnerable than he did at this moment. Should they try… He chanced a glance at Taim, but he was entirely focused on the Chosen. “What does he intend to do, precisely?”

“To cleanse saidin,” Demandred replied in a murmur.

Natael gaped in shock, even more so when he realised that Taim was very nearly smiling. “Seems like a logical move. He wants an army of soldiers who aren’t liable to go mad at any moment. After all, he has no idea that the Black Tower belongs to the Shadow. I’m not sure what’s the problem… Untainted saidin would benefit us more than the Dragon.” Natael didn’t know why Taim bothered to pretend to be on the Shadow’s side when Demandred clearly knew better, but perhaps he did so out of habit. Or to set an example for the poor recruits who were condemned to pretend the exact same thing until the Last Battle.

Demandred looked at Taim as if he had gone mad. “That’s neither here nor there. There’s a difference between wishing for something impossible and actually trying to do it. The fool is going to kill us all in the attempt.”

“How so?” Natael asked. There was something that Demandred wasn’t telling them.

“The idiot plans to use the Choedan Kal.”

“Huh.” That was all that Natael could manage. Demandred was right; if the lad used the sa’angreal, they would likely all die.

“What’s the Choedan Kal?” Taim wanted to know.

“The most powerful sa’angreal ever created,” Demandred replied. “So powerful, in fact, that it has never been used. It’s too dangerous.”

“The Choedan Kal is the reason why I was in the Aiel Waste,” Natael added. “I was looking for the access key, and-”

“No one wants to hear of your dramatic failures, Nessosin,” Demandred said impatiently. “We need to stop this madness.”

Natael gave him an affronted look. “And how do you propose we do that?”

“Moridin wants us to be there when Lews…when al’Thor makes his attempt. We must foil him at all costs.”

“We’re supposed to try and stop him while he’s channeling through the bloody thing?!” Natael exclaimed.

“He’ll be focused on the task at hand,” Demandred said. “He’ll be distracted and vulnerable.”

Taim sneered. “Yes, and I’m sure he’ll be all alone out there… No guards or anything to keep intruders out of the area.”

Demandred warned him not to be sarcastic in his presence with a glare. “A handful of these so-called Aes Sedai, the few remaining Asha’man that he has at his disposal… The rest will be non-channelers. We can easily remove these pawns from the game.”

This was the real madness, in Natael’s estimation: to underestimate the primitives of this Age. They may be ignorant and uncouth, but they were more resourceful and resilient than the Chosen gave them credit for. And they were bloody stubborn.

Taim remained impassive. “And how are we supposed to Travel there?”

“I will modify the Dreamspike so that you two can open gateways.”

Natael slapped his forehead. Of course it was a flaming Dreamspike! How had he not guessed that? Well, it didn’t matter. There was nothing they could have done about it anyway.

Demandred stood. “I will notify you when the time comes. Be ready. And do speed the Turning along. Tarmon Gai’don approaches.” Probably just to show off, he opened a gateway right there and disappeared through it.

Natael caught Taim trying to sneak a peek before it vanished. “It’s always the same room,” he muttered.

“Let’s not worry about it now,” Natael said. “We obviously have bigger concerns.”

Taim eyed his former seat with a faint grimace, and ultimately decided to stay where he was, though he turned in Natael’s direction. “Is it really that bad? I mean, if al’Thor succeeds…”

“I hate to agree with Demandred, but there’s no way this will end well. For one thing, I doubt that what the boy wants to do is feasible, no matter how it’s done, and for another… Well, even in our Age, we feared the power of the Choedan Kal.”

“But you tried to steal the access key,” Taim remarked. “You must have intended to do something with it.”

“It was her idea,” he mumbled. Taim frowned questioningly. “Lanfear wanted the key. The whole Aiel Waste scheme was her idea. I just…tagged along.”

“Why?”

A fair question, but one that Natael preferred not to answer. “Well I…had nothing else going on,” he replied evasively.

“Is it because she scared the living daylights out of you? You can say it without shame. I never had the pleasure to meet her – alive and awake – but I grew up with tales of the Daughter of the Night, who snatches naughty little boys in their beds at night and eats them…”

Natael chuckled. “Your parents didn’t understand the purpose of a bedtime story, did they?”

“My mother rarely got the chance to tuck me into bed. This was the kitchen matron’s favourite way of punishing me for stealing freshly-baked buns.”

Natael stared. He’d never heard Taim mention anything from his past, let alone from his childhood. “What did your mother do?”

“I thought we had bigger concerns to discuss?”

Oh well. Another time, perhaps. “Indeed. By the way, it’s not because I was scared of Lanfear…” He was. Always had been. Even before she became Lanfear. But that was beside the point. “I tried to…evade my responsibilities, after I came out of my long slumber in the Bore. I don’t even know how Lanfear found me, but she said I had to help her, or else she would report me to Ishamael.” He sighed. “As you know, he and I have a complicated relationship.”

“I’m aware,” Taim said curtly. Ooh, was this a hint of jealousy Natael detected in his voice? How sweet. “Isn’t there a way to…disable the sa’angreal?”

“If there was one, I’m fairly certain that Elan would know of it, and he would have done so already.”

“What can we do, then? Any suggestions?”

“I’m afraid not,” Natael said. “If Logain has somehow already reached the boy, he may be able to talk some sense into him, but that’s a long shot. If you didn’t know about the Choedan Kal, Logain probably doesn’t, either. Besides, he would be tempted to let al’Thor give it a try regardless of the risks, considering the potential reward…”

“Well, so am I,” Taim said. “Imagine if-”

Natael shook his head. “It’s not going to happen. Our best hope is to shut down the operation before al’Thor can begin channelling through the Choedan Kal. After that, he’ll be virtually unstoppable.”

“But he will be focused on the task at hand, like Demandred said. He’ll be counting on his guards to ward off an assault. If we can buy him enough time-”

“So you’re not only willing to give this madness a chance, you actually want us to help the lad destroy the world?”

“Weren’t you berating me to give al’Thor the benefit of the doubt just half an hour ago?”

“That was before Demandred informed us of his plan!”

They glared at each other. Taim relented after a moment, sighing heavily. “Look, I didn’t give your idea any credit and, against all odds, it seems to be working. And it was the most insane idea I’ve ever heard. I never thought we could pull it off, not for one second. Granted, Demandred had other things on his mind, but-”

“That’s completely different!” Natael insisted. “Don’t compare my elegant solution to a thorny problem with al’Thor’s unrealistic schemes.”

“What do you propose, then? That we go there and actually try to kill al’Thor?”

“Stop him, not kill him. I don’t think that they want him dead.”

“Well, do what you want. But if there’s even a slight, nay, an infinitesimal chance that al’Thor accomplishes his goal… I’m willing to take it. You can pretend to follow orders while I deal with the other Chosen, or whoever they send. Don’t complain to me afterwards about any fireballs singeing your fancy clothes, though,” he added with a smirk.

Natael hesitated. He was tired of arguing. Did it really matter? It always came down to the same conclusion: they were likely to die whatever they decided to do. “Fine, fine, you win. Again.”

“Again?” Taim exclaimed. “You always win our arguments! You always get your way!”

“It’s not a competition, darling. It’s all about compromise.”

“Don’t play the old wise man card,” Taim warned him. “It never works.”

Probably because Natael was far from wise. Or old. The three thousand years he’d spent inside the Bore didn’t count; they’d been over that several times.

There was a knock on the door. They both said, “Come in!” at the same time, but Natael didn’t mind that anymore.

It was Asha’man Gorman. His eyes were blank. He bowed and spoke tonelessly. “Great Masters. You summoned me?”

Taim really smiled, for once. “You can drop the act, Asha’man. He’s gone, and he has more important things to do than spy on us at the moment.”

“Great performance,” Natael congratulated him. “We think he bought it.”

Gorman relaxed, his shoulders slumping. “Thank the Light. It’s harder than it looks, m’lords, to be utterly expressionless all the time. Especially when, um, Demandred is staring right at you. I thought for sure he’d see the fear in my eyes, or notice that I was sweating…”

“If he did, he didn’t comment on it,” Natael said, “and Demandred rarely misses an opportunity to tell me I’ve done something wrong. We’re in the clear for now. We’ll have to pick another recruit soon, though. That’s why I wanted to talk to you. Have you decided on anyone?”

“Aye. Another Dedicated, Ghraem. Um, Attur, his name is.”

“Good. We’ll fill him in tomorrow and I’ll teach him how to behave like a soulless person.” He was really good at this, for some reason. Maybe because he’d spent so much time around zomaran, after he joined the Shadow. These creepy creatures used to be at every event.

Was his idea to give lessons in theatrics to some of the men to give the illusion that they’d been Turned to the Shadow insane? Perhaps, but it was brilliant. So simple, so easy to implement. It was hard on those recruits, though. Gorman had volunteered, but they had to use Soldiers and Dedicated, too, otherwise Demandred would get suspicious. The Chosen knew that the Asha’man were aware of everything that was going on. That meant that they had to trust more recruits with their secrets, but as long as it worked… The ploy was merely supposed to buy them some time, anyway. It would not hold until the Last Battle. Although if Demandred had one flaw, it was that he sometimes had trouble reading people. If the recruits managed to keep in character whenever they were outside, it could work for some time… Weeks, or even months, if they were especially lucky and didn’t accidentally hire a Darkfriend. Natael trusted Gorman, though. The Asha’man was an excellent judge of character. Informally, he was their new Damer Flinn. (Though Natael did miss the codger. He hoped he was alright.)

“Thank you, Gorman,” Taim said. “Get some rest, you deserve it.”

“Don’t forget to-”

“I know, Ghraem. Always stay in character unless you give me permission to, um, act normal.” He chuckled softly. “I hope I don’t forget how to be normal when this is all over.” With that, he left.

“He’s a very optimistic chap, isn’t he?” Natael commented. “’When this is all over’. Aw. If he only knew.”

“Mm, you did tell me not to be so pessimistic all the time… Take your own advice, perhaps?” Taim suggested, a half-smile on his lips.

Natael grunted. “Again, that was before Demandred came bearing bad news…”

Taim went around the desk and massaged Natael’s shoulders. “Don’t pout so much, darling, you’ll get wrinkles.”

“I hate it when you use my wise words against me,” he grumbled.

“I know what will cheer you up,” Taim said. He squeezed Natael’s shoulders. “Come with me.”

Natael followed him. “While I love that going to the bedroom is your answer to all of our arguments these days, we should continue our discussion about-”

“You agreed with my plan, if I remember correctly. What else is there to talk about? We can’t exactly make plans, since we have no clue when or even where it will happen. Forget about it for the night.”

Taim opened the door to their bedroom. Natael was already unbuttoning his shirt, but he froze in his steps when he caught sight of something inside the room. Whatever it was, it was large, but it was covered by a sheet. “Is that…a full-length mirror? I thought you didn’t want me to have one because it would take me even longer to dress in the morning…”

Taim said nothing, but he was smiling again. Whatever the surprise was, he was proud of himself. In a grand, theatrical gesture, he removed the sheet.

Natael was rarely rendered speechless, but this was one of these times.

A harp. A pedal harp, not the small one he usually carried strapped to his back.

“You couldn’t stop singing the other night, but I haven’t heard you play any instrument lately. I thought…perhaps if it was your favourite instrument, you’d feel more-”

“No one has ever…” His speech was returning, but there was something wrong with his voice. His eyes felt…humid. “That’s the most thoughtful…” He had to clear his throat. Flaming ashes, was he going to cry?

Ugh, Taim was grinning now, like a bloody madman. Infuriating as it was, though, Natael had never loved him more. He even considered saying it. Was it too soon? Was there ever a good time to say that? Not half-jokingly, as they’d done recently, but…sincerely?

No. He was feeling emotional because of the harp. He couldn’t say it now. Taim was bound to believe that he had to buy Natael shiny new things for him to be happy, if he said it now.

That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, though.

“Nate? Do you like it?” Taim’s grin had faded; he looked hesitant. “Is there something wrong with it?”

“No, it’s perfect. It’s bloody perfect. I just don’t know what to say.”

“Thank you?” Taim suggested.

Natael chuckled and moved closer to him. “Thank you.” He put his arms around Taim’s neck and kissed him deeply. “I didn’t get you anything, though,” he said some time later.

Taim was a little out of breath. “Well, thanks to you, we haven’t had to kill anyone in a few days. That’s a great gift.”

“I want to thank you more properly, but I’m dying to-”

“Of course,” Taim said. “Go on, try it.”

It really was perfect. The music flowed, gentle, melodious, filling his ears and his mind. He may have actually cried at some point, but he didn’t care. It had been too long. When he was done, he stood and planted himself in front of Taim. He was smiling again. Too much smiling would give him wrinkles, too, but Natael didn’t care about that, either. They’d be lucky if they lived long enough to be old and wrinkled. He took Taim’s hands and stared into his eyes. “I love you.”

“Oh, I know.” He laughed, presumably at the offended look on Natael’s face. “I love you, too, old man. Now come to bed. There must be some argument we haven’t settled yet.”

Chapter Text

Kudos, Dragon Boy

This is the best day ever

Hope it never ends

It’s clean.

Natael imagined that every single male channeler in the world was presently either thinking, whispering or shouting these words. Taim was mouthing them silently right now, a look of awe on his face. He looked at least ten years younger.

“It’s clean, Nate,” he repeated aloud.

“I know.”

“He did it. He really did it.”

“Yeah, he did.”

“And the world still stands. Demandred was wrong.”

I was wrong, too. Natael had expected to die today more than any previous day, which was saying a lot. There was no lack for opportunity.

Taim suddenly grabbed hold of Natael’s face with both hands and kissed him hard on the mouth. “Nate, do you understand what this means?” he said excitedly.

“Well… We won’t go mad. I think.” Or madder, at least. The consequences of al’Thor’s feat were still a bit uncertain. Had he merely cleansed the taint, or had he also cured the madness that already affected some male channelers?

“We don’t have to resign ourselves to a tragically early death in a few months or years. We can actually live, Nate. We can grow old…” He paused, looking into Natael’s eyes. “Together, if you’d want that… I mean, obviously, at the beginning of our relationship, that wasn’t in the cards… We pretty much expected to be dead at any moment… This is a different sort of commitment altogether, and I don’t want to pressure you into anything, but…”

“Shush,” Natael said, pressing an index finger against Taim’s lips. “It’s been five minutes, Taim. Take a deep breath. Relax. Enjoy the purity of saidin. Enjoy being alive. We don’t have to make important decisions right this instant. We have all the time in the world to figure it out.” He didn’t feel pressured, though, or uncomfortable. A few weeks ago, hearing Taim say this would have likely caused Natael to flee in terror, but not anymore.

Taim nodded and pushed Natael’s finger so he could speak. He sounded calmer, somewhat. “We need to be more careful, now that we have something to live for.”

“Yes, we do. No more silly attempts at ambushing Demandred.”

“We have to lie low,” Taim concurred. “We can’t afford to make waves. It would be a shame to die now, when there’s suddenly so much hope for us. For our people. For the world.”

“Agreed.” He squeezed Taim’s shoulder. “Come on, we should go.”

“Go? But al’Thor is right there!”

“So?” Were they supposed to congratulate him on not blowing them all up to Oblivion?

“Why should we wait for Logain to find him and talk to him when we could do it right now?”

“Well…if we go to him, we’ll have to tell him about the Aes Sedai. Logain doesn’t know yet. He stands a better chance at getting help. Also, al’Thor doesn’t like us, but he doesn’t know Logain. He has no reason to dislike him.”

Taim was frowning. The euphoria that had followed the cleansing was already fading. “He had no reason to dislike me, either, but he did so anyway, right from the beginning. Logain and I are both False Dragons and equally powerful, or near enough. Why should he prefer Logain over me?”

“Logain is very charismatic,” Natael replied without thinking.

Taim’s face turned to stone. “And I’m a sarcastic oaf. Yeah, that makes sense. Let’s wait for Logain to save us, if he’s so bloody great.”

“That’s not what I-”

“What is going on here?”

“Nothing!” Natael said automatically. It was a bad habit he’d picked up over the centuries. He turned to find Demandred waiting nearby, his arms crossed over his chest. “Ahem. Nothing, we’re just…glad that…it all worked out in the end. We’re alive! What a relief, eh?”

Demandred raised an eyebrow. “What about that, then?” He pointed downward to indicate a log-

He’s not pointing at the log, you idiot. He’s pointing at the dead body beside it.

Right. That. Natael glanced at Taim, but he seemed to have forgotten about it, too, until now.

“He attacked us,” Natael hastened to clarify. “Threw fireballs at us, probably thinking that we were the enemy, but even when he saw who we were, he kept firing. We were merely defending ourselves.”

It was mostly true.

Demandred glared at him a moment longer. “Can’t say I’m surprised,” he muttered eventually. “He was always a wild card.”

Then, without warning, he balefired the remains of Corlan Dashiva.

“There. We can blame this on Lews Therin, like everything else.” He grimaced. “At least something positive happened on this fateful day.”

“But the cleansing of the taint… Is that not a good thing?” Taim asked. “The recruits we Turn won’t go mad.”

Demandred shrugged. “That never mattered. Insane or not, what is important is that they won’t bolster the enemy’s ranks. Most of the male channelers of the entire world will serve the Shadow, when Tarmon Gai’don rages.”

Of the entire world. They already knew that Demandred had several male channelers at his disposal, but where did they come from? As far as Natael knew, the Seanchan killed their male channelers (and enslaved the female ones). But perhaps that was just a rumour. He hadn’t met any of these Westerners, after all. He couldn’t base his facts on hearsay.

More and more, Seanchan seemed to be the answer to the question of Demandred’s whereabouts.

“Anyway,” Demandred said. “Playtime’s over. Let’s return you two to the Black Tower before you do something stupid.” He smirked. “Judging from your expressions, I see that it’s precisely what you intended to do.”

Natael and Taim were still holding the Source. They exchanged a look. It was two against one, this time. No trickery. Demandred must be there in the flesh, if he’d used balefire.

“Go ahead, make my day,” the Chosen murmured. “Please. Any reason to be rid of you as permanently as Aginor. Moridin will be cross, but it’ll be worth it. You’re exhausting, and I have better things to do than babysit you.”

They’d just promised to be more careful, not to take any unnecessary risk… It would be a terrible shame indeed, to die the same day that the Dragon Reborn had saved them all.

Natael sighed and released saidin. Taim imitated him, though he seemed to be hoping to drill a hole through Demandred with his eyes.

“Atta boys.” Demandred shielded them and opened a gateway. “Go on. I’ll modify the Dreamspike again. No Travelling for you until I have some sort of guarantee that you won’t try to screw me over. Again.”

Natael should have listened to Taim; they should have gone straight to al’Thor when they had the chance. It was too late now. If he yelled to draw the Dragon’s attention, Demandred might harm the lad. Judging by the sounds and screams they’d heard while the battle raged half an hour ago, al’Thor had lost several men and women already, and they would all be tired. They couldn’t risk it.

They had to trust that Logain would succeed where they had failed.

“This is probably the best day we’ve ever had at the Black Tower,” Natael commented. Taim and he were sitting side by side on a dais, in two large chairs.

Well, thrones, really. There were carved dragons on the armrests. One of their newest recruits was a master woodworker.

“Not a single casualty,” he went on. “The taint is gone. Dashiva’s dead, and we weren’t punished for it. We’re unharmed. We’re alive.” Really, things couldn’t get much better than this. Except, of course, if the Light was victorious in the Last Battle.

They’d returned to the Black Tower to find utter chaos, but it was the good sort of chaos – people dancing in the streets, men and women kissing unabashedly, some laughing, some crying with relief and happiness, all of them cheering… If Taim and Natael didn’t know any better, they might have thought that everyone had gone insane while they were gone.

They didn’t have the heart to even try to restore some semblance of order. The men and their loved ones deserved a break. Instead, they had opened several kegs of ale and improvised a little celebratory feast. The guards at the gate were relayed every hour, so that everyone could participate. The few men who had been designated to feign having been Turned were also allowed to take a break. Demandred was gone, and there was likely going to be an official Chosen meeting to debrief their failure to foil al’Thor’s plans. He wouldn’t come back that day.

“I wish we could have talked with al’Thor…” Taim murmured.

Natael sighed. “I know, I know. It’s my fault, sorry. I should have listened to you.”

“There’s no need to apologise. Anyway, he might actually make an appearance, don’t you think? If there ever was an occasion to show up at the Black Tower, it’s today…”

“Do you really think so?” Natael said sceptically. After all, the lad had not bothered to give them so much as a heads-up. Or to request their assistance. If al’Thor had tasked them to guard him while he cleansed saidin, they would have had a great excuse not to pretend to disrupt his plans.

Though to be fair, they had not pretended very hard… They’d showed up. They’d realised that trying to get close to Shadar Logoth would get them killed. Whoever was guarding the Dragon Reborn, they were numerous and some of them were linked. And at least one of them was in possession of a sa’angreal – almost certainly Callandor. It was a suicide mission. Moridin had to know that, and Demandred, too. They couldn’t possibly expect them to succeed in preventing al’Thor from accomplishing his goal.

Was that why Demandred had been so magnanimous regarding Aginor’s death? Or had he been hoping for such a happy accident? It really was an accident. Taim and Natael had not recognised the Chosen in the dark, and Aginor must have assumed that they were part of al’Thor’s retinue. When he’d attacked them, they’d retaliated in self-defence, as anyone would have.

They’d kept attacking when they realised it was Dashiva, but no one would ever know that.

Demandred was apparently already set on getting rid of the competition. The Last Battle would begin soon indeed.

“Well, he did this mainly for our sake, didn’t he? For all male channelers. Since most of them are here at the Black Tower…” Taim shrugged. “It’s a logical assumption that he’ll want to celebrate with us.”

“Our sake, or his?”

Taim glanced at him. “In all fairness, his sake and that of the world are closely related. And we are part of the world…”

“I guess you’re right.” Natael whistled softly through his teeth. “I still can’t believe it. He really did it.”

They’d been repeating the same words over and over, just like everyone else: I can’t believe it. It’s clean. He did it. He really did it. We’re saved.

Essentially, their recruits seemed to expect the Last Battle to be a mere formality, now. They thought they were invincible, all of a sudden.

Taim had already set an hour the next day to remind them all that the worst was yet to come, that the fight was far from over and that they shouldn’t let their guard down. Or their hopes up. Natael thought that was a bit harsh but, after a night of drinking, dancing and carousing, he had a feeling that the reminder would be necessary. This was but a brief respite.

They might still all die during Tarmon Gai’don.

“Why the gloomy face?” Taim asked quietly. He put his free hand on top of Natael’s. The other one was holding a cup of water – no wine for M’Hael tonight. Someone had to be sober, he’d insisted, because tonight would be a perfect opportunity to attack the Black Tower. The enemy could take advantage of the celebrations to take them by surprise. The enemy being the Aes Sedai, of course.

As a show of support, Natael had promised not to drink, either. It was one of the most challenging things he’d ever done, going an entire day and night without wine.

“Nate? Come on, you’re the one who told me to relax. Enjoy the fun while it lasts.”

“I’m fine, it’s just… This is great, but… I thought I’d be happier about it, I suppose. More…relieved. I mean, there’s no way of knowing the long-term effects… What if we still go mad, because we’ve channelled the taint at any point in our lives? What if, once you’ve touched it, once it’s gotten into your brain, it’s too late? What if the only people who are truly saved are the ones who haven’t been born yet, or haven’t seized saidin yet, or-”

“Or perhaps we’re already mad, and we’re having a collective hallucination,” Taim remarked with the hint of a smile. “Perhaps we’re dead and none of this is real.”

“Are you trying to out-doom me?” Natael demanded, feeling somewhat offended. Being overdramatic was his thing!

“I can’t tell if you translated a word from the Old Tongue literally, or if you just made it up…”

“I’m being serious, Taim. Aren’t you worried that-”

“I’m less worried today than I’ve ever been in my entire life. Well, in my adult life, at least,” he amended. He cocked his head sideways, to indicate the people rejoicing. “Look at them. Whatever happens next, they have known at least one day of pure happiness in their lives. A day where everything was perfect: they were alive, their loved ones were healthy, they thought they would live in eternal bliss… Even a few days ago, that would have been impossible. No matter how optimistic and cheerful their nature, the threat of their impending madness and death, the fear of leaving their families to fend for themselves, were always hanging over their heads. Look at them, Nate,” he repeated with ferocious intensity. “Even if al’Thor defeats the Dark One and saves humanity, this is the day they will remember. The day they learned that they wouldn’t accidentally harm or kill their friends, spouses or children. The day they found out that they had something to live for after all, that it wasn’t all in vain. Because sure, fighting for the Light is noble, fighting to give your descendants a chance at a better world is honourable, but what’s the point in fighting when you know you may not live a month or year past the day of our ultimate victory to enjoy it yourself?”

“You might want to write this down and use it for your speech tomorrow,” Natael noted.

Taim chuckled. “Oh, it won’t be quite as heartening as this. They’ll be hungover; I’ll have to keep it short and sharp to retain their attention.”

“Aren’t you even worried about an attack? You said… When the Aes Sedai find out what happened...”

“They won’t believe it until they have concrete proof,” Taim replied with a bitter smirk. “They won’t want to believe it. Think about it… What purpose does the Red Ajah have now?”

“Mm. I hadn’t thought about that.” Chiefly because he didn’t care. Most Aes Sedai were useless anyway. Moiraine Damodred, the majestic, selfless heroine who had sacrificed her life to rid the world of Mierin Eronaile, was an exception.

“Besides, our pal Barid would warn us if they planned to attack,” Taim added. “He seems to know everything that’s happening everywhere at all times…”

“Speaking of, do you think that he, or perhaps someone else…eliminated our eyes and ears? Because we haven’t heard anything of import lately.”

“Either that, or he’s intercepting our messages and giving us whatever he deems needful. He wants to isolate us, to prevent us from seeking outside help. We can only hope that he won’t catch up to Logain…”

“It’s funny but, ever since he left, you’ve come to call him Logain like all the rest of us…”

Taim scowled at his water. “Feels more natural,” he muttered.

“M’Hael!” one of the Dedicated called. “Won’t you dance?”

“Yeah!” another recruit shouted. “My lord, you must join us! Show us how it’s done in Saldaea!”

“The sa’sara!” one of the spouses demanded. The call was picked up by several men and women, who were already quite inebriated.

Natael couldn’t help but feeling left out. It wasn’t that he wanted to dance with these tipsy bumpkins, but-

“Ghraem, why aren’t playing any music? Of all the times to choose to be quiet…”

Now everyone was chanting both their names.

“Do you know the sa’sara?” Natael whispered.

“What?” Taim sputtered. “Of course not! It’s a dance for women! How would I…” His cheeks grew redder with every word. “It’s ridiculously inappropriate.”

The chanting continued. Natael unstrapped his travel-size harp; he’d had a feeling that it might come in handy tonight. “A private demonstration for me later, then,” he said with a wicked grin. “But you should come anyway. Dance however you want. Have a drink, for goodness’s sake. Let’s forget about everything that is wrong in the world and enjoy the most monumental day in the history of the Third Age, shall we? Let’s make it count. Just like any other day, it might be our last.”

“Nate?” Taim spoke quietly into the silence of their room.

They were in bed, Natael’s head resting against Taim’s chest. It was almost dawn. They had not slept a wink, but Natael felt strangely energised. He was ready to face the day – the first day of a new era, one that would belong to male channelers as much as female ones. The Aes Sedai’s dominion was over.

“Yes, dear?”

“About what I said earlier… I didn’t mean to scare you. I don’t expect us to be together forever, of course. That’s silly. We’re both going to live a very long time, if we make it past the Last Battle. I just wanted to say, it’s fine if you don’t feel the same way. I couldn’t ask that of you.” He snorted. “Come to think of it, this relationship is only what, a few weeks old? Has it even been a month yet? I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m sorry. Please don’t make a run for it.”

Natael thought it over for a moment. “There’s nowhere I would rather be than here, with you. I can’t promise I’ll always feel this way… Who knows what the future will bring? But for now, I’m quite happy to be here. And to stay here. As long as you’ll have me.”

“I wonder what horrible thing is about to happen,” Taim murmured.

Natael moved to look him in the eyes, scowling faintly. “What do you mean?”

“When we say cheesy things like that to each other, something terrible usually follows immediately afterwards. Demandred pays us a visit, a bunch of Aes Sedai commit mass suicide… You know, that sort of things.”

Natael nodded. “True, true. I expect an actual dragon to burst into the room at any moment and eat us alive.” He laughed suddenly. “Have you noticed how we seem to take turns at being utterly frantic and then reassuring the other? Isn’t it adorable? We make such a good team.”

“The best team. If we could be bothered, we could take over the world.”

“Yeah, but that sounds like an awful lot of work.” He nuzzled up against Taim’s neck. “I’d rather stay in bed until a dragon or Demandred inevitably interrupts us.”

“I’d rather it were al’Thor, for once,” Taim grumbled. The lad had not showed up at all.

Reluctantly, Natael leaned back, resting on one elbow. “Have you considered the fact that perhaps he tried to visit, but was held back by the Dreamspike? For all we know, he comes by regularly and just can’t Travel inside.”

“I doubt it. He would have found a way in the moment he realised he couldn’t Travel, don’t you think? He would have at least contacted us to demand an explanation. Don’t make excuses for him,” Taim chided. “He’s achieved something incredible yesterday, and we’re all very thankful for it, but that doesn’t make up for what he hasn’t done… Namely, keep an eye on us. Make sure that this male channelers army of his was in good hands and not perniciously being claimed by the Shadow.”

“Again, we chose not to involve him,” Natael reminded him. “But I agree with you. He should have paid more attention to us. I really hope that Logain will get to him soon.”

“Logain must have noticed the ginormous beacon that the Dragon lit up yesterday… He will track him down easily now. A few days, a week at most… He’ll be back with help in no time.” He didn’t sound as confident as his words.

“Wait and see,” Natael said. “That’s all we can do. And I know just the way to pass the time until Logain returns…” This time, Taim didn’t interrupt him.

In fact, for once, no one did.

Chapter Text

I jinxed it again

Good to see you – um, goodbye

We have work to do

Taim and Natael sat side by side in their favourite chairs, in the study. “Cheers,” Natael said, raising his cup of wine. “To two weeks of undisturbed peace.”

“Don’t say that,” Taim muttered. “You’ll jinx it.” He was staring broodily into the fireplace.

“I’ve been saying it every day for the past fourteen days, and nothing’s happened,” he noted.

Of course, the door banged open the moment he was finished talking. The Pattern just loved to prove him wrong. Or to prove Taim right.

“What in the flaming Pit of Doom is going on here?!” Logain roared. He looked furious. His thunderous eyes, his clenched jaws, even his hair looked angry. It had grown longer and was flying wildly around his head.

Well. At least it wasn’t Demandred. It would have been much scarier, had the Chosen been this outwardly cross.

Taim greeted Logain with his infuriating half-smile. “Welcome back. Would you like some wine?” He pointed to the carafe sitting on the desk. “Help yourself.”

“Don’t you dare-” Logain huffed. “I had to walk three miles just to get here! Why can’t we Travel within the grounds? Where is your palace?” he demanded to Natael. “Where are the bloody Aes Sedai? And what in the name of the Creator is wrong with Gorman? I was barely gone a month! What have you done? Have they finally given up and Turned you, or have you gone mad? Am I too late? What…is…going on?!”

“We're not mad. You know that the taint has been cleansed, yes?” Taim said into the brief respite. “Surely you must have noticed.”

Logain took three quick steps forward and grabbed him by the lapels of his coat. “ANSWER ME, BURN YOU!”

Natael stood and took hold of Logain’s elbow. “Easy, fella. You know he cannot resist being a sarcastic little pest around you. Here, take my seat. I’ll pour you some wine. You’re going to need it.”

Logain growled at him, like a rabid dog. Natael almost expected him to literally foam at the mouth, at this point. “Why are you so bloody calm?”

“Why shouldn’t we be? Everything here is just peachy.” Logain scowled. “Really, it is. If you’d just let us…catch you up on recent developments.”

Finally, the man released Taim. He didn’t sit down, though. He started pacing, his hands knotted into fists at his sides. “Why can’t we open gateways inside the Black Tower? What did you do to Gorman? Did you Turn him? And where are the other Asha’man?”

“There’s a Dreamspike somewhere, a ter’angreal that prevents channelers to Travel to and from a certain area,” Natael explained. “Gorman’s merely pretending. We’ve had to come up with…creative solutions to avoid a repeat of...” He trailed off. He’d just said that everything was peachy. How would Logain take it when they told him what had happened to the Aes Sedai and twenty-two of their Asha’man?

Taim cleared his throat. “It was Nate’s idea. Demandred wanted us to begin Turning the men, so every few days we select one to act Turned, in case Demandred visits, though he hasn’t, not since the Cleansing.”

Logain eyed him shrewdly. “I take it that the little ambush you had planned didn’t work out? And I assume your failure is connected to the mysterious absence of our captive Aes Sedai, as well as that of several of our men?”

He was too observant for his own good. “Well…”

“Are they dead, or did you send them away?” Logain asked sharply.

“Um…they’re dead.”

Logain’s eyes widened. “All of them?”

“Um…” Natael looked at Taim, but he remained silent. Taim did hate to be the bearer of bad news. That task often fell to Natael. “Yes. All of the women, and more than half of our resident Asha’man.”

“That’s a flaming disaster.” Logain stopped near a wall and banged his forehead against it. Not like he was trying to actually hurt himself, but still hard enough that the resulting thunk sound was audible. “I was just scolded by the Dragon Reborn for bonding them…and now they’re dead. Oh, he’s not going to like that,” he muttered. “As if things weren’t bad enough…”

“So…you did talk to him.” Taim was careful to sound neutral, this time. “And it didn’t go well?”

“He wasn’t happy about the Aes Sedai being bonded,” Logain repeated.

“Yes, but…what about everything else?” Taim insisted. “Demandred, Moridin? The Binding Rod? The Turning? Is he going to-”

Logain swivelled, his face an alarming shade of purple. “I didn’t tell him about any of it, alright?” he snapped.

The admission took Natael aback. “Whyever not? That was the whole point of-”

“Because he clearly doesn’t like me, let alone trust me.”

“So…that’s it? We’re back to square one?”

“Not exactly,” Logain replied with a sigh. “I have orders. I’m supposed to despatch some of our men to Arad Doman and Illian. He wants to make a truce with the Seanchan.”

None of this made sense to Natael. “Good for him, but how does that affect us?”

“I’m going to prove myself to him. Show him that I’m dependable, reliable. I’m going to do exactly what he asks me to do until he trusts me. Then, and only then, will I let him know what’s going on here.” He paused for a moment, and the anger seemed to deflate out of him. It was immediately replaced by exhaustion. “I’ve been walking on eggshells around him. Everyone has. He’s moody, unpredictable. I honestly don’t know how he will react when I tell him that you’ve allowed the Forsaken to boss you around and do what they wanted with the Black Tower. He might kill you, you know. You realise that, yes? You, me, everyone here, perhaps. He might decide it’s the safest path of action. Burn it all to the ground, so that the Shadow can’t have it. Any of it. He’s unstable. I couldn’t risk it. I have to gain his trust first.”

The silence stretched, uncomfortable, tense. Eventually, Taim spoke. “How many men does he need?”

“A hundred.”

“Then take a hundred men and go,” Taim said without hesitation. “Your pick. And please, next time, come back with al’Thor and every channeler available to him. We’ve experienced a short reprieve, but it won’t last. Each day brings us closer to the Last Battle. Demandred will be back. Moridin, too. They will demand to see the Turned recruits we’ve assembled, and it will take only seconds for them to realise we’ve duped them. I don’t know what will happen then, but it won’t be pretty.”

Logain nodded thoughtfully. After a moment, he asked: “When you realised you couldn’t beat Demandred, did you kill the Aes Sedai in the hope that you wouldn’t have to Turn your men at all? I can’t think of any other reason why you would do such a thing…”

“Hey, we didn’t kill them!” Taim said indignantly.

“They killed themselves,” Natael clarified. “Perhaps for that very reason. I guess we’ll never know.”

“We could ask Lemai,” Taim said. “Maybe Desandre and she had a contingency plan in case the ambush backfired. Or maybe Gabrelle knows something.”

“I’ll be sure to enquire,” Logain muttered. “I’ll be back in half an hour. I need to…” He trailed off and did not finish his thought as he headed out.

“That went well,” Natael commented when he was gone.

“Not sure if you’re being sarcastic, but I think it did go well, actually.” Taim slumped in his chair. “I half-expected him to murder us both when he found out.”

“To be fair, we could have murdered him, too,” Natael reasoned. Taim gave him a quizzical look. “He failed in his task as much as we did.”

“’As much as we did’?” Taim scoffed. “He didn’t bring al’Thor with him, or even warn him, but at least he didn’t get seventy people killed.”

“But his mission was so much easier to accomplish than ours!” Natael complained. “All he had to do was speak to the bloody Dragon Reborn. That’s literally all he was supposed to do!”

“If it’s so easy, why don’t you go ahead and ask al’Thor if he’ll help us get rid of Demandred?” Taim suggested. “Logain must know where he is. He can take you there.”

Natael opened his mouth to retort, but realised he had no argument. Either of them could have gone to al’Thor at any moment; they’d chosen not to. And if the lad didn’t like Logain, one of the most charismatic men Natael had ever met, they were unlikely to succeed where he had failed.

Taim wasn’t done making his point, however. “Just tell him that we tried our best, but after being indirectly responsible for the death of forty Aes Sedai, we think it best to involve him at last.”

Natael remembered al’Thor muttering under his breath, repeating over and over the names of the women he believed were dead because of him. He wondered how long that list had become, and if his tainted brain would be able to retain the names of all the Aes Sedai who had perished at the Black Tower. Natael had no doubt that the lad would somehow find a way to blame himself for their deaths, but he didn’t believe that al’Thor would think twice about executing Taim and Natael for their multiple failures, and especially that last, spectacular one. When he remembered that they existed.

“What if we waited until Demandred returned and sent al’Thor a message that he’s here? After the Dragon has dealt with Demandred, we can tell him it’s the first time he’s ever come here, and our first instinct was, of course, to let him know about it. If Demandred’s dead, there’ll be no one to contradict us.”

Taim stared at him. “How are we supposed to warn him so quickly? We can’t open gateways. It would take at least half an hour just to go far enough to open one and send a message. Then al’Thor would have to be there, he’d have to read the message as soon as he gets it, and decide to come right away. Demandred rarely stays more than a few minutes – except that one time, but the circumstances were different. Even then, he didn’t stay a second more than was strictly necessary. And how would we explain what happened to the Aes Sedai if that’s the first time Demandred ever set foot here?”

Natael shrugged. “They couldn’t take being bonded to male channelers and committed suicide after murdering their Asha’man captors. That’s actually the easiest thing to lie about. But you’re correct about the gateway issue…” Not only were they forced to walk three miles out of the Black Tower to be able to open one, but they were being watched whenever they went outside. In fact…

“Demandred will know that Logain has returned,” he said.

Taim nodded. “He can’t stay here. Too risky. As soon as he’s assembled enough men, he must leave, and only come back when he does have al’Thor’s trust. And al’Thor himself, preferably,” he added.

Natael grimaced. “Ten minutes ago, everything was fine, and now… Now it’s all a mess again. I did jinx it, burn me.”

“Nothing here has ever been fine, Nate. You were merely deluding yourself. I told you that a hundred times in the past two weeks. Just because we haven’t seen or heard from Demandred-”

“But nobody died!” Natael insisted. “I may have set the bar extremely low but, to me, that’s fine. ‘Peachy’ may have been a slight exaggeration, but I stand by ‘fine’.” He took a gulp of wine, barely tasting it. The evening had started out so well…

And now Logain was back in the study. “It hasn’t been half an hour yet…” Natael said grumpily.

Logain smirked at him. “I’m sorry, am I interrupting something? Since you’re both fully dressed, I’m going to assume it was an argument rather than a…private moment.”

“Have you gathered your men already?” Taim asked. Always the practical one.

“Gabrelle will see to it with Gorman. I told him I knew what he was doing. To his credit, he stayed in character, but he did agree to assist us. I see that you’ve raised quite a few new Dedicated while I was gone. I’m guessing it was an attempt to compensate for all the dead Asha’man…”

“It was,” Taim said flatly. “Obviously.”

The two former False Dragons eyed each other stonily. Natael cleared his throat. “Logain, you’ll have to leave as soon as-”

“We leave in an hour,” Logain barked. “Next time you see me, I’ll have an army at my back. This I swear.”

Such intensity. Though Natael noticed that he hadn’t sworn one of those fancy oaths Third Agers loved so much. By the Light and my hope of salvation and rebirth, or something equally silly. “Um…right. Did you tell the other Aes Sedai about…”

“I told Gabrelle. She didn’t say anything, and I couldn’t feel much through our bond, so I’m not sure if they planned this…” He exhaled slowly. “I don’t think it really matters. What’s done is done. We can only move forward.”

He was good at processing horrible things very quickly, Natael had to give him that. Taim had been nearly catatonic for hours after Gorman reported the tragedy, and Natael was certain that he still hadn’t processed it entirely. There was a sensibility, a vulnerability to Taim that was not apparent to anyone but Natael himself.

“Are you certain that she can be trusted?” Taim asked softly.

Logain scowled. “Who, Gabrelle? Of course she can be trusted! I’d know it, if she were Black Ajah. We’re bonded, Taim. She couldn’t hide it from me.”

“Mezar didn’t know that Adrielle was Black Ajah,” Natael felt compelled to point out.

Taim snorted. “For all we know, Mezar was a Dreadlord and he bonded her because he knew what she was. Darkfriends must have some sort of signal or code to recognise each other.”

Logain was staring at Natael, shock painted on his face. “Adrielle Sedai was Black Ajah?”

“Indeed,” Natael confirmed. “She betrayed us, and that ruined our carefully laid plans. That…witch, with her wide, innocent eyes… Why are all the pretty ones evil?”

“We’re not all evil,” Logain grumbled. Then he realised what he’d said and blushed furiously. “I mean… That’s not what I…”

Taim’s half-smile greeted that remark. Natael was hard-pressed to hold back laughter.

Logain was trying to eradicate Taim’s smile by glowering at it, without success. “How can you find anything amusing, given the circumstances?”

“Laughter is the best remedy for grief and…well, for the general annoyance with which life so generously provides us every day,” Natael said, though he usually refrained from uttering wise statements such as this – it made him feel old.

“Laughing at a time like this, after everything you just told me, feels disrespectful and completely inappropriate,” Logain said sternly.

“Oh, I know what’ll cheer you up!” Natael exclaimed. “Atal’s dead!”

That definitely did not cheer him up. Logain was frowning again. “Did you kill him?”

“No, the Aes Sedai did,” Natael said with a wide grin, remembering the scene of the crime. There had been so much blood… Bits of Atal everywhere.

Ah, good times.

“And how did Demandred react to this…carnage? That was a serious obstacle to his plans to Turn our men. Weren’t you punished for the ambush in the first place? In fact…why are you not dead?” he asked, as if he’d only just fully grasped all of the implications of what had happened.

Natael was about to answer, to explain that, somehow, Demandred had agreed that the Aes Sedai had acted without any prompting from Taim or Natael, which was entirely true, by the way. And that he had punished them for attacking his…unsubstantial projection by forcing them to Turn Toveine.

Oh, right – Logain didn’t know about that, either. Peace, he’d really missed out on a lot of things, and there was so little time for them to catch up.

Taim beat him to a reply, however. “Because Moridin wants his lover alive, apparently.”

Natael gaped at him. Taim shrugged unabashedly. “That’s what Demandred said, isn’t it? I’m not as fluent as you are in the Old Tongue, but I believe he said something like, ‘No, it’s not allowed’, followed immediately by, ‘Curse Ishamael and his ridiculous orders’ when he talked about Turning you instead of me.”

That was actually a fairly accurate translation, but Natael refused to give him credit for it. He had not realised that it bothered Taim so much. He’d never mentioned it before. They ought to have a serious conversation regarding this, preferably in private, calmly and honestly.

Unfortunately, before he could fully assimilate that very mature, rational thought, his mouth decided to take over for his brain. “Well, I’m sorry to be alive,” he snapped.

Ugh. What a stupid thing to say. What a stupid argument to have in front of Logain, when they certainly had more important business to discuss, the three of them.

The retort had the expected, but unwanted effect: Taim’s eyes widened, and he looked hurt. “That’s not what I-”

“That’s what it sounded like,” Natael interrupted him. Stop talking, you idiot, you’re making it worse! He turned to Logain. “Isn’t it what it sounded like?” he demanded. Sure, involve Logain in your spat. Great thinking, nitwit.

Logain hesitated. He who usually radiated confidence now seemed to shrivel under Natael’s gaze, looking awkward. “Um, I wasn’t there,” he muttered, lowering his eyes to ground level.

“But you’re here now,” Natael insisted. Bloody hell, would someone please silence me? “You heard what Taim said, you heard his tone.”

“Why are you being like this, Nate?” Taim said.

How dare he look indignant? “Why am I being like this? You started this! You-”

“Seems to me like Taim’s jealous and you’re confused about Ishamael’s orders, which is causing some tension between you two,” Logain cut him off, speaking in a loud voice. They both stared at him. “Well, you were asking for my opinion. To complete it, I’d say you should discuss this after I’m gone.”

“Yes, well, you can leave now,” Taim said sharply. “Take the men and report back when you have al’Thor’s trust, and ideally a promise that he won’t annihilate us all when he finds out what’s been going on behind his back.”

“A back which he willingly turned on us,” Natael said sourly.

Taim cast him a murderous look. “We’re all equally to blame in this sordid affair, Nate, and you bloody know it. We’ve been over this a hundred times. Quit your whining.” He turned his eyes on Logain. “Seriously, don’t come back here unless you have al’Thor with you.” Logain seemed about to protest, but Taim gestured for him to listen. “It’s not a threat, Ablar. It’s too dangerous here for you. It’s a miracle that Nate and I are still alive and able to think for ourselves, but I wouldn’t count on another miracle. Demandred will Turn you if you give him an opportunity.” He paused. “Worse, he’ll demand that we Turn you, and I genuinely don’t want to do that.” Unexpectedly, he smiled. “Kill you, sure, but Turning is such a messy and unpleasant business…”

Even more surprising, Logain smiled in return. “You wish.”

“Be careful out there,” Taim said.

“Be even more careful here,” Logain replied. He was at the door now. “Oh, and do take care of that Dreamspike problem, you lazy oafs. I can’t be doing all the work.” Then, without a word to Natael, he left.

“Are you two…friends?” Natael wondered aloud. Their relationship truly was a puzzling one.

“Why?” Taim said dryly. “Are you jealous?”

A little bit. Also… “Now you’re accusing me of being jealous?”

“I’m not jealous of Ishamael, curse you. I’m just… I don’t understand. Why has he ordered the Forsaken to keep you alive? And if he has, why did Graendal attempt to burn you out of the Pattern?”

“Perhaps Elan wasn’t around at the time,” Natael said. “He hadn’t been given a new body yet. I‘m fairly certain that Graendal acted of her own initiative. She never liked me.”

Taim sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Did you write a song about her, too?”

“No! Well, I mean, yes, I wrote several songs about her, but that’s not it. I think.” In truth, he wasn’t sure why Graendal despised him, but then again, nearly everyone he’d ever encountered seemed to feel that way about him. For some mystifying reason.

“I suppose she considered me…a loose end?” Natael went on. “I did betray the Shadow, after all. Against my will, initially, but the Great Lord does not care for such flimsy details.”

“Possibly,” Taim said, “but that doesn’t explain Moridin’s orders. Does he want you alive for the Last Battle because he has plans for you? Or is it…” He trailed off, hesitant.

“Personal?” Natael supplied. Taim nodded. “I don’t think so?”

How could it be? Ishamael had dumped him and made it clear he’d never cared about him, all those years – centuries – ago. Even when Natael had requested to join the Shadow, Ishamael had been rather…discourteous. And distant. He usually did his best to pretend that Natael wasn’t there at all, or that he was nothing but an irksome buzzing insect, a petty distraction. He’d never acknowledged their relationship, not once since he’d broken Natael’s heart. Their last encounter, in Sindhol, had not been any different. There was no sign of affection from him, of fondness, nothing of the sort.

But what plans could Ishamael have that involved Natael? If he’d wanted him on their side again, he would have ordered Demandred to Turn him weeks ago.

What use could he possibly have for Natael? Even with his strength in the Power restored, he was a better administrator than a commander. He wasn’t particularly helpful on a battlefield. He wasn’t a capable Healer.

Perhaps he wanted Natael to provide background music during the battle…

“Whatever the reason, it worries me,” Taim said quietly. “I’m not jealous, Nate. I’m worried.” There was a pause. “And I apologise for the way I spoke, earlier. I should have brought this up a while ago, instead of letting it fester…”

This; this was why Taim could never be one of the Chosen. He didn’t let his negative emotions fester long enough. “I’m sorry, too,” Natael said. “I lashed out.”

“To be fair, I did spring it on you out of the blue…and in front of Logain.”

“Yes… Yes, you did.”

Taim smiled, but not that sorry excuse for a smile that he gave other people. This was the secret smile he reserved for Natael alone. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to make it up to you somehow.”

“I look forward to it, but perhaps we should discuss the Dreamspike, first…”

The smile vanished. “What about it? Logain was just being a jerk, you know. He doesn’t really expect us to solve that problem. How could we?”

“We could…find the Dreamspike and disable it. Then reset it to suit our own needs.”

Taim frowned. “You said it was impossible.”

I did say that, didn’t I? The truth was that he didn’t want to do anything that would cause Demandred to come back, and angrier than ever. Everything had been so peaceful around here these past few weeks… “I may have slightly exaggerated.”

“Is it…difficult? Dangerous?” Taim prompted.

“Not particularly. It’s just… If Demandred wants to pay us a visit and realises he can’t open a gateway, he’ll know what we’ve done. He’ll be cross, especially if he has to walk three miles to yell at us. Do we really want to anger him any more than we already have?”

“Nate…”

“Seriously, is it worth incurring his wrath? The moment he finds out, he’ll only have to find it again and reset it. It’s a waste of time, plus he’ll punish us for messing with it in the first place.”

Taim was silent for a moment. “What if we don’t reset it, but merely disable it? Will he know that it’s been tampered with?”

“I…have no idea,” Natael admitted. His knowledge of Dreamspikes was limited. He’d never used one himself, though he knew how to disarm it and manage its settings – in theory, that was. “Once activated, it’s only visible in Tel’aran’rhiod. I think. Which means we’ll have to go there to find it.”

“Is that a problem?”

“I don’t like Tel’aran’rhiod,” Natael muttered. “Most of the Chosen are apt at navigating and manipulating it, but I’m not one of them.” He really was useless, wasn’t he? “If we run into one of them…” He trailed off, unwilling to finish that sentence.

“I think it’s worth a shot,” Taim said. “We need gateways, Nate. Our supplies are running low, and the would-be Queen of Andor-”

“Yes, I know,” Natael said with a sigh. “She’s being uncooperative. Extremely so.”

“Besides, with gateways, we can make a quick getaway, if need be. We could send our men to safety when Demandred realises that none of them have been Turned.” He paused. “Well, before he realises, ideally. Once Logain has explained everything to al’Thor, we could relocate them in a more secure area.”

“That could take a while,” Natael remarked.

“I still think we should make an attempt,” Taim insisted. “We need to be more proactive. It’s no use trying to outsmart Demandred, but we can take a few minor steps to at least…” He scowled. “Wait. He had to know that you could disarm the Dreamspike, didn’t he?”

“Yes! See, that’s exactly what I’m afraid of. He knows I know what it is, and how to stop it, but he still casually mentioned it. That leads me to believe that there are traps. Perhaps it’s even guarded. Perhaps it’s set to explode when anyone but him touches it.” Natael didn’t know if that was even possible, but should they risk it?

Taim was studying him, but he didn’t say anything.

“You think I’m being a coward, don’t you?” Natael said. “A selfish coward.”

“No, I’m trying to weigh the pros and cons. I value your input, Nate. If you think it’s too risky, then we won’t do it. I trust you. I’ve never entered Tel’aran’rhiod, so I don’t know what it’s like.”

I value your input. Well, that was new. No one had ever told him that before. He hid a beaming grin behind his cup of wine. “Lanfear is gone, though. That’s one person who won’t bother us in the World of Dreams… And Elan certainly has better things to do than monitor us.”

“Don’t they all have better things to do?”

Natael snorted. “You’d think that, but they must have eyes and ears at the Black Tower. All of them. If we attempt this thing, we must keep it to ourselves, at the risk of dying and no one ever finding out how or why or where our bodies may be.”

“I resigned myself to that possibility months ago,” Taim murmured.

So had Natael – centuries ago, in his case. Being one of the Chosen had its perks, but the risk of dying without anyone ever finding out was high. It had almost happened last year, in that cursed pantry, in Caemlyn. If not for Cauthon’s accidental yet timely rescue, Natael would have died for the second time that day. And dying once a day was quite enough, thank you very much.

“We’ll give it a try,” he decided. “But if we spot so much as the shadow of another person…”

“We won’t take any unnecessary risk,” Taim assured him. “If there are guards, we’ll leave immediately. It’s not worth dying for, that much we can agree on.”

Is anything worth dying for? Natael wondered. Even weeks ago, he would have said no, with emphasis and without hesitation. Life was preferable to death, always. That was what he used to believe. Since then, he had fallen in love with Taim, and he had experienced Turning…well, not first-hand, but near enough. He didn’t want to live without his free will, and he couldn’t live without Taim.

Was that a romantic exaggeration? Perhaps. After all, he’d survived his break-up with Elan, and that had shattered his heart, crushed his soul, and pretty much annihilated his will to live.

Of course he could live without Taim. He just wasn’t sure that he would want to, if Taim happened to die before him. Taim wasn’t Elan; Taim lifted him up, he was his rock. He was also the only person in the world who actually seemed to enjoy Natael’s company. Losing Taim would mean losing the one person who genuinely cared about him.

If no one cared about you, did you exist at all? Was life worth living, when you were entirely alone in the world?

“I can see from your expression that you’re either philosophising about the deeper meaning of life or having an existential crisis,” Taim said wryly, “or both, but should we get ready? Are you sober enough to see this through tonight?”

He was not. “We’ll practice tonight. We’ll enter the World of Dreams at a safe location and I’ll teach you everything I know.” It shouldn’t take long, and he didn’t need to be perfectly sober for that. Which was a good thing, because his cup of wine was still half-full. He drained it and smacked his lips. “Come on, then. I’ll deal with my existential crisis later.”

Chapter Text

Oops, the purple dome

Forgot that little detail

Wolfman saves the day

“I’m an idiot,” Natael muttered for the third time, watching the purple dome in dismay.

“Stop saying that,” Taim snapped.

“I’m a cretin,” he said instead.

Taim rolled his eyes. “Nate, you forgot about the barrier, it’s no big deal. With so much knowledge stored in that ancient brain of yours, it makes sense that it would forget some things. Happens to the best of us.”

“Yes, but-”

“Enough. Stop tormenting yourself. At least we tried…”

He looked exhausted. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and he had not shaved in a couple of days – the days they’d spent futilely practising how to navigate and manipulate the World of Dreams.

Since neither of them was a Dreamwalker, and that they didn’t have in their possession any ter’angreal that allowed them to access it in their sleep, they had to open a gateway to enter Tel’aran’rhiod in the flesh. That part wasn’t really a problem; they’d snuck out of the Black Tower, shrouded in inverted weaves of Folded Light, and had opened a gateway three miles south – not directly into Tel’aran’rhiod, but into the Aiel Waste, which was even more deserted than usual, nowadays. Nobody would disturb them there.

He had taught Taim everything he knew about Tel’aran’rhiod – a rather short-lasting endeavour – and then they had set to practice. They had done so two days in a row, intent on the mission, barely sleeping. Taim was, unsurprisingly, quite competent. He was a fast learner, but Natael knew that already.

Then had come the time to actually penetrate the mirror world of the Black Tower and disrupt Demandred’s Dreamspike.

The entire compound was surrounded by a faintly-glowing purple dome – the barrier that defined the reach of the Dreamspike. Natael had completely forgotten about that part. He had never felt more foolish in his life. There was no way for them to deactivate the Dreamspike: if they remained within the limit of the dome, they couldn’t enter Tel’aran’rhiod and, if they set foot outside of the dome to access the World of Dreams via gateway…they couldn’t get back in. One couldn’t simply will oneself inside the dome. That would defeat one of the purposes of the Dreamspike.

He wasn’t certain what going through the dome while they were in Tel’aran’rhiod would do to them, if it was even possible. Kill them, at worst, and most likely. Greatly weaken them, at best, but this would probably result in their deaths, if they were too weak to deal with the traps and potential guards around the Dreamspike.

“So stupid!” he groaned.

“Do I need to slap you out of your near-hysterical state?” Taim demanded. “Don’t think I won’t. The whining doesn’t help, Nate. We’ve established that.”

“I know it doesn’t! Nothing I do is helpful! I’m bloody useless!” He sat down on the ground, hugging his knees, head bowed. “Demandred was right, Ishamael’s orders are utter nonsense. Why on earth would he want me alive? The only thing I’m good at is messing everything up. Maybe that’s his plan. Maybe he’s relying on me to accidentally destroy al’Thor’s army, or...” He trailed off, because the truth was that he’d already done that. Half of their Asha’man had perished because he couldn’t make proper plans to save his life. And forty women had died, female channelers who could have served the Dragon Reborn. What if, without these people, the Last Battle was already lost?

“I can’t understand a word you’re saying, dear. You’re speaking to your knees and all I get are the vague rambling noises of a madman. This is merely a setback, Nate. We’ll-”

“Another setback,” Natael grumbled.

Taim sighed in exasperation. “We’ll find Dreamwalkers,” he said. “There are hundreds of channelers at the Black Tower. Surely at least one of them-”

Natael sat up straight and stared at him. “Of course! You’re a bloody genius! There has to be a Dreamwalker amongst this rabble. Has to be.” He stood up and dusted his backside. “Although…”

“What?”

“Well, I’m not sure how we’re supposed to test for that ability….”

“If they have it, they must have stumbled upon Tel’aran’rhiod already. They just don’t know what it is. We need to define a set of questions and ask around. Gorman will see to it.”

They relied on the Asha’man a lot. Too much, Natael’s paranoia told him. If Gorman betrayed them, as Atal had done… If he was a spy… Oh, the potential damage.

“We can trust him, Nate,” Taim said. He must have noticed Natael’s guarded expression. “We’ve been over this.”

“We can’t trust anyone,” Natael retorted. “No one but ourselves. Even Logain-”

“You don’t trust Logain? Why ever not?”

“He’s been away for a long time, and now he’s gone again. They could have gotten to him.”

“You’re not making any sense,” Taim insisted. “He’s already a Darkfriend. We asked him to become one. What more could they do to him, short of Turning him?”

What more…? Natael very nearly laughed. Taim had never had the misfortune of meeting Semirhage… She could torture someone into submission with disconcerting ease, even a man as strong and courageous as Logain.

Demandred or Moridin could have found him, too, and truly convinced him to join the Shadow, behind Taim and Natael’s backs. To take over for them later, perhaps, when he was done spying on al’Thor, or whatever it was that he was really up to. Logain, despite his principles and self-righteousness, was only human. Humans were easily swayed. Wealth, power, immortality… Recognition. Vengeance. Fear, even. Anything, even the littlest thing, the most trivial (and often imagined) slight was potentially an excuse to change sides, even at the last moment, as Demandred had done.

They had no idea where Logain had been these past few weeks, to whom he had talked. Had he really seen al’Thor? They had no way of knowing if he was lying…

“I’ve lost you again,” Taim said into the long silence. “Nate, saidin has been cleansed. You have no right to go mad on me now. Don’t you dare!”

“I’m not mad!” he exclaimed. “My concerns are perfectly legitimate.” He sounded petulant even to his own ears. Was he mad? No, surely he would know if that were the case.

Wouldn’t he?

The way he saw it, he would be truly mad the moment he stopped considering the possibility. The moment he stopped worrying about going mad. As of now, the very thought petrified him, Cleansing be damned.

He’d always been a bit paranoid – it was a secondary effect of being considered one of the weakest of the Forsaken.

Chosen.

Ugh! Why did he keep correcting himself? Forsaken was the appropriate term. It really was.

“Will you stop that?” Taim demanded.

“Stop what? I’m not doing anything!”

“I can almost hear your inner monologue, Nate. Or is there a debate going on in there? An argument? It looks like there might be. Whatever it is, we were having a conversation, so please talk to me, not to yourself. What is it that you’re afraid of? Logain is too rigidly principled to do anything but what he said he would do. He’s on our side. He’s loyal to us.”

Such a staunch stand, regarding a man he used to despise. And distrust.

Demandred was also rigidly principled, and Lews Therin considered him a loyal friend until the very end.

Besides, Natael had a feeling that Logain was loyal only to himself. He expected others to be loyal to him, because he was superior to them, because he was their leader, and therefore-

“You’re doing it again!” Taim complained.

Natael raised his hands in apology. “I am. I noticed it, this time. Sorry. I just… We really shouldn’t put too much trust in Gorman or Logain. Or anyone. You have no idea how easily they could betray us. For the most ridiculous reason, too. We do spend a lot of time with Gorman, but who’s to say what he does at night? Who visits him in secret?”

“We have to trust some people, Nate. It’s unreasonable to think we’ll accomplish anything, just the two of us.”

“Depends what you’re hoping to accomplish,” Natael muttered. “You’re trying to save the world. I’m just trying to keep us both alive until someone else saves it. Preferably the person who is supposed to save it.”

Taim regarded him with narrowed eyes. “I’ll save the world if it needs saving. Logain would do it, too. And so would you, though you refuse to acknowledge it.”

“Well, you’re part of the world,” Natael mumbled. “I wouldn’t have a choice.”

Taim smirked. “That’s more like it. We’ll make a hero out of you yet, darling.” He clasped Natael’s shoulder affectionately. “Let’s go home. We need to rest. We’ll brief Gorman in the morning.”

Natael was readying the weaves to open a gateway back to the real world but, before he could begin to form it, a bulky man stepped in front of him, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

Natael jumped backwards, instantly preparing for battle: weaves of Fire and Earth to attack the newcomer, weaves of Air, Water and Spirit for defence. He may be old, but his reflexes were still good.

Taim had already erected a saidin-woven shield to separate them from the stranger, though he was merely observing the latter, gauging his intentions.

Was he a stranger, though? He looked familiar, Natael decided upon closer inspection. He was a young lad, probably al’Thor’s age. He had a full beard…

…and a wolf at his side, Natael finally noticed. He let out a little gasp and took another step backwards. Taim didn’t move a muscle, but his shoulders were noticeably tense.

The young man raised his hands slowly, perhaps to show that he meant them no harm. The wolf cocked its head to the side as it watched Natael, and it seemed to be grinning. To mock him, most certainly. Everyone did it; why not this canine specimen?

“You’re Aybara,” Taim stated after a while. “One of the three ta’veren.”

Perrin Aybara, newly-appointed Lord of the Two Rivers, an old friend of the Dragon Reborn. They had briefly met at Dumai’s Wells, though no one had bothered to properly introduce them.

Natael would have breathed in relief but, ta’veren or not, that did not explain the wolf’s presence. Or what the lad was doing in Tel’aran’rhiod when he was not a channeler. Could non-channelers be Dreamwalkers? Or did he have a ter’angreal?

Yes, he must have. Al’Thor must have given his friend one. Perhaps they all met in secret in the World of Dreams, the three ta’veren of the Two Rivers.

That still didn’t explain the wolf.

Aybara was eyeing Taim studiously, a slight frown marring his face. “You’re that False Dragon from Saldaea. Mazrim…”

“Taim.”

“Yes, Mazrim Taim.” Aybara seemed to hold back a grimace – of contempt, perhaps, or anger. His hands, now at his sides, knotted into fists. “Faile has told me about you.”

Taim raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t lose his composure. “Faile?” he repeated politely.

Natael translated automatically from the Old Tongue: falcon. Was that an actual name, or rather a nickname, perhaps?

“And you are?” Aybara demanded.

Natael realised that he had already asked the question once. “I’m…er…” Blimey, he seemed to have forgotten his own name.

“Natael,” Taim put in. “Jasin Natael. Court Bard to the Lord Dragon. He and I are the leaders of the Black Tower.”

Aybara’s face did not soften one bit at that. “And what are you doing here? What’s that?” he added, pointing to the dome. “What did you do?” His voice was liberally laced with suspicion.

“This is not our doing,” Taim replied curtly. “The Forsaken want to isolate us from the rest of the world. They have installed a Dreamspike, which prevents us from Travelling. We were trying to disable it.”

Aybara’s shoulders relaxed minutely. “Trying to?”

Natael sighed. “I forgot about the dome thingy. We can’t get to the Dreamspike from outside of it, and we can’t access Tel’aran’rhiod from inside. In short-”

“In short, you need help,” Aybara finished for him.

Taim nodded hesitantly. “We do, but… I don’t see how you could… I mean, you’re not even a channeler. Do you have a ter’angreal? Well, you must have one. How else could you be here?”

Aybara briefly averted his gaze and made a non-committal sound. He was silent for a moment. His eyes shifted between his deadly pet and the purple dome.

His eyes, Natael realised suddenly, were not quite human-looking. The irises were an intense gold – pretty much the same as the wolf’s.

“What does a Dreamspike look like,” Aybara asked eventually, “and how does one disable it?”

Natael proceeded to explain, to the best of his knowledge. “And then you twist the top.”

“That’s it?” Aybara said dubiously. “This dangerous instrument of the Shadow can be rendered inoperative by simply…twisting the top?”

“The ter’angreal itself is not dangerous,” Natael noted. “But there will be traps. And it could be guarded.”

Aybara welcomed that information without a word. His face indicated that he wasn’t particularly worried, but he was deep in thought. The wolf was observing the scene impassively but, just as Natael’s gaze fixed upon it, it yawned, as if to show that it was bored with Natael’s endless stream of complicated human explanations.

After nearly a minute, Aybara nodded firmly. “I’ll do it.”

Natael had no idea how the lad could manage such a feat, but he did look confident that he could.

“But if I succeed, I’m keeping the Dreamspike,” Aybara went on.

Natael’s first reaction was to be outraged. It was his first reaction to most situations. “But we need it!” he argued. The wolf gave a warning growl when Natael raised his voice, though it showed no sign of violence – or hunger.

“Rand might need it, too,” Aybara said calmly. “And I believe that his needs are more important than yours. Don’t you?”

No. I believe nothing of the sort. I never have, never will. My own needs – and now Taim’s – are foremost and matter more than anyone else’s.

Of course, he didn’t say that aloud. In fact, he didn’t get a chance to say anything. Taim must have been afraid that Natael would speak his mind, because he uttered a hastened reply: “We do. Anything for the Lord Dragon.”

If Aybara could tell that Taim was lying – was he, though? – he didn’t comment on it. “If the dome vanishes, then I’ve succeeded. If it stays…” Aybara shrugged his massive shoulders. He used to be a blacksmith, Natael remembered. Al’Thor had mentioned that. Or perhaps Cauthon. “I’ll see you on the battlefield for the Last Hunt,” he murmured cryptically.

He must have meant it as a goodbye, because he disappeared in the blink of an eye. The wolf didn’t, though, not right away. It stretched languorously, yawning again, then snarled at him so suddenly that Natael almost fell over. Taim held his arm. Once again, the wolf seemed to grin mockingly. Content that it had accomplished this task – to scare Natael and make him look foolish one last time – the wolf vanished.

“An odd fellow, this Aybara,” Taim remarked. “What happened to his eyes? Is he…part wolf, somehow? Is that a thing?”

“Who knows?” Who cares? was what he really meant. What troubled him was that they were going to lose the Dreamspike. One of the few means of protection left to them. When Demandred figured out that it was gone, the price to pay would be steep.

But they knew that already. They’d known beforehand that doing anything to the Dreamspike – removing it, disabling it, resetting it, destroying it – was going to have consequences.

They were living on borrowed time. Which offence would be the death of them? Messing with the Dreamspike? Coaching their recruits to act like they’d been properly Turned to the Shadow? Or in Natael’s case…stubbornly continuing to exist?

“This was probably a bad idea,” he said under his breath. “Can’t trust anyone. What if he gives the Dreamspike to someone even worse than Demandred?”

In all fairness, such a person did not exist. Moridin was terrible, but Demandred… Ugh, Demandred.

“Aybara is ta’veren,” Taim said, his brow furrowed. “Why would he do that?”

A strange argument. “That doesn’t make him inherently good, if that’s what you were implying,” Natael said slowly. “Ishamael was – is – very likely ta’veren himself. Perhaps all of the Forsaken are ta’veren, though not as strongly as al’Thor or his friends.”

Perhaps Taim and he were ta’veren, in their own, somewhat unassuming way. Given everything that had happened to them over the past half year or so, and everything that was certain to happen in the near future…

“Did he seem evil to you?” Taim questioned.

Natael chortled. “’Seem evil’? Few people ever do. And the truly evil ones know when to appear charming and respectable.” Like Logain.

Taim sighed. “Is this about Logain again?” he guessed. “Nate, I don’t know why you’re suddenly obsessed over the man and convinced that he’s against us, but-”

“There’s a darkness in him,” Natael said curtly. “He’s an angry, bitter man.”

“Well, that’s hardly surprising, considering what was done to him,” Taim noted. “That doesn’t mean-”

“Were you not listening to me, last night, when I said…” He backtracked. He had not said this out loud, had he? Burn me, am I mad? “Um, that is… He’s suffered a lot. He lost everything…”

“Then he gained most of it back,” Taim countered. “He was Healed.”

“Maybe so, but now he knows what it’s like to be powerless. He’s a man who will do anything to avoid being gentled again, to avoid feeling helpless or vulnerable. Anything. What if…I don’t know, what if al’Thor decides that he should be gentled again? What happens then?”

“You’re rambling, Nate,” Taim said softly. “Why on earth would he do that? He’s a male channeler himself, there’s the Amnesty, and saidin has been cleansed besides. He has no reason to-”

“What if he feels threatened?” Natael said.

Taim rolled his eyes. “If he felt threatened by male channelers, especially powerful ones, he would have gentled or killed us already. Well, me, anyway. He doesn’t know that you’ve regained your full strength.”

“Even if he did, I doubt he’d feel much threatened by me,” Natael said sourly. “He never showed me the respect I deserve. He was never afraid. Thinks I’m a joke. They all do.” Everyone always underestimated him, in his humble opinion, though at this point Natael was not certain whether it was indeed underestimation or rather a correct estimation.

Taim observed him for a long moment, his gaze troubled. “You’re tired,” he said eventually. “It’s been a long couple of days – and nights. We’ll wait another ten minutes, see if the dome dissolves, then we’ll-”

“It’s been gone for two minutes,” Natael said, pointing in the direction of the mirror Black Tower. “Aybara did it.”

Taim, whose back had been turned to it, stared at the dome-less compound for a moment then returned his attention to Natael. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“We were talking,” he replied with a shrug.

“You’re…” Taim trailed off, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Never mind. Let’s go to bed. Light knows you need it,” he whispered, opening a gateway into the real world.

“There’ll be plenty of time to rest when you’re dead, Joar,” a feminine voice stated.

Natael felt a sudden chill. A woman who knew his real name… That couldn’t be good. He turned to find a short woman with silver hair and striking blue eyes standing at a safe distance. He couldn’t help but notice that she had…an impressive bosom, to say the least. It wasn’t anyone he knew, however.

Perhaps that was a good thing… At least it wasn’t one of the original Forsaken.

You’re in Tel’aran’rhiod, you idiot, he remembered immediately. Appearances can be even more deceiving here than in the real world. This person could be anyone. It could be Moridin, or Demandred. Or al’Thor.

“Believe me, I know,” the newcomer added with a rictus.

“Who are you?” Taim demanded.

The woman ignored him entirely and moved closer to Natael. Too close for comfort. Her cerulean eyes bore into his. “I will have my revenge,” she whispered. “Sooner or later, Joar. Elan cannot control me forever.”

Revenge? “What have I ever done to you? I don’t even know who you are!” Deep down, however, he had a feeling that-

“Lanfear,” Taim said in a murmur. “The Dark One must have brought her back.”

Natael’s knees nearly buckled. He held on to Taim’s shoulder for support. No, not her. Anyone but her.

“I’m not allowed to use that name anymore,” she said crisply. “I am Cyndane.”

Last chance. How…ominous.

He was frightened, of course he was but, at the same time, he realised just how angry he was. First, Elan had forced them to enter Sindhol and risk their lives to rescue Lanfear, something that Natael absolutely did not want to do. Then Elan had commanded him to slay her, rendering their almost-fatal rescue pretty much useless – she would have died soon enough at the hands of the Finn. And now she’d been brought back to life?

Oh…but it made sense. If she’d died in Sindhol, the Great Lord would not have been able to reach her. They’d been sent to punish her and give her that last chance at the same time.

How twisted.

“Elan won’t let us murder you…” Cyndane went on. “And he won’t tell us why…but we all know why. He has grown soft with age. Softer… He was always weak. The Great Lord’s champion?” she scoffed. “Bah! But in this world, it seems that one must be male, to be anyone’s champion… Which is why I decided to be my own champion.”

“Mm-mm,” Taim said sarcastically. “And how did that work out for you, Cyndane?” he added with plenty of emphasis on the name, which he must have translated as well.

Don’t taunt her, Natael begged with his mind. She’s not allowed to kill me, but did Elan say anything about Taim? “Why?” he said out loud. Cyndane turned her baleful gaze upon him. “You said you knew why Elan wouldn’t let me die. Why?” he repeated.

They would not like the answer, Natael guessed, but at least they’d know for sure.

“Everyone knows that he dumped you in a vain attempt to protect you, you idiot,” she replied scornfully.

“That is a lie,” Natael rumbled. “He made it abundantly clear that he doesn’t care about me.”

Cyndane rolled her eyes. “If you’d known what he was up to at the time, you would have tried to stop him, wouldn’t you? Before he could betray them all. Who knows what would have happened then? No, he had to get rid of you. Permanently, though he picked the option that would leave you alive…”

This was ridiculous. Was she implying that, if Elan had not so brutally and convincingly broken up their relationship, Natael would have…changed the very course of history? That Elan would not have become the Great Lord’s puppet-in-chief?

That his love for Elan would have saved the day, as if they lived in a cheesy, romantic theatre play?

Ridiculous. Risible.

“He didn’t want to corrupt your obnoxious soul any more than it already was,” Cyndane went on. “He wanted to give you a fair chance, should he fail in his task. Which is precisely why he shouldn’t be anyone’s champion. Is he even trying to succeed? Or does he merely want to die?”

“I think it’s more complicated than that,” Natael murmured. “Elan sees the end of the world, the end of time itself, the Great Lord’s victory, as an inevitability. It didn’t happen three thousand years ago, and perhaps it won’t happen this time around, but it will happen. He doesn’t want to die. He doesn’t want the vindication of knowing he was right all along. He wants it to be over. He’s tired. He’s insane. He just wants to rest, to be left alone. He doesn’t want to be ta’veren any longer, a puppet to the Great Lord and to the Pattern itself.”

He had spoken only briefly to Elan since the end of his multimillennial slumber, and never in depth. Yet he knew this to be true – because he knew Elan, and because he had never stopped caring about him, no matter how much he wanted to.

“Well, I’m more than happy to take over from him,” Cyndane said briskly. Yes, so was Demandred. So was every Forsaken still alive.

“What are Elan’s orders regarding Taim?” Natael asked. “He wants me alive, but-”

“Ah, yes. Your new pet, is he?” Cyndane eyed Taim up and down. “Your taste in men has somewhat improved… Elan will not murder him in a fit of jealousy, if that’s what you’re worried about. He might decide to have one of us kill him, though, especially if you keep interfering in our business.”

“We’re not-”

“I helped Aybara with the Dreamspike, Joar,” Cyndane said. “I know exactly what you’re up to. I just don’t care at the moment. Besides, why would I do anything that would benefit dear old Barid? You’re his problem, for now. As soon as Elan and he are distracted by the battle to come, however, I’ll be back for you.”

“He’s not restrained by your shield any longer,” Taim said menacingly. “And he’s not alone.”

Natael had been about to remark that he had not intended to stick a knife in her heart, that Elan had made him do it, but it was a moot point now.

Cyndane snorted with laughter. “Seriously, did you use Compulsion on this one? Or is it possible, somehow, that you’ve managed to find a second person, in all of time and space, who genuinely cares for you?” She observed them both pensively for a minute. “I doubt that the latter is even an option… Unless he’s gone mad. Why, if Elan weren’t utterly bonkers-”

“I imagine that’s what Lews Therin said, when you started dating Barid Bel in the hope that it would make Lews jealous. Or was it Barid who hoped to accomplish that?”

Natael stared at Taim open-mouthed. That was part of the song about Demandred…but neither Lanfear nor Demandred was ever meant to hear it.

On an unrelated note: was he trying to get himself killed?

Cyndane’s relatively pretty face was contorted with rage, and it was terrifying to behold. (Relatively pretty because she used to be stunningly beautiful – and tall, and perfectly well-proportioned. Oh, how it must grate her, to have been stuffed into this second-rate body. No wonder she was mad at him for ruining the original one.)

Suddenly, Natael was struck by a curious thought: “Was it Elan who told you that I killed you?” If Elan was trying to protect him…well, this would have the opposite effect.

“It was Shaidar Haran,” she replied curtly.

Taim and Natael exchanged a look. Natael could see that Taim had translated the unfamiliar name to the Common Tongue: Hand of the Dark. A new Forsaken, perhaps?

Logain’s new alias?

No. Taim was right. He had to trust Logain. Had to.

Stop being paranoid! he scolded himself. You heard Taim. You have no right to go mad now. At least trust him; trust in his instincts.

“Well, I’m bored now,” Cyndane announced. “I’m going to find Perrin. See you later, Joar.” She vanished without a trace.

“Do you think she really helped Aybara with the Dreamspike?” Taim wondered a second later. Then, without waiting for a reply: “Why would she do that?”

Natael eyed him with a scowl. “Is that the first thing you-” He chuckled softly. “I assumed we would address the elephant in the room…”

“The what in the room?” Taim repeated, confused.

Peace! He didn’t know what an elephant was? Where had all the weird animals gone, honestly? Natael sighed. He was exhausted. “I thought we’d address the…Elan thing.”

Taim shrugged. “Cyndane’s answer confirms what I’d already guessed.”

“How could you have guessed that?” Natael exclaimed. “I would never have guessed that in a million years! I mean, I told you how things ended between us…”

“Yes, you did, and you also told me that it happened a few days before Ishamael…well, became known as Ishamael. To end such an apparently loving relationship, for such an unexpected reason, completely out of the blue…” Incongruously, he smiled. “Remember the day we tracked down Lanfear in Sindhol?”

How could Natael forget? They had just discussed it with Lanfear herself a few minutes past…

“You were unconscious for some time, after we got out. Moridin never spoke a word to me until you came to, but he did watch you… The look in his eyes, Nate. When you told me about you two, I remembered that look, and then again when Demandred said that he was forbidden to harm you, because of Moridin’s orders.”

“So you are jealous,” Natael said.

Taim shook his head. “I’m really not. I understand him. And I think the reason why I’m still alive is that Moridin hopes I will protect you, just as he did. Because he knows how I feel about you. He knew it before I did, I think.” His smile widened a fraction. “He knows how infuriating you can be, but he also knows that it is just one of the things that make you so endearing, to the people who know the real you. The one who’s vulnerable, who feels inferior and weak, even though he’s the opposite. The one who uses arrogance and sarcasm as shields in the face of adversity, or in times of trouble. Or simply when he refuses to acknowledge his own feelings.”

“You’re one to talk,” Natael muttered. His cheeks had heated up with every word Taim spoke.

Taim nodded sagely. “The more romantic part of me will say that we were meant for each other, partly because we’re so alike, but mostly because we complement each other so perfectly.”

Natael would have laughed, had anyone told him, months ago, that Taim was, deep down, a romantic. Though he rarely let it show, he really was. If word got out, it would ruin his reputation as a powerful, fearsome False Dragon even more than if people learned of their relationship.

When people learned of their relationship. If they somehow survived the Last Battle, Natael had no intention of hiding it. (Not that he put much effort into concealing it now, despite Taim’s half-hearted insistence. Besides, everyone at the Black Tower was already aware of it, no matter how discreet they were.)

Taim was looking at him, he realised. Not angrily, nor worriedly, but with great sufferance. “Inner monologuing again, am I?” Natael said in a sheepish voice. “I’m really sorry. I’m too tired to speak up, I think, so I talk to myself instead. Let’s…” He paused to take a good look around, to make sure they wouldn’t be interrupted a third time. “…go to bed.” He quickly glanced around again, to see if the rest of the sentence had somehow conjured someone else.

Taim smiled in agreement. “The good news is that we can Travel right into our bedroom.”

And, best of all, for once, there was no real bad news to undermine the good one.

Well, except that Lanfear was alive again and intent on killing him sometime in the near future, and that Demandred would come punish them soon enough for removing the Dreamspike.

Oh well. They were snuggled up in bed and Taim was already snoring. The light, steady sound, as usual, helped lull Natael to sleep, driving away all the troubles of the day.

Chapter Text

Stop sending witches

They will end up dead or worse

Unless our “plan” works

“A delegation of Aes Sedai? At the gates, right now?”

Gorman nodded. Taim and Natael exchanged a worried look. They didn’t have a good history with Aes Sedai visiting the Black Tower.

Things had been quiet recently. They could Travel, but they’d been discreet about it. They used gateways only when it was absolutely necessary, so as not to alert Demandred, who had – by some miracle – not yet returned. Lanfear had not warned her old flame and colleague, that was something.

But now this. What fresh hell awaited them?

“How many?” Taim enquired. He looked exhausted, as was usual nowadays. While Natael had recuperated from their time-consuming sessions in Tel’aran’rhiod and recovered a normal sleep pattern, Taim, unfortunately, had not. He’d admitted to being worried about Lanfear’s threats, and Natael knew that he was still feeling guilty about the Aes Sedai debacle which had resulted in the deaths of their original Asha’man. It was not for lack of trying to make him sleep on Natael’s part, that much was certain. Natael often awoke in the middle of the night to find Taim sitting in bed, staring blindly ahead, a frown on his face. Nothing he did seemed to have any effect; Taim wouldn’t or couldn’t relax, and he refused to use sleeping draughts, claiming that they befuddled his mind.

“Do they…come in peace?” Natael added.

“What Ajah?” Taim asked again, before Gorman could reply.

Gorman waited a moment, to make sure they were out of questions. “Only six of them, M’Hael, but they…um, they’re all Red Ajah. And, um, they…well, they haven’t tried to gentle us, Ghraem.”

That would have been a very bold move, Natael thought. And utterly insane, especially if there was only a handful of them. But still, that had initially been Toveine’s plan, so who knew.

“Reds,” Taim muttered. “That means White Tower emissaries, not rebels. What is Elaida playing at now?”

“If she wanted revenge for the previous group, she would have sent more women, one would assume.”

“Send scouts,” Taim told Gorman. “We need to know if there’s an ambush in the waiting. Be discreet, though.”

Gorman bowed swiftly. “Aye, m’lord. I’ll see to it at once. Shall I, um…let them in? They won’t tell us why they’re here. They’ll only speak to you.” He hesitated. “Um, to M’Hael. They asked to see Mazrim Taim, specifically.”

Natael took no offence. He was used to it. Well, it was still irksome to be left out, but he didn’t complain out loud. He merely exhaled sharply to show his annoyance.

“Tell them that we’ll meet them at the gates in a few minutes,” Taim said. “Dismissed, Asha’man.”

Gorman saluted and exited the room without another word.

“Why do they want to talk to you specifically?” Natael wondered when Gorman was gone. “People know I’m here, too, right?”

“They know that the Dragon Reborn’s Court Bard is here,” Taim said in a reasonable tone. “Not to diminish the importance of that title, but-”

“I know,” Natael said through gritted teeth. “I’m not as famous as the deadly False Dragon of the North, not in my capacity of Court Bard, anyway.”

Taim patted his shoulder. “There, there. One day you’ll be as famous as I am. Or infamous, in this case.”

“I already am! They just don’t know who I really am!”

Taim threw him an odd look. “Is it truly a concern of yours, that you’re not currently recognised for being one of the…well, a former Forsaken? Are you jealous of me? Also…shouldn’t we worry about what the witches want, instead of having an infamy contest?”

Natael sighed. “I suppose so,” he said grudgingly. “Do you think they’re here because of…”

“…their dead sisters? Yes, I’d say that’s very likely. Toveine was a Red, after all.”

“This is going to be a fun conversation,” Natael stated.

Taim shrugged. “They came to gentle us and destroy the Black Tower. Regardless of what really happened, we had cause for attacking them.”

“I doubt they’ll see it that way.”

“I don’t care. There’s only six of them, and they’re Reds, so they’ll have no Warder with them.”

“Good thing that there aren’t thirteen,” Natael said. “Otherwise-”

Taim’s eyes widened. “Oh, peace. I’d almost forgotten. We have to get rid of them, don’t we?”

“As soon as possible,” Natael agreed. “Because if Demandred hears about this, we’ll have to capture them and Turn them.”

Taim nodded firmly. “Let’s find out what they want and send them on their way when they’ve said their piece. For all we know, someone is warning Demandred as we speak.”

They hurried down the stairs, but walked at a leisurely pace once they were outside. They had to keep up appearances with the Aes Sedai, at least. As they made their way to the gates, Natael shared an idea. “If they appear…amenable, and depending on the real reason for their presence, perhaps we ought to take this opportunity to open a dialogue with the White Tower.”

Taim squinted at him. “A dialogue?”

“Well, if al’Thor refuses to listen to Logain, for whatever reason, we could use some allies.”

“You want the Black Tower to forge an alliance with the White?” Taim scoffed.

“I’m not looking forward to work hand-in-hand with the Aes Sedai, but they would make powerful allies, you must admit. They might help keep Demandred at bay-”

“Unless they’re being controlled by another Forsaken,” Taim remarked. “Indubitably the Toveine fiasco was Elaida’s idea, because none of the Forsaken would be stupid enough to pull a stunt like that, especially on Demandred’s turf, but we don’t know who sent these Reds. If we must ally with the White Tower at some point, it will have to wait until we know for sure that Tar Valon has not already fallen into the hands of the Shadow.”

Natael didn’t respond because Taim was, as usual, correct. Not for the first time, Natael thought that Taim would have made a fearsome Chosen, were he not so easily guilt-ridden. And so kind, and generally good.

The leader of the Aes Sedai delegation introduced herself as Pevara Tazanovni. She was a reasonably attractive woman from Kandor. She began to introduce her sisters, but Natael cut her off. He had trouble masking his impatience. “We care naught for your names. Why are you here? What do you want?”

If she was taken aback by his abruptness, it didn’t show. “Firstly, we would like to speak with Toveine Gazal. It has been weeks since we’ve had word from her. According to our sources, Toveine and her...envoys are being detained here. We merely wish to ascertain that they are being treated well, in regard to their status.”

Did they really not know that Toveine and most of the other Aes Sedai were dead? It seemed improbable. It had to be a trap, of sorts. Aes Sedai manipulation.

“They came with orders to gentle us all,” Taim said, “and to destroy the Black Tower. Why would you expect us to treat them well? As for their ‘status’…” He trailed off with a sneer. Natael knew that Taim felt horrible for what had befallen the women, but his attitude toward Aes Sedai in general had not changed: he despised them and their sense of superiority.

Pevara hesitated for a moment. “Regardless, we would like to-”

“You can’t see them. And unless you want to end up in our dungeons, Mistress Tazanovni, I suggest that you turn your heels and go back where you came from.”

He refused to use her proper title, but that didn’t faze the Kandori. “I’m afraid I must insist, Master Taim.”

“Is that why you’re here, then?” Taim retorted. “Elaida sent you to make sure that her puppets are comfortable in their cells? Well, bad news, sister: they were executed.”

Natael gave him a sidelong glance. They had not discussed this, but in Taim’s defence, there was no use pretending that the women were alive. The truth would come out eventually, or some version of it, at least.

Pevara kept her countenance, but she had paled visibly, like her sisters. One of them was gaping in shock. “All of them?” the woman murmured.

Taim nodded. “They were a danger to us, and there were too many to keep shielded at all times. We could have stilled them, I suppose – to give them a taste of their own medicine, as it were – but now that there is a way to Heal this condition, we deemed it more appropriate to off them altogether.”

Natael wasn’t sure where he was going with this. When the world found out that they had “executed” such a large number of Aes Sedai, when al’Thor found out… Oh, there would be hell to pay.

Unless Taim didn’t intend to allow these six women to leave and to spread the word. That wasn’t the plan, though. None of this had been discussed! They were supposed to send them away, nothing more. What if the White Tower decided to retaliate? Or the Salidar women, for that matter. What if this caused the two groups of Aes Sedai to reconciliate and join forces to destroy the Black Tower? Natael cleared his throat and put a hand on Taim’s shoulder. “Um, if you’ll excuse us, my colleague and I must confer in private for a moment.”

Taim looked annoyed at the interruption, but he followed Natael until they were out of earshot. Natael wove a ward against eavesdropping regardless. “What?” Taim demanded.

“I should be asking you that,” Natael countered. “What are you doing? Why are you so intent on antagonising them? Why are you threatening them?”

“What else am I supposed to do? Nate, don’t be fooled. They already knew that their sisters were dead. They were trying to trick us.”

“There are only six of them! There’s no way they’ve come to exact justice for the fallen, Taim. There was no need to tell them all that. What are we going to do now? Al’Thor will hear about this. What if Logain hasn’t yet-”

“Al’Thor will know sooner or later, won’t he? Maybe he’ll finally show up, when he learns what happened.”

Natael blinked. “Is that… Is this some sort of…bait? Do you hope to lure al’Thor here with news of the Aes Sedai’s mass execution? I thought we were going to let Logain handle him! You said you trusted him!”

“I trust him, of course I do, but it’s taking too long, burn him!” Taim said. “At this pace, the Last Battle will be over before he warns al’Thor. Time isn’t on our side, Nate. Demandred could be back at any moment, and our subterfuge will not last much longer. It was clever, but it won’t fool him indefinitely.”

“But al’Thor is going to execute us as soon as he hears the news! Logain was going to explain everything, how we were forced to-”

“We can explain it to him just as well as Logain would have.”

“I don’t think he will give us an opportunity to justify our actions,” Natael insisted. “Or give us a fair trial. He’s unstable, remember?” He was beginning to wonder if Taim wasn’t a bit unstable, too, perhaps due to his fatigue. Blood and ashes, what a mess. “Go back to the palace. Let me talk to them. I can salvage-”

“I can handle this myself, Nate,” Taim said flatly.

“I’m sure you can, but let me do it anyway.” Without another word, he returned to the Aes Sedai. Taim followed him.

“Why are you really here?” Natael barked at Pevara.

To her credit, the Red didn't flinch, nor did she deflect the question. “There have been rumours that your men bonded our sisters. But I suppose they were just that, rumours, if they’re dead.”

“A few of them are alive,” Natael said before Taim could speak. “Gabrelle Sedai was bonded by Logain Ablar. He took several of our men, who have each bonded one of the Aes Sedai, and they have left the Black Tower to join the Dragon Reborn.”

Pevara took a deep breath. “Then we would like to bond some of your men.”

Taim and Natael looked at each other, neither bothering to mask their surprise. That was unexpected, to say the least. “Um…why?”

“It is not lost on us Reds that our very purpose is now…obsolete, thanks to al’Thor’s recent…accomplishment.”

Right. The Cleansing. They no longer had a “valid” reason to gentle male channelers. Poor things.

“Now that your men are no longer affected by the taint that befouled saidin, we wish to make a few of them our Warders.”

Reds with Warders? Natael had not lived in this Age for very long but, even to him, the very notion was absurd. He didn’t need to look at Taim to know that this would be a categorical no. “I don’t really understand why you think that’s a good idea but, in any case-”

“It is a good idea,” Taim murmured. Natael shifted to stare at him. Taim was smiling. Oh, that didn’t bode well. “It’s a grand idea. How many men are you each willing to bond? I hear that some Green sisters have up to four or five Warders…”

How many…? What?!

Natael was about to excuse himself so that he could have another word with Taim in private, but he took a moment to consider the matter and understand Taim’s reasoning. It did make sense, he quickly realised. If each woman bonded even one or two men then left the Black Tower with their new Warders…all of them would be relatively safe. Of course, if Demandred learned of the missed opportunity to Turn even a handful of Aes Sedai, Taim and Natael would be severely punished, but they were going to be punished sooner or later anyway, for this reason or for another. “Yes…” he said slowly. “Yes, you should do that.”

The Aes Sedai eyed each other warily. They had not anticipated their immediate agreement, let alone Taim’s enthusiasm. They must be wondering what insane scheme Taim and Natael had in mind.

“There will be a few conditions, of course,” Taim went on when they didn’t reply. “Consent, for one. The men you wish to bond must agree to it. Obviously, Ghraem and myself are off-limits. So is Asha’man Gorman. Actually, he will give you a list of the men who cannot be bonded.”

The “Turned”, Natael assumed. They had to keep them. And the rest of the Asha’man, preferably. There were few enough of those.

“You have until nightfall,” Taim added. “Then you must leave with your newly-acquired Warders.”

“Nightfall?” Pevara exclaimed. “Respectfully, Master Taim, we need more than a few hours to make such a life-changing-”

Taim shook his head. “That’s non-negotiable. I suggest you get to it, sisters. You’re losing light.” Without another word, he stalked away.

Natael hurried after him. “I understand what you’re doing,” he began, “but-”

“I know, it seems futile, doesn’t it? But even if they only pick one man each, that’s six men who will be away from the Black Tower. Six lives who will be spared, not to mention that of the Aes Sedai themselves. If Demandred comes by before nightfall, though, they’re all as good as dead,” he said in a low voice.

“Maybe we should send them to Logain,” Natael suggested. “Maybe…maybe Logain will realise that time is running out, and that he should talk to al’Thor, even if he’s not…all there.”

“That’s a good idea.” Taim didn’t seem to care one way or the other. He was distracted, barely listening.

“You really shouldn’t have told them that we’d executed the other Aes Sedai,” Natael chided him. “That was-”

Taim shrugged. “At least we know they won’t outstay their welcome here. Though we could have simply told them the truth, I suppose… Either way, they will pass on the message to someone important, who will hopefully do something about it.”

Do something about it? “Taim…do you want to be punished for what happened? Do you want to be gentled and hanged? Because that’s what will happen if ‘someone important’ finds out.”

“I don’t really want any of that, but perhaps that’s what needs to happen. If someone else is in charge, then-”

“Then we’ll be dead!” Natael had stopped walking and was holding Taim by the sleeve. “What is wrong with you? A few days ago I thought I was the one going insane with paranoia, and now you’re… I don’t even know what you’re doing! You can’t let the guilt crush you, Taim. We need to stay strong. The worst is yet to come, and the Back Tower must withstand the Forsaken until the Last Battle, otherwise all will be lost. We must protect our men, or die trying. They’re our responsibility.”

Huh. That was not something he would typically say. Usually it was Taim who made such grandiose speeches about duty and saving the world… Had Taim given up? Why now? Everything had been running smoothly for the past few weeks. There was no reason to lose hope now.

“But what if us dying is precisely what needs to happen to protect the men? If Logain takes charge of the Black Tower, with al’Thor overseeing operations-”

“Al’Thor cannot save the Black Tower,” Natael hissed. “He can take out Demandred and Moridin, but the Tower needs us. Al’Thor doesn’t know the men. He doesn’t care about them. They’re cannon fodder for the battle to come, nothing more, just like all the soldiers and allies he’s recruited over the months. He has a single goal in mind, and that’s to defeat the Dark One. No matter the cost. We’re the ones who have to make sure that as many men as possible survive. That’s our job, Taim. We can’t give up now, just before the battle, when they need us the most. If we die, Demandred will come for our replacement and Turn him, since he likely won’t be protected by Moridin for sentimental reasons, and then all we’ve accomplished here will be for naught. The Black Tower will fall to the Shadow. The end.”

Taim wasn’t averting his gaze. He was looking right into Natael’s eyes, with his customary intensity, but his emotions were difficult to read. Was any of this reaching him? Was it having any effect at all?

“We’ve made mistakes,” Natael went on more quietly. “We have failed, several times. But we’re still here. Most of our men are still here. We can do it, Taim. We can make it to the finish line, if we stay the course. We can’t let the Shadow win. More importantly, we can’t give Demandred the satisfaction of knowing he was right all along.”

Finally, a semblance of reaction: Taim’s half-smile welcomed that remark. “You’re getting good at this,” he said. “The soaring, motivational speeches. I’ve taught you well.”

Natael looked away, feeling embarrassed. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not!” Taim held his arm, a comforting, warm gesture. “I’m not. And I’m sorry I…went a little overboard, earlier. It’s just… Don’t you hate the way they expect to be treated with the utmost respect, when they’re doing nothing at all to earn it? Is condescension something they’re taught at the White Tower?” He sighed. “Is there any way to fix what I’ve done?”

“We’ll send them to Logain,” Natael repeated what he’d said earlier. “With a message urging him to take action. He’ll know what to do with them. They’ll be safe with him.”

“Yes, well… To be honest, I’m not sure that allowing them to bond some of our men was such a good idea. I wasn’t thinking clearly, only focusing on the possibility of them being away if Demandred returns. What if it’s a trap? Light only knows what their intentions are. Why is the Red Ajah suddenly interested in Warders? Do they merely want to verify that the taint has been cleansed, or is there something darker at play? And what if it’s nothing but an experiment, what if they kill the men as soon as they’re done studying them? What if…what if they’re really Black Ajah?”

Natael had not considered any of that, either. They should have discussed this before giving Pevara a final answer, but it was too late now. Not too far from where they stood, the Red was talking animatedly with Androl Genhald – a Dedicated who, despite his lack of strength in the Power, could open several gateways of any size all at once. Natael surmised that it was a Talent, of sorts. They couldn’t really afford to lose him but, on the other hand, the man would be safe. They couldn’t let the Shadow have him and his formidable gift.

“I wouldn’t worry too much,” Natael said, with more confidence than he felt. “The Aes Sedai will use their own method of bonding. As far as we know, it doesn’t involve Compulsion. Also, I have a good feeling about this Pevara woman. She seems much nicer than Toveine.”

“Maybe she’s just a better actress,” Taim muttered. “Peace, I wish you’d silenced me before I could make such a mess of things.”

Natael chuckled wryly. “I could have, but how would that have looked to the Aes Sedai? We have to present a united front and at least appear to know what we’re doing.” That did nothing to comfort Taim. “Ah, don’t fret. We improvised and, as usual, it backfired. But it always does, and we’re still alive, aren’t we? We must be doing something right.” Or maybe some of Cauthon’s luck had transferred to him when the lad had saved his life. “I’m sure everything will work out eventually.”

“Um, M’Hael, Ghraem, m’lords?” Gorman was back. Hopefully with…well, not terrible news. Taim gestured for him to speak. “We found no trace of other Aes Sedai in the area. No camp, no soldiers, no one at all. It’s really just the six of them, I think.”

Oddly, Natael had not expected anything else. They had to know that they would send scouts. Of course, that didn’t mean that the Aes Sedai were truly alone; with gateways, there could be an army ready to materialise at the gates at any moment. But Natael didn’t think there was. In fact, he was wondering if Elaida - or someone even nastier - had really sent them, or if they’d come of their own volition. The “why” was still a bit mystifying, but they weren’t doing any harm and, unless they were Black Ajah, they couldn’t lie. Perhaps those six were simply curious about men in general. Perhaps they hoped for more than mere Warders… After all, as Pevara herself had said, the Red Ajah no longer had a purpose, or a reason to fear male channelers. Perhaps they intended to disband their Ajah altogether and become Greens instead.

Now that would be bloody hilarious.

“Gorman, we need you to make a list of names that includes the Asha’man, as well as all the men who have been ‘Turned’, and hand it over to the Aes Sedai in charge,” Natael said, pointing at Pevara. “Tell her she cannot bond any of them – and especially not you. We can’t lose you.” The Asha’man flushed at that. He saluted quickly and left.

“I know that we need him, but I desperately want to send him away, to make sure he’s safe,” Taim said softly.

“I want to send everyone away,” Natael said. “Including ourselves. But we can’t. Not yet. We need to know that al’Thor is on our side, that he’ll have our backs no matter what. For now, it’s still us against the world.”

That was an improvement to Natael’s previous situation, which had him, alone, pitted against the world. As long as Taim was with him, he could face anything.

Even his own, eventual death.

Chapter Text

Nope, he’s not dead but

We got that thing we wanted

Thank you, kind strangers

“Do you think… Is it possible that he’s dead?” Taim wondered.

They were on the balcony, each with a glass of wine in hand after another long day of intensive teaching. The cool spring air was refreshing. Natael took a moment to savour the idea of Demandred being dead, but he knew that it was unlikely; if Barid Bel had died, they would know it. “I highly doubt it. Must be busy wreaking havoc wherever he is. Too busy for us.”

“What about Moridin?” Taim went on, still with a faint trace of hope in his voice.

Natael sighed. “Believe me, if the Nae’blis were dead, there would have been an announcement and, to be perfectly honest, I’d much rather that didn’t happen, because Demandred is likely to succeed him.” And because Elan was the only reason why they were both still alive.

“Mind you, I enjoy the relative peace and quiet… But it makes me uncomfortable, not knowing what’s going on. Waiting for either of them to reappear, with no clue when that may be, or what they’ll come up with to make our lives difficult again.”

It had been months since they’d received interesting titbits from their eyes and ears – Demandred or other Chosen must have bought them off, or killed them altogether. They already knew that much of their correspondence had been intercepted by Atal, and some other Darkfriend must have taken over since Atal’s demise. They had not heard from al’Thor, either, nor even from Logain, although it had been more than two weeks since the six Red Aes Sedai had left the Black Tower, each with a man bonded to her.

He took a sip of wine. He had come to appreciate even the lesser vintages of this Age; perhaps his palate had regressed due to being continually forced to taste these inferior wines. Or perhaps the company was pleasant enough that it didn’t matter how terrible the content of his glass was.

“Think about something else,” Natael advised Taim. “Consider how far we’ve come instead. How successful we’ve been.” They had lost many good men, but they had managed to replenish the ranks over the months. They had forty-two Asha’man, a hundred and sixty-six Dedicated, and over three hundred Soldiers. Some of the latter wouldn’t be of any use in combat, because they were too weak in the Power, but they were eager to fight regardless. To participate in the war effort. Taim and Natael would find them a purpose, when the time came.

Taim was watching a group of Soldiers below, practicing their sword forms. They could serve as bodyguards to their more powerful recruits, a last line of defence, if all else failed. Unlike Natael, they could wield their swords adequately, even masterfully, in some cases. They would be far from useless on the battlefield.

“We’ve done a good job,” Taim murmured in assent. He sounded proud, not of himself, but of their students. “Some of them have come a long way.”

Indeed; all the peasants, an assortment of farmers, illiterate craftsmen, former soldiers, lowly merchants – and possibly a few men who used to partake in criminal activities. They had come to the Black Tower hoping to accomplish something, to better themselves. And they had. They were a part of something bigger than themselves, now. They would take part in the eternal war between good and evil when it reached its peak at the Last Battle. Even if they didn’t survive, they would die knowing that they’d made a difference in the world. Or that they’d died trying. They would go to battle not with a heavy heart, for they knew what they were fighting for: mankind itself and, to a lesser extent, for their loved ones, for their children, for – the Light willing – future generations.

That was the main difference between the servants of the Light and that of the Shadow, in Natael’s opinion: the selfless reasons for which they fought. They considered the bigger picture, rather than their own, personal needs. That was why it had been so difficult for him to turn his back on the Shadow, because he was so selfish. If not for Taim, he would still be trying to regain the Great Lord’s favour. But Taim had taught him that what he did, that each of his action, even as a single individual, had an impact on the world. Every man had a purpose. No one was useless. Everyone fought for something and, recently, Natael had realised that he was no longer fighting for himself, or not only himself. He was fighting for Taim. He was fighting for the Black Tower, for his men and their families. He was no servant of the Light; he was simply on the side of life.

“What are you thinking about?” Taim asked with a faint smile.

Natael cleared his throat. “Nothing important… The dichotomy of good and evil, the grand scheme of things, our place in the Pattern, life and death.”

“Ah, yes,” Taim said with a chuckle. “Some of our men have come a long way, but you have come further than any of them.”

That was an understatement. Sometimes, Natael barely recognised himself – not physically, for he had not changed at all in that regard, but he had trouble associating his own thoughts with the man he was, or used to be. Deep down, he knew that he was still the same self-absorbed, slightly vain man he had always been. But he was someone else now, a better version of himself, so to speak. Someone who deserved to be with a man as brilliant as Taim, hopefully. He’d often felt inadequate before, and especially this past year, in comparison to Taim, but that feeling was slowly receding. They were different, certainly, but they completed each other, like two pieces of a puzzle that fitted perfectly. His love for the other man had been impossible to comprehend, at first. He’d never felt this way for anyone else before, not even Elan.

Of course, that was the scary part of his relationship with Taim: what if it ended? What if Taim died? Would Natael survive such a devastating blow? He would never say this aloud for fear that one of his enemies might overhear, but if they wanted to destroy Natael, all they had to do was to kill Taim. Did Ishamael know that? Did he understand how much he cared for Taim?

Did Demandred know? No, surely not. Such preoccupations were beyond him. Demandred didn’t know what love was. He’d made a big show of being jealous when Lews Therin had “stolen” Ilyena from him, but Demandred had never truly loved her. He was obsessed with her, just like he was obsessed with Lews Therin. That wasn’t love. That was a mental affliction.

“Lost in your own mind again, mm?” Taim said. Natael flushed in embarrassment. He did tend to have long internal monologues instead of speaking with him. “That’s alright. If I wanted to know everything you felt and thought, I would have bonded you a long time ago,” he added slyly.

No, never that. He did love Taim, but that was too invasive. He liked to have his privacy, and he was sure that Taim did, too. “Please don’t ever do that again.”

Taim chortled. “I won’t. It was too disturbing. Besides, I can read you perfectly well without the bond. I don’t need it.” He put his glass on the railing and moved closer to Natael, looking deep into his eyes. “For example, I can tell that you want to go to bed, but you don’t want to sleep right away.”

It was not always easy to maintain eye contact, when he said things like that. Especially since he was absolutely right in his assumption. Taim closed the gap between them. Unfortunately, there was a soft rap on the door.

“Ugh, Gorman… Terrible timing, as usual,” Natael complained. Taim chuckled lightly and walked inside the study to open the door.

Natael was too far to make out what was being said and didn’t really care. Gorman was just giving Taim his evening report on the day’s activities… Hopefully. It was too late for impromptu visitors or worrisome news, surely.

“Nate? Care to join us?” Taim called. There was the faintest edge of tension in his tone. No matter how late it was, there was something that required their attention.

Natael gulped down the remainder of his glass and made his way inside. Gorman looked agitated; that was the first thing that Natael noticed. As one of the Fake Turned, it shouldn’t be the case. The news must be dire. “What is it?”

Taim gestured for Gorman to repeat what he’d already told him: “There are…people at the gates, Ghraem. They-”

“At this hour?” Natael interrupted him.

Gorman wrung his hands. “Um, aye, m’lord. They…well, they asked for you personally.”

“For me?” he repeated, surprised. That was a first. He was pleasantly surprised indeed. At last someone recognised his authority as co-leader of the-

“They asked to speak to, um, to Nessosin, m’lord.”

That explained why the Asha’man was so agitated, at least. Natael glanced at Taim, but his face was impassive. “Who are they? What do they want?”

“They wouldn’t say, m’lord,” Gorman stammered. “We questioned them, of course, but… They’re foreigners. They struggle with the Common Tongue. The woman who appears to be their leader has refused to speak to us at all.”

Curiouser and curiouser… “How many?”

“Nine. An old man and eight women, m’lord.”

“What do they look like?” Could they be Seanchan? As far as Natael knew, even the western invaders spoke the Common Tongue, though with a heavy accent. And anyway, what did the Seanchan look like, exactly?

Gorman hesitated. “They’re all very…different-looking. Some have fair skin, others dark… One of the women is tall, with red hair and blue eyes, like an Aiel. Each woman is wearing a different colour, as if they were Aes Sedai, but they don’t look like Aes Sedai. You know, the…agelessness thing. They don’t have it. And their faces are tattooed, Ghraem.”

Tattoos? He glanced at Taim again, feeling more and more alarmed. The only people he’d ever encountered who bore tattoos were the savage male channelers who had aided Demandred after their failed ambush. But why would Demandred’s people be waiting at the gates, politely requesting an audience?

Taim was stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Is the man a channeler?”

“I don’t think so, M’Hael. And if the women can channel, well, they didn’t embrace the Source while I was around.”

Natael sighed. “We ought to see for ourselves, I suppose.”

They followed Gorman outside. Taim kept asking questions as they made their way toward the gates, but the Asha’man was hard-pressed to answer them. Natael kept quiet; he was too busy worrying. What evil plan had Demandred concocted this time?

He began studying their unexpected visitors as soon as they appeared in his line of sight: seven of the women stood in a semi-circle in front of another woman on a horse, presumably their leader. The latter appeared to be well in her seventies and she was all in white – her clothes, her hair, her porcelain skin, even the horse itself, everything about her was white save the black tattoo that contrasted with her pallor. The other women were dressed more colourfully, but not all of them were wearing gowns, or even skirts. One of them wore a moss-green blouse over black trousers and heavy, muddy boots.

The old man was seated on the ground a little distance away from the women, his legs crossed. His eyes were closed. Had he fallen asleep while waiting for Taim and Natael? He looked utterly non-descript: a bald head, a scraggly grey beard and plain clothes. He was the only one whose face wasn’t tattooed.

None of the women moved forward as Taim and Natael approached. They had both seized saidin, though Natael didn’t feel particularly threatened.

Not yet.

Taim cleared his throat. “Good evening and welcome to the Black Tower.” He bowed slightly. Whoever their leader was, she certainly appeared regal enough to warrant such deference.

A woman – the one who looked like an Aiel – said something harsh in response. She was wearing a turquoise silk blouse over baggy trousers of the same material and colour. Natael couldn’t make out the words, but he recognised the language: it was the one in which Demandred had given orders to his minions, after the ambush. It reminded him vaguely of the Old Tongue, but not sufficiently for him to understand any of it. Were there parts of the world where people had not adopted the Common Tongue and instead kept to the Old Tongue, though it had changed deeply after three thousand years, morphing into a whole new language?

Again, Seanchan came to mind.

The woman spoke again, addressing Taim, and this time Natael caught a word: Nessosin.

He raised a hand. “That would be me. You know, it is considered proper to introduce yourself, when-”

This time, it was the woman in the moss-green blouse who spoke, still in that same, distorted version of the Old Tongue. She was staring right at Natael, her piercing brown eyes watching him like a hawk. Suddenly, she switched to the Common Tongue. “We must talk.” Her accent was atrocious, but at least she was making an effort. She pointed to the old man, who had not moved. “He will…translate.”

Natael glanced at the man expectantly, but he didn’t react, so he returned his attention to the woman. “Who are you people?”

“I…am Shendla.” She gestured at the other women. “Ayyad.” Natael was not familiar with the word. Shendla indicated the old man again. “Mintel. Abrishi.” Was that a surname, or a title of sorts?

Taim must have noticed the same thing Natael did: Shendla had not introduced their leader, the regal woman on her white horse. “Who is she?” Taim asked. He sounded impatient.

Shendla shrugged and didn’t bother to respond.

Taim exhaled sharply to show his annoyance. “Should we wake the old man?”

One of the women, a youthful-looking brunette with freckles sprayed around her tattoo, gasped loudly, then immediately covered her mouth with her left hand. Turquoise lady muttered angrily under her breath.

Shendla was shaking her head. “Must…wait. Meditating.”

Taim took a step forward, electricity crackling at the tip of his fingers. “Enough of this charade,” he said through gritted teeth. “I demand to know who you are, where you hail from, and what you want. Right this instant.”

Natael put a hand on his shoulder. Diplomacy was not Taim’s forte, these days. He knew that the younger man was tired, exhausted even, but he had to maintain some semblance of poise, at least in public.

Shendla didn’t seem fazed, not even at the sight of the minuscule, saidin-woven lightning bolts. She didn’t fear male channelers. Natael didn’t really expect her to reply, but she did. All of it was in her native language, but in the end she uttered one word that they both understood, a name, the very one Natael had been dreading to hear: Demandred.

Taim rolled his eyes. “What in the Pit of Doom does he want now? And why did he send you? He usually comes in person.”

Shendla narrowed her eyes at him. Natael had a feeling that, while she had some knowledge of the Common Tongue, Taim was speaking too fast for her to understand. He glanced at the old man, their interpreter, but his eyes were still closed. He was meditating, according to Shendla. Why was that more important than translating their conversation?

“We are…Ayyad,” Shendla said slowly, emphasising each syllable.

That word again. Was it supposed to mean something to them? Natael eyed Taim questioningly. “Never heard of it. What nation are you from? What land?” Taim insisted. “Where in the world? Seanchan?” He pointed to the west.

Shendla raised an eyebrow…and pointed the other way. “Sha-ra,” she enunciated.

Shara. Of course! Nobody knew anything about the Sharans. They were barely part of the world… It was a perfect place to hide. Well, Demandred wouldn’t call it hiding… But al’Thor would never guess where Demandred was, so far removed from civilisation. His actions in Shara would have little to no influence over the events of the main continent. He could do what he bloody well wanted, and no one would ever know – not until he decided to let them know. He could raise an immense army without anyone finding out…until it was too late.

Finally, they knew where the bloody Forsaken was holed up! And Shendla had just given up the information without hesitation… Mm. That didn’t bode well. Was this a trap?

“What does ‘Ayyad’ mean?” Taim asked.

Natael scowled at him. Surely there were more important questions to-

The old man had finally opened his eyes. He addressed Shendla in their own language as he unfurled from his sitting position, with more agility than Natael would have managed. “The Ayyad are the rulers of Shara,” the old man said in the Common Tongue. He had a distinct accent, but he spoke fluently. “They are channelers of the One Power.”

Sharan Aes Sedai, in other words. Ugh, Aes Sedai. “I trust they’re not here to cause trouble?” Taim said dryly.

The old man chuckled. “Oh no! Quite the opposite. I am Mintel,” he introduced himself politely. “You have already met Shendla. The others are only here as her retinue on this day.”

“If she’s their leader, why isn’t she the one on the horse?”

Mintel laughed again. He was a cheerful fellow, apparently. “On this day, Shendla is in charge, for she is the one closest to Bao. Also, this was her idea.”

“Bao?” Natael and Taim repeated in unison.

“The one you call Demandred,” Mintel explained.

Shendla said something in…Sharan. Mintel nodded. “Shendla asks if it would be convenient to have a private chat.”

“Did Demandred send you?” Natael demanded.

“Bao is not aware of our visit here, no.”

Natael hesitated. Was this a trap, or not? Taim made the decision for the both of them. “Come in, please. Follow us. We’ll talk in our study.”

The Sharan delegation moved as one, with the white horse and its rider in tow. The few Asha’man who were still outside gawked at the foreigners with wide eyes. At the palace’s entrance, the leader of the Ayyad finally dismounted. Gorman held the door for everyone. Mintel was the first inside, followed closely by Shendla, then the white lady. The rest filed in like a rainbow: turquoise, midnight blue, purple, gold, orange and crimson. Taim and Natael led everyone upstairs and Gorman was despatched to find more chairs. The seating arrangement was going to be a hassle; the study wasn’t meant to hold so many people at once. Taim took place in his own chair behind the desk, and Natael chose to remain standing at his side. A few minutes later, it became apparent that only the white lady was going to sit after all. The other women stood near the door like a colourful background, all except Shendla. She and Mintel stood on either side of the white lady.

“Well then,” Taim said when everyone was settled. “Why are you here?”

“We have come to seek your assistance, Master Nessosin,” Mintel said without preamble.

“I’d rather you call me Natael. Or, even better, Ghraem.”

Shendla snorted inelegantly, but made no comment. She gestured for Mintel to continue. “According to Shendla, you are one of the Shadowsouled, like Bao.”

Shadowsouled? Mm. It had a nice ring to it. “I was one of them,” he corrected.

“Indeed,” Mintel said. “Shendla tells us that you have been…separated from Heartsbane. The Dark One.”

Natael scowled. “How does Shendla know this? Did Demandred-”

“Bao has not been forthcoming with information, and he has been posing as one of us for over a year, yet we have been aware of his true identity for several months now. Thanks to Shendla.”

Natael was about to repeat his question, but Shendla forestalled him. “I…see things.”

“She has visions in her dreams,” Mintel expanded. “Accurate dreams which sometimes reveal the true nature of people, and occasionally foretell the future.”

“In short, she’s a Dreamer,” Taim said. “And that’s how she figured out who…Bao really was.” Mintel nodded. “But does he know that she knows?”

“There is no way to be certain. He has never mentioned it. Bao is quite fond of Shendla, which, I think, is why he eludes the matter of his true nature when he is around her. I believe…perhaps he is afraid of how she would react, if she knew. He’s afraid of disappointing her.”

“That’s highly unlikely,” Natael commented. “Demandred doesn’t care what anyone else thinks of him, not since he crossed over to the Shadow. As for his supposed ‘fondness’ of her… That’s laughable, really. He’s incapable of feeling anything of the sort. He’s half rage and half envy. He’s consumed by his desire to kill Lews Therin. Nothing else matters to him. If he’s somehow convinced you that he cares for you,” he told Shendla, “then he’s been manipulating you for his own purposes, nothing more. You’re just another pawn to him.”

Mintel looked at Shendla questioningly, but she shook her head: she’d understood the gist of it and didn’t need a translation. She replied in her own language, though, and that was Mintel’s time to shine. “That was what we initially believed,” the old man translated. “When Shendla understood who Bao really was, she felt betrayed. Used. We both did. We thought he had taken advantage of our sacred prophecies to deceive us.”

“What prophecies?” Taim asked.

“Bao is soon to become the Wyld, our prophesised saviour. At this very moment, he has undertaken a journey to retrieve the second part of the relic we call D’jedt. When he returns tomorrow from Rai’lair, the Hearttomb, he will officially be the Wyld. Then, he will be crowned king, and he will have control over Shara and its armies, and even over the Ayyad, for he is destined to lead us into battle at Tarmon Gaidon and save us.”

“So he studied your silly prophecies, accomplished them and fooled you all,” Taim summed up, “and now your people believe he’s some kind of hero who will…what, exactly? What is he supposed to save you from?”

Shendla was shaking her head adamantly. “Not planned.”

“Bao was unaware of our prophecies when he accomplished the first few,” Mintel said. “He led the revolution of the slaves and freed the male Ayyad as a distraction to obtain the rod, the first element of D’jedt, but it was not a calculated move, of that we are certain. Shendla and I were both there. It was a real gamble on Bao’s part, in truth.”

That was puzzling. “So…you genuinely believe that Demandred is the Wyld? That one of the Shadowsouled is your saviour?”

Mintel sighed. “It would appear so.”

“Alright,” Taim said, as if that was nothing out of the ordinary, “but what about the Last Battle? Why does he need to save you?”

“As I’m sure you know, since you have your own prophecies, they can be…convoluted. They rarely make sense, at least until an event comes to pass that reminds us of some enigmatic line on an ancient piece of parchment. We have always believed that the Wyld was meant to defeat Heartsbane at the Last Battle, thus delivering us from its evil,” Mintel said, “though it is never explicitly mentioned in the old texts. It was simply…a logical assumption.”

“Wyld,” Shendla repeated, though Natael wasn’t sure why. She was looking at Mintel insistently.

“Oh, yes. There was that to consider, of course. In isleh, the language we speak between us, a derived form of what you call the Old Tongue, ‘Wy-eld’ means dragon slayer.”

“That makes no sense at all,” Taim noted. “The Dragon is mankind’s saviour. He’s the one who’s supposed to defeat the Dark One at the Last Battle. If your so-called saviour were to eliminate the real saviour…”

“Again, the prophecies are unclear,” Mintel said with an apologetic shrug. “My personal belief, that is to say my interpretation of the texts, is that the Wyld is meant to slay the Dragon if the Dragon were somehow to fall in the hands of the Shadow, and were therefore unable to accomplish his fate. Then the Wyld would take his place and vanquish Heartsbane himself.”

“But…Demandred serves the Dark One,” Natael felt the need to point out the obvious. “He has no intention of defeating Him. He’s making use of your too-vague prophecies, selecting only the passages that suit him, taking them out of context. Namely, slaying the dragon.”

“So we assumed,” Mintel agreed. “But it appears that, after spending so much time amongst us, amongst his people, Bao’s…ambitions have changed. Evolved.”

“If you try to tell us that he’s abandoned the idea of killing Lews Therin-”

Mintel shook his head, and Shendla grimaced. “Lews Therin,” she repeated harshly, as if it were a curse.

“Far from it," Mintel said. "Ever since he learned that he was the Wyld, and what it meant, Bao has vowed to us many times that he would slay the Dragon, if it was the last thing he did. He seemed to think that it was all that was expected of him, until Shendla made him understand that he had to look out for his people, as well. That was his primary goal, she reminded him, as the saviour of the Sharan people. And for the first time since we’d met him, Bao was troubled. As if he was considering, at last, the bigger picture that has been woven into the Tapestry.”

“Tapestry?” Taim asked.

“I assume it’s another name for the Pattern,” Natael whispered. He was fascinated by what he was hearing. He could hardly believe it, and for good reason: Demandred had not showed any sign that he’d changed, especially not for the better. To Mintel, he said: “Even if he genuinely cares for your people – and at the risk of repeating myself, I find it highly unlikely – but even if he does, how does that help us, or you, for that matter, if he’s still intent on murdering the Dragon? Whatever your prophecies say, ours are quite clear: the Dragon will either save mankind or break the world, or perhaps a bit of both,” – saying that their prophecies were clear was a bit of an overstatement – “but either way, he’s the Chosen One. There’s no mention of some foreign hero coming to take his place.”

“Yes, well, to tell you the truth, the Dragon is not mentioned in our prophecies, either,” Mintel said, somewhat abashedly. “Except in the name of the Wyld, that is. It is quite…befuddling.”

“I wish people would rely more on common sense than on cryptic words written ages ago,” Taim muttered. “Why do we even need a ‘Chosen One’? What do al’Thor and Demandred have that we don’t? We’re nearly as powerful as they are and, unlike them, we’re not bloody insane.”

Natael was staring at him. “Are you…proposing to take on the Dark One yourself?”

“If it comes to it. We’ve discussed it before, haven’t we?”

Natael had never imagined that it would come to this. Besides, Logain was supposed to-

Shendla cleared her throat loudly and, when she was certain that she had their attention, she spoke a single word: “Rod.”

Natael frowned. Mintel had mentioned a rod, earlier. Come to think of it… What in the Pit of Doom was D’jedt? He was reminded of a certain artefact of the Age of Legends, and he was suddenly very, very wary. “What is Bao trying to do, exactly? That rod he found… And the second part of the relic… When they’re put together, does it form a sort of…sceptre?”

Mintel nodded. “You know of it, then.”

Taim must have guessed the same thing. “What is it?”

“Sakarnen. A sa’angreal,” Natael murmured. “More powerful even than Callandor. The pieces were hidden away during the War of Power, but he must have uncovered their location… That’s why he’s in Shara. Blood and ashes, if Demandred gets his hands on it… We’re all doomed.” Granted, they likely already were, but still. They didn’t need to be more doomed.

“No,” Shendla said sharply. “Rod.” She extracted something from her sleeve: a thin, white rod.

A Binding Rod! “Where… How did you…?” Natael stammered.

“We, um, borrowed it after Bao left for the Hearttomb,” Mintel admitted. “It was in his tent. Which brings us to the real reason for our presence on this day: we must work together to convince Bao to forsake the Shadow. The rod is a token of our good faith.”

"Convincing Demandred to return to the Light?" Natael sniggered. “Oh, sure. How hard could it be?”

“How are we supposed to do that?” Taim asked. He sounded serious, as if he were genuinely curious to know how it could be achieved. As if it were actually possible. “Demandred despises us. He can’t wait to kill us, in fact. Why would he listen to us?”

Shendla was shaking her head again. “Dragon.”

“The task of changing Bao’s mind falls to us,” Mintel said. “So is the will of Kongsidi." Kongsi-what? Natael didn't have time to enquire. "It is already well underway, we believe. What you need to do is convince the Dragon that Bao is worth forgiving. The two must get along, because that is how Shendla and I have come to interpret the fact that neither of our prophecies mentions the other saviour: they must act together, as one, to defeat Heartsbane and save their people.”

Demandred and Lews Therin, working hand in hand? This was probably the most ridiculous notion that had ever been uttered in Natael’s presence – followed closely by the one that had been uttered just a minute past. He tried not to laugh when he spoke, so as not to offend the people who were willing to give them a Binding Rod. “The two of them operated on the same side, once… It didn’t pan out so well.”

“Bao has changed,” Mintel insisted. “Not enough, not yet, but he has expressed the will to defeat Heartsbane…after he has dealt with the Dragon.” He sighed. “He is very stubborn about that.”

“Demandred wants to defy the Dark One?” Taim said. “He actually told you that?”

“Manipulation,” Natael said before Mintel could reply. “He knows they’re unto him, so he’s adapting. He’s making false promises so that they won’t cast him out, especially now that he’s so close to obtaining the Sceptre and becoming their legitimate ruler.” He looked at Shendla. “You have to stop him while you still can. If he trusts you, even a little, then you might actually manage to kill him before he realises something’s wrong. You might take him by surprise and succeed where everyone else has failed. But you have to act now, before he reunites the two pieces of the sa’angreal.”

Shendla waved away his sage advice like it was an irksome fly. “No.”

“Do you have any idea of the damage he will wreak on the battlefield with that thing?” Natael pressed her. “He could balefire an entire legion in the blink of an eye! Thousands of innocent people will die, just because they stand in Demandred’s way, because they stand between him and Lews Therin. And when he’s done with the Dragon, there will be no one to protect us from the Dark One, and we’ll all die. Including bloody Demandred, who’s too obsessed with Lews Therin to see that this is the endgame. Will he be satisfied then, I wonder? Will he die happily, knowing that he’s accomplished the one thing, the only thing he lived for?” he added bitterly.

“I understand your concern,” Mintel said, “and share it, but I’m afraid it is too late. Bao has entered the Hearttomb alone, and he will return with D’jedt whole, soon. We cannot stop him now. We can only help him see the error of his way, and hope that he will do what is right when the time comes.”

“You people are delusional,” Taim muttered.

Natael couldn’t agree more, but he discreetly kicked Taim in the shin regardless. When Taim glared at him, Natael mouthed two words: Binding Rod. Whatever the Sharans intended to do about Demandred, they couldn’t let them depart with the ter’angreal. They needed it.

“Oh, fear not, the rod is yours,” Mintel said. “We have no use for it, and I doubt that Bao will notice its absence. But please, will you talk to the Dragon and explain the situation?”

They couldn’t even explain their situation to al’Thor! They would have to warn Logain, somehow. “We will tell him what you told us,” Natael promised. It wasn’t a lie, exactly; they were definitely going to let al’Thor know that Demandred was in Shara, and that he had a sa’angreal and an army of loyal, delusional fools at his back.

“Thank you,” Mintel said. He turned to Shendla and added something in isleh. She handed the rod over to Natael. It was all he could do not to tear it off of her hand and Travel out of the room to keep it safe.

“Gorman will see you out,” Taim said.

The Sharans exited the room in the same order as before. Natael stood on the balcony until they disappeared out of sight. “Well, that was…unexpected. Do you think… I mean, it sounds insane, ridiculous even, but is there any chance at all that Demandred-”

“Can we discuss this later?” Taim said, somewhat harshly.

Natael turned to frown at him. “Is something wrong?”

“The rod, Nate!”

“Oh, right. Sorry. Let’s see if this works, then.” He had no idea if the oath Taim had taken on his first day at the Black Tower could be reversed, because he’d never seen it done, but he couldn’t think of a reason why it wouldn’t work.

And indeed it did.

“Free at last,” Taim murmured. “Praise the Light. I feel like I’ve lost twenty pounds.”

Twenty pounds of emotional turmoil, so to speak. “Ought we recall Logain, do you think? We have to warn him anyway-”

“No need. I’m here.”

Natael looked behind him and found Logain slumped in Taim’s chair. “You… When… How long have you been here?”

“About five minutes. Don’t worry, I would have said something if you’d started kissing.” His lips hinted at a smile, but there were dark shadows under his eyes, and his hair was too long and uncombed. He had not shaved in a long time - or bathed, for that matter.

“Why didn’t you say something anyway?” Natael grumbled. “You’re being a creep, just like Demandred, spying on us from the shadows.”

Logain sat up straight. “Hey, don’t compare me to the bloody Forsaken!” He stood, putting his right hand forward. “And give me that flaming rod.”

Two minutes later, it was official: there was no longer a Darkfriend in the room.

“All’s well that ends well,” Natael said contentedly as he poured everyone a glass of wine to celebrate.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Logain muttered, gloomier than ever.

Taim groaned. “Peace, what now?”

“We cannot count on al’Thor to come to our aid. In fact, we cannot count on him to do anything, let alone defeat the Dark One. He’s mad.”

“We already knew that,” Natael noted. “But-”

“It’s even worse than before. He tried to burn himself out – on purpose, Nate. I saw it, I was there. I stopped him. I had to stop him from doing it, do you understand? He’s insane and suicidal and unpredictable.”

“But-”

“That was two weeks ago,” Logain spoke right over him. “We were attacked, and al’Thor utterly annihilated the enemy, practically by himself, but then he kept drawing on saidin… I fear he was considering turning into a mountain again. I left soon afterwards and encountered the Aes Sedai you sent my way, which gave me an idea.”

He paused long enough that Natael felt the need to prompt him: “Yes?”

“I’ve started to gather my own army. Well, our army.”

Taim scoffed. “We have hundreds of male channelers loyal to us, Logain. We don’t need-”

“We need female channelers. And regular soldiers. We need a proper, diversified army, because we’re going to need it, when the Last Battle is upon us. Days from now, I suspect.”

Peace, days? Natael had hoped for several more weeks, at least.

“We need to be able to form circles of channelers,” Logain went on, “and that means Aes Sedai. Androl and Pevara will see to it. They’ve gone to the White Tower to negotiate an alliance. There are rumours that the witches are no longer divided… Anyway. Al’Thor cannot be trusted to lead anyone into battle. At best he’ll kill himself, but one can easily imagine the worst-case scenario: he could lay waste to the armies of the Light, in his madness. I think…” He hesitated, but only briefly. “I think he should be removed,” he said in a low voice. “Someone ought to take over from him.”

“You want to…replace the Dragon Reborn?” Taim asked incredulously, though he had mentioned it himself barely half an hour ago. “Days before the Last Battle?”

Light, and what about Demandred? If al’Thor was out of the picture, they would have to deal with the Forsaken themselves, before Tarmon Gai’don began. That left them mere hours to prepare an assault in a land about which they knew nothing at all.

It was impossible. They couldn’t contend with Demandred and his Sharan army and fill in for al’Thor. Not to mention whatever the other Forsaken were up to: Lanfear, Graendal, Moridin… And whoever was still alive or had been resuscitated.

“There has to be… I mean, it can’t be that bad,” Natael said reasonably. “Surely the lad is still capable of-”

Suddenly, he felt a light tingling on his skin, and his forearms broke into goosebumps. An all too familiar sensation: there was a woman channelling nearby. The others had felt it, too, for they immediately seized saidin and searched the room. The three of them were alone, but then there was a knock on the door. Had Shendla and her colourful friends returned, perhaps?

After making sure that everyone was ready, Taim opened the door.

Behind it was the ugliest woman Natael had ever seen. She had a knife at Gorman’s throat, and was accompanied by thirteen Myrddraal and thirteen women clad in dark clothes.

The hag smiled cruelly, which accentuated her hideousness and caused Natael to break in a cold sweat. “There will be no chance escape this time, Nessosin,” she rasped ominously.

Chapter Text

We’re all gonna die

This time it’s for real, for sure

No, wait, what’s this now?

“Release the Source and your precious lackey will live,” the repulsive woman said. The blade of her knife had already nicked the sensitive skin on Gorman’s neck, but though there was a bead of blood, the wound seemed shallow.

“He’s not our lackey,” Natael growled. “Leave him alone. It’s me you want.”

Taim took a step sideways, to place himself between Natael and the intruder. “Which one are you?” he demanded. “Is it you again, Last Chance?”

Natael wasn’t certain who the hag was but, if he had to guess… Graendal. They had received no report of her death, but it would make so much sense… Given the Great Lord’s twisted sense of humour, it would indeed. Graendal was vain, shallow, obsessed with her own looks and that of others. She kept the most aesthetically-pleasing specimens as mind-wiped pets, sometimes merely as decorative objects. Giving her the body of the most horrid-looking woman on the planet was a fitting punishment – if that was what it was, but the odds were in favour of that explanation. She must have screwed up spectacularly.

The words she’d spoken to him a moment earlier were another clue: there will be no chance escape this time, Nessosin. If not for Mat Cauthon’s preternatural luck, Natael would have died months ago, after being ambushed in that accursed pantry. His love of wine would have been the death of him.

Of course, that hadn’t stopped him from drinking.

“It’s not Lanfear,” Natael murmured to Taim. “It’s-”

“I am Hessalam,” the woman announced.

Without forgiveness, Natael translated automatically. Yes, that weighed heavily in favour of some sort of reincarnation punishment. He wondered what she’d done that was so terrible to justify…this. Even by the Great Lord’s standards, it was nasty. Had she murdered another of the Chosen? So close to the Last Battle, it was to be expected – she was taking out the competition, but perhaps she’d acted too soon. After all, they still needed to win the war. With their numbers so reduced…

But the other side was equally crippled, was it not? If al’Thor had truly gone insane, if he was beyond saving…

Mm. Perhaps the battle would be relatively fair, then.

“Can’t imagine what you did to earn that name, but it must have been bad,” Taim said wryly.

“I fully intend to make up for my mistakes,” Hessalam said. She smiled again, partly displaying a few rotted teeth. “I think I’ll start with Logain. He’s the prettiest by far… Maybe I’ll keep him for myself, when the battle is won.”

“You’ll have to go through us first,” Taim warned her. Natael frowned at his beloved. Us? Then Taim moved again, until he stood between Logain and Hessalam. Natael sighed. Bloody hero complex. He took two steps in their direction, so that he was in front of Logain, but still slightly behind Taim.

Hessalam tightened her grip on Gorman. A trickle of blood ran down the Asha’man’s neck. His eyes reflected his fear, but he didn’t falter. He didn’t plead for his life, didn’t panic. He waited for the situation to resolve itself, one way or another. There was nothing he could do, and he accepted that. It was beyond his control, but he trusted them to save him, loyal fool that he was.

What a pickle. Well, not really. It was pretty straightforward, in truth: they were doomed. Even if they surrendered to spare Gorman, there was no guarantee that Hessalam would let him live and, once shielded, they would all be at her mercy, of which she had none. If they assumed that Hessalam was lying and would kill Gorman regardless of what they did, which was likely, they would still have to contend with Hessalam, her thirteen gal friends and the Myrddraal. Not to mention that the three of them couldn’t link, but the women could.

The fight was lost in advance. Gorman’s life, all in all, seemed to be the only thing they could actually salvage, if they played their cards right.

“It’s me you want,” Natael repeated. He forced himself to take a step forward, placing himself in front of Taim and Logain both. At least one of them had to survive, he reminded himself. Otherwise all would be lost. The Asha’man would be leaderless to face the Last Battle. “Let the lad go and take me instead.”

“I don’t need a bloody human shield, burn you,” Logain muttered. He stomped ahead of Natael. “If you want me, witch, come and get me.”

Abruptly, Natael realised that Taim had released saidin. Hopefully Hessalam had not noticed. “What are you doing?” he asked in a low voice.

Taim shrugged fatalistically. “She’s going to kill us all anyway. At least let us give Gorman a chance.”

“So you’re going to let her win, without even putting up a fight?” Logain barked. “I thought Nate was the cowardly one.”

“Oi!” the so-called coward protested.

“Are you quite done?” Hessalam said with much annoyance. “By the blood falls, it used to be simpler than this,” she complained. “Threaten Nessosin and he’d do virtually anything to save his sorry hide. What’s changed, Musician?”

Everything.

He sought Taim’s face: the look in his eyes was not one of defeat, let alone surrender. There was fierceness, anger. Did he have a plan? As always, Natael decided to trust in Taim’s instincts. They didn’t have much choice, anyway. If they fought, Natael wasn’t even sure they could kill Hessalam before they were overwhelmed by the enemy. They would likely die for nothing.

Then again, if they let themselves be taken alive and be Turned…

Yes, that would be unfortunate…but Natael didn’t feel like dying right now. “We surrender,” he murmured, relinquishing his hold on saidin. Logain grunted, but imitated him. “Let Gorman go.”

Hessalam removed the knife from the Asha’man’s throat and addressed her minions: “Shield them and take them to the basement. All four of them.”

Natael huffed in outrage, though he’d known it was a long shot. “You said you’d-”

“I said I’d let him live…and I fully intend to honour that promise,” she said with a malicious smile.

Gorman was eyeing Natael with a blank stare. There were tiny droplets of blood on his forehead.

“Hit him again,” Hessalam commanded. The Asha’man did so without hesitation. Natael’s head swivelled under the force of the blow, his face burning from the repeated assaults. His nose was very likely broken, and one of his teeth was loose. There was a metallic taste in his mouth.

“Mm-mm!” Taim said – or tried to say, despite his gag.

Natael spat some blood and turned to face Gorman again. Gorman’s husk. The mindless body that used to be their most trusted and loyal Asha’man. Their friend.

What a waste. A real tragedy.

All things considered, it was a miracle that Demandred had not noticed earlier that they’d only pretended to Turn their men, because Gorman, though a passable actor, had never once come close to looking so…inert. Empty. Devoid of human emotion.

Hessalam had not dawdled: in less than a day – in Natael’s estimation, though it was difficult to tell, in the windowless basement – the Forsaken’s black-clad squad had Turned Gorman, then a dozen more Asha’man of all ranks selected apparently at random. The poor sods who had the misfortune of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, Natael guessed. Of course, Hessalam had made them watch everything.

“Alright, that’s enough for now, my pet,” Hessalam crooned. “Let’s get down to business.” She signalled to one of her flunkeys and pointed to Logain. “Strap him to the chair.” The woman hastened to comply. Logain trashed about, but two Myrddraal and another Dreadlady joined forces to subdue him.

“Mm-MM!” Taim insisted.

“Leave him alone,” Natael translated in a weak, twangy voice. “Take me instead.”

Taim turned his face to him, one of the few movements he could manage, bound as he was. They were both shackled to a wall, side by side. Instead of mm-mming, Taim growled to show his disapproval.

“I was merely conveying your thoughts, darling,” Natael said. “I assumed you’d wish to offer to trade your own life for Logain’s. I wasn’t suggesting that she should take me.” Taim rolled his eyes.

“Now there’s the Nessosin I remember,” Hessalam commented idly.

Of course she would think he was being serious. She would never expect him – Asmodean, the Cowardly Musician – to sacrifice himself for anyone.

He would, though. For Logain, for Taim… He had been willing to give his life for Gorman, earlier. But no one was taking him seriously. He had changed, deeply so, but the rest of his peers had not. They continued to mock him, despise him and, hopefully, underestimate him.

But what if Hessalam did underestimate him? He was bound and shielded, just like Taim. In mere minutes, the Logain they knew would be gone. And then it would be Taim’s turn to be Turned…

Natael couldn’t bear the thought.

And he would have to watch, powerless, utterly helpless, as the love of his new life became a puppet with no mind of his own and a servant of the Shadow.

“Shall we begin, Great Mistress?” the woman who had strapped Logain to the chair asked. The thirteen ladies stood on one side of Logain, the Myrddraal on the other. The Turned Asha’man awaited orders, lined up against the far wall.

Hessalam considered for a moment. “Let our new recruits do it,” she said eventually.

The woman’s eyes widened. “But, Great One-”

“Don’t you dare contradict me!” Hessalam shouted. The hapless minion shrivelled under her glare. Her shady friends were doing their best to ignore the scene, so as not to draw the Forsaken’s ire on them. Hessalam spoke to the creature that wore Gorman’s skin. “Do it. Turn him for me.”

“Your wish is my command, Great Mistress.”

Natael shuddered to hear him speak like this – and then some more when he realised what this meant. Not only was Logain going to be Turned under their eyes, but the torture was going to take an excruciatingly long time, if the men had to do it instead of the women. Light, it could take hours. He turned to Taim. “Do you have a plan?” he murmured. “Because now would be a good time to implement it.” Taim shook his head. “Then why did we surrender?” Natael exclaimed. Fighting would have meant losing, with the same result they were now facing, but still… “I was very consciously trying not to be a coward today, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Mm-mm,” Taim said with as much of a shrug as he could manage with his restraints.

Natael must have misread – or misinterpreted – the look in his eyes, earlier. Had he given up? So close to the end?

Granted, the odds were not in their favour at the moment. But all wasn’t lost, not yet. It couldn’t be. After everything they’d accomplished, everything they’d sacrificed to give their men a chance to at least live to fight in the Last Battle… Was this how it would end? In yet another dark space, with bloody Graendal intent on killing him?

How galling.

Gorman raised his hand to signal to his men. They all seized saidin as one and, three seconds later, Logain started screaming, his face distorted, his body writhing in agony.

Natael’s eyes were closed, but that did nothing to muffle the sounds Logain was making. How could a human being make such animal noises? Natael could almost feel his pain, which, instead of decreasing as he lost his strength, only seemed to intensify.

How long had it been? It felt like two weeks, but it couldn’t have been more than two hours, perhaps only one. He was feeling the first pangs of thirst since Hessalam had last deigned to quench it, so that sounded about right.

At least an hour of this. Without a single break. They were going to kill Logain before they could Turn him.

It would not be the worst outcome…but hardly the best one, either.

“You’re killing him,” he said, without opening his eyes. “He’ll be no use to you if you-”

“Uh?” someone said sleepily. “Oh, right. Enough, my pets. We’ll resume this session in…” Hessalam yawned loudly. “Ugh. Half an hour or so.”

Had she been asleep? Natael’s eyelids opened a fraction, just as silence fell in the room. After such a long period of guttural screaming, the sudden absence of sound felt almost unnatural. Logain must have fallen unconscious as soon as the Turned Asha’man had obeyed their mistress’s orders. There was not a mark on him, but his hair was in disarray, and his nose was bleeding. Natael had to concentrate to make sure he was still breathing; his chest rose and fell, but almost imperceptibly.

“Half an hour is not enough,” he protested, opening his eyes wide and glaring at Hessalam. “He needs rest. You need to feed him, so he can recuperate.”

She raised her monobrow mockingly. “Recuperate? The point is to Turn him, as I’m sure you’ve divined by now. The weaker he is, the easier it will be.”

By then, all they could hope for was an end to Logain’s suffering. “It would be even easier if the women-”

“They’ve done their share for today, Nessosin. Look at the poor things, they’re exhausted.”

Natael glanced reflexively where Hessalam was pointing. Some of the Dreadladies were having a game of cards, while others were napping peacefully or even eating. The poor things indeed.

“At least give him some water,” Natael pleaded, though even if she agreed, it would do little to no good. Logain was already dead. Natael had to accept that. He could only hope to ease his friend's passing.

Hessalam scratched her wart-riddled cheek. “Mm. You know what? You’re right. You’re absolutely right. This will not do, not at all. Esme, get Logain out of the chair.” One of the women who were playing cards stood to obey.

Well. Small victory…or terrible mistake? Natael had a bad feeling about this.

“Mm-mm,” Taim said, sighing against his gag.

Natael turned to him. “At least he’ll be hydrated when he becomes a mindless puppet for the Dark One?” he said, trying for a light tone, although he felt more like crying. He had to cheer Taim up, somehow. They couldn’t just give up. They were still alive. For the hundredth time, he checked his shield, but there was no breach, not a single crack.

Taim didn’t even look at him. He was watching Hessalam and he seemed…resigned.

As if he’d known all along what she was going to say next. “Your turn, M’Hael.”

Natael froze in his binds. “What? No! What about Logain?” That was a horrible thing to say, he realised it as soon as he said it, but he didn’t care. Better Logain than Taim. “You can’t!” he yelled when Esme approached Taim. “Moridin will have your bloody ugly head for this!” he threatened Hessalam. “You’ll be reincarnated as a pig-faced Trolloc next time, you flaming hag!”

Taim followed Esme without a struggle and let her strap him to the chair. He still wouldn’t look at Natael.

“Hessalam, don’t do this.” Natael choked on the words. “You can’t.” Oh well. He was crying now. “Take me instead.” This time he whole-heartedly meant it, and Hessalam heard it. She frowned at him, but she ignored his plea. “Graendal, please.”

This time Taim did look at him. “Mm-mm?” he said, his face thunderous. Then he glared at Hessalam.

Natael was hard-pressed to interpret what he was trying to convey, but it didn’t matter. “Don’t do this. He’s more useful to you as himself. He’ll help you willingly. We both will, I swear it.” He suppressed a sob. “I’ll Turn Logain myself if you let Taim live, Kamarile,” he murmured. “I’ll Turn the entire Black Tower.”

Just as expected, he was being his disappointing self again, in the face of adversity. To be fair, Hessalam was doing what Natael feared most: she was threatening Taim.

“Mm-mm,” Taim said, shaking his head. His eyes were full of sadness, but he didn’t seem disappointed in him. He blinked once, hard. Natael got the message: close your eyes. Don’t watch.

But he couldn’t. His eyelids refused to cooperate. He saw Hessalam give the signal, which was immediately relayed by Gorman. In three seconds…

…Natael would die.

One.

“I love you,” he said softly. Taim nodded. I love you, too.

Two.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice so low that no one could have heard him, though Taim nodded again.

Thr-

“What do you think you’re doing?” a male voice thundered. “We have orders, G… Hessalam.”

Natael didn’t think that this day could get any worse – how could it possibly? – but now Demandred was here.

Who would come next, Moridin?

“I believe I told you to Turn Logain and the Asha’man,” a deeper voice said quietly. “I made no mention of Taim.”

Ah. Apparently, yes, Moridin.

The two male Forsaken stood at the base of the stairs. “Do you intend to kill every single one of us before the Last Battle, you blasted idiot?” Demandred demanded.

Hessalam didn’t seem fazed by their sudden appearance. “They’re not with us, you fool. They are very actively against us. Do you know how many men they’ve Turned since you commanded them to begin the process?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “None! They were play-acting, you blind oaf. And you never noticed.” She turned to Moridin, half-raising her hands as if to say, why wasn’t he turned into a hideous monster instead of me? I’m the smart one here.

Well, Natael had to give her that: she had accomplished more for the Shadow in the few hours she’d been here than Demandred had in the months since he’d forced Taim to become a Dreadlord.

Moving forward, Hessalam extracted something from one of her pockets and waved it under the Forsaken’s noses. “Did you know that they had this in their possession?” Natael squinted and realised she was holding Shendla’s Binding Rod. Well, Demandred’s Binding Rod, really.

Moridin glanced at Demandred, but the latter’s face was impassive, as it so often was. “They didn’t get it from me,” he stated in a flat tone.

True, but did he know that it was his? Had he realised that it was missing yet? According to Shendla, he had spent the previous day in the place the Sharans called the Hearttomb. Was he aware of what had happened? Had Shendla and Mintel dared talk to him yet?

And if they had…were they still alive?

Moridin pushed Hessalam away impatiently and moved toward Taim. “You disobeyed my orders, Hessalam. How many times do you think that your impudence will be tolerated?”

“You can’t afford to lose me now,” Hessalam said dryly. “There are too few of us.”

“Oh, that’s quite true,” Moridin said as he unfastened Taim’s bindings. “That is why these two nimrods are being promoted, and why you needn’t Turn them.”

“You must be joking,” Hessalam said. “Surely you’re not considering-”

“It is not my decision,” Moridin barked.

“But-”

“You will take them to Shayol Ghul, Hessalam, and you will not question the Great Lord’s will.” He was done with the straps that were restraining Taim. He even helped him stand up.

Natael felt as confused as Hessalam. What was going on? Why would the Great Lord repay their (multiple attempts at) betrayal with a reward such as this? Or was it a trap? Perhaps the Great Lord wanted to kill them Himself, and needed them to go to Shayol Ghul to do so.

Then he realised that he didn’t care. “Little help here?” He longed to be freed, so that he could hold Taim in his arms. He was alive! They both were.

“Do it soon,” Moridin said briskly. “Then return here and finish what you started. The Black Tower must be ours, and Logain, though he didn't make the cut, remains a priority. Stop toying with him. Demandred, I'm counting on you to enforce my orders.”

Without another word, he walked past Demandred and up the stairs.

“I cannot believe-” Hessalam began to pace as she spoke. She exhaled sharply and threw her hands in the air. “Honestly! After everything they’ve done, with the Musician’s treachery, they’re still going to-” This time she stopped talking because there was a knife in her throat.

Natael stared at it, baffled. He’d seen Taim move, had seen him swipe the knife at her belt, but he had no idea that he was going to do…that.

Oh, bother. How could Demandred let this pass? They would have to fight him now, there would be no choice. And they were still shielded! Not to mention that he was still physically bound. What had Taim been thinking?

When he turned toward the Forsaken, however, Natael saw that Demandred had unsheathed his longsword and was hacking and slashing at the female channelers that held their shields. He did so almost nonchalantly, never breaking a sweat, though he was assaulting them with saidin and his fearsome blade at the same time. “Attack the women!” he ordered the Turned Asha’man and the Myrddraal, which they did, without hesitation. Hessalam’s groupies were either too startled to react, or too slow. The carnage was over in less than a minute.

Natael didn’t know what to think. Had he fallen asleep at some point? He must have. He turned to Taim again, hoping that seeing his familiar, beloved face would coerce his brain to process what was happening more quickly, but as he watched, Taim seized saidin and wove balefire at Hessalam, a fierce, satisfied smile on his lips. “That’s for trying to kill him,” he snarled, spitting where the body had lain a few seconds earlier.

Oh, that was why he was suddenly angry, before – he didn’t know it was Graendal until Natael said her name aloud. Graendal, who had attempted murder on Natael, once upon a time. Before he even knew Taim.

Well, this was adorable.

Um, also very perturbing. Everything was. Natael didn’t know where to look, let alone what to do. To be fair, he was still bound, and it was much easier to manipulate saidin with free hands. He cleared his throat. “Er, might I trouble someone to-”

Taim was already walking to him. “Sorry, darling. I had to make sure she was… Well, you know.” He wove a thread of Fire to cut through the binds.

Natael started to massage his wrists, but then remembered his earlier intention: to hug Taim as if his life depended on it. Which it very well might. “I’m sorry. Those things I said…” He breathed in deeply, taking comfort in Taim’s scent and warmth.

“There’s no need to apologise. I would have told her the same thing, if she’d decided to Turn you instead of me.” His grip was strong, and Natael noted that he was trembling slightly. Well, no wonder. He had narrowly escaped a fate worse than death, after all. Thanks to…

Natael released Taim reluctantly to seek Demandred. The Forsaken was meticulously wiping the blood from his blade with a cloth. He paid them no attention. He must have given the Myrddraal some instructions, because they were exiting the basement one by one.

“I’m not complaining,” he murmured to Taim, “but what in the Pit of Doom is going on?”

“Maybe Shendla…” Taim trailed off. “Well, you said it was impossible, but…” He shrugged. Then he slapped his forehead. “Logain!”  He ran over to the other man, whose body lay pale and immobile on the hard stone floor. Taim pressed a hand at the base of his neck. “He’s alive,” he announced. “Thank the Light.” He removed his coat, shaped it into a pillow and carefully placed it under Logain’s head.

Natael hesitantly walked over to Demandred while Taim tried to nurse Logain back to health. “Why did you… I mean, are you…” Joining us? It did seem impossible. Demandred, returning to the Light? No, he must have another reason for killing these witches, and a better one still for allowing Taim to murder Hessalam. Maybe he wanted to steal her Myrddraal…or her pretty pets? “Did Shendla-”

“We need to go,” the Forsaken said. “Can you revive him?” he asked Taim, indicating Logain.

Taim was trying to make Logain drink, but he shook his head. “He’s unresponsive. I don’t know if-”

“Then you’ll have to carry him. Can’t leave him here for Moghedien to find…or someone worse. Come on, hurry. Have your men hoist him up on that blanket over there.”

Your men. They weren’t their men anymore. They were-

“Nessosin, I can almost hear you debating my words in your head. Time is of the essence, yes? Chop-chop! We need to find…” He grimaced. “…al’Thor,” he finished in a murmur.

“Al’Thor’s insane,” Taim notified him. He chuckled dryly. “Besides, I doubt he’ll let you approach without trying to kill you.”

“That’s why I need you nincompoops to come with me,” Demandred insisted. “And he’s not insane. Not anymore,” he amended. “Something happened to him… I’ve heard reports, and Shendla said she saw…” He shook his head. “Anyway, I need to see for myself, before I can…make an informed decision.”

Taim and Natael shared a worried look. “So, if he’s still insane, you’re going to change your mind and kill us all?”

“No, just him,” Demandred replied conversationally. “Then I’ll take his place and defeat the Dark One, as is my destiny.”

Natael almost laughed, then remembered that this was Demandred, still. It was dangerous to laugh in his face, even if he was on their side – something that was extremely debatable.

“And if he’s not mad?” Taim enquired.

Demandred didn’t answer right away. “Then…” he said eventually, his face sombre, his voice stony, “then he and I will join forces and defeat Him together.” He exhaled slowly. “As seems to be our destiny.”

Chapter Text

A little cuddling

A few reasonable words

And boom! Barid’s back

“Hello again,” Natael greeted Shendla and Mintel. The former ignored him and went straight for Demandred, pulling him away from the rest of them to talk in private.

Was it only two days ago that they’d met the stern-looking woman and her elderly interpreter? So much had happened since then… So many improbable things. So much loss and pain and fear.

And now here they were, in Demandred’s Sharan camp…in Shara. As guests, not captives. At least Natael hoped so.

The camp lay in a man-made meadow, in the middle of a dense forest filled with exotic trees and plants. A jungle, one might call it. The atmosphere was humid and there were mosquitoes – er, bitemes – everywhere. Natael wished there was a weave to keep them at bay as he slapped yet another bug, which had decided that the back of Natael’s neck smelled appetising.

Mintel grinned at him. “There is a saying among the abrishi, Ghraem: ‘When the biteme lands on your private parts, you will learn to resolve all future problems without violence’.”

Taim snorted laughter. When Natael glared at him, he seemed puzzled by his own reaction. “Sorry. Took me by surprise.” He smiled at Mintel. “I like the philosophy behind this saying.”

“Right, mosquitoes are the key to world peace. Let’s send a swarm of them to the Bore and hope they find the Dark One’s…private parts,” Natael said, rolling his eyes. “Instead of mocking me, can you do something about my face?”

He hadn’t seen it, but he imagined he must be horribly disfigured, following Gorman’s repeated blows.

Taim seized saidin and lightly touched Natael’s temples to better Delve him. “A split lip, a loose tooth, and your nose is broken… It’s nothing too serious, Nate. You’ll live.” Well, that was never in question. It didn’t change the fact that it was atrociously painful. “I’ll do what I can, but you know that Healing is not my specialty.”

Natael felt the cool, cleansing wave of Healing engulf his face, then his whole body. When Taim was done, Natael decided that the man was selling himself short: not only was everything mended, but he felt energised and refreshed, as if he’d slept an entire day. Aches he had put on the back burner had also dissipated, like the soreness in his arms and shoulders due to being shackled for so long. He was ravenous, but that was a common side-effect of Healing. And of not having eaten for more than twenty-four hours prior to said Healing.

“We should find you something to eat,” Taim said. Sometimes Natael wondered if the other man could read is mind. In this case, however, it was possible that Taim had simply heard Natael's belly rumble.

Taim wasn’t even finished speaking when Mintel began rummaging through his knapsack. “Here,” he said, proffering a leaf-wrapped package. “It’s just banana bread, but it was baked this morning. It’s still fresh.”

Natael unwrapped it and took a dubious sniff. His stomach gurgled loudly in response to the delicious aroma of the bread. He took a bite, then almost ate the whole flaming thing before he remembered that Taim hadn’t eaten all day, either. “Here, take the rest.”

“You’re too generous, darling,” Taim said wryly as he accepted the few remaining crumbs.

Natael flushed. He was still quite selfish, wasn’t he? Always thinking of himself before others…even before Taim. He felt an uncharacteristic pang of shame. “Sorry,” he muttered, eyes downcast.

“I’m only teasing, Nate,” Taim said in a gentler tone. “I’m not that hungry, anyway.” Contradicting his own words, he devoured the last of the bread.

“Hopefully there’ll be time for a proper meal, before we depart,” Mintel said.

“Yes, about that… What are we doing here?” Natael asked. “I thought we were going to find al’Thor.” He looked at Demandred insistently, willing the man to notice him, but the Chosen had eyes only for Shendla.

Mintel failed to provide an answer. Instead, he squatted nimbly and put a hand on Logain’s forehead, his face growing serious. “This one is lucky to be alive,” he murmured. “Such turmoil inside. He needs rest, but I’m afraid there’s no time. Rest has become a luxury none can afford, even the mighty and the wealthy.”

“Well, he’ll have to rest until he’s conscious, at the very least,” Natael noted. “Can’t bring him to the battlefield in his present condition. Moving him was risky enough. Who knows what damage he’s suffered?”

Mintel closed his eyes and muttered unintelligibly for several seconds. “The damage will not be permanent,” he said, looking up. “He is strong. Our shamans will see to him at once.” He stood and shouted in isleh. Two middle-aged women and a young man, who looked barely old enough to shave, hurried to answer Mintel’s call. He spoke to them in their mother tongue and they started working on Logain as soon as he was done.

“A shaman is some sort of Healer, I presume?” Natael asked.

Mintel nodded. “My apologies. I did not know how to translate the term in your language. Before the Revolt, the shamans were a subdivision of the Ayyad, female channelers who cured the various ailments of the rich noblemen and noblewomen of our nation, for a costly fee that fed the coffers of the Ayyad. Now that our male channelers have been liberated, the shamans have taken on apprentices, and Bao has decreed that they shall Heal all who require their services, for free.”

Natael glanced at Demandred, who was still absorbed in his conversation with Shendla. This Bao he was impersonating had some honourable (though a tad unrealistic) ideas, no doubt about it. “Did he choose this name for himself?” he wondered aloud. “What does it mean?”

Mintel smiled, and there was fondness in his eyes as he watched Demandred. “He did not. He came to us posing as a slave, and slaves have no names. Had no names – Bao has decreed that the Freed are now permitted, and even strongly encouraged, to name themselves. Bao…is not really translatable. It is a term of endearment for one’s son…and he is like a son to me.” He chuckled. “I do not think he realises it. He does not know what it means, he never asked. He was content to have a name that would lend credibility to his disguise, and that was all that mattered to him.”

Mintel considered Demandred like a son…but did Demandred think of the older man as a father figure of sorts, perhaps as a mentor, or was it all an act? Did he genuinely care for these people? Was it even possible for him to care about something that did not involve in any way the brutal murder of his arch-rival, Lews Therin Telamon?

Given recent events, Natael was tempted to say…perhaps.

Given the way he looked at Shendla…perhaps indeed.

The Sharans had accomplished the unthinkable, and may very well have saved the world in the process. With Demandred on the side of the Light, it was virtually impossible for them to lose the Last Battle. Wasn’t it?

Natael did a quick count: to his limited knowledge, the Chosen were now reduced to six – Moridin, Cyndane, Moghedien, Semirhage, Aran’gar and Mesaana. It depended on these Chosen’s individual plans for Tarmon Gai’don, of course, but Natael did know for certain that Demandred had a large army at his back, including many channelers and one of the most powerful sa’angreal in the world – second only to the Choedan Khal, if memory served.

If al’Thor had somehow vanquished the madness that had assailed him until recently, and if Logain recovered… They would at least be a match for the Shadow. Provided that the forces of the Light – all the various nations of the West, including the White Tower – were united under the Dragon Reborn’s rule. And preferably the Seanchan, the Aiel and the Sea Folk as well.

That was a lot of ifs.

Demandred was finally coming back to them. “Shendla tells me that we must not delay. The battle is about to begin, and we must catch up to al’Thor before he enters Shayol Ghul.”

“He’s going to enter Shayol Ghul?” Taim repeated, both eyebrows raised. “That’s not exactly a sign in favour of his supposedly improved mental health.”

Demandred shrugged. “That’s what I would do. What I intend to do, in fact, regardless of al’Thor’s plans.” He added something in isleh, addressing the shamans. They replied in the same language.

Just as Natael opened his mouth to request a translation, Logain regained consciousness. His eyelids fluttered open and the first person he saw was Demandred. “I’ll die before I serve you!” he shouted, with more force than Natael would have thought, given his weakened condition.

Taim crouched at Logain’s side and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s alright, he’s with us. Don’t exert yourself.”

“With us? Demandred?” Logain scoffed. “Light help me, he’s Turned you already.”

“No, it’s true,” Natael insisted. “He killed Hessalam’s henchwomen, and he let Taim kill Hessalam herself.” That had been a very satisfying moment, and the grandest romantic gesture of all time, in Natael’s humble opinion. “We were just about to visit al’Thor. The Last Battle is underway.”

“Can you stand?” Demandred asked briskly. “We must depart at once.”

Logain was squinting at the Chosen. “This is obviously a trap,” he snapped, though he did stand up. He pushed Taim away when he tried to help. “One does not simply turn their cloak like that, for no reason. Why would you-?”

“No trap,” Shendla asserted. “Bao…” She went on in isleh.

Mintel was about to translate, but Logain cut him off. “Who in the Pit of Doom is that?” He took a good look around him, taking in their alien surroundings. “Where are we?”

Right. There hadn’t been any time to fill him in about the whole Sharan business, or anything else, for that matter. Hessalam had interrupted their reunion. “This is Shendla. She’s the one who gave us the Binding Rod. She’s Demandred’s…” Confidante? Paramour? Concubine? Well, it wasn’t Natael’s place to put a label on their relationship. He cleared his throat. “…adviser. She’s a sort of Sharan Aes Sedai, and a Dreamer.” He gestured at the camp and neighbouring jungle. “We’re in Shara.”

While Logain absorbed that new information, Mintel summed up what Shendla had said. “She made Bao feel guilty about his selfish motives and appealed to his common sense. And it worked.” He grinned, displaying his few remaining teeth. “Though I suspect there was something else involved, another sort of compelling argument, last night in their tent…” he added with a mischievous wink.

A guilt-trip and a little cuddling? That was all it had taken to convince the man to change his mind about…everything? His entire outlook on life, his one and only goal, his reason for forsaking the Light in the first place?  Blood and ashes, this Shendla was something else, uh?

Demandred didn’t blush, and neither did Shendla. Still, Logain wasn’t buying it. “Is that really what she said?”

Demandred exhaled sharply. “We don’t have time for-”

Shendla said something in her language and gestured to Mintel. Demandred pinched the bridge of his hooked nose in annoyance, but he didn’t protest as Mintel translated. “This is what Shendla said to Bao after our visit to the Black Tower, after we explained to him what we did and why: ’All the good you’ve done for my people – for our people, you’ve done for the wrong reasons. You’ve freed them, you’ve given them hope and a reason to live, but only so you could use them as cannon fodder in the end, in your private war against the Dragon. Against a man who died eons ago. You would endanger the entire world and sacrifice the people who love you to get revenge for a crime you imagined, for a perceived slight that hurt nothing but your fragile male ego.’”

She’d told Demandred that…and she had survived? Blimey, he must really care for her. Then again, the exact same thing had happened to Natael, thanks to Taim… Taim was his Shendla.

Or Shendla was Demandred’s Taim, more accurately. Taim had done it first.

And after all, Demandred had converted to the Shadow on a whim, had he not? Why should his return to the Light be any different? Only idiots never changed their minds, and whatever else he was – a self-important jerk; a devious, manipulative fiend; a bitter, resentful, envious zealot – Demandred was not an idiot.

Taim was holding back laughter, Natael could tell, and he actually smiled when he caught Natael looking at him. “Fragile ego indeed.”

“Humph! That was uncalled for,” he grumbled.

“Are you satisfied now?” Demandred asked Logain.

The Ghealdanin didn’t answer right away. His gaze went from Demandred to Shendla. “Well, she must be one hell of a woman,” he remarked after a moment, echoing Natael’s earlier thought. He stretched his back then cracked his knuckles. “Alright, what’s the plan?”

“You will return to the Black Tower and assemble the men,” Demandred said. “In the meantime, I will seek out al’Thor with these two…” He paused, gesturing vaguely at Taim and Natael. “…with these two.”

Natael didn’t want to know which terms he’d considered and discarded during that three-second pause.

“Why do we have to accompany you?” Taim enquired. Demandred wouldn’t be able to tell, but there was a world of implied questions in his tone – which were better left unspoken. Was Demandred afraid of facing his nemesis alone? Did he need them both to hold his hand while he begged for a chance to redeem himself? “Natael and I are the official co-leaders of the Black Tower. Shouldn’t we-”

“Logain has proven to be a capable leader,” Demandred said without missing a beat. Logain glared at him, as if an insult were somehow dissimulated behind the compliment, though Natael couldn’t discern one. Demandred was merely stating a fact. “Your men trust him, they’re loyal to him. Besides, I will require your…” – he nearly choked on the word – “…assistance. Al’Thor will likely not balefire you on sight, but I doubt he’ll let me approach without attacking, when he recognises me. You will shield me and request a private audience with him.”

Demandred was willing to let himself be shielded? He really was committed to this course of action. Natael was more and more curious about Shendla. Such a miracle worker. He would have to invite her over for tea, when this was all over. Mainly so they could gossip about Demandred – Natael was also curious to learn more about Bao’s adventures in Shara. How had such an arrogant man passed himself off as a slave for any amount of time without raising suspicion? Demandred had never been known for his acting skills.

Speaking of acting… “You could just use the Mask of Mirrors,” Natael ventured. Al’Thor may not balefire any of them on sight, but Natael would rather be a safe distance away – say,  a thousand miles or so – when the Dragon Reborn learned what had happened at the Black Tower these past few months, including but not limited to the Regrettable Aes Sedai Mass Suicide of 1000 NE.

“According to Shendla, al’Thor and Lews Therin’s…consciences have merged, which means that the boy knows everything Lews Therin once knew. Including how to spot a channeler wearing the Mask, and what I look like, even though I’ve never encountered al’Thor personally. He won’t be easily fooled.” He said that last part with all the reluctance he could muster.

“I trust Logain to see to our men,” Taim told Natael. “We should go with Demandred.” Again, his tone implied more than his words let on: …so we can keep an eye on him, and make sure he doesn’t betray us and try to murder al’Thor.

“Bao,” Shendla said forcefully. They all turned to her. “Bao, not Demandred.”

She had a point; Demandred was his Chosen name, and he was no longer one of the Chosen. Well, technically he was, but al’Thor would sever his connection to the Dark One as soon as possible.

Unless he decided to execute him. His name wouldn’t matter then.

In any case, Natael wasn’t comfortable calling him Barid Bel, so Bao was a good compromise. “We’ll go with Bao,” he acquiesced. He turned to Logain. “Will you be alright?” The man was known for his resilience, but still, he’d just been horribly tortured and had barely survived the ordeal.

Logain nodded, as expected. “We’ll meet you at Merrilor. What about…” He hesitated, pointing at the men who lurked at the edge of the jungle, in the shadows. Gorman was staring blankly at a cart, while several bitemes fought for a spot on his face. There were already many small bumps on his forehead and cheeks. Natael felt itchy just looking at him – and quite heartbroken.

“They will do as they’re told,” Demandred – er, Bao – assured them. “But if it upsets you to give them orders, they can stay here, and Shendla will lead them with the rest of our army.”

Our army. Interesting. Would Shendla be in charge, after Bao left for Shayol Ghul? But that was a question for later. “Shouldn’t we kill them?” he asked instead.

Taim scowled at him. Logain looked absolutely outraged. “Kill them? Why? What is wrong with you? Burn you, I though Gorman was your friend.”

Natael had not expected such an outcry. “He was our friend, yes. And he’s suffered a fate worse than death,” he said, trying to clarify his point of view, “from which there’s no coming back. It would be a mercy.”

“Everyone thought that gentling could not be Healed and that I was a dead man walking,” Logain countered. “Yet here I am. Al’Meara will fix them. She can Heal anything. She’ll come up with a weave to Heal death itself, if you give her enough time.”

Natael highly doubted both assessments, but he let it slide. There was no time to argue. “Either way-”

But Logain wasn’t done. “And we believed that poisoning the men who were going mad was also a mercy… But if we’d given them just a few more weeks, they would have been alive when al’Thor cleansed saidin.”

“That’s unfair,” Taim argued. “We couldn’t possibly have known that al’Thor intended to do that, let alone that he would succeed… And besides, these men were a danger to themselves and to others. We’ve lost innocent people because of the madness, Logain. The mercy-kills were a precautionary measure, and I’m confident that they contributed to saving lives.”

“Regardless-” Logain attempted to pursue his initial point, but he was interrupted.

“Even if they cannot be Turned back,” Bao commented, speaking slightly more loudly than the other two to cut their bickering short, “they can still be useful in combat, at least.” How pragmatic, and utterly heartless. A perfect combination for one of the Chosen.

Or any efficient general, really. The Light certainly had its own share of ruthless commanders, otherwise it would have lost the eternal war waged between Light and Shadow long ago. No one had ever won a battle by being overly compassionate.

No one contradicted Bao, which was nothing short of miraculous, given Logain and Taim’s proclivity to debate and argue, and especially given how controversial his statement was.

“I’ll be on my way, then,” Logain said. He opened a gateway but looked over his shoulder before stepping inside it. “If you see Gabrelle… Tell her I’m alive, would you? We decided to remove our bond as a precaution before the battle, but…”

A sensible decision, but now he didn’t know if she was alright, and it obviously worried him. He cared deeply for the Brown, didn’t he? Ah, the Last Battle, bringing people together in their doom. Logain and Gabrelle, Demandred and Shendla… Taim and Natael. So many improbable couples had formed during these trying times. But would they survive the battle’s outcome?

Don’t think about that, he admonished himself. He’d nearly lost Taim once already. He wouldn’t let it happen again.

Demandred groaned with impatience. “Enough with the sappy feelings. The overwhelming time pressure?” he reminded them. “We can’t miss al’Thor’s departure for Shayol Ghul.”

Logain sighed heavily. “Anyway. Try not to die, you twits.” Leaving them with that judicious advice, he disappeared inside the gateway, which then promptly vanished.

“You, too,” Taim murmured after he was gone. Natael, once again, divined more meaning behind the two simple words: I won’t allow that adorable insult to be the last thing I ever heard you say. You twit.

At least that was what Natael wanted to say.

Chapter Text

Flinn, our long-lost pal!

The cat’s out of the bag but

The magic stick’s mine

Taim, Bao and Natael stood some distance away from the command tent, where a youthful soldier wearing an Andoran uniform had indicated they would find al’Thor. When Taim had tried to introduce himself to the soldier, he had been interrupted. “I know who you are, m’lord.” The boy had sheepishly pointed to the dragons embroidered on the sleeves of Taim’s coat. He looked absolutely terrified. His entire body quivered as he’d stammered the directions to al’Thor’s location.

Natael hoped his fear was due to Taim’s status as a former False Dragon and leader of a vast army of male channelers, rather than rumours of Aes Sedai mysteriously disappearing at the Black Tower.

“Lord Ghraem? M’Hael?”

Natael’s face lit up. He knew that voice! Ah, such deference. It was sweet music to his ears. “Flinn, you old coot!”

Damer Flinn saluted them both and inclined his head toward Bao. The Asha’man had no idea who the man was, but Bao exuded authority and power and, as a former soldier, that was enough reason for Flinn to demonstrate some respect.

“How are you, Flinn? It’s been a long time,” Taim said.

“Well enough, m’lord. My Healing skills have much improved,” he reported with no small amount of pride. “I have found a way to Heal stilling!”

Taim stared at him open-mouthed. Natael was no less surprised, but he hid it better. Perhaps Logain was right after all; perhaps the Turned could be Turned back. If Flinn and the mysterious al’Meara woman worked together…

But that was an issue for another day. They had more pressing matters to attend to. “That is wonderful news, Asha’man but, if you’ll excuse us, we must-”

“Androl was anxious to see Logain,” Flinn said. “Will he be joining us soon?”

“Logain is getting everyone ready at the Black Tower,” Taim said. “Why is Androl so anxious to see him?”

“They’ve secured an alliance with the White Tower, Pevara and he did. Just as planned. Androl wanted to discuss the terms with Logain before they sealed the agreement, though.”

Taim and Natael exchanged a look. Logain had mentioned this, but they had not really believed it could be achieved, especially on such short notice. They could only hope that Androl had not compromised the integrity of the Black Tower and had not let the Aes Sedai cheat or deceive them. It would have to be Logain’s problem, however. Bao was growing impatient. “Logain will be here soon,” Taim promised. “But we must go. We’ll talk later, Flinn.” The Asha’man saluted and left. Natael saw him walk up to an Aes Sedai wearing a yellow shawl. They greeted each other warmly. Another couple formed during what may very well be the last days of humankind? Natael hoped so. Flinn deserved to find love, especially if the world was about to end. Dying alone was even worse than dying among friends and loved ones.

“Let’s not waste any more time,” Bao said as he started toward the command tent.

Natael and Taim had to jog to catch up to him. “What’s the plan?”

Bao rolled his eyes. “We have already established a plan. Try to keep up, Nessosin. Al’Thor is going to recognise me right away. Hopefully, he will be sensible enough not to alert anyone who might be with him, so that you may request a private audience with him before we expound on the situation.” His tone more than implied that he doubted al’Thor’s sense – or rather, Lews Therin’s sense – and in any case it wasn’t like Demandred to rely on a concept as abstract as “hope”.

There was no time to ask more questions; the guards at the entrance of the command tent halted them. There were Maidens of the Spear here and there, but they were not veiled and casually observed the scene.

Natael noticed that both guards stole glances at Taim’s sleeves. “Are you the one they call M’Hael?” the younger of the two interrogated Taim. He had a distinct Tairen accent.

Taim nodded. “And this is Jasin Natael, co-leader of the Black Tower.” Of course, no one had recognised him. “We must speak with the Dragon Reborn forthwith.”

The older guard, a bearded man well into his fifties, held up a hand as they took a step forward. He cocked his head toward Demandred. “And who’s he?” Like his companion, he was a native of Tear.

Taim answered without hesitation. “This is Logain Ablar, one of our Asha’man.” He was really good at lying through his teeth. Then again, what were the odds that this man knew what Logain looked like, or that he would realise that Demandred was shielded? “We must discuss matters pertaining to the Black Tower with the Dragon Reborn. It is of the utmost urgency and importance,” Taim insisted.

The two guards spoke between them, but not low enough that Natael didn’t catch a few words: “Odd that they weren’t invited… Ought to be part of the decision-making process, you would think…”

“Well, if the world leaders are making battle plans, yes, the Black Tower ought to participate. Why have we not received an invitation?” Natael grumbled.

“I intercepted al’Thor’s message before I left for the Hearttomb,” Bao whispered. Of course he had. Natael briefly wondered how many messages from al’Thor had been intercepted by the Chosen, but it was irrelevant now. “But I don’t think they’re making plans for the battle; the missive mentioned an important document for you two to peruse and sign.”

Now hardly seemed like an appropriate time to look at papers, but if they didn’t gain entry into the tent, none of that would matter. “I hope you realise that attempting to block our path with two rusty swords is quite futile,” Natael said aloud. The guards interrupted their hushed conversation to frown at him. “If we really want to get in, we will.” Threatening them was probably not the best idea, but it turned out to be the most effective one. The guards moved aside, though they gave Natael the evil eye.

In truth, it was strange that the command tent was guarded by two non-channelers, and not the sharpest tools in the shed, at that. What if Demandred had showed up with murderous intentions? Even the Maidens would have been utterly defenceless against the Chosen – or even against any random Dreadlord or Black Ajah sister, for that matter.

But it didn’t matter. They were inside the tent now. There was obviously a ward against eavesdropping in place, because the racket couldn’t be heard from outside the tent.

A crowd of seemingly important people was gathered around a large table. Some were seated, others standing, and a few were pacing. Most of them were either talking, arguing, or almost yelling. Natael didn’t recognise any of them, save the Queen of Andor and that short, pretty young woman who had accompanied al’Thor in the Waste, the Aiel apprentice. She was wearing the seven-striped shawl of the Amyrlin Seat, Natael noticed immediately. Odd.

He scanned the room, keen on finding al’Thor as quickly as possible, but al’Thor spotted them first. “Ah, Natael, Taim, there you are! I was just about to send for you, since you didn’t bother to acknowledge my summons…” He barely looked at them as he shuffled some papers on the table. “You must read this and tell me what you think… Actually, you must sign it regardless of what you think,” he amended. He stood and walked over to them with the documents bundled in his arms, and that was when he finally took a good look at the three of them. He froze in his tracks but, thankfully, few people noticed. “You.” His voice was a bare whisper.

Natael noted that he didn’t seize saidin. Was that a sign of his madness, or a sign that he was no longer utterly rash and unpredictable and that he was therefore relatively sane? It was impossible to tell. “Um, my Lord Dragon, we would like to request a private-”

Al’Thor ignored him. “This isn’t like you, Barid Bel. What scheme have you contrived this time? You hide from me for months and now you just…waltz in?”

As the volume of his voice rose, more people took notice of their arrival. Several among them must be familiar with the name “Barid Bel”, because they unsheathed swords or embraced the Source – saidar, to be more accurate. Natael’s skin tingled as several women readied themselves for combat, but there was no other male channeler in the tent, save al’Thor himself.

Off to a great start, he thought derisively. What was Plan B again? Oh, right. There was no contingency plan. Demandred had simply assumed that his brilliant idea would pan out flawlessly.

To be fair, most of his plan depended on al’Thor’s reactions.

“I was never hiding,” Demandred said flatly, though Natael could tell he was miffed. Implying that Demandred was a coward… Not a sign in favour of the lad’s recovered sanity. “You simply weren’t paying attention, engrossed as you were in your own futile endeavours.”

Al’Thor turned to Natael. “What is the meaning of this? Is he your captive? Or are you a part of this?”

“He’s shielded!” Not the calmly argumentative point he intended to make, but really… Anyone would be on the defensive after such a derogatory accusation. Even one of the Chosen would be offended! To imply that he was allied with Demandred, of all people? Phaw!

“My Lord Dragon,” Taim said, “I must insist that we discuss this matter in private.” He gestured at all the battle-ready gawkers.

“Have you finally given in and betrayed me, Natael?” al’Thor pressed him, paying no mind to Taim. “How characteristic of you to seek the most powerful ally to keep you safe when the battle is-”

“Enough with your preposterous allegations!” Taim barked, losing his composure. “We are and always have been loyal to you, you boneheaded lummox.” That was a bit of a stretch, but still true…in essence. (Not the boneheaded lummox part, the loyalty part. The former was irrevocably true.) “You have no idea of the sacrifices that were made in your name. We have risked our lives – and worse – at every turn. We have suffered heart-breaking losses because of you. Because you never deigned to pay us a visit. If you’d only bothered, even once, this one would have been dealt with ages ago,” he added, indicating Demandred.

Al’Thor didn’t react to Taim’s rant. He stood there, immobile, with his sheaf of documents forgotten in his arms. The tent was eerily silent…for about three seconds.

“The Forsaken isolated us for months,” Taim went on, eyes ablaze with righteous anger. “They tried to break us multiple times. They tried to Turn our men – and us. If not for Natael, they would have succeeded, so don’t you dare accuse him of betraying you!”

Al’Thor finally acknowledged Taim, nodding imperceptibly. “I agree,” he murmured. “I’m not sure what happened at the Black Tower, but whatever it is, I’m at least partly responsible, and I’m sorry.”

Huh. Natael hadn’t expected him to own up to his faults or to apologise. How very mature of him. “What’s done is done,” Natael said quietly. Whenever Taim was riled up, it was his duty to be the level-headed one.

And vice versa. This tactic worked wonders for them. They were a great team.

“We’ve all made mistakes,” Natael went on. “But now is not the time to assign blame. The Last Battle has begun…and we’ve come bearing gifts. Well, a gift.” He opened his palms and gestured at Demandred. He didn’t say ta-daaa, but felt it was heavily implied. “A last-minute addition to our ranks, and a mighty one at that.”

Al’Thor stared at him as though Natael was the one whose sanity was in doubt. “I thought you’d captured him. Are you saying that-”

Demandred scoffed. “Capture me? These buffoons? Please. They couldn’t if they tried. Even if I were bound and shielded and comatose, I wouldn’t bet on them.”

Rude…but perhaps not entirely erroneous.

“But he is shielded, yes?” al’Thor insisted, looking at Natael.

“Of course, my Lord Dragon. He…allowed us to shield him. As a show of good faith. Demandred… Well, he goes by the name ‘Bao’ these days… He wishes to return to the Light and-”

Natael had almost forgotten that there was a bunch of people back there, but was reminded of that fact when they all started talking at the same time. “And I thought signing this bloody Dragon’s Peace was the craziest thing that would happen today!” someone remarked loudly.

Dragon’s Peace? That sounded ominous. But first things first. Natael cleared his throat and enhanced the volume of his own voice with the Power so that he wouldn’t have to yell to make himself heard over the sudden cacophony. “Bao is willing to-”

“I can speak for myself,” Bao growled at him. His green eyes met al’Thor’s blue-grey ones and didn’t falter.

At last, al’Thor seized saidin. “Then speak, Barid. It’s just you and me. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t balefire you, or at least have you arrested. Why I should trust this ostentatious display of ‘good faith’, when my instincts tell me it must be a trap.”

It wasn’t just the two of them; on purpose or not, the lad had engulfed the four of them, Taim and Natael included, in a smaller ward against eavesdropping, to provide a modicum of privacy and quiet.

Bao didn’t reply. Why not? He had just said that he could speak for himself! Natael decided to take matters into his own hands again…but al’Thor cut him off. “You betrayed the Light, Barid. You betrayed our friendship. A centuries-old friendship. And for what? What have you gained by betraying us?”

Ooh, Natael could answer that one: Immortality. Power beyond a mere mortal’s imaginings. Two great incentives, one had to admit…

Not so in hindsight. Power had never interested Natael, and especially not the True Power, which was too dangerous to manipulate. Immortality was appealing, certainly…but if the small prints in the contract implied being dreamlessly asleep for three thousand years, it quickly lost its appeal. Besides, death was what made life so precious, wasn’t it? Every minute counted. You never knew which breath would be your last. Natael had often been bored out of his mind, before Lews Therin imprisoned him and his twelve acolytes. Every day was routinely similar to the previous one, and there was little excitement to be found, even during the War of Power.

In any case, powerful channelers typically lived for centuries – wasn’t that enough for any sane person?

Of course, in Demandred’s case, none of that mattered. His only goal after forsaking the Light had been to prove that Lews Therin was the lesser general and to eventually kill him – but Lews Therin had had the gall to perish before Demandred’s wish could come true. How grating that must have been…though it hadn’t changed Demandred’s mind. Upon his awakening, he had simply transferred his hatred for Lews Therin to al’Thor.

If Demandred had infiltrated the lad’s retinue and actually spent some time with him, as Natael had done (albeit against his will), it would have rapidly become apparent that al’Thor was nothing like Lews Therin. Perhaps that would have changed his mind sooner…and perhaps not. After all, his love for Shendla had apparently been a decisive argument in Demandred’s ultimate decision to return to the Light.

If "ifs" and "ands" were pots and pans, there'd be no work for tinkers' hands. It was no use pondering on what might have been. Demandred – Bao – was here, now. That was all that mattered.

Al’Thor continued talking when Bao remained silent. “What have I ever done to you? You were like a brother to me, Barid.”

The whole plan heavily depended on al’Thor not leaning in on the whole I’m-Lews-Therin-reincarnated thing, and here the boy talked as if he were not only the man’s reincarnation, but Lews Therin himself. Peace, he was still mad.

“Regardless of your history, you should not balefire him because we need him,” Taim said into the silence. “He has an enormous army, my Lord Dragon, and-”

“You betrayed me,” Bao said at last. How could three words hold so much scorn? Not only that, but he actually sounded as if his feelings had been hurt. “I’ve always lived in your shadow…until eventually I became a shadow - a shadow of the man I used to be.”

“Don’t you dare blame this on me,” al’Thor said, his voice colder than Taim’s feet in the middle of the night, after the blankets slipped and he decided to stick them against Natael’s legs for warmth. “You were my dearest friend. I would have given you command of our armies, if you’d only asked. Why did you never ask?” The coldness in his tone had shifted to sadness.

“Because I shouldn’t have had to!” Bao shouted. The scorn had made place to anger, perhaps white-hot rage. “I was the superior general and strategist. You knew it. You knew it, and you still accepted the command when it was assigned to you. Given to you. You could have told them to hand it over to me, you could have passed it on to me yourself, because I deserved it more, but no, you played the falsely-reluctant hero and held on to it like it was yet another meaningless award.” Oh, the resentment, the bitterness. How could anyone cling on to so many negative, destructive emotions and remain (relatively) sane? “Your arrogance would have been our downfall…” He smirked or, more accurately, twisted his mouth into a grimace that looked like an approximation of a human smirk. “It was your downfall. You doomed the world the day you refused to give me what was rightfully mine. Why should I have stayed loyal to you after that, knowing that you were willing to endanger mankind to give yourself the importance you thought you were due? Why should I have remained faithful to the Light, when I knew that everything was about to collapse because of you? I decided to save myself, and I pitied the hundred fools who pledged to follow you.” His sort-of-smirk turned into a cruel smile. “Oh, and how I pitied sweet, naïve Ilyena.”

Ouch, that was a low blow. This was not going to end well. Had they truly hoped that this would work? The very idea seemed like madness, in hindsight. What was Bao trying to accomplish here, anyway? He was shielded, and the Dragon Reborn was holding on to the Source. What was the secret ploy, what was the endgame?

Also, was he seriously calling Lews Therin self-important? Ha! Listen to the crow calling the raven black.

Al’Thor’s face was unreadable. “I did break the world…but I also granted it a brief respite." The Breaking of the World, a respite? What an odd choice of word. "Ilyena…” He trailed off to clear his throat. “Ilyena suffered the consequences of my actions. Everyone did. But something had to be done, and someone had to do it. I rose to the occasion. Not perfectly, but to the best of my abilities. That is all anyone can ever do, in such circumstances.”

“You were rash and you didn’t even consider the potential repercussions. You used a grubby bandage to cover a grievous wound, instead of asking a Healer to competently clean and mend it.”

“Do you believe you could have done better than I did?” al’Thor demanded.

Bao nodded without hesitation. “As it happens, I do. I will explain the proper approach to you on our way to Shayol Ghul. Don’t worry, I’ll use small words.”

Mmph. He didn’t want to share his brilliant idea with Taim and Natael? They’d trusted him enough to go along with his barmy plan, but the trust was not reciprocal.

Al’Thor scoffed. “You think you’re coming with me to Shayol Ghul? I haven’t even decided whether to arrest you or not! Besides, I thought you wanted to be in command of the armies of the Light. Wasn’t that what you always wanted? Isn’t it the very reason why you deserted in the first place?”

“Well, unlike most of our contemporaries, I’ve evolved. I’ve become a better person. Just like…Natael here.” The off-handed compliment was so unexpected that Natael gaped at Bao in shock. “I know my path, now, and I know how to get to the end of the road. I have elected to be the bigger man and I will allow you to welcome me back to the Light.”

Yeah...not self-important at all.

“And if I refuse to ‘welcome you back’?” al’Thor wondered.

He had to ask, didn’t he? But to be fair, Natael was curious to know what Bao had to say to that.

“Then you will once again break the world and ruin everyone’s life,” Bao said with forced patience – and a hearty helping of condescension. “The cycle will begin all over again, and one can only hope that your next reincarnation won’t be as stubborn and impetuous as you or Lews Therin.”

Elan will be so annoyed if he has to do this all over again, Natael thought.

Al’Thor appeared hesitant. “Even if I was willing to consider it…”

“We don’t have time for your ponderous considerations,” Bao countered. “Time is of the essence. We ought to be in Shayol Ghul already. Moridin awaits.”

Was Elan already aware of Bao’s treason? Either way, Natael doubted that he would care. He just wanted it all to end – one way or another, and preferably once and for all.

Al’Thor shook his head. “It’s not that simple! Don’t you understand, Barid? They will never allow it!” He gestured at the people who stood outside their little bubble of approximate calm. “Even if we go to Shayol Ghul and you…help me, and we eventually save them, together, they won’t welcome you back to the Light with open arms.”

“Why not? They had no problem taking him back,” Bao grunted, pointing at Natael.

“They have no idea who he really is!” al’Thor exclaimed. “If they knew, they would have greeted him with a noose.” Huh. “You’ll be executed, Barid. I’m not even sure they’ll bother with a trial, fair or not.”

“My Lord Dragon,” Taim spoke up, “if I may?” His tone was even, but Natael had learned to read his face: the mention of the noose had him worried. Al’Thor nodded tersely. “Are you not…in charge of everything and everyone, at least for now? If you decree that Demandred – Bao – and Natael are to be pardoned and left alone… There’ll be conditions, of course, but-”

“I would love nothing more than to settle this matter as quickly as possible, but let me tell you, ta’veren or not, there’s no way that I can resolve this before the battle begins in earnest. It’ll be miraculous enough if I can get them all to sign the treaty, or promise to do it…” He sighed. “And afterwards, well… It’ll be too late. I won’t be able to protect you, because I’ll be dead.”

“Now, now, there’s no need to be so pessimistic…” Natael said with entirely faked optimism. “There’s two of you, my Lord Dragon. Together, Bao and you can defeat the Dark One and survive!”

Al’Thor scowled. “The prophecies-”

“To the Pit of Doom with prophecies! You know as well as anybody – or possibly better than anybody – that they’re cryptic and almost never mean what one thinks they mean. Was Bao mentioned in the Karaethon Cycle? No! That’s proof that they’re not always accurate, or that they occasionally leave things out, at the very least. The fate of the world doesn’t depend on ancient words written on dusty parchment, it depends on you. You can survive, and you should try very hard to do so, my Lord Dragon.”

“’Try’?” Bao repeated. “Trying is for losers, Natael. And if you have elected to join the Light…then it must be the side of the victors. We will defeat Ba’alzamon, once and for all, and we will return triumphantly alive. There is no other option.”

He spoke with such unfaltering confidence that it was difficult not to believe him, not to be hopeful. The needless jab about Natael being some sort of vane that automatically turned to the side that was most likely to win was…well, a bit insulting, but not entirely wrong. They did have a chance to win. A good one, if al’Thor finally saw sense and accepted Bao’s offer.

As for everyone else and how they would react…that would be a problem for later. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, as the saying went.

“I suppose…” al’Thor said softly. “Yes. Very well. But for the record, I already have a plan, and this time, it’s the right thing to do, I can feel it. We must break the-”

Bao nodded impatiently. “Yes, yes. My people have the authentic items and they will do what needs to be done when the time comes. Will you take me back, or not?”

Apparently, the fact that Bao had immediately understood what he was talking about (though Natael had no clue what it could be) was enough to convince him. Before he replied, al’Thor removed the smaller ward against eavesdropping. He wanted everyone to hear his decision, Natael guessed.

He couldn’t believe that it had worked out after all. Then again, if these two idiots had had an honest conversation before the Breaking…well, there might not have been a Breaking. One should never harbour and let fester such burdensome emotions. Communication was the key, not only to healthy relationships, but also to saving the world, apparently. He hoped that everyone else in the tent would understand that, too. Better to forgive the misguided Forsaken and allow him to redeem himself than to burn him at the stake, yes? Or to hang him. Natael reflexively massaged his neck, as though there were a rope attached to it.

“We have an agreement,” al’Thor said loudly.

This provoked a chorus of protest and outrage…which grew louder after Bao spoke. “We do not have an agreement. I serve the Shadow no longer, but there are terms and conditions that we must define before I choose to come to your aid.” He smirked. “Which you dearly need, by the looks of it.”

Al’Thor gestured at the noisy, chaotic scene behind him. “What, this? Oh, it’s fine. Everything is under control-”

“Really?" Bao tapped his chin pensively. "So you don’t need my input at all, your people know everything there is to know? Like the fact that your so-called Great Captains are under Compulsion and therefore compromised?”

The tent fell silent. Several armoured men – Natael assumed they were the so-called “Great Captains” – moved forward. “I beg your pardon?”

“We’re…what?”

Another used words that oughtn’t be uttered in polite society.

“Oh, my mistake. You had not realised yet.” Bao seemed quite smug about it. “Well, they’re under Hessalam’s influence.”

“He’s lying!” someone shouted. “My Lord Dragon, this is most certainly a distraction. It’s a trap!”

Al’Thor shut them up with a sharp signal of his hand – um, handless forearm. “Whose influence?”

“Ugh, you witless-” Bao exhaled sharply. “Graendal was reincarnated as Hessalam after she played a part in Aran’gar’s death. Balthamel’s death,” he clarified when he caught everyone’s dead fish stare. “Taim balefired her last night, but the Compulsion is still effective.”

Oh, good, Aran’gar was dead. The Forsaken were seriously reduced in numbers. Though Natael had to admit that this was slightly disappointing; he’d been very curious to meet the new Balthamel.

"Even if you have Healers competent enough to remove Hessalam’s complex weaving," Bao went on, "it will take them hours and leave them depleted, and we cannot afford this now. The Captains must be replaced. They cannot be allowed to interfere with the battle.”

“Is he suggesting that we should put him in command of our armies?” someone exclaimed.

“I warned you it was an evil scheme, my Lord Dragon!” another yelled.

Bao shook his head. “Not me. I won’t be here. I’m going to Shayol Ghul…with al’Thor.”

A nervous chuckle escaped the crowd. “Oh, are you now?” a woman said.

“It’s my destiny,” Bao said grimly.

“But if you both leave, my Lord Dragon, and if our Captains are truly compromised, then who will-”

“I will lead our armies into battle,” the Queen of Andor said. Her haughty tone brooked no argument. “But for the record, Rand, I don’t think that you should go alone with…him.”

“They won’t be alone,” a weary female voice announced. Natael turned around slowly to see who had entered the tent; the voice was familiar. Could it be-?

Moiraine Damodred. Back from the dead and making a timely, theatrical reappearance, just like one of the Chosen.

Al’Thor looked like someone had punched him in the guts. His mouth worked, but no sound came out.

“I will accompany you to Shayol Ghul, Rand,” Moiraine said. “You and…” Her brown eyes sought Demandred.

“Bao,” Natael provided.

“Mm.” Her gaze swivelled in his direction, and Natael gulped down reflexively. She may be tiny in stature, but he knew only too well how dangerous she could be. She had single-handedly defeated more than one of the Forsaken. If the Aes Sedai had served the other side, Natael mused, the Shadow would have won months ago. “Master Natael. Still here, are you? Interesting.”

In other words, she’d expected him to die – or betray them; possibly both – a long time ago. To be fair, so had Natael.

“If she’s going,” another woman said, hands on her hips, “so am I.” One of her hands reached up to her shoulder, as if to tug at her hair, but it was too short. She let it fall with an aggravated sigh and aggressively smoothed her yellow dress instead. “It’s not a suggestion, Rand.”

“Planning your little trip to Shayol Ghul is all well and good,” someone else said, “but what about the actual battle?”

Ah, Cauthon was here, too, Natael noticed. He was missing an eye. How come everyone was losing body parts before the battle had even begun?

“You can devise plans and strategies, Mat,” al’Thor said. “Elayne will coordinate our armies.” He turned to Bao. “Are you sure about this, though? I think you’ll be more useful-”

“It’s my destiny,” he repeated forcefully. “And one of the conditions of my…” He paused, searching for an appropriate term. “Surrender” wouldn’t do.

“We’re the ones who should be setting conditions, and plenty of them at that,” someone in the crowd noted.

“Conditions? The man must be executed immediately!”

“There is no salvation for evildoers!” someone concurred. “Let him hang!”

“You would execute a man who knows of our enemies’ plans? At the very least we ought to question him first. Who else is under Compulsion? Where are the other For-”

“The prophecies place me at Shayol Ghul during the battle. It was foretold,” Bao went on, ignoring the peons.

Ugh, again with the prophecies?

Al’Thor frowned. “No, the Karaethon Cycle doesn’t mention-”

“Our prophecies,” Bao corrected him, impatience seeping into his voice.

“The prophecies of the Shadow?”

Bao closed his eyes for a moment and slowly massaged his temples. “Light grant me strength and restraint,” he murmured in the Old Tongue. “The Sharan prophecies, you dolt,” he went on in the Common Tongue.

“Sharan?”

Natael was loath to side with Bao, but al’Thor wasn’t quick to catch on. He took pity on the Chosen and decided to spell it out for the lad. “Yes, that’s where Demandred…er, Bao, has established himself. My Lord Dragon. In Shara,” he enunciated, just to make sure it was clear to everyone.

Al’Thor’s face suddenly brightened with understanding. “Oh, that’s where you’ve been hiding! No wonder I didn’t-”

“I have the entire Sharan nation at my back!” Bao shouted, finally losing all self-control. Some spit flew out of his mouth. Natael almost expected his hooked nose to expel smoke. He really should have been the one to be nicknamed Dragon. “I have assembled an army of tens of thousands, including enough channelers to make a full circle. I have in my possession the most powerful sa’angreal in the world. All of Shara is loyal to me, and chooses to be, not out of fear or necessity. I was not hiding, curse you. I was doing my job, and doing it extremely well at that.”

“There’s that fragile male ego Shendla warned us about,” Taim said, just loud enough for Natael to hear. They shared a secret smile.

Bao wasn’t done, but al’Thor cut him off. “What was that about a powerful sa’angreal?”

Bao rolled his eyes, obviously annoyed that this was all the lad had retained from his rant. “Sakarnen, D’jedt. It is a sa’angreal more potent than Callandor – more potent than any other artefact, now that you’ve obliterated the Choedan Kal.”

Al'Thor nodded slowly. "The Sceptre. You found it."

Taim saw an opportunity. “My Lord Dragon, if I may be so bold, I think that we’ll need it more than you, so you’d better leave it with us. You’ll have the Sword, that should be enough. Please remember that we’ll have entire armies to deal with, while you’re only facing the Dark One.”

Only the Dark One. Natael smirked at Taim’s adorable euphemism. He had a point, though. Besides, Natael doubted that the battle at Shayol Ghul would be fought with fancy sa’angreal. It was more likely to be a…metaphysical confrontation.

Natael expected much protest from Bao – after all, he’d spent every minute since his awakening looking for the Sceptre. “It belongs to my people,” was all he said.

Al’Thor and Bao were eyeing each other stonily. Whether or not they’d heard Taim was unclear. What was clear was that the two of them were dialoguing with their body language, and that nobody else was supposed to be involved in their silent conversation.

“There’s no time to negotiate or debate,” al’Thor said eventually. “We’ll discuss the exact terms of your pardon when we return. Until then, we must both compromise.”

When they returned. That was good; the lad did hope to return after all.

“But I will need you to sign the treaty before we go, Barid,” al’Thor continued. “I mean…Bao.” Such familiarity. It was odd, to witness such a polite exchange between these two. Bao had not even tried to reach for his sword, and Natael couldn’t sense him feeling around for cracks in his shield. Until the very end, though, until the Last Battle’s outcome, whatever it may be, he would be on edge, fearing that this was all a ploy and that Bao would turn on Lews Therin’s latest incarnation when they least expected it. After all, Demandred had been famous among the Chosen for his convoluted, long-term schemes. “I’ll also remove your connection to the Dark One,” the Dragon Reborn added. “And you must surrender the sa’angreal, as Taim suggested. Natael will hold on to it.”

Bao shrugged. “Fair enough. As long as we have Callandor, we-”

Cauthon stared at his friend in disbelief. “Rand, you can’t be bloody serious. You’re taking the magic stick from one of the Forsaken to give it to another Forsaken?”

Ensued an awkward moment of silence as every eye turned to Natael. So it was true: few people knew who he was. Al’Thor had not spilled the beans – or perhaps he’d forgotten about Natael entirely, or had not deemed the tidbit important enough to share. Moiraine, however, looked unfazed. Natael had always assumed that she knew, and there was his proof. It was a miracle that she had not balefired him when they were in the Waste, or later, in Cairhien.

The silence didn’t last. Everyone started speaking at once.

Burn the brainless fools! Al’Thor had just said that they didn’t have time to argue about such insignificant matters.

As was now customary, Taim hastened to defend Natael’s honour. “Nate has redeemed himself a thousand times over. He is more than worthy of wielding the Sceptre.”

Cauthon snorted. “’Nate’? Call him by his real name, why don’t you? As-”

Al’Thor spoke over them all. “Natael gets the Sceptre. END OF DISCUSSION!”

Bao cleared his throat. “Yes, whatever.” He pointed to the table. “That treaty? What is it?”

“A peace treaty,” the Dragon Reborn explained with unconcealed pride. “As leader of Shara, you will be held accountable-”

“Rand,” Her Snooty Annoyance of Andor interrupted them, “you can’t possibly think that we’ll allow him to remain in command of a nation that is practically an entire continent-”

“She’s right, my Lord Dragon,” some lord concurred. “If he signs, he'll be protected by the treaty, but we shan’t stand for it.”

Bao the Wyld, King of Shara, smirked at the people he considered to be inferior to him. That would be everyone in the tent. “Feel free to remove me. If you can.”

Al’Thor groaned. “Well, no, see, that’s the whole point of the-”

“Even if he signs the treaty, what good is the word of a Forsaken?” another random nobleman insisted. “He’ll renege as soon as the Last Battle is over and invade us with his army of uncouth barbarians!”

That was hardly fair. They hadn’t even met the Sharans yet. The Westerners knew almost nothing of Shara and its inhabitants, so why would this man assume that they were uncouth barbarians? Such prejudice!

Bao’s eyes fixated on the idiot and, had they been able to produce balefire, the man would have been instantly wiped out of the Pattern. “Don’t tempt me.”

So many things happening at once, so many topics of discussion – and dissension – that ought to be debated at length. So many issues that ought to be resolved, most of them urgently. But there was simply no time.

“Enough of this!” al’Thor said. “Those who refuse to sign the treaty will be dealt with after the battle. The Aiel will see to it. In the meantime…” Without warning, he seized saidin and did something that Natael had only seen done once before – to himself. The Dragon Reborn severed Bao’s connection to the Dark One without further ado, and Bao, once he realised what had happened, didn’t complain. He merely nodded, acknowledging the first step on the long road that would eventually lead to his official pardon.

Bao almost knocked Natael over with the Sceptre, which had been strapped to his back. “There. The sa’angreal is yours. Take good care of it, because I’ll be back for it. It belongs to the Sharans, and it will be returned to them.” He glared at al’Thor, as if daring the lad to contradict him. He didn’t. Satisfied, Bao moved toward the table, which caused almost everyone else to take several steps back, and he appended his signature at the bottom of the Dragon’s Peace. Without reading a single word of it, apparently.

Some may think that this was a very un-Demandred-like move, but the man had always been a gambler at heart. He was trusting in his instincts, and they told him to sign – so he did it.

Or perhaps he didn’t think he would survive to suffer the consequences of his signing the treaty.

Or perhaps Shendla had warned him about this beforehand and had told him to sign.

Either way, it was done.

Nobody stood on ceremony, though, least of all Bao. He addressed Taim, while pointing at Natael. “I trust you’ll keep an eye on him.” He probably meant it – the Sceptre. He extracted something else from one of his pockets: a pair of bracelets, two simple leather cords, each adorned with a single jade gemstone. The jade was carved with an intricate rune. “Take this, too. I have matching jade rings, which serve the same purpose. Shendla told me to pass these on to you.”

Taim accepted the strange pieces of jewellery and carefully examined them. They had to be some sort of ter’angreal. Perhaps angreal? Natael had never seen the likes of it.

“It will allow you to link, just the two of you,” Bao stated.

“Nate and I, together, without a woman?” Taim asked for confirmation.

“Yes. Don’t use them to link with a woman, though,” he warned them.

“We really should go,” al’Thor urged him.

“Whoa, wait just a bloody minute,” Cauthon exclaimed. “You’re leaving now? Without…instructions?”

“I trust you, Mat. You don’t need me for this part, and I’m needed elsewhere.” He looked at Bao. “We are needed elsewhere.”

“But what about…” The rest of the sentence died in Cauthon’s throat as he vaguely gestured toward the Great Captains. Eloquent as ever, Natael noticed.

“Mat, you’re in charge now. You and Elayne. I trust you to-”

“My Lord Dragon!” someone yelled from outside the tent. One of the Tairen guards, Natael thought. The younger one. “We have a situation here. Permission to come in, m’lord?”

“Well, I was about to leave anyway,” al’Thor muttered as he did just that.

There was a mass exodus from the command tent. The guard, put on the spot and now under the scrutiny of a small army of expectant, important people, turned a dark shade of crimson. “Er…”

“Speak, man!” Bao barked at him.

“A foreign army, m’lord,” the older guard mumbled.

That had to be the Sharans. Although Bao had forbidden them to Travel before someone returned to the camp to give them the all clear…

“Madmen, m’lord,” the youthful Tairen added. “Screaming madmen. Hundreds of them. Channelers, m’lord.”

Natael scowled at Demandred. “The male Ayyad?”

“There aren’t hundreds of them, and I repeatedly explained to them that the screaming was unnecessary. Also, they're not mad, and they don’t channel without my or Shendla’s permission. Let’s have a look," he told al'Thor. "Quickly.”

Well, the guard wasn’t lying; his succinct description was absolutely accurate. There was a horde of screaming male channelers on a distant field, all of them wielding saidin wildly, though they were only laying waste to the grass and muck around them, for now. None of them bore tattoos.

“Who are these flaming sons of Trollocs?” Cauthon grumbled.

He was scowling at Bao, suspicion marring his traits, but the (former) Chosen looked uncharacteristically baffled. “I have not the faintest clue,” he admitted. There was not even a trace of reluctance in his admission – that was how baffled he was. For once, that did sound like the unaltered truth. His return to the Light had beneficial effects already.

Al’Thor looked worried, but he shook his head with forced determination. “Whoever they are, I’m sure you can handle them, and everything else. I have faith in you, Mat.” He turned around. “I have faith in all of you. If you work together, you can do anything.”

Bao grimaced at the touchy-feely speech, but he didn’t comment on it. He turned to Natael, who was holding his shield. “Release me. It’s about time we-”

“Don’t you dare leave without me,” the woman in the yellow dress said. Moiraine Sedai also took a step forward, to remind al’Thor that she was accompanying them, whether he liked it or not.

Al’Thor had not even had a chance to properly welcome her back to this plane of existence, with everything that was happening. “Moiraine, you’ve been through so much already. You sacrificed-” he began to say.

“LEWS THERIN!” an ear-splitting voice boomed, startling Natael (and other people, too, he was relieved to see). “I HAVE COME! FACE ME, IF YOU DARE! FIGHT ME MAN TO MAN, YOU WITLESS COWARD!” Everyone tried to figure out where it was coming from, but it was impossible to tell. The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once.

“Yes, I believe that’s our cue to leave,” Bao said. “This is the crudest form of bait. Whoever this hysterical madman is, they’re not worth our time. Are the ladies coming with us, or not? Shendla didn’t mention them, and neither did our prophecies.” For someone known for their pragmatism, he seemed to rely an awful lot on these prophecies. And on Shendla.

“Do you know where you can stuff your prophecies?” the “lady” in the yellow dress demanded.

They never did find out where he could stuff them – though Natael had a fairly good idea – because the world erupted in flames and the ground began to shake. Surrounded by acrid smoke, Natael lost his footing and, soon afterwards, consciousness.

Chapter Text

Hey, I know that guy!

This will be our last battle

But we are heroes

Nate.

Someone applied pressure to his shoulder, once, twice, then a third time, more insistently. They were shaking him now. Couldn’t they let him sleep? He hadn’t had a proper night of rest in days!

Or had he? He couldn’t remember. Where was he, anyway? His bed felt uncomfortably ground-like.

Nate! Are you alright? Can you hear me?

“Mmph.”

That was supposed to be “I’m fine, how are you? By the way, what happened?” but given that he couldn’t articulate any of that, perhaps he wasn’t as fine as he had initially assumed. He tried again, but coughed instead of speaking. There seemed to be smoke in the area. There was noise, too. A lot of it. Ear-piercing wailing, guttural screaming, frantic shouting.

He opened his eyes, but only for half a second. It was too bright, and he groaned at the sudden headache the glare induced. He had managed to distinguish Taim, though. He was crouched at his side. “Erm, whappen?” Every syllable was garbled. He sounded drunk.

“You suffered a small concussion, I think. You fell when the earthquake began and hit your head on a rock. I had to drag you away from the fires.”

Earthquake? Fires?

Oh, right! The Last Battle and all that.

“I’m going to try to Heal you,” Taim murmured. “There’s no one else. Damer is…” He cleared his throat. “Hold still.”

Damer is what? Natael wanted to ask, but couldn’t. Was the Asha’man dead? It seemed too cruel; they had just been reunited.

He felt two warm hands touch his temples. The Delving took a while. “It’s… I think there’s no serious damage,” Taim finally announced. He sounded relieved. “But I’m afraid to make matters worse by attempting to allay your pain and discomfort. Will you be alright, or would you like me to give it a try anyway?”

“Head,” Natael managed to say. “Ouch.”

“Yes, the headache, I know. That’s due to the concussion. Or rather, to the rock on which you hit your head, I suppose. I-” He paused, and Natael caught fragments of conversation. “Damer, what are you doing? You’re in no condition to-”

“If I don’t do anything, he might be incapacitated for the whole duration of the battle, M’Hael. Concussions have to be taken seriously, even minor ones. It could get worse rather than better, if we don’t watch it. Wouldn’t want him to drop dead on the battlefield, now, would we?”

Indeed, Natael would rather not drop dead. On the battlefield or elsewhere.

“But your arm-”

“My arm’s gone, m’lord. Corele took care of the wound, though, so I’ll be fine. Will you move so I can Delve him? Please?”

His arm was gone? Another limb lost. The Trollocs weren’t even there yet! (Or were they?)

Oh, but there were these loud people… There had been an attack… The earthquake had not occurred naturally, had it?

Someone else was touching his face, presumably Flinn. His hands – um, hand, sorry – was colder than Taim’s. A minute later, Natael’s migraine was ancient history. He felt once again refreshed and ready to…well, not lie on the ground. That would be a good start.

Flinn’s hand was gone. “Now let me have a look at that gash, m’lord.”

Natael opened his eyes cautiously, but the glare of the sun was lesser. He turned to Taim and realised that he was bleeding: his left cheekbone was a bright crimson and blood was slowly dripping onto the lapels of his coat. The wound was situated just above his eyebrow. “Are you alright?”

Taim nodded with limited amplitude, because Flinn was Delving him. “Just a scratch.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Flinn muttered.

“It doesn’t warrant urgent Healing, is what I meant,” Taim insisted. “Surely you have more important injuries to look after…including your own. You need rest, Asha’man. Don’t exert yourself so soon; the battle has only just begun.”

Flinn ignored all of that. He was a loyal and obedient soldier, but Healing was his specialty; when it came to blood and pus, he was the higher authority. Taim’s “scratch” vanished almost immediately. “There. Now you’re both good as new. Please try to remain that way as long as possible, m’lords, because I have to go to Mayene now. Cauthon’s orders.” He walked away without another word.

Taim stooped to help Natael to his feet and embraced him the moment he decided that Natael was stable enough. “You gave me a scare. Don’t do it again.”

Natael held him tightly and smiled against Taim’s neck. “I promise I won’t pass out again if you don’t get any more scratches.”

Taim released him and eyed him seriously. “Deal.”

“Now…what happened, exactly? I remember the madmen, and the disembodied voice, but… Where’s Bao? Al’Thor?” He looked around. With Flinn gone, they were alone in the area. “Everyone else?”

“After the quake, Cauthon ordered the various leaders to disperse, because we were too tempting and easy a target. Al’Thor and Dem…and Bao have departed for Shayol Ghul, with Moiraine Damodred and Nynaeve al’Meara.”

Natael cocked his head. “The woman in the yellow dress? That was al’Meara? The one who wanted to stuff prophecies in Bao’s unmentionable parts?”

Taim grinned. It was comforting to see him smile, despite the situation. “So I gathered.”

“That’s going to be a fun trip to the Bore,” Natael remarked. “Accompanied by a harpy, a former Chosen who hates his guts and a deadly Aes Sedai… I almost pity al’Thor.”

Taim’s grin vanished. “I don’t,” he said in a cutting tone. “I still can’t believe he had the gall to accuse you of betraying him. After everything he’s done! Or hasn’t done, more accurately.”

Time for Natael to be the level-headed one again. “He did apologise, though.” He patted Taim’s shoulder. “Never mind al’Thor. What do we do now? Have we figured out who screamed for the Dragon Reborn to fight him in person? Who are the madmen?” Before Taim could speak, he tried to answer his own questions, or to at least narrow down the possibilities. “It can’t have been Moridin’s doing. And the other men are supposed to be dead, aren’t they?”

“Bao briefed us before he left. To his knowledge, there are only three Forsaken still in play: Moridin, Moghedien, and Lanfear in her new Cyndane body. Both women are…mind-trapped. Whatever that means.”

“That means they’re under the control of the person who holds their cour’souvra, the mind-trap that contains their soul. In this case, I assume it’s Moridin. But, mind-trapped or not, Moridin must have given them some leeway before he went to Shayol Ghul, especially if they were the only two Chosen left on the battlefield.” Natael whistled appreciatively. “I have to hand it to al’Thor, he did a good job getting rid of the competition. I mean, the enemy.” He blamed the temporary lapse on his concussion. “Then again, it’s possible that either woman used a weave to disguise her voice and sound like a man. Moghedien always had a knack for mimicking us.”

“WHERE ARE YOU, YOU BLIGHTED COWARD?” the voice demanded, right on cue. “FIGHT ME, LEWS THERIN! LET US SEE, ONCE AND FOR ALL, WHO IS THE SUPERIOR GENERAL.”

“It sounds a lot like Demandred,” he noted. “If Demandred had gone berserk.” Was someone impersonating Demandred, for some reason? What would be the point? By now, the allied armies of the Light were aware that Demandred was on their side.

Or was it Demandred’s doing? Was this one of his bizarre schemes? Was he going to betray them after all?

“FEAR NOT, I SHAN’T KILL YOU,” the voice continued, this time in the Old Tongue. “BUT YOU’LL WISH YOU WERE DEAD!”

“Mm, the accent’s all wrong, though,” Natael murmured, frowning in concentration. “Barid Bel was born and raised in Adanza, but this person sounds more like a native of-”

“YOU WILL LIVE TO RUE THE DAY YOU DISFIGURED ME, YOU KJASIC ARROGANT IDIOT!”

The copper penny finally dropped. “That’s…that’s Tel Janin.” He turned to Taim. “It’s Sammael!”

“But…al’Thor said…”

“…that he was dead, yes. Consumed by Mashadar. Demandred confirmed it indirectly. And yet…” He raised his hands, palms up. “The distinct accent of a native of Jalanda… The remark about disfiguration… The idiomatic expletives… All signs point to Sammael. If it’s not him, then it must be Moghedien, impersonating him to perfection.” Lanfear wouldn’t stoop so low as to impersonate another Chosen. “Moggy always had trouble imitating Sammael’s peculiar accent, though… If it was really her, she wouldn’t have said anything in the Old Tongue, for fear of being unmasked. Because, see, all of the Chosen have an accent when they speak the Common Tongue, since it’s not their native language, but it’s much more difficult to tell which accent. Not so in the Old Tongue.”

“And what about the madmen? Who are they? Where do they come from?”

“I have no idea,” Natael admitted. “The Chosen infiltrated many nations, but few of those nations kept their male channelers alive.”

Except the Sharans who, according to Mintel, forced them to breed with the female Ayyad, until they reached a certain age, upon which they were executed, before they could go mad. In any case, the male Ayyad were all accounted for.

“Cauthon confirmed that there were no male channelers in Seanchan,” Taim said. “They’re hunted down and eliminated like rabid dogs, and the Seanchan are much more effective than the Red Ajah. Even if a few survived, there wouldn’t be hundreds of them.”

“Perhaps…” Natael hesitated. “Men who discover that they can channel sometimes go to the Blight, don’t they? To sacrifice themselves in a useful manner, eliminating as many Shadowspawn as they can before they’re overwhelmed.” He wasn’t really asking; he knew that Taim had done exactly that. Except that people had gathered around him and persuaded him that, powerful as he was, he had to be the Dragon Reborn.

Natael was still secretly convinced that Taim, False Dragon though he may be, was at least slightly ta’veren. Demandred, too, like as not, considering everything that happened in Shara.

“Yes?” Taim prompted him. “And what? You think that the Shadow has been covertly recruiting them, brainwashing them and training them in Thakan’dar for years?”

Natael shrugged. “Well…”

“It’s possible, I suppose… But there are hundreds of madmen, Nate. Relatively few male channelers actually make it to the Blight in the first place, you know, unless they live nearby. They have to successfully avoid the Red Ajah, for one thing. Others off themselves as soon as they realise what they are, or are killed by their friends or loved ones… And, well, since the Cleansing, most of them have flocked to the Black Tower.”

“Or to Shayol Ghul,” Natael said. “There will be Dreadlords as well as Black Ajah sisters among the Shadowspawn, don’t forget that. But most of them would be sane,” he added pensively. “While this rabble…”

“They’re all mad,” Taim said. “That was clear even from a distance. A great majority of them weren’t even wearing clothes.”

“I’m at a loss,” Natael admitted. “Truly confounded.”

“It doesn’t really matter, anyway. The fact is that they’re here, and apparently led by Sammael, one of the greatest generals of the Age of Legends.”

It was indeed more likely Sammael; Moghedien’s schemes tended to be more…discreet than this. The Spider liked to spin her webs in the shadows. Sammael, however, could be brash, when it suited his warmongering tactics.

“IF YOU REFUSE TO FACE ME, GNAT, I WILL UNLEASH BALEFIRE UPON YOUR PATHETIC ALLIES UNTIL THERE’S NONE LEFT!” Sammael threatened.

“The one good thing, I suppose…” Natael said, “is that there seems to be only men. That means they can’t link at all.” It was a meagre consolation, but if it had been Demandred and his Sharan army instead, the threat would have been much more serious: his male and female Ayyad could form a full circle, and he had the-

The Sceptre! Natael frantically searched for the precious sa’angreal. Taim picked it up and handed it to him. “It flew out of your hand when you fell, but I recovered it immediately. I still have the bracelets, as well.” He tapped his pocket.

“Oh, good, you’re alive,” someone said. Natael recognised Logain’s voice and sighed with relief. He had come at last. Gabrelle stood at his side. She didn’t look too happy to see them; Natael figured it had something to do with the fact that they were partly responsible for the death of many of her sisters.

“Better late than never,” Taim grumbled. “What of the alliance with the Aes Sedai? Did Androl-”

Logain waved his concerns aside. “Don’t fret. Androl has a good head on his shoulders. They made plans for the battle, but nothing’s carved in stone. We will bond and link at need during combat and, should the Light be victorious, we will review our temporary collaboration and devise a more lasting compact. I expect both of you to participate in its elaboration,” he added sternly. Gabrelle cleared her throat loudly. Logain glanced at her. “Uh, yeah. It’s been decided that the Two Towers Alliance will deal with the madmen forthwith, since they’re the more imminent threat. So…you two should find some women to link with and get ready.”

“No need,” Taim said. “Nate and I can link together.” He extracted the bracelets from his pocket. “A ter’angreal,” he explained.

Gabrelle squinted at it. “I’ve never heard of such a thing…”

“Neither had I, until an hour ago,” Natael confessed. In truth, they hadn’t tested it yet. He clasped the bracelet around his wrist and waited for Taim to do the same, then they both seized saidin. Natael’s eyes widened at the sudden surge of Power coursing through him as Taim relinquished the lead of the circle.

“It does what he says it does,” Logain told Gabrelle, to allay her suspicions. Her face didn’t change, though. Logain shifted uncomfortably. “Well, then,” he went on with mock enthusiasm. “Let’s go kill some naked madmen.”

What a carnage.

Dumai’s Wells was already a distant (or, more accurately, suppressed) memory, as was the Aes Sedai mass suicide, but Natael was quickly reminded of how much he hated the sight of blood spurting and body parts flying. Blood and ashes, the stench! It was abominable, and almost enough to make him sick, but he held it in. This time, he didn’t want to disappoint Taim or to let him down in any way. He would not embarrass him in front of the Aes Sedai. He had to stay strong.

They took turns leading the circle, since it was a rather unpleasant business. The madmen were numerous and noisy, but they weren’t very efficient. They were disorganised. Sammael had managed to bring them together to the battlefield, but he’d had no time to teach them discipline, or any sort of fighting technique – or manners. They seemed barely human. Their screeching and wordless taunting were easily disregarded, but not so the random streaks of balefire they used on the armies of the Light.

The Two Towers Alliance suffered some unfortunate losses, and some of the Aes Sedai and Asha’man had to be despatched elsewhere. There was no sign of Sammael. He hadn’t stopped yelling and baiting Lews Therin, though. “YIELD OR DIE!” was a favourite of his. “SURRENDER LEWS THERIN TO ME, MAGGOTS, AND I SHALL BE MERCIFUL.” Natael almost wished that al’Thor were here, so that they could indeed hand him over and put an end to the shouting. “MY DREADLORDS WILL BURN YOUR WORLD TO THE GROUND!” Their world? Did he happen to live on another one? Also, these men hardly qualified as Dreadlords. They were feral beasts.

The problem with these attackers was that they were unpredictable and had no regard for their own safety. Some of them had apparently seared themselves out, but they ran forward relentlessly, waving crude weapons such as clubs or what looked like…oars? Losing an arm didn’t incapacitate them and, even on one leg, they kept going. A few were actually crawling on their bellies, leaving trails of blood as if they were giant, wounded slugs. It was quite disgusting.

The Light had the upper hand, without a doubt, but they were expending large amounts of energy and Power. Would they be able to withstand another attack, after this? They wouldn’t exactly have the luxury of resting for several days in between battles. They’d received succinct reports of fighting in other areas, and Natael knew that the Sharans had joined forces with the Seanchan – an improbable alliance, in Natael’s opinion, but one dictated by Cauthon, who was in charge of the armies of the Light – and were facing Shadowspawn together. Where, Natael wasn’t sure. There were several battlefields already.

Only a few dozen madmen left. Natael would have given his own weight in gold for some water right then.

Ugh, water? He must be really thirsty indeed. Perhaps a cup of water followed by several cups of wine, then. Yes, that would be-

“Watch out!” a nearby Aes Sedai cried out.

Natael barely had time to turn his head. Thankfully, Taim had amazing reflexes and also happened to hold the lead of the circle at that moment: he used Water and Air to deflect the column of Fire, which came from behind them.

What in the Pit of Doom?

“LAST WARNING!” Sammael roared. “YOU’RE SURROUNDED! GIVE YOURSELF UP, LEWS THERIN, AND I WILL SPARE YOUR PEOPLE!”

Well, they weren’t exactly “surrounded”, considering how few madmen remained, but an army of female channelers had materialised on the opposite side of the battlefield. Black Ajah? Natael wondered. They weren’t dressed like Aes Sedai at all, nor like any civilised woman he had ever met, for that matter. They were covered in crude leather and various animal furs.

“Burn me, where do these flaming people come from?” Taim said aloud. Usually, the more he swore, the more he was exhausted or angry; either way, it wasn’t a good sign. Angry and tired people made mistakes. He had shifted to face the other way and was already attacking the women, but Natael decided to keep an eye on the men. There were few left, but the arrival of their female counterparts (one had to assume) created the perfect distraction.

“DIDN’T SEE THAT COMING, DID YOU, LEWS THERIN?” Sammael bragged. “YOU FOOL! YOU’LL NEVER DEFEAT ME! I SURVIVED THE EVIL FOG! I’M INVINCIBLE!” That last part was even louder than the rest. He may have survived the “evil fog”, but the encounter had obviously damaged his brain.

Natael’s best guess was that Sammael had managed to open a gateway soon after being enveloped by Mashadar. Being perhaps disoriented or even near-unconscious, he had Travelled to…wherever these people came from, and never bothered to notify Moridin or anyone else that he was still alive. Or Moridin had wished to keep an ace up his sleeve and hadn’t notified Demandred, because he was afraid he would betray the Shadow? That seemed less likely. Demandred’s sudden change of heart had been utterly unexpected. No one could have predicted it, except Shendla, or another powerful Dreamer.

In any case, Sammael had discovered that the area in which he’d landed was a secret trove of channelers, and he had made good use of them. But where-?

“The Land of Madmen!” Taim exclaimed.

Natael jumped; he had his back to him, and all of his focus was on the battlefield. He hadn’t expected someone to shout in his ears. “The what?”

“I thought it was a legend, a myth,” Taim went on. He didn’t stop pelting the attacking female channelers with offensive weaves, but he was excited to share his epiphany. “A large island, far to the south. The Sea Folk have many stories about it, but…well, they’re hard to believe, just like the exaggerated tales of Shara one sometimes hears in taverns in the small hours of the night, when everyone’s drunk. Rumour has it that, when the female Aes Sedai of old realised that the Dark One had poisoned saidin, they gathered and quarantined all the male channelers they could find and broke the land apart, on purpose, creating an island that was designed to be a…prison, or an asylum, of sorts. But some of the channelers’ families refused to let them go and willingly isolated themselves along with the madmen. Perhaps, with time, they came to…tame them.”

“How have I never heard of this place?” Natael complained. To be fair, maps were a rare commodity in this Age, especially accurate ones, and they rarely depicted anything beyond the Aryth Ocean or the Aiel Waste. He had never even seen a map of Shara, let alone Seanchan. “Given the name, however…I’d say you’re onto something.”

So Sammael had conveniently transported himself to a land inhabited by inbred channelers, possibly by accident...or not. Perhaps he’d heard the rumours and decided to see for himself, then to lie low until the Last Battle, all the while assembling an army that no one would suspect even existed.

A bit like Demandred had done. These two were similar in many ways. They both begrudged Lews Therin and wanted him dead for the same imagined offence. They were both cunning generals with obnoxious personalities. The only difference was that…well, Demandred had eventually “snapped out of it”, as the youngsters said.

“We should unlink,” Taim said, breaking Natael’s train of thoughts. “I can deal with the women while you wipe out the rest of the men.”

“Are you sure?” He didn’t want to part with Taim. He had gotten used to their comforting, intimate circle, to their shared power.

“We’re the most powerful channelers on the battlefield now. We’ll be more useful individually, given the circumstances.” He removed his bracelet without waiting for Natael’s assent. Natael didn’t remove his, just in case they needed to link quickly.

The Amyrlin Seat had been wielding a sa’angreal of her own but, soon after the battle had begun, Cauthon had sent her somewhere else. There had been Logain, linked with Gabrelle, but they had also been assigned to another battle site, and Cauthon had ordered Natael to surrender the Sceptre to Androl Genhald, who had been recalled with Pevara what felt like hours ago. There were only about seventy pairs of linked men and women left on this battlefield; the rest had been called back when the number of madmen began to dwindle. Meanwhile, the Yellow Ajah worked from a safe location, Healing injured channelers and generals in priority. They had established a makeshift hospital in the tiny nation of Mayene. The Black Tower’s best Healers, Flinn included, were posted there as well, along with many non-channelling volunteers, mainly people too old or too young to be cannon fodder – er, soldiers.

They could handle this new development without reinforcements, Natael knew it, but they would be useless afterwards. They would be exhausted, utterly depleted, and that was a big risk, especially for channelers. “We should retreat and request some back-up.”

“We already requested assistance,” an Aes Sedai informed him. “Cauthon says he can’t spare anyone. We must hold this position, no matter what.”

Well, Tarmon Gai’don had escalated quickly, if everyone else was busy. That meant that this battle depended entirely on them. Natael temporarily augmented the volume of his voice. “One circle out of three, eliminate the rest of the men! Everyone else, focus on the ladies!”

They would have to deal with Sammael himself at some point. The Sceptre would have come in handy, but Cauthon either didn’t trust Natael with it, or it was truly more useful somewhere else.

“NESSOSIN? IS THAT YOU, YOU GUTLESS TRAITOR?”

Natael reflexively glanced around him, losing track of the madmen he was pulverising. No trace of Sammael nearby; he must have spotted Natael at a distance, using a sight-enhancing weave or perhaps some sort of spyglass.

“IT IS YOU! LOOK AT YOU, ACTUALLY GETTING YOUR HANDS DIRTY, INSTEAD OF COWERING IN A TENT WITH SOME WINE AND WRITING HURTFUL SONGS ABOUT YOUR BETTERS! ATTABOY!”

To be fair, it had been a while since someone had made a disparaging comment about him…

“I know he’s being sarcastic,” Taim said, “but truly, you amaze me today. More than usual, that is. I’m so proud of you, Nate. Don’t listen to him.”

It took Natael several seconds to realise he’d lost his grip on saidin, and he hastened to seize the One Power again. Taim often complimented him, usually when he least expected it, and when he needed it the most, but it always came as a surprise, even after all the time they’d spent together. It always destabilised him.

This time it could have actually killed him, but Natael let it slide. He needed to hear this. He also needed to silence Sammael, one way or another. On a whim, he once again enhanced the sound of his own voice, to match Sammael in volume.

“THERE WAS ONCE A BITTER LAD NAMED TEL,

WITH A RED SCAR FROM NOSE TO CHIN.

HE FACED THE FEARSOME DRAGON,

BUT LEWS BLINDLY STEPPED ON HIM.”

Taim burst out laughing, and so did a few of the Aes Sedai and Asha’man in the vicinity.

Sammael was, in fact, of average height. Unfortunately for him, he was the only one among the Chosen – everyone else was comparatively tall, including most of the women. That was why they relentlessly teased him about his size. Well, also because he was an easy target and ridiculously amusing when angry. He would shake his fists at them like an inebriated midget.

“SHUT UP, YOU INFURIATING WORM!” Sammael shrieked.

“WELL, I DO TAKE REQUESTS! DO YOU PREFER THE OTHER ONE?” Natael asked politely. He felt like the Dark One, speaking in all caps like that.

“DON’T YOU DARE-”

“OH, THERE WAS ONCE A STUMPY MAN NAMED SAMMAEL,

WHO CAME RIDING FROM OLE JALANDA TO SATELLE.

AND THE BRAGGART DID SWAGGER AND BRANDISH HIS BLADE,

AS HE SPOKE OF TREASON AND THE MEN HE’D BETRAYED.”

“THIS IS THE LAST BATTLE, YOU IDIOT, NOT ONE OF YOUR RECITALS!”

Natael sang on. Why not? He was perfectly capable of keeping the madmen at bay and performing at the same time. The lyrics came back to him as if he’d written them the previous day.

“BUT THEN HE WENT QUIET, DID OLD TEL JANIN,

WHEN HE MET THE DRAGON INTENT ON CHASTENIN’:

‘YOU TRICKED US AND LIED AND FORSOOK US ALL,

NOW I THINK IT’S HIGH TIME THAT YOU CONCEDE OR FALL’.”

“I’LL NEVER CONCEDE! MY TIME HAS COME! I WILL SHOW YOU AND LEWS THERIN AND BLOODY DEMANDRED THAT I AM THE SUPERIOR-”

Natael scoffed. As if al’Thor or Demandred gave a fig. They weren’t even there. On to the last part:

“AND SO THEY DUELLED, CLASHED AND SLASHED WITH SWORDS OF STEEL,

AS THE CHAMPION OF THE LIGHT CHARGED IN FULL OF ZEAL.

AND THE BRAGGART SAMMAEL WAS BOASTFUL NO MORE,

WHEN MUCH OF HIS UGLY NOSE LANDED ON THE FLOOR.”

“My nose in intact, burn you!”

It took Natael slightly too long to realise that Sammael was standing near him, sword in hand. The blade reflected the weaves of Fire that they were raining down on the enemy as it descended toward Natael in dream-like slow-motion.

Good grief, his own nose was going to land on the ground.

Ugh, those were terrible last words. Or last thoughts.

Fortunately, there would be time for him to come up with something more meaningful: Taim knocked the blade aside with a blast of Air, so that it bit into Natael’s shoulder instead of his beautiful face.

It was still quite painful.

The jolt of pain and the strength of the blow forced Natael down to his knees. If Sammael wanted to decapitate him, he wouldn’t have a better opportunity. But Taim didn’t leave it at that: he used Water and Earth to destabilise Sammael until he lost his balance and crashed on his arse, dropping his sword in the process. It would have been comical, in other circumstances. If Natael had not just narrowly escaped death, for instance, and if he wasn’t still in mortal danger.

Baiting Sammael into revealing his position and attacking them directly had been the point, of course, but Natael hadn’t expected a sword fight, of all things. They were channelers, for peace’s sake! He tried to kick the weapon out of Sammael’s reach, but the Chosen was faster. Not only did he stand and grab it first, he also used the Power – at last – to launch a knife at Natael’s heart.

He moved just in time to avoid being stabbed to death, but the knife hit his already injured shoulder, which, once again, really hurt. Natael actively clung to consciousness – now would be a terrible time to pass out. He eyed the knife queasily, wondering if he ought to remove it. Either way, Flinn was going to be annoyed with him. He quickly realised that he couldn’t take the blade out, though. If he succeeded, he would faint but, more likely, he couldn’t even bring himself to touch it. The very idea made him gag.

While he struggled with this dilemma, Taim and Sammael fought.

For a few seconds, Natael observed the deadly duel that was taking place in front of him. Sammael, needless to say, was cheating, using both his sword and the Power to attack and defend. Unlike Taim, he wasn’t tired. Taim’s reflexes seemed slower, now that Natael’s life wasn’t at stake. He needed help.

As Natael gathered his strength to make a move, Sammael casually used the Power on him. Nothing lethal: the bastard simply used Air and Spirit to force the knife out of Natael’s flesh.

Needless to say, he screamed in agony…but that was a good thing, actually. The pain somewhat cleared his mind, and seeing him suffer also seemed to energise Taim, who redoubled his efforts to vanquish Sammael.

Natael had trouble holding on to saidin. The fatigue, now coupled with a hearty dose a pain, was catching up to him. He took a deep breath and rose to his feet with some difficulty. He was immediately assailed by a wave of nausea, which he successfully fought down. He could barely stand, and saidin was like a slippery eel that he couldn’t quite seize. He had reached his limits, he knew it. If he channeled much more, he would-

Wait, what was Taim doing on the ground? He was in the same position Natael had been a few seconds earlier, on his knees, blood dripping from his face. Sammael turned to Natael, leering. “You two pathetic vermins thought you could defeat me? I knew you were baiting me, but I figured you’d have a few tricks up your sleeve, Musician. At least make me work for it, burn you! I need a real challenge to prove my superior skills! Where in the Pit of Doom are Lews Therin and that other treacherous weasel, Barid Bel?”

Well, ironically enough, they were at the Pit of Doom. Natael watched Taim from the corner of his eye. He seemed to be massaging his wrist, or…

Natael’s eyes widened as Taim linked with him through the ter’angreal bracelets. It was hardly an explosion of strength, like before, but Sammael wouldn’t expect it.

Natael didn’t tergiversate: he balefired the Chosen.

Or tried to. The weave…melted before it could reach its intended target.

Ah, yes. The True Power. Natael had forgotten about that little detail. The Chosen were usually reluctant to sample it, except in last resort but, given the circumstances, Sammael had no reason to hold back. He would use every weapon at his disposal to lead the Shadow to victory – and to stay alive.

The Chosen sighed. “You were always the weakest amongst us, Nessosin. Always scheming, but never actually doing anything. Always submitting to your betters, always a follower rather than a leader. Always cowering away from the action…until today.” He chuckled. “Well, I suppose you were right: you don’t belong on the battlefield.” He pointed at Taim without looking at him. “This man will die because of you. All of these people will die because of you, because you’re useless, no matter which side you’re on. The world will-”

This time the balefire took effect. Natael had transferred the lead of the circle to Taim, who was out of Sammael’s line of sight. And Taim didn’t skimp on the amount of Power he used to weave the balefire. He put every ounce of strength they had left into it. Sammael vanished from the earth, and from the Pattern itself.

Their link was immediately broken. Natael’s hold on saidin loosened…and then there was nothing to hold on to. Once again, Natael fell to his knees, gasping.

“Well, it seems we’ll be forced to rest, whether we want it or not,” Taim noted. “I couldn’t channel to light a candle. Or channel at all, it feels like. I’ve never been so depleted of strength or energy in my entire life.” Natael didn’t respond. “It was worth it, though.” Natael could barely think, let alone speak. “Nate, are you alright? Is it your shoulder? We need to get you to Mayene.” There was a hand on Natael’s back. “Nate? Come on. The Aes Sedai and the Asha’man will deal with the enemy. It should be a piece of cake, now that Sammael-” Taim crouched beside him. “Peace, Nate, are you crying?”

Was he? Oh, it was quite possible. It wouldn’t be surprising at all. “I’m seared out. So are you, I’ll wager. You-” No, don’t blame him. You surrendered the lead. It's your fault as much as his.

“Is that an expression from the Age of Legends that means…exhausted?”

Right. They used a different term for it, nowadays… “Burned out,” he murmured. “It’s gone. Saidin is gone.”

Taim sat down and patted his arm. “Don’t be silly. We’re fine. We just need to sleep. It’s gone temporarily, to be sure. I had to use everything I had, you understand. I had to be sure. But it’s not gone, Nate. It can’t just be gone.” He was rambling – he must be trying to locate saidin within himself, and finding nothing. He was beginning to realise what had happened. “It’s only…it’s the fatigue. Damer made us feel like we were fully rested, but now it’s all crashing down on us. The sleepless nights, the stress, that ugly business with Hessalam…” Yes, Flinn’s Healing was partially responsible, Natael surmised. It made them feel like they had energy for days, but they really didn’t. Healing required energy. And Taim was right: they hadn’t had a proper night of sleep in a long time. They should have taken a break. They hadn’t even eaten anything, after being Healed by Flinn.

That was the first lesson, the very first thing a channeler learned: don’t channel if you’re too tired or you’ll sear yourself out.

But peace, he’d never imagined that it would happen like that, so fast, without warning. His body hadn’t told him: now, careful, my lad, we’re dangerously low on energy, best have a snack and take a nap before we duel the Chosen!

He’d foolishly assumed that they would deal with Sammael’s army and the Chosen himself, then take a short break to recuperate, then fight…whoever needed fighting, and so on, until the Last Battle was over and they could sleep peacefully for ten days, without interruption.

“Blood and ashes, it’s gone,” Taim whispered. “Nate, what have I done?”

Natael wanted to comfort him, of course, but he couldn’t find the words, not right then. He didn’t blame Taim; he blamed Sammael and the Dark One and the Pattern and the Creator and-

“Oi!” one of the Aes Sedai shouted. “It’s been five minutes! I can’t keep up the ward and protect you forever. Either you participate, or you go somewhere safe.”

Oh…right. They were still on the battlefield. In the middle of it. Natael hadn’t even wondered why he was unharmed (aside from his wounded shoulder), because he was shell-shocked, but the Aes Sedai nearby was wasting Power just to keep them both alive.

Was life really worth living, though? Without saidin, he was…nothing. He was so dreadfully empty. There was a hole in him, and he had a feeling that the size of the hole was proportionate to his former strength in the Power: enormous.

“Nate, get up,” Taim said sternly, supporting his shoulder – the uninjured one, thankfully. “Up!”

Natael sighed but complied. He was as good as dead, but he still didn’t want to disappoint Taim. He was also too tired to protest.

“We need to find a safe space to open a gateway to Mayene…” Taim stopped when he realised what he’d said. “Er, I mean, we need to find someone who…” He shook his head. “You know what I mean.”

Unfortunately, yes. “How are we supposed to get to a safe place?”

Taim stooped to pick up Sammael’s sword. “The few madmen who are left have largely dispersed. We’ll go this way.”

“And you’ll expertly skewer the madmen who can attack us from a distance with that blade you don’t know how to use?” Now was not a great time to be catty and sarcastic, but what else was he supposed to be, under these circumstances?

“I’ll keep you safe, m’lords,” a man said. Judging by his clothes and the silver sword on his left collar, he was one of their Dedicated, though Natael didn’t recognise him. He surrounded the three of them with a protective shield woven of Earth, Spirit and Water.

“You’re needed here, Anders,” Taim said. “We’ll be fine.”

Of course they wouldn’t be fine. They would never be fine again.

“M’Hael, with all due respect… I owe it to you. To both of you. You’re heroes, and the Black Tower needs you.”

Natael emerged from his gloom at the improbable sentence. To call Taim a hero was one thing…but him? What had he done? He didn’t even know this boy. Also, considering that they weren’t channelers anymore, they didn’t belong at the Black Tower.

Taim looked equally baffled. "Heroes?"

“The Black Tower is a safe haven,” Anders explained, “and not only for channelers. Everyone can be who they are without fear of being persecuted or punished for it.” He sighed. “Do you know what they do to people like us, where I come from? I hear that it’s tolerated in some places, provided that the men – or women – are discreet, and that banishment is common in other regions, but in my town and in the neighbouring villages, people are flogged, m’lords. Flogged and branded. Their families and friends shun them. Their lives are essentially destroyed, and they often opt to kill themselves rather than live with the shame they’ve brought upon themselves and those associated with them. Even before the Cleansing, being a male channeler was considered a lesser offence than this.” He bowed his head slightly. “But not at the Black Tower. And that’s all thanks to you, m’lords. Your progressive views, your intransigence regarding intolerance, the fact that you are regularly seen together in public... I just wanted to tell you that it means a lot to me, and to others like us as well, I’m sure. Now, will you allow me to guide you to safety? Please, with your permission, M’Hael, Ghraem?”

Natael blinked. He was stuck at the part where people were getting flogged-

But Taim was smiling. It was an infinitely sad smile, though. “We’ll allow it, Dedicated. But you are to return to your post as soon as we reach Mayene, is that understood? Unlike us, you can still be useful on the battlefield.”

“Are you truly burned out, m’lords?” Taim nodded. “Both of you?”

“I’m afraid so. Learn from my mistake, Anders. If you’re feeling too tired to channel, take a break.” He removed the now-useless bracelet that Demandred had given them…what, a few hours ago? It felt like days. He then gestured at Natael to do the same and gave the ter’angreal to Anders. “Just in case you need to pair up with another Asha’man,” Taim said. “It’ll allow you to link with him.” Anders accepted the artefacts reverently. “Now let’s go. Quickly. Ghraem seems just about to pass out again, though he promised he wouldn’t.”

Well, it was a promise he wouldn’t be able to keep. For the second time that day, the world faded out of focus. Natael felt two strong arms catching him as he slowly sank to the ground.

Chapter Text

I hear everything

Should I bother waking up?

…the answer was no

Please come back, Nate. I know I’m the last person you want to see…or talk to…but I need you to wake up. I need you to be alright. I promise, I’ll leave you alone as soon as I know you’re alright. You won’t ever have to see me again…if that’s what you want. I’ll understand, if that’s the case. Light knows, I don’t want to see myself right now.

Peace, what have I done? I’d take it all back, if I could. I’d let Sammael run loose and slay everyone else, if it meant you were alright and you didn’t hate me. I’ve never regretted doing the right thing more than I do at this moment. Blood and ashes, I hope it was the right thing to do, at least. I hope it was worth it…in the grand scheme of things.

I’m so sorry, Nate.

Please, come back.

Why won’t he wake up? Is he in a coma? Damer, please, I need to know. Is he going to pull through?

M’Hael, he wasn’t severely injured…not physically, that is. His shoulder mended just fine. It’s the shock… I think he doesn’t want to wake up. Not yet.

Are you certain that you can’t… I mean, with time and perseverance, surely…

Respectfully, there’s nothing for me to Heal. It’s gone. What you’re hoping for me to accomplish, it’s impossible. You might as well ask me to instil the ability to channel in someone who doesn’t have the spark, in any non-channeler. It simply can’t be done. And I’m very sorry for it. It’s not easy for me to admit defeat in anything pertaining to Healing, believe me. You could always ask Nynaeve Sedai, of course. We’ve noticed that men should Heal women, and vice versa, it just works better that way. When I Healed stilling, the women recuperated their full strength, like Logain when Nynaeve Sedai Healed him. But not so the stilled women she Healed… Perhaps she’ll be able to do this, m’lord, but I’d advise you to not get your hopes up. It’s highly unlikely that she’ll succeed. That anyone will.

Perhaps at the turn of the next Age… After all, Healing stilling was long believed to be impossible, even in the Age of Legends.

Today is the beginning of a new Age. I doubt any of us will live long enough to see the dawn of another. But that aside, this is a different matter entirely. When a woman is stilled, or a man gentled, there’s something keeping them from touching the Source, but it’s still there. What we did, Nynaeve Sedai and I, was to remove that obstacle, that block, nothing more. We didn’t…magically restore their ability to channel, because it was never gone in the first place. I’m truly sorry, M’Hael. I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, let alone you two. You’ve done so much for me, and for male channelers worldwide.

Well, you lost an arm, Damer. That’s much worse than what happened to us.

I doubt it, but I see you still wish to stay humble. I’ve always admired that in you. And it seems it’s finally rubbed off on Ghraem, eh? He’s come a long way. But I always had faith in him. Saw the raw potential waiting to be refined, as I used to see in new recruits, when I was a mere soldier.

It’s true, he’s not the same man I met all those months ago. I’m glad I listened to you and trusted in your judgement rather than get rid of him, as I initially planned. I owe you, Damer. He’s…everything to me. Now more than ever. Though I doubt he reciprocates the feeling...

Aw, you’ll be fine. Eventually. The important thing is to live as fully as possible, to fill the void that saidin left behind. Perhaps you should talk to Logain. He did survive several months after being gentled, with no way of knowing that he would eventually be Healed. He will know exactly how you’re feeling, and may be able to help you better than I could. If I’m honest, I can’t properly imagine what it’s like, m’lord.

You know…I think you can call me Taim, Damer. I was never a lord, and I can’t rightly go by M’Hael any longer. I’m not even a channeler.

You realise that your strength in the Power was not what made me defer to you, yes? You were my superior officer, of course, which is one thing, but more importantly, I respect you, M’Hael. I wouldn’t be so polite to one of the Forsaken, no matter their strength.

What will you do now? Will you return to the Black Tower?

I’ll have to discuss this with the missus but, ideally, yes. We could split our time between the White Tower and the Black, if you can work out a proper alliance between the two.

‘We’? Damer, whatever you wish to call us, Nate and I are no longer in command of the Black Tower. How could we be?

M’Hael, being in charge of the Black Tower means you don’t have to participate in chores such as teaching lessons or testing the newcomers. So…it doesn’t matter if you can channel or not, I should think. The Tower still needs you. You know it better than anyone else, you never abandoned it. You know the men, and they know you. They look up to you. It won’t matter to them that you can’t channel. Remember when Ghraem could barely light a candle? They never held that against him…although his off-putting personality was an issue, in the beginning. At the risk of repeating myself, your reputation and status don’t depend on your strength in the Power.

I doubt that the other leaders of the world, and especially the Amyrlin Seat, will be as indulgent as you are. I suppose Logain will have to take the helm, if we want the Black Tower to be taken seriously, as a force to be reckoned with.

Actually, I’m not sure that Logain wants to return to the Tower. His ordeals…the Turning, the gentling before that, now the Last Battle… It exacted a heavy toll. He’s alive and physically hale, but he’s changed. I think a few months or years of vacation would do him good. And you wouldn’t leave the Black Tower without proper leadership, now would you?

What about Androl? You? You’re both capable of-

Perhaps we are capable, but neither of us wants to be in charge. Besides, the people will need us in other ways. Countless people were wounded and will require Healing, even months from now, and Androl’s Talent has made quite an impression. There will be requests for gateways in the future, and I’ve heard several leaders who were transported here at the hospital talk of a network of gateways, to facilitate commerce and travel between nations. If the Aiel successfully enforce the terms of the Dragon’s Peace, I suppose it could be achieved.

I…I don’t know, Damer. I couldn’t do it alone, and... I mean, look at Nate. He doesn’t even want to wake up. He doesn’t want to see me. Why would he? It’s my fault. I did this to him. Peace, how he must hate me.

Now, don’t say that. Give him time, M’Hael. He needs to process at his own pace. He needs to heal…er, figuratively speaking. In due time, he’ll come to accept it. He’ll come to understand that he is more than a channeler, he always was. Besides, most non-channelers are satisfied with their existence, are they not? They feel fulfilled. You don’t need saidin to find joy or love or excitement in your life. You can be perfectly happy without it.

The difference between non-channelers and us is that they don’t know what they’re missing, because you can’t miss what you never had. But the void…if you’ll pardon me for the crude comparison, it will always feel like a phantom limb, like a hole we can never really fill. Will there ever be a time when we’re not aware of what is irremediably gone? Will you ever get used to having only one arm?

Of course I will, m’lord. Humans are very adaptable creatures. We can get used to anything and, if these past few months have taught us anything, it’s that we don’t give up easily. Logain has been through hell and back, M’Hael, but he’s still there. You’re just as resilient as he is, and so is Ghraem. Together, you can overcome-

But we won’t be together. That’s my point. Even if Nate decides to return to us, he won’t want anything to do with me. He trusted me with the lead of our circle, and I failed him. I might as well have killed him. Even…even if he pretends that he’s fine, to spare my feelings, deep down, he will always resent me.

I think you don’t give him enough credit. He’s not Asmodean anymore. You’ve turned him not only to the Light, but into a decent human being. I’m not saying it will be easy, but… Look, he knew the risks. Every channeler on the battlefield knew the risks, every soldier. We could have died at any moment, we could have burned ourselves out or lost a limb and be crippled for life. That’s war, isn’t it? The moment you set foot on the battlefield, you know your life doesn’t belong to you anymore. It belongs to your cause, to the reason why you’re fighting. The cause is more important than you are, you accept that. You sacrificed your ability to channel to take out one of the most powerful enemies on the field, M’Hael. It wasn’t in vain. You saved thousands of lives and it helped us defeat the Shadow once and for all. You’re a hero. You both are.

I don’t think that Nate would have agreed to all those fine prints, if he had known about them. He doesn’t believe in ‘the cause’. He came with me because he thought that I had his back, because he trusted me, and perhaps because he wanted to protect me, though he has a tendency to believe himself weaker than I am, for some reason. I’m willing to bet that he didn’t truly think anything bad would happen to him, and I’m absolutely certain that he didn’t expect me to make the decision I made for him. Even if…well, I had no idea it would happen, of course. It was an accident. But it happened anyway, and I’m responsible. I ruined his life, and at the worst possible moment, too. He was doing so well… Life was good. It had never been better, at least not for me. I was naïve and foolish to think it would last forever. We had a good run, he and I, but there’s no coming back from this. Even if his love for me persists, he will never forgive me. And I don’t think I can live with that on my conscience. I love him enough to let him hate me, if that makes sense. I hope you’ll let me know if he wakes up. When he wakes up. I’ll give you an address where you can send a message. But don’t give it to him. And tell him…tell him I’m sorry, would you?

You’ll bloody tell him yourself! Don’t you dare leave this chair until he’s awake.

But-

He will wake up, M’Hael. When he’s ready. Be patient. And please, I beg you, don’t be so hard on yourself. You killed Sammael, burn you, one of the greatest generals of the Age of Legends, a vicious enemy. If not for you, our losses would have been far more numerous, and who knows… We might have lost the battle altogether. Al’Thor gave his life for us, but don’t think your sacrifice any lesser. Everyone did their part, and it was worth the cost, in the end. We saved the world, M’Hael. Never forget that.

But Nate helped save it against his will…

You should re-evaluate your opinion of him. Do you really believe he wouldn’t have willingly given his life to rid us of Sammael, if he’d known ahead of time that it was the price to pay to lead the Light to victory?

He would have given his life for me. Perhaps. But not for the world. Not for the Light. Certainly not for al’Thor.

M’Hael…you’re part of the world. Saving it means saving you. He knew what he was getting himself into, I’m telling you. Now, I’m not saying he’ll be all chipper when he wakes up… Let’s face it, he’ll be cranky and sullen and snippy, but how’s that any different than usual? You know what he’s like in the morning. Or in the evening, for that matter, before he’s had his first glass of wine after a long day of teaching.

Yes…that’s a good point. But you didn’t see him after it happened, Damer. The look in his eyes…

Give him a chance to prove you wrong, at least. Will you? You’ve always taken my advice before, M’Hael. Please heed me. He needs you now more than ever. You need each other.

Very well. I’ll stay.

Good. I have to do my rounds, but have someone notify me when he wakes, yes? I’d like to Delve him again when he’s conscious.

I will. Thank you, Asha’man.

“You planned to get rid of me?”

Taim’s eyes flew open. “You’re awake,” he murmured. His hand moved toward Natael’s, but he refrained at the last moment, instead letting it fall in his lap.

“No, I’m sleeptalking. You planned to get rid of me?” he repeated.

Why was that the first thing he managed to articulate? Why was he so surprised at the revelation, for that matter? Taim had threatened to murder him several times, in the early days. Besides, they had more important things to discuss.

The problem was that Natael didn’t want to address the elephant in the room. He remembered everything that happened during the battle. He'd heard a lot of things, too, over the past few days, in the strange state between consciousness and oblivion in which he’d been stranded. He didn’t want to talk about any of it. He wanted to pretend that all was well – the Light was ultimately victorious, Taim was alive, he was alive. That was more than he’d expected. They were lucky. Countless men and women had died. People had lost arms, legs, eyes… They had broken bones and spines. Taim and Natael were whole…physically at least.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Most physical wounds, no matter how grievous, could be Healed. Well, severed limbs couldn’t be restored, but it was different. Better to lose a hand or a foot than to lose saidin forever. Peace, even death would be preferable. This vast hollowness inside? It was almost painful, like the last stage of hunger and thirst just before starvation. Reflexively, Natael sought saidin, any sign that the Power was in there, somewhere, waiting to be seized.

There was nothing.

“That was when we first met, Nate. You know I would never hurt you…” Taim trailed off, averting his eyes. “Not on purpose.”

Yes, I used to believe that.

No, that wasn’t fair. Taim blamed himself – as well he should, since it was his fault – but should Natael blame him? Taim had seared himself out, too. He had suffered the same trauma. The guilt was eating at him. Natael shouldn’t make him feel worse.

He couldn’t help it, though. He did blame Taim for his predicament. Yes, it was an accident. Yes, it was for a just cause, and it had likely saved their lives besides (and that of others, incidentally). Yes, Taim felt horrible about it.

But the fact remained: Natael blamed Taim.

And he hated himself for it.

That was just bloody great. They both felt awful and hated themselves and there was nothing to be done about it.

“Nate? I swear, if I’d known this would happen, I-”

“Is Flinn around? I have a terrible headache.”

Taim sighed. “Yes, I’ll…I’ll go find him. Do you need anything else? Water, or-”

Water? Seriously? Natael almost felt insulted. Didn’t Taim know him at all? His throat was dry as dust, but he would ask for wine later. He wanted to limit his interactions with Taim as much as possible, at least for the time being. The guilty, miserable look in his eyes was unbearable. “Just get Flinn.”

Cranky and sullen and snippy. Light, was he really so predictable? Taim was wrong; he hadn’t changed at all. He was still the same selfish bastard he used to be. Flinn was wrong, too. Natael didn’t think he could get past this. Every time he looked at Taim, he was reminded of the tragedy that had befallen him.

He still loved Taim, of course. He cared deeply. His overall feelings for him were unaltered. But would that be enough to salvage their relationship?

“It seems that, once again, you’ve managed to sleep through the battle, Nessosin,” someone said.

His heart jumped in his chest. Was one of the Chosen still alive? Then he realised it was just Bao, standing some distance away. “If I’m doing you the courtesy of calling you by your new name, the least you could do is call me Natael. Or Ghraem.”

He moved closer, and Natael was surprised to see that he was wearing manacles. “Natael will have to do.” Right. He always gave people that second option but, strangely, they always elected to use the first one.

Bao was alive. Did that mean that al’Thor had survived, as well? But no. Flinn said he gave his life to save the world. Oh, the world must not be happy about this; it had lost its precious saviour and was stuck with a freshly-redeemed Forsaken instead. A former Forsaken who was now in shackles, for some reason. “What happened at Shayol Ghul?”

“Success, as planned.”

Concise as ever. “What happened to the Dragon Reborn?” he clarified. "And why are you-"

“Lews Therin is dead.”

Natael exhaled loudly. “Why did you initiate a conversation if you’re not going to say anything? It’s not like you to make small talk. Did you want something?”

“It seems I’m going to require your…assistance.”

Ouch, that sounded painful. And to think he’d suffered through that sentence for nothing. “I’m useless, haven’t you heard? Even more so than before.”

Bao raised an eyebrow. “This doesn’t involve channeling.”

“Well, channeling was all I had, and now it’s gone. I can’t help you, even if I wanted to. And I don’t particularly want to.” He would try to watch his tongue around Taim, until he could figure out how he really felt and decide what to do, but Bao could take the brunt of his huffiness.

“I’m afraid I must insist.” Bao sat down in the chair Taim had vacated.

Demandred, practically begging for help? Natael’s help? Perhaps he was still unconscious and dreaming this. Hallucinating, really. “What could you possibly need me for?”

He raised his hands to draw Natael's attention to the manacles, in case he hadn't noticed them yet. “I am to be tried soon. So are you, by the way. I thought we could help each other out. We need to stick together.”

Natael had stopped listening after the first sentence. “Tried? As in…prosecuted?” He couldn’t be serious. After everything they’d done for the Light, after their exemplary acts of redemption, their sacrifices, they might still be executed?

Well, Bao hadn’t sacrificed much, except perhaps some of his dignity, but Natael, on the other hand... He’d lost everything. His ability to channel, which was bad enough…but also Taim. He would lose him eventually, if he hadn’t already. Even people who truly loved each other couldn’t always patch things up when tragedy struck. The loss of a child, a life-changing accident… The other person always reminded you of that one dramatic event, and there was nothing else to do but move on…separately.

Bao misinterpreted his faraway gaze. “Don’t look so stunned. It was to be expected. Al’Thor warned us. And with him gone, so is our best advocate. We must fend for ourselves.”

Right. The trial. Natael reeled at the news. He hadn’t even begun to wrap his mind around the searing out, and now this? “Are they really intent on punishing us, though? Or is it more of a…show, a formality? Just an excuse to declare us officially pardoned in front of everyone, you know.”

Bao scoffed and didn’t bother to reply. He must think that the question was rhetorical, a poor attempt at humour. “We have some allies, thankfully. Even a few valuable ones. Moiraine Damodred said she would vouch for me, given what she witnessed at Shayol Ghul. I assume that Taim will vouch for you.”

If Natael could find it in him to ask him, yes, perhaps. But would that be enough?

“Logain will likely speak in your favour, as well,” Bao went on. “Shendla will give a testimony in the name of my people.”

Natael frowned. “Shouldn’t Mintel do it? Shendla is a formidable woman, don’t get me wrong, but she struggles with the Common Tongue, and no one will allow you to translate her words.”

“Mintel is dead.”

Concise and brutal as ever, indeed. “Oh, I…didn’t know that. Sorry. What happened to him?”

“Moghedien decided to impersonate me, when she realised I wasn’t around. She tried to manipulate the Sharans and sowed chaos on the battlefield. Fortunately, her isleh was atrocious, so she was eventually unmasked...by Mintel. He exposed her, and she killed him in retribution. She did some more damage, but she was apprehended by the Seanchan in the end. She’s been…gifted to their damane, along with her cour’souvra.”

Well, that was not an enviable fate… Although she could still channel, so perhaps it was. “And Lanfear?” He didn’t care a whit about her, but he was afraid to enquire about Elan.

“Dead, too. One of the lesser ta’veren got her, if rumours are to be believed.”

It should have been satisfying, or a relief at least, to know that Lanfear was really, truly dead, but Natael was too upset to care.

“As for Moridin,” Bao continued, though Natael hadn’t asked, “he might pull through, actually. His condition is uncertain but, after al’Thor passed last night, he seemed to be getting better, to everyone’s frustration.”

Bao, especially, must be frustrated that Lews Therin was gone.

And poor Elan! He’d been denied death yet again. But perhaps he would be allowed to die for good, now that he’d…failed? Yeah, no, that was unlikely. The Dark One might be defeated, for now, and perhaps He’d leave humanity alone for a few centuries, but He wasn’t truly gone. He wouldn’t let Elan off the hook so easily, and He certainly wouldn’t reward failure with something Elan so desperately yearned for. Elan would be reincarnated and…re-embodied again and again, to be the Dark One’s champion until the Shadow was victorious at last, until the world and time itself ended. It was a cruel fate, and an unescapable one. Now that…that was not enviable at all.

“If Moridin does recover, it’s fair to assume that he’ll be tried as well. And I can’t imagine anyone will speak in his defence.”

“Neither can I.” It was thanks to Elan, to the protection of the Nae’blis, that Taim and Natael had survived for so long, without a doubt, but would anyone care? Probably not. “Just to be sure…Taim is not on trial, right?”

Bao shook his head. “Only you and I, the two former Chosen. No one knows that Taim was briefly a Dreadlord…or Logain, for that matter. If they find out, I’ll just say that they were coerced and that they removed the oath as soon as they were able.”

Well, it was only the truth. “Why exactly do you need my help?” Natael asked. “What am I supposed to tell them? That you didn’t do anything evil, ever?”

“I can speak for myself, Nessosin. Pardon, I mean Natael.” Wow, he really did need help, if he was willing to apologise for such a trivial slip-up. “But I need you to defend my people, should the jury choose to have me executed. Shendla will need your help. Learning isleh should be easy enough for you. Its roots are-”

“If they decide to kill you, what makes you think I’ll walk free? We were both Chosen, and I’ve done my fair share of-”

Unexpectedly, Bao snorted with laughter. “Please. I don’t even know why they’re putting you on trial; it’s a waste of everyone’s time. You’ve been loyal to the Light practically since you’ve awakened, and you weren’t much of a threat to them before that.”

“Do you have to be so insulting all the time?”

Bao looked confused. “It was meant to be comforting… Believe me, you do not want them to perceive you as a threat.” He cocked his head, and only then did Natael notice the three armed men who pretended to do anything but monitor Bao’s every movement. They had to be Warders.

Odd. Only Warders? There should be at least an Aes Sedai, to maintain Bao’s shield. Even with a tied-off shield, without his sword and wearing heavy manacles, the man was a menace.

“Alright, let’s say, hypothetically, that they execute you but release me into the world. No incarceration, no conditions. Then what? If they want to break the Dragon’s Peace and go after the Sharans once you’re gone, there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m no one. I’m nothing. Why would anyone care what I say?”

“You’re not no one,” Bao said impatiently. “Don’t be falsely modest, Natael, it doesn’t suit you. You’ve never been more famous than you are today – the self-sacrificing hero who burned himself out to take down the mighty Sammael.” He scoffed at that. “Well, it wasn’t you, technically, but the people praise Taim and you both equally, the two fearless leaders of the Black Tower. It helps that very few people are aware of your true identity.”

“As soon as the news spread, and it will, thanks to the trial, I doubt they’ll see me as a hero. Taim will be given all the credit and I’ll be hanged, buried in a shallow grave, then immediately for-”

Bao pinched the bridge of his nose. “Damnation, I’d forgotten how whiny, melodramatic and annoying you could be.”

“Yes, well, for once, I think I’m entitled to a proper meltdown. I’m seared out, Bao. Do you have any idea how-”

“SO AM I, BURN YOU!”

Natael startled at his vehemence…and at the revelation. “You’re-”

“Yes, you idiot! Just like you, I can no longer channel. But do you see me throwing a temper tantrum like a bratty toddler?”

“I…well, I…I didn’t know,” Natael stammered.

“Of course you didn’t, you self-obsessed dolt. You’re so consumed in your own doom that you’re blind to everybody else’s plights. You did notice that Taim had also burned himself out, yes?”

“I was there when it happened,” he muttered. “Look, I’m sorry-”

“I don’t want your pity. My point is that you are not the only person who has lost something in the battle, so get over yourself. You’re alive, Nessosin. Not everyone is as lucky as you are.”

“Hey, don’t be so high-and-mighty,” Natael said, feeling angry. This wasn’t fair! He hadn’t asked for this. “You would never have agreed to this, if you’d known beforehand that-”

Bao eyed him flatly. “I sacrificed my own ability to channel so that al’Thor could accomplish his destiny and save us all. Shendla Dreamed it, and it coincided with an obscure line in our prophecies. I went to Shayol Ghul knowing what would happen, and I’m glad I did it, despite the consequences, because it was my destiny.”

Now there’s a true hero, Natael thought bitterly. Just like al’Thor, who’d been aware of the price he would have to pay all along. But that was the thing: Bao and al’Thor knew what they were getting themselves into. They knew how it would end for them, and they were willing to do it because they believed the sacrifice was worth it. Natael had imagined himself dead a dozen times in the past year, but the fact that he’d survived overwhelming odds several times had led him to think he might actually make it to the end unscathed. He’d trusted Taim to keep him alive and whole and Taim had failed him and it was unfair-

“I know that look,” Bao said with a resigned sigh. “Locked in your own mind with your despair, complaining to yourself about life’s injustice. Is it helping in any way?”

“Blood and ashes, give me a break! How are you not falling apart? Are you so dead inside that another hole makes no difference anymore?”

Bao leaned forward in his chair. “I’m behaving like a normal human being. I’m keeping my emotions in check in public. You’re the one who’s overreacting. Also, I am capable of putting things into perspective. I have lost something important to me, but my strength in the Power never defined me. It didn’t keep me alive.”

“Nah, your burning hatred for Lews Therin kept you alive.”

Bao rolled his eyes. “I’ve lost a part of me, but the other parts are still there. I’m still me. I’m Bao, King of Shara, the Wyld, protector of my people. I still have a place in this world. There are people who care for me. And that will be enough.”

“Great speech, but none of that will matter if you’re executed,” Natael remarked. He never would have talked to Bao like this, were he still one of the Chosen, though he was hardly harmless, even seared out. Hence the Warders without the Aes Sedai, Natael realised then. But would they intervene if Bao decided to slap Natael senseless or choke him to death?

“Which is why I’m here, asking you – nicely – to look out for my people, in the event of my untimely death.”

“Are you really telling me that you’ll accept whatever judgement they pass? That you’ll go to the gallows willingly, as you went to Shayol Ghul? Is that your destiny?”

“The Last Battle was a turning point in history,” Bao lectured him, ignoring the sarcasm. “Shendla has not Dreamed of anything beyond these events, and the prophecies stopped there, too. It’s anyone’s guess what’ll happen going forward.”

Natael noted that Bao had evaded his question, but he didn’t press him. “So if you’re dead, I’ll be the king of Shara?”

“Can you be serious for five bloody minutes? This is important to me.”

“Then what am I supposed to do, exactly?”

“First, negotiate for a peaceful transition in leadership. I had hoped that Shendla would take my place, but that would mean abandoning her career as an Ayyad, and she insists that she’s too young to retire. She’s only a hundred and ten, so I can understand that. We’ve selected a handful of suitable candidates. The important thing is that Galbrait doesn’t take charge, because we don’t trust her. She’s the head of the Ayyad and, if I die, she’ll have Shendla assassinated so she can once again rule the nation from the shadows, as she’s done for the past seven hundred years. If she pulls the strings, the Freed will be enslaved again, and everything else Shendla and I have worked to achieve in the past year will be undone.” Natael had no clue who Galbrait was but, if she was truly that old, then she was older than Bao himself. Well, if one overlooked the three thousand years he’d spent in the Bore. “Secondly, you’ll have to handle foreign politics and make sure that the West doesn’t try to invade us and take over. I signed the Dragon’s Peace but, if I’m branded a war criminal and executed, you can be certain that my signature will be considered worthless, and that the Sharans will therefore be at the Aiel’s mercy.”

That was too much information to take in all at once. Natael’s headache was getting worse. Where was Flinn? “Don’t you trust Shendla to handle this herself like a big girl? Surely she’s capable-”

“She’s very capable, but she will be alone. I’ll be dead, and we’ve already lost Mintel. He was our most trusted advisor. The other Ayyad leaders are unreliable, mainly because they fear Galbrait. They don’t dare disobey her. The Freed will be loyal to Shendla no matter what, but they have no political influence whatsoever, despite their numbers. She will need help.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand why me. Do you really trust me to do this? Or trust me at all, for that matter? I’ve always been under the impression that you immensely dislike me.”

“I do dislike you,” Bao acknowledged without missing a beat. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate your talents. Your reluctance to fight if it can be avoided makes you an efficient administrator and negotiator. One simply cannot deny that Taim and you ruled the Black Tower efficiently. Taim is also gifted with social skills. You make a good team.”

“Well then, why don’t you ask him to save your people?” Natael said in a surly tone.

“I’m asking both of you, birdbrain. I assumed I’d find Taim here, but I guess he finally took a break. About time, too. He’s been sitting here for days, barely sleeping or eating.”

Natael’s heart contracted. He’d heard fragments of conversation while he was comatose, but he hadn’t realised that Taim was present the entire time, neglecting his own health just to make sure he’d be there when Natael finally awakened. He didn’t want to discuss Taim with Bao, though, not until he’d had a chance to talk with Taim in private.

Which he would have to do, eventually. Preferably before he was sentenced to death by hanging. Or worse.

“I’m still confused…” he said instead.

“Perhaps I should have waited for a Healer to see you,” Bao grumbled. “You’ve suffered a worse head injury than I thought.”

“Yes, you should have waited,” Natael fumed. “I’m definitely not in the right frame of mind for this. Or the right mood. But since you’re already here, what I don’t understand is why they’re so intent on putting you on trial after what you did at Shayol Ghul. If they consider Taim a hero for obliterating Sammael, surely you-”

“Actually, most of them are convinced that I’m responsible for al’Thor’s death.” To be fair, it was a reasonable suspicion, given their history. “All they know is that I came out of the mountain carrying two dying men.” Yes, that was even more suspicious, granted. “That’s why Moiraine Sedai’s testimony will prove useful. She can attest to what really happened, and there’s a fair chance they’ll believe her.”

“I see. When will the trial take place?” A few weeks, he surmised. That’ll allow him to prepare – develop his arguments, talk to potential allies and character witnesses and, more importantly, try to work things out with Taim. He could certainly use his assistance.

“As soon as a Healer clears you,” Bao replied. “Which is why I came to you as soon as I heard you were awake, instead of waiting a respectable amount to time. Until you came to terms with your situation, at least.”

Natael snorted. Had the other man finally grown a sense of humour? “No, but seriously.”

“I couldn’t possibly be more serious.”

Natael sat up in his bed. Panic was setting in. “But…I just woke up! I…I need to shave, bathe, drink a gallon of wine, find clothes suitable for my own funeral…” He threw the covers and started to rise. “…drink a second gallon of wine, change my clothes a dozen times, compose a song about my upcoming death, have someone give me a proper haircut-”

“You’re spiralling,” Bao said conversationally. “I was afraid of that. I should go find T-”

“What in blazes are you doing up?!” someone demanded. Natael spun awkwardly and nearly lost is balance. He sat on the bed to avoid falling on his arse like Sammael.

It was Flinn, at last. “Bao, sire, respectfully, Ghraem needs rest,” he admonished. “No visitors for him until I say so. Except M’Hael.”

Taim was back, but Natael carefully avoided looking at him.

Bao inclined his head. “I apologise, Healer Flinn. We had urgent matters to discuss. I’ll leave you to it, but please let me know when he’s recovered.”

“What could you possibly have to discuss with him urgently?” Taim asked. “Don’t stress him out, Bao. The battle is over. Give him a break. Anyway, aren’t you going back to Shara?”

Bao once again raised his shackled hands. “The jury will determine that.”

Taim frowned. “What jury?”

Flinn exhaled with annoyance. “You’ve come to bother my patient about your trial? With all due respect, Your Majesty-”

“Didn’t anyone tell you?” Bao said. He sounded genuinely surprised. “It’s not just me. Natael and I are both going to be tried.” Stunned silence followed that statement, so Natael inferred that neither Taim nor Flinn were aware of the situation. “And by the way, you may call me Bao. The Sharans aren’t too fond of titles.”

Well, that was completely irrelevant.

“Tried for what?” Taim exclaimed at last. “Nate hasn’t done anything but acts of contrition and redemption since I’ve known him! The only people he’s killed were men losing their minds because of the taint. It was a mercy! Even in the Waste, he didn’t-”

“Save it for the jury, Taim. I know all that. It doesn’t change the fact that he was once one of the Chosen, and that’s all they care about. You can’t really blame them…”

“When?” Taim barked.

“As soon as Healer Flinn deems him fit.”

“Well, certainly not now,” the Asha’man said. “He has suffered a traumatic experience. He will need a lot of time to-”

“Oh, don’t you coddle me!” Natael growled. “Bao has suffered the exact same trauma, yet no one expects him to curl up on the floor and cry for weeks.” Which was exactly what Natael, were he alone, would have done. He was capable of restraint, whatever Bao believed.

Taim glanced at Bao, scowling, as did Flinn. “You…you also…?”

Bao nodded tersely. “The only reason why they waited this long was because Natael was unconscious. They don’t care about his feelings, and I suspect that, by now, they’re aware that he’s awake.” Indeed, one of the Warders who had been keeping watch on Bao was gone, Natael noticed. Sneaky bastards, these Warders, no matter their size.

“That doesn’t change the fact that he’s in no condition to be tried,” Flinn insisted. “This is ridiculous.”

“It’s not your decision to make, Asha’man,” a woman said. A Grey Aes Sedai, judging by her shawl. She was accompanied by two Greens, a Yellow sister, and their collective Warders – five in total, plus the one who’d slipped out while Bao was talking with Natael. “Cadsuane Melaidhrin summons the two men formerly known as Demandred and Asmodean.”

“And who is this person, that she thinks she can summon people like that?” Taim demanded.

It was Bao who answered. “The new Amyrlin Seat.”

Natael cocked his head. “Oh? What happened to the girl?”

“She’s no longer the Amyrlin Seat.”

That wasn’t much of an answer. Was she dead? Had she been deposed, for some reason? Maybe she was a Friend of the Dark…

The Grey Aes Sedai pursed her lips at the interruption. “The Mother and other members of the jury have voiced concerns regarding the impartiality of your Healer, who also happens to be one of your Asha’man. Therefore, Aloisia Sedai will Delve Master Natael herself and determine if he is fit to attend his trial.” She indicated the Yellow sister, but the woman’s hands were already touching Natael’s temples by the time she completed her sentence.

“This is an outrage,” Taim said. He was outraged, alright. Also enraged, judging by the tremor in his hands. If he were still able to channel, there’d be sparks at his fingertips. Natael’s heart soared, despite everything. Taim hadn’t changed. He was still willing to defend him, no matter what.

“He has a mild headache,” Aloisia Sedai announced a moment later. “But nothing incapacitating. I can remedy to it easil-”

“I’d rather Flinn did it. If that’s…acceptable,” Natael said, addressing the Grey, who appeared to be in charge. She nodded and gave Flinn permission to proceed.

The Asha'man hesitated. “M’lord, are you sure?”

“Um, yes. I’d rather not die with a headache.”

“You’re not going to die!” Taim said fiercely. “I won’t let them execute you. This trial is madness.” He turned to the Aes Sedai and their Warders. “How dare you do this to him? After everything he’s done, everything he’s sacrificed-”

“That is not for us to judge, Master Taim,” the Grey said. “Now come along. Cadsuane Sedai abhors tardiness.”

Chapter Text

So very stressful

At last the title checks out

Off to the gallows(?)

“Are the manacles really necessary?” Taim demanded. He had been complaining ever since they’d left the hospital, so much that Natael himself hadn’t been able to complain. It was a tad frustrating – complaining was catharsis, to him – but he had to admit that he would have complained about the exact same things. Taim knew him so well. “He’s unarmed and still in recovery. And…” He trailed off, looking down.

“And seared out,” Natael finished for him. “I couldn’t harm you even if I wanted to. I’m also too tired to try.” He was well aware that he’d been…asleep, for lack of a better word, for the past week or so, but he still felt exhausted. He was also hungry. He could have used some wine. Ugh, and a change of clothes! He looked ridiculous in his borrowed hospital garments – a long tunic made of a sturdy, scratchy material, essentially a glorified potato sack, and trousers too large for him. No one had been able to provide a belt, so he had to hitch them up regularly if he didn’t want to lose them and expose the lack of smallclothes underneath. His hair was greasy and tangled, he had a patchy beard…and he smelled. How humiliating!

Bao, on the other hand, was clean-shaven and dressed like a prince. Well, a king. Which he was, though perhaps not for much longer.

“We have orders,” one of the Warders, Leonin, replied gruffly. His voice was pleasantly deep. He was a handsome man in his mid-forties, with silver bells in his braided black hair. He looked like an older version of Jahar Narishma. Natael was almost willing to forgive him for the manacles and everything else.

“Where are we going?” Taim enquired. “Who will be there? What-”

“Master Taim, all of your questions shall be answered soon,” said the Grey sister, who had introduced herself as Meidani Sedai. She had stopped walking, and she gestured for Leonin to keep everyone back as a gateway sprang open.

Natael hadn’t even felt her embrace the Source. That was a jarring realisation: he would never be able to tell when there was a female channeler nearby, not until she revealed herself by visibly doing something with saidar. Now he had a better idea of how Aes Sedai felt in the presence of male channelers: they had to be wary at all times. And, of course, he also understood why regular people were uneasy around all channelers.

Meidani crossed the gateway first, and Leonin stayed back until the rest of them were on the other side. Natael looked for clues regarding their location, but all he could see was a large gate looming ahead.

“In other circumstances, I would have understood,” Taim said, “but given our condition… Why here?” he asked Meidani.

The Grey began moving again when the gateway closed, and they followed. “It’s neutral…and somewhat safer for you. Cadsuane Sedai considered a stedding, but the Ogier were reluctant to accommodate so many people. The First Counsel, however, agreed to her request immediately.”

“Where are we?” Natael whispered to Taim.

“Far Madding. It’s a place where-”

“I’ve heard of it,” Natael said sharply. “I guess the Guardian proved useful after all,” he added in the Old Tongue.

Bao nodded and replied in the same language. “After the Breaking, it’s no wonder. Although Ishar Morrad never intended for it to be used for this purpose, to be sure. It was going to be a-”

Meidani turned around, hands on her hips. “Stop that!” Bao raised an eyebrow at her tone. He may be a former Chosen, but he was also royalty, now. “Use the Common Tongue. Speaking a language that they cannot understand will only exacerbate the jury and the public’s suspicions that you are, deep down, still servants of the Shadow.”

“Fair enough,” Natael mumbled, though it was hardly his fault that the peasants of this Age were so desperately uneducated. Also, just because they spoke an archaic language meant that they served the Shadow. Back in the day, everyone used the “Old” Tongue, not only the Chosen.

“Who will be part of the jury?” Taim asked.

Meidani sighed as she started forward again, toward a long bridge. “Nation leaders, representatives of the various cultures and factions of the world, including the Seanchan, the Sea Folk, the Aiel… There’s even a Mahdi present, I believe. And an Ogier. Cadsuane wants everyone to feel included in the decision.”

A…seeker? Natael had no idea what a Mahdi was supposed to be but, more importantly: “I assume someone will represent the Asha’man, as well?”

“And the Sharans?” Bao added.

Meidani didn’t respond.

“Will I be allowed to speak in Natael’s defence?” Taim asked.

“Well, one must assume that there will be character witnesses,” Bao remarked.

Meidani forged ahead, ignoring them. They walked to the end of the bridge in silence.

“Will Cadsuane Melaidhrin be our judge? It seems inappropriate,” Bao said when they reached the inner city. Natael had forgotten how much he hated walking. His feet hurt already. How did normal people get anything done without gateways? The citizens of Far Madding were especially masochistic, in his opinion. “I do not know to which Ajah she belongs but, regardless, as a so-called Aes Sedai, she likely has a bias against male channelers.”

“Which you’re not,” Meidani pointed out. Natael’s heart sank in his chest at the uncalled-for reminder. “Also, the Amyrlin Seat is from all Ajahs, and yet of none. But, for your information, no, she won’t rule the proceedings. The First Counsel will.”

“Is that the woman who is in charge of this city?” Bao asked. “Because that would be an even worse option.”

“Aleis Barsalla is perfectly impartial!” Meidani said.

“She lives in a city-state where the True Source cannot be accessed. She’s obviously not fond of channelers in general. We are burned out, but we are accused of crimes that were allegedly perpetrated when we were still able to channel.”

Meidani, once again, chose to remain silent. Weren’t Greys supposed to be diplomats? Wasn’t talking a major part of their jobs? Then again, the more an Aes Sedai talked, the more she had to watch what she was saying, since she couldn’t lie. It must be exhausting. In any case, Natael hoped that she wouldn’t be representing them. Actually… “Are you going to be our attorney?”

This time, the Aes Sedai glanced over her shoulder, frowning. “Your what?”

Great, that boded well. “Our…lawyer? Our legal counsel?”

“I do not know what that is. Now please stop talking, we’re almost there.”

Natael and Bao exchanged a look. The other man didn’t seem particularly worried. “I was going to represent myself anyway,” Bao whispered in the Old Tongue.

Natael trudged ahead, his shoulders hunched. “A judicious decision, it would seem.”

They were surrounded.

In front of them sat at least thirty people, most of them nobles, judging by their attires. There were a few more men than women. Natael recognised among them Elayne Trakand, Lan Mandragoran, Dobraine Taborwin, the Wise One Sorilea, the Aiel clan leaders Rhuarc and Bael, as well as Perrin Aybara, whom he had encountered in the World of Dreams. Other faces he remembered from the signing of the Dragon’s Peace, though he couldn’t name them.

Behind them stood a throng of haphazard commoners, who had come to attend the Trial of the Forsaken (Natael had heard several people dub it so).

Bao and he were at the centre of it all, still shackled. No one had provided them with a chair. Taim had been ordered to stand with the commoners – an outrage, in Natael’s opinion. Taim was still the leader of the Black Tower, until he officially stepped down and appointed a new one in his stead. He should be on the other side of the massive chamber, with the fancy-clothed fools.

Or better yet, at Natael’s side. He was so worried about the trial that he had temporarily forgotten about being seared out, and the fact that it was mostly Taim’s fault. He just hoped to survive this day, so that he could be appropriately bitter about it on the morrow. Until then, Taim’s presence would have been a comfort.

“Silence!” a woman shouted, so loudly that Natael briefly believed her voice to be enhanced with saidar, somehow. It resonated throughout the hall. Natael pinpointed its source: an Aes Sedai who was possibly older than himself, with her grey hair in a bun and a face so severe that everyone immediately complied to her…request. Natael easily guessed that she was Cadsuane Melaidhrin, the new Amyrlin Seat. The rainbow shawl made it obvious. “We shall now begin. First Counsel Barsalla, the court is yours.”

The First Counsel was a tall woman, with long, dark hair winged with white. She nodded to Cadsuane, then addressed the room. “We are gathered here today to sit in judgement of Master Jasin Natael, born Joar Addam Nessosin, and who named himself Asmodean after becoming a Dreadlord, a servant of the Shadow – one of the Forsaken, as is the common terminology.”

“Actually, I didn’t get to choose my own moniker, and I wasn’t born with the cognomen,” Natael corrected her. “I didn’t pick the latter, either.” A third name was given to you – awarded you, really – but you weren’t allowed to choose it for yourself. Nessosin sounded too much like assassin but, at the time, he’d been too giddy and proud of himself to complain.

“You shall speak when spoken to,” Barsalla barked. “The second offender was once Barid Bel Medar and is now known only as…Bao. He is the Forsaken Demandred.”

“Former Forsaken,” Bao stated.

Barsalla glared at him. “You shall also speak when spoken to, Master…Bao.” She was really struggling with the three-letter name, uh? More likely, it was the lack of a second name that troubled her. Barsalla cleared her throat. “You both stand accused of the following crimes: assault, murder, torture-”

“Respectfully, First Counsel, these accusations are ludicrously vague,” Bao noted. “Could you be more specific? Whom did I murder, and when?”

“Many people, on multiple occasions, I assume,” Barsalla replied. There was already an edge of annoyance in her voice.

“You assume. I see. And what factual, concrete evidence do you have to support that I ‘killed many people, on multiple occasions’?”

“There are numerous accounts of-”

“Accounts of direct eye witnesses? I would like to read them, and I think that this court should hear them. Otherwise, their judgement will be clouded by your assumptions.”

Natael was staring at Bao. Peace, he was good at this! Praise the arrogant bastard. Then again, Barid Bel had pursued a career as a legal counsel for a few decades, before deciding on a different path, as many channelers did over the course of their long lives.

“You are one of the Forsaken,” Barsalla insisted. “You have murdered servants of the Light in the Dark One’s name. You have fed innocent children to Trollocs. You-”

“Prove it.”

“It doesn’t work like that! We know who you are. What you are. We know what you did!” Barsalla was losing her composure already. Good.

“Let us proceed logically to find out the truth,” Bao went on. “When were these alleged crimes committed?”

“In the Age of Legends, of course. During the War of Power. And much more recently again, I would assume.”

Didn’t she realise that she had to stop using that word? Was it so easy to destabilise her?

Bao nodded thoughtfully. “Mm, another assumption. Interesting. As for what may or may not have occurred during what you refer to as the ‘Age of Legends’, I think that we can already dismiss whatever you believe I’ve done, which is not quite clear to me or anyone else, because of the statute of limitations. Surely there’s prescription. And apropos the so-called Age of Legends, the name you gave it speaks for itself: all that you think you know of it are myths and legends, not facts.”

Barsalla ignored that last part, though it was a wise commentary. “What do you mean, there’s prescription?”

Natael shook his head. This wasn’t a trial, because this wasn’t a proper court. They were being judged by ignorant children.

Bao was likely thinking the same thing, but his face was a mask. He appeared outwardly collected and patient, not pedantic at all, which must require a tremendous effort. “We will undoubtedly obtain a dismissal of all charges pertaining to our native time period, considering that these crimes were allegedly committed three thousand years ago. Charges for murder can be dismissed if filed after more than fifty years, seventy-five at most, if I remember correctly. We are largely past it.”

“There is no such thing!” Barsalla exclaimed. She glanced at Cadsuane, on the brink of panic now, but the Amyrlin continued to observe in silence.

Not so Her Grace, Elayne Trakand. “Will someone shut him up? He’s on trial, he’s not supposed to speak; he’s supposed to listen and wait until we reach a verdict regarding his sentence.”

Bao arched an eyebrow. “I am one of the defendants. My entire purpose here, today, is to defend myself, as the name indicates.”

“Defendant? You’re the accused!” Trakand protested.

Bao took a good look at the jury. “Have any of you ever participated in a real trial – not a mere sentencing? Have you, First Counsel? Because it seems to me that you know nothing of the proceedings. Or the proper legal terms, for that matter. We have a right to defend ourselves. We should have been allowed an attorney, as well, but, given the circumstances, I think we’re better off without one. And you have a duty to prove us guilty. To prove it,” he repeated. “With evidence. Witnesses. We also need the victims’ names, precise dates. Otherwise it’s all speculation and condemning someone to death on hearsay alone makes you the criminals in the room.”

Silence followed that statement. Natael assumed that the peasants were trying to figure out the meaning of some of the bigger words, while the nobles were scandalised by Bao’s speech. If none among the plaintiffs, preferably someone with half a brain, decided to intervene, Bao and Natael would be free to go in another minute.

Which, of course, would be ideal.

Alas, no such luck. The Amyrlin Seat whispered in the First Counsel’s ear, and Barsalla stood gracelessly. “The jury would like to confer privately for a minute.” Her unusually deep voice shook a little. “Court adjourned. Everyone out. Gaidin, please isolate the accused.”

The commoners were herded out of the chamber by a small army of Warders, while five more escorted Bao and Natael to another room. Natael looked for Taim, but the man had already disappeared in the crowd. Or perhaps he had left earlier, of his own accord, abandoning Natael to his fate.

He leaned against a wall, feeling exhausted. The manacles were weighing heavily on his wrists, arms and shoulders, and it didn’t help that he still had to hitch his trousers up every other minute.

One of the Gaidin lit up a pipe while they waited. Natael almost asked for a puff to soothe his nerves, but his breath was already foul; the tobacco would only make things worse. What if Taim wanted to kiss him after hearing the good news of Natael’s release?

Well. That was an unlikely scenario, given that Taim had already departed and Natael was probably going to be sent to the gallows anyway. “I’m not sure what they expected,” he remarked after a while. “That we would just…stand there in respectful silence until they decided whether to have us hanged, as Elayne suggested? Is that what you call justice in this Age?” he asked the smoking Warder.

“Way I see it,” he rasped, “you’re lucky they didn’t have you executed without bothering with this sham. If ‘twere up to me, I would have had the gallows ready as soon as the battle was over.” Two of the other Warders nodded in agreement. “You’re no longer useful and, if we’re honest, everyone was rather hoping you’d die fighting, to avoid this...unpleasantness.”

Natael glanced at Bao, but he didn’t react to this heart-warming show of support. “Bao? What do you think? Are they going to have us executed without further ado, considering that you’re spot-on about everything and there’s nothing they can do about it?” Bao ignored him. Perhaps he was rehearsing his last words.

Of course, neither of them were innocent. The legends were greatly exaggerated, but there was some truth to them. They’d purposefully harmed others, certainly. In Natael’s case, it was usually for personal gain, or to take out the competition, though he’d never actually killed or harmed anyone himself. He always ordered lowly minions to do the deed for him. Well, except in Lanfear’s case, but that hardly counted. Not only was she already on death’s doorstep at the time, she’d been given a new body mere weeks later. Her first, temporary demise had been nothing but a short vacation from life.

Natael had not even harmed his own, overbearing mother, as the rumours claimed… He’d severed her, sure, but that was quite tame, all things considered. The Myrddraal had done the real harm.

As for Bao, Natael was fairly certain that he’d only ever done violence on a battlefield, ergo in self-defence… And letting Trollocs feed on innocent children wasn’t a crime, per se, was it? The Trollocs had done the killing and the eating, not Demandred himself.

Well, it was all a bit of a grey area.

In any case, Bao was right: these things had happened ages ago. Natael hadn’t done anything of the sort since his awakening. He hadn’t even conspired to kill al’Thor; all he’d tried to do was to take the key to the Choedan Khal (because Mierin wanted it). And nobody knew exactly what Bao had done in Shara… He had fomented a revolution, sure, but perhaps he’d done it peacefully, without bloodshed. His people seemed to like him well enough, so his rule wasn’t too tyrannical.

And then they’d both forsaken the Shadow and aided the Light during the Last Battle. Surely their good deeds outbalanced the rest…?

In Natael’s opinion, none of that really mattered, anyway. He felt that they’d been punished enough – Bao and he had lost their ability to channel. At this point, he might actually welcome death…especially if it turned out that he’d lost Taim, as well. Therefore, if the jury truly wanted to punish him, they ought to let him live out the remainder of his short mortal existence. Now that would be proper torture.

“I think they’re going to have us executed,” Bao said eventually.

Natael startled; he’d almost forgotten that he’d asked for Bao’s opinion on the matter. “I was afraid you were going to say that. Next time, please sugar-coat your answer a little.”

Bao sneered; a feral smirk distorted the lower half of his handsome face. “They’re hypocrites, and they are well aware of it. The Gaidin is correct: this is a sham. They call it a trial, but it really is a mere sentencing. They didn’t expect resistance. Violence, perhaps, but they didn’t think we would defend ourselves so expertly.” He was being uncharacteristically generous by using “we”; Natael had barely uttered a word. “And they made the dire mistake of making it a public display of so-called justice by inviting the masses, who witnessed the First Counsel’s pathetic attempts at foiling my rational arguments. She made a fool of herself. Now their only option is to silence us, declare us guilty, and be done with it.”

“And…we’re going to let that happen?”

The smoking Warder eyed him stonily and casually touched the hilt of his sword, but he didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

“I mean… Violence is not the answer, of course… We’re trying to prove that we’re better than that, after all. But if you keep talking, they might actually begin to see the sense in what you’re saying. And I have loads of arguments to add to what you already mentioned!” He counted off his fingers. “We have so much to offer, to contribute. We come from an Age which was ripe with wonders of Power-wrought technology. We could teach them to replicate these wonders.” Well, Bao could teach them. Some of it. Though without being able to channel, it would be difficult, granted. “We can teach them to speak our language properly, with all its subtleties and various dialects, to decipher ancient texts and the like.” That, Natael could actually do himself. He was a great teacher. “Historians will obviously want to drain all the knowledge out of us. What was our Age like? What did the people wear, what was fashionable? Was everything better back then?” The answer, oddly, was no. Everything was very different back then, but not necessarily better. “I can rewrite my entire repertoire, that the people of this new Age may hear what real music sounds like. And you can train them to become true Blademasters.”

He glanced at the Warders, hoping to catch a gleam of interest in their eyes. They didn’t look like they were even listening to him.

"And, last but not least, we're pretty much harmless now, since we're..." Ugh, he coudn't bear to say it again. He didn't want to even think about it, but it was a formidable argument in their favour.

“I was going to get to that,” Bao said, his face softening. “But I don’t think there will be an opportunity. They won’t let us speak when we come back to the chamber. And I doubt that the commoners will be allowed to return, either. They’ll be invited to witness our execution, though, you can count on that.”

“Everyone enjoys a good public hanging,” Natael whispered. “It’ll be the icing on the cake after the celebrations of the Light’s victory.”

No! Don’t be so defeatist. The noose isn’t tied around your neck, yet. “Do you really believe that the Pattern, through Shendla, led you all this way just to be hanged like a common thief in the end? That cannot be your fate, Bao. You’re destined for greater things, surely.”

“I’ve done my fair share of great things. Perhaps I’ve run out of accomplishments.”

Had Shendla and Mintel converted him to their strange religious views? Bao had always believed that he was the master of his own destiny, before – like most of the Chosen, Natael included. He hadn’t joined the Shadow because some Dreamer told him to do it, leading him to think it would further his cause: to prove that he was superior to Lews Therin Telamon, that humanity was wrong to elect him as its saviour, and eventually kill the man. “Bao, you can’t just accept that. I know I won’t. I still have…plenty to live for.” An outrageous lie...unless he could salvage his relationship with Taim. But that was one massive, implacable if.

If Bao gave up, Natael might as well surrender to the jury’s decision without a protest. Nobody ever listened to him anyway.

“What would you have me do?” Bao demanded. “I could take care of these Gaidin…but to what end?”

The Warders’ faces remained impassive, though the pipe smoker smirked.

“That’s not what I meant!” Natael hastened to clarify. Also…could he really “take care” of them? He was restrained, unarmed, and there were five experienced swordsmen in the room…

It would be unwise to underestimate Bao, however, no matter the odds stacked against him.

“You need to convince the jury that we’re more valuable alive than dead,” Natael insisted. “We could…negotiate. Set terms and conditions for our probationary release, like al’Thor suggested. If they feel confident that we won’t attempt to…I don’t know, free the Great Lord, or whatever it is they think we might do-”

“He’s the King of Shara, ain't he?” the smoking Warder said, pointing his pipe at Bao. “Do I really need to spell it out for you? We don’t want one of the Forsaken at the head of a gigantic foreign nation. And you’re in charge of the Black Tower, ain’t you? You have an army of channelers at your back. Surely you understand why we’re not particularly enthusiastic at the idea of letting you two roam free, even if you are somewhat less dangerous now that you’re unable to channel. Your minds are still sharp, though, and that alone makes you forces to be reckoned with, if there’s any truth to the stories.”

It was good to know that they were still considered a threat, thanks to their superior intellect. It was comforting, in a way, though it didn’t work in their favour in the present circumstances. Natael might stand a chance at pretending to be weak and utterly harmless – which he was – but there was no way that strategy would work for Bao. Even seared out, even restrained, he managed to command any room he walked into.

The door opened, causing Natael to startle. So soon? They weren’t ready yet! They had no strategy!

A short, exhausted-looking young woman walked into the room. Her eyes widened when she noticed them. “Oh, I’m sorry, Gaidin. I thought this was… I was looking for the…” She sighed heavily. “Don’t mind me.”

“Hey, I know you,” Natael said. “You’re al’Thor’s friend, you were in the Waste with us. The girl Amyrlin.” So she wasn’t dead.

She drew herself up, straightening her back, and eyed him sternly. “I am a woman, Master Natael, and I have a name. I’m Egwene Trakand.”

Trakand? Like Elayne? Was she royalty, too? Since when? “Well…yes, obviously.” She was just a child, to him. Most everyone was. “My apologies. Um, why aren’t you the one judging us? Why do we have to deal with this Cadsuane…” Harpy. “…Sedai?” Egwene had no reason to like him, but at least she knew him. They’d spent a few weeks in the Aiel Waste. They’d even sung a song together, once. She had a lovely voice.

In theory, First Counsel Barsalla was the one overseeing the trial, but Cadsuane was evidently pulling the strings. Without much subtlety, either.

“Cadsuane Aes Sedai is the Amyrlin Seat,” Egwene stated.

“Why? Were you deposed?” he asked bluntly.

“Blast, Natael, you are so unobservant! She has obviously suffered the same fate we did,” Bao muttered. “She lost her Warder in the battle, too, who was also her husband, Gawyn Trakand, brother to the Queen of Andor, Elayne.”

Natael turned to him, barely taking in the heap of information. “How do you know all this?”

“I was at the hospital when they brought him in. I listened to the trail of gossip that followed.” He observed Egwene with keen eyes. “It is rumoured that you discovered a weave to counteract the effects of balefire. Did you?” He sounded…impressed. Coming from him, the very tone was a compliment.

Egwene nodded tiredly. “A nameless Dreadlord managed to steal your sa’angreal, the Sceptre, right out of Androl’s hands. He used it to rain down balefire haphazardly on the battlefield, killing foes and allies alike. The earth itself began to fracture… He had to be stopped. I did what had to be done.”

And like Bao, she had deliberately sacrificed her ability to channel to save the world. All the while being aware that her husband/Warder was dying. Bao was right to be impressed. It was a wonder that she’d survived.

It seemed a bit harsh and unfair that they’d removed her as Amyrlin despite her heroics. Then again, that was probably the fate that awaited Natael at the Black Tower. Provided that he didn’t die before he could be replaced.

“My condolences,” he whispered.

He meant it more for the loss of her ability to channel than that of her husband, but she didn’t acknowledge his noble sentiment in any way. “I must go,” she excused herself.

“Wait!” Natael exclaimed. Egwene arched an eyebrow. “I…I don’t suppose you’d speak in my favour at the trial? I mean…in our favour?”

“Why on earth would she do that?” Bao enquired.

Blood and ashes, on whose side was he? “There has to be someone who is willing to-”

“Moiraine Aes Sedai has already spoken in your favour. She told everyone what she witnessed at Shayol Ghul, how Bao sacrificed himself to allow Rand to continue to fight long enough to properly seal the Dark One’s prison. And she also spoke of the time you spent with Rand in the Waste and in Cairhien, Master Natael. She said you were an…adequate teacher, when Rand needed it most.”

Moiraine had lied for him? That was quite touching. Well, it wasn’t exactly a lie – she was an Aes Sedai, after all – but she had expertly manipulated the truth. Natael hadn’t been able to teach much to al’Thor, shielded as he was back then. He had done his best under difficult circumstances, though. That had to count for something. “And…what did everyone have to say to that?”

Egwene shook her head. “A few are conflicted. But I’m afraid the general consensus is that you must answer for the crimes you committed before you decided to come back to the Light.”

“But that was ages ago! All the people we harmed – allegedly – are long dead. I’m not that man anymore. Bao has changed, too. We’re willing to fully cooperate and seek an arrangement that would suit-”

“I have little sway over the jury, Master Natael. I am merely an observer. I cannot help you. Excuse me, I really must be going.” She closed the door behind her. Natael had hoped to hear fragments of conversation from the hall, given how everything echoed, but not a sound reached him. Had they somehow woven a ward against eavesdropping? It was impossible, with the Guardian…unless they’d found a parade against that, too.

What couldn’t these people do? Counteracting the effects of balefire, Healing the madness in male channelers, Healing severing…

Perhaps there was hope for them, after all, despite what Flinn had told Taim.

The door soon opened again, and another Warder announced that they were to be taken back to the chamber. Natael didn’t have much time to panic, but a few seconds were more than enough. What were they going to do? What was their strategy? Was there any chance of escape, if it came to that? Would he be allowed to change clothes before being led to the gallows?

Bao was right: the commoners were gone. The large chamber felt quite empty now, and eerily quiet. Natael looked everywhere for Taim, but he had either departed of his own volition or was forced to wait outside. Would Natael be allowed to say goodbye, at least? To even see him one last time?

“Master Natael, Master…Bao,” the First Counsel intoned. “We have reached a decision.”

“How could you have, already? You didn’t even hear the rest of our arguments!” Natael protested. He would not die without putting up a fight. Well, a verbal one, at least. “You need us. We have so much to-”

“The rules have not changed, Master Natael. You will not speak out of turn,” Barsalla remonstrated him.

“But it’s not fair!”

“Be silent, you fool,” Bao said in a low growl. “You don’t even know what the verdict is.”

Natael may not be a brilliant general, like Bao, or a noble, self-sacrificing hero – also like Bao – but he did have some hidden talents: he could read people’s faces like an open book. Even Bao’s…most of the time. There was no doubt in his mind about the verdict. Barsalla’s face gave it away. The jury’s solemnity gave it away.

“You are hereby found guilty and sentenced to death by hanging. May the Light have mercy on your souls.”

“GUILTY OF WHAT, BURN YOU?!” Natael shouted. He managed to take half a step forward before one of the Gaidin restrained him. Well, he was a singer; his voice carried easily. He didn’t need to be too close, though he would have liked for some spittle to reach Barsalla’s face. “Of saving the bloody world?!”

The First Counsel feigned to ignore him, though her mouth twitched in a grimace. “You will be taken outside and-”

She was interrupted by a sudden noise; people were coming back into the chamber, a low rumble of voices reverberating throughout the room. Was this a timing mishap? Were they supposed to witness the sentencing? Or would this mob be allowed to throw eggs or stones at Bao and Natael as they were marched off to the gallows?

Natael turned around, hoping to find-

Yes. Taim was there. In fact…he seemed to be leading this mob. He stood ahead of them, his back straight, wearing his best coat. These weren’t the people who were here before, Natael noticed immediately. At Taim’s side were Logain and Flinn. Behind them stood dozens of Asha’man and scores of Sharans, Shendla among them. She nodded to Bao, unsmiling, practically expressionless. Her eyes told another story, however, Natael could tell. They sparkled with fierceness. She was obviously angry that she and her people had been excluded from the trial. At Shendla’s side was a heavily-tattooed man who wore his beard in two thick, knotted braids.

“What is the meaning of this?” Barsalla demanded. Her voice was strangled with outrage. “Gaidin, escort them outside this instant!”

While Natael didn’t doubt the Warders’ abilities, they were vastly outnumbered. Some of these people were channelers, and all of them were soldiers. The Warders hesitated, but Cadsuane ordered them to stand down. “What do you want, Master Taim? Speak up. Quickly.”

“Every nation has a representative in the jury. The public was quite diverse, as well, before they were forced to step outside. Yet I couldn’t help but notice that certain people weren’t invited to witness the proceedings, Cadsuane Sedai. There was not a single Asha’man, and the Sharans were not even aware that their king was being put on trial.” Oh. That explained Shendla’s expression. How come no one had warned them? That was very underhanded.

“There was no time to get word to everyone, Master Taim,” Cadsuane said tersely. “And this chamber, while quite large, simply cannot fit the entire world.”

“I understand,” Taim said. He spoke calmly, articulately and, like Shendla, his face was inscrutable. But his eyes… They were ablaze. Natael half-expected Cadsuane to burst into flames. “Well, it doesn’t matter now. We’re here, and ready to speak in defence of our respective leaders. Whom would you like to hear first?” He didn’t wait for an answer. He half-turned and gestured toward the large man who stood beside Shendla. “Torn? Go on, say your piece. Don’t be shy.”

Torn snorted with laughter. “Me? Shy? Ha! I’ve certainly never been accused of that.” He grew serious and glared at the jury. “You would deprive us of our king, eh? The first decent one in centuries, the one we chose? The one who freed us, and who treats us not only as humans, but as equals? I’m proud to call Bao a friend, despite his…controversial past.” He was too fluent in the Common Tongue to be a true Sharan, Natael thought. Even Mintel had an accent. He must hail from somewhere west of the Waste. “I don’t know how you people do things here but, where I come from, there’s a saying: everyone deserves a second chance. Bao gave us, the Freed, the former slaves of Shara, a proper chance at life. It’s only fair we gave him a chance to do better in this life than he did in the last. So far, he’s been doing a pretty good job.”

“I’m glad to hear that your lives have improved, Master…Torn,” the First Counsel said – boy, she really struggled with foreign names, uh? – “but I’m afraid…Bao must still answer for the crimes he committed in the past. We-”

Torn didn’t let her go further. “Do you have any idea what’ll happen to us if you have Bao executed?” That was obviously a rhetorical question. No one knew anything about Shara, let alone had a clear idea of how its government and people functioned. “We’ll be enslaved again. I think it’s safe to say that things will be much, much worse for us than they used to be. They’ll have to punish us for daring to rebel in the first place, see? They’ll have to make sure it won’t happen again. There’ll be a purge, like as not. It’ll be a proper massacre. Of course, no reason you should care about all that, here in your fancy castles. Slavery hasn’t been a problem in the West in quite some time, if the stories are to be believed.”

Natael smiled thinly as Barsalla squirmed in her seat. It was satisfying to see her so uncomfortable. What could she possibly say to this? No, indeed, we don’t care about your plight. Not our problem.

“Surely Demandred isn’t the answer to all of your troubles,” Elayne Trakand said with more diplomacy than usual. “There has to be someone else who can-”

“Well, that’s the thing, my fair lady,” Torn said with a winning smile. “Shendla here, she has been trying to accomplish what Bao did for several decades now. She’s on our side but, without him, she’ll be on her own, to stand up against everyone else. Bao is our Wyld, yes? He’s our saviour. That means something, to us. Even bloody Galbrait had to acknowledge that and, thanks to his official title, Bao and Shendla were able to keep her in check. Our female channelers…what is it they’re called here? Aes Sedai?” Natael and Taim nodded at the same time, but Taim seemed too focused on Torn’s speech to notice. “Yes, well, our Aes Sedai are in control of Shara, and everyone that lives in it. Their word is law, quite literally. Unfortunately, they were happy with our former way of life, and they cannot wait to return to it. They will do so at the first opportunity. If you hang Bao, they will find an opportunity before his body is cold, and we’ll be right back where we started. Well, worse off, really.”

“If we leave Demandred in charge of Shara,” one of the noblemen in the jury said, “he will eventually invade the West. Don’t be naïve, man. The Forsaken is using you. He’s been manipulating you for months. He doesn’t care about the likes of you. He needed an army, that’s all.”

“If he tries anything of the sort, you’ll be within your rights to call on the Aiel to enforce the terms of the Dragon’s Peace. Bao signed it, as you know,” Natael reminded everyone. “Is al’Thor’s treaty worth nothing to you, now that the poor lad is dead? Have you forgotten about it already? Bao is many things, but he is a man of his word. He’ll honour the treaty. And if he doesn’t…well, then you get to kill him. Lawfully, and for a good reason.”

“No one has forgotten the treaty, let alone Rand,” Elayne said sharply. “And what about you, Master Natael? Did you sign the Dragon’s Peace? Did Taim?”

Natael glanced at Taim, but he had eyes only for Elayne. Perhaps he was remembering the first time he’d seen her, in all her glorious nakedness. “I’m afraid we were rudely interrupted by Sammael’s army. We will sign it, if you wish, but I don’t see the point. The Black Tower will henceforth be ruled by these two very capable men: Logain Ablar and Damer Flinn.”

Flinn’s mouth fell open. Logain glared at Taim, but his heart wasn’t really in it. His tone remained neutral, as if he couldn’t summon the energy to be angry, or even annoyed. He was quite dishevelled and looked absolutely exhausted. “Whose brilliant idea was this? Because it certainly wasn’t mine.”

“M’Hael, I thought you agreed that-” Flinn tried to protest.

“There’s no other option,” Taim spoke over him. “Natael and I are burned out. We do not belong at the Black Tower anymore. Channelers ought to be in charge, and I can’t think of better candidates to replace us as co-leaders.”

“The leadership of the so-called Black Tower is a problem for another day,” Barsalla said.

“It will have to be dealt with, though,” Elayne remarked. “Perhaps the Mother should appoint their new leader herself. Or since it’s technically part of Andor, I could-”

Taim half-smiled at her, but there was something nasty about it, something bitter that was never there when the smile was directed at Natael. “Does that mean our future leaders will have a say in the election of the next Amyrlin?”

“Don’t be daft,” Elayne said. “Of course not. The affairs of the White Tower are none of yours.”

“Then it makes sense that the Black Tower should manage itself without any intervention from you or your…sisters.”

“The difference, I’m sure you understand, is that the Black Tower was corrupt from the very beginning. The Forsaken were always in control. It needs to be cleansed, so that it can-”

“The Forsaken were not in control!” Taim growled. “We kept the Tower to ourselves until the Last Battle, just like we planned. There were a few…hiccups, of course, but we never strayed from the path al’Thor intended for us, despite the Shadow’s feeble attempts to take over.”

Thankfully, Bao didn’t contradict him. He could have easily doomed them, if only by recounting the failed ambush…hiccup. Was anyone yet aware of what had happened to Toveine and her party? They must have at least made enquiries by now.

Instead of tattling, Bao said: “This argument is ridiculous. The White Tower has always been corrupt. Ishamael created the Black Ajah eons ago, and Mesaana decided to infiltrate the White Tower soon after she was released from the Bore.”

Oh, right, Mesaana… Whatever had happened to her?

Meh. On second thought, Natael didn't care.

Cadsuane raised a hand, to prevent anyone from replying and furthering the debate. “We’re digressing. If you do not intend to return to the Black Tower, Master Taim, what is it that you plan to do?”

That caught him off-guard, Natael could tell. His eyes involuntarily shifted toward Natael, albeit briefly. “I plan to…live a simple life, I suppose. A quiet life.”

“Where?” Perrin Aybara demanded. “I hope you have no intention of going back to Saldaea. You will not be welcome there.”

“No, of course not. I thought…maybe Shara, where few people know who I am.”

“Or don’t care who you are, even if they do know,” Torn added.

“Yes. But that’ll depend on-”

“On what, Master Taim? On whether we spare Master Natael’s life?” Cadsuane asked shrewdly. “Does your future involve him in any way? Can you not live without him, that you have assembled a small army to ensure his release?”

A blush crept on Taim’s cheeks, but he didn’t get flustered. “It’s not fair, what you’re doing. You know that al’Thor wouldn’t approve. He was willing to pardon us – well, them – if they helped the Light in the Last Battle. He said so in front of several witnesses, most of whom are present now.”

“That’s irrelevant,” one of the witnesses said. “Al’Thor is dead.”

Elayne frowned. “Well, that doesn’t mean that his words and intentions count for nothing. He did speak of pardon-”

Just as Natael’s opinion of the Andoran Queen was beginning to improve, someone interrupted her. “What were you trying to imply, Mother?" Mother. While it was a silly title to begin with, it sounded even worse when applied to Cadsuane Melaidhrin. "Is Taim...indebted to Asmodean, somehow? Is he a Dreadlord, or not? It's still unclear to me-”

Another noble spoke up before Cadsuane or anyone else could answer. “I’m afraid it’s much more sordid than that, Your Grace. There have been rumours… Vile rumours indeed. I dare not repeat them, for there are ladies present.”

Elayne rolled her eyes. “Blood and flaming ashes, just say your piece, Roedran. We’re not as delicate as you seem to believe. I promise I won’t faint.”

She cursed a lot, for a queen. The man she’d called Roedran appeared stunned that these expletives could be uttered by a young lady with such a pretty face. She wasn’t just a pretty face, however, Natael realised now.

“I’ve heard these rumours as well, Your Majesty,” another noble said. He looked embarrassed and stammered the following statement: “It is said…er, rumoured, that these two men…Mazrim Taim and…er, Asmodean… Well, I’ve heard that…they are…er, involved, Your Highness.”

There was a short moment of silence. Natael tried to gauge Taim’s reaction. His cheeks were crimson, but he looked more angry than ashamed.

Then, unexpectedly, Elayne Trakand made a noise that sounded suspiciously like laughter. “I’m sorry…” She made an attempt at controlling her mirth. To her credit, it took all of three seconds for her to succeed. “You thought that was going to shock me? I’ve known this for months, Mattin. I knew the moment I met them.” She did? That was before Taim himself knew! “It’s quite obvious. But I fail to see what this has to do with the trial…”

“Since they’re on trial, we might as well judge them for all their crimes. Taim ought to be one of the accused, too, I’ve been saying so from the start.”

“Crime? What crime?” Elayne looked confused, and Natael didn’t think that she was playacting.

The nobleman was just as confused, apparently. “Are you saying… Is such a thing legal in Andor, Your Highness?”

“Why in the flaming Pit of Doom would it be illegal?”

“It is illegal in several nations,” Meidani Sedai stated. “Murandy and Illian, as well as Tear and Amadicia.”

“No surprises there,” muttered the middle-aged woman with golden hair who sat beside Elayne. She had to be the Queen’s mother, though Natael had heard that she was dead.

“And Altara,” one of the younger lords present added. “Though not for much longer. It’s a hypocritical, outdated law, and I plan to revise it.”

“I strongly disagree,” Roedran protested. “Even if we decide to commute Asmodean’s death sentence, Taim and he ought to be flogged and branded for this grievous offence, at the very least!”

“When you said that the people of this Age were ‘judgemental about that sort of things’,” Bao admitted to Natael in a whisper, “I thought you were grossly exaggerating to present yourself as a martyr, as you usually do.”

“Wish it were the case.” Light, was he going to be flogged and branded and then hanged? He was a martyr!

“You forget one important thing,” Elayne said in a cutting tone. “The Black Tower lies on Andoran soil, Roedran. Your laws do not apply there.”

“Are they to be punished according to Andoran law, then? Because you advocated that we pardon them, which, I believe, is against every law known to man, considering the extent of their many crimes.”

So Elayne truly was on their side? Perhaps there was hope yet. With a bit of luck, Natael would be executed, nothing more…

“The Lord Dragon did say that we would negotiate terms and conditions for their pardons after the Last Battle,” Dobraine Taborwin reminded everyone. “And he never mentioned a punishment for this specific…crime, though he knew about it.”

“He knew?!” Roedran sputtered. “And he allowed it to continue? If anything, that’s a sign that he was not sane of mind, my lords and ladies. We ought to disregard whatever was said during the signing of-”

“Would you have me flogged and branded as well, Lord Roedran?” Dobraine asked quietly.

Roedran’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. He wasn’t the only one who was shocked. A low murmur rose from the jury, though the Asha’man remained silent. It was not surprising: they already knew about Taim and Natael. They were used to it. Torn was translating for his people, but there was no outcry from the Sharans, either. Bao had not lied: they didn’t care about these things. If Taim and Natael could be exiled there…

Roedran was still struggling to form a response when Moiraine Sedai spoke up. “Would you have me and half of my sisters flogged, my lord? You are aware of the existence of ‘pillow friends’ within the White Tower, I presume? I trust that you understand that the term is a…polite euphemism.”

“None of this is relevant to the matter at hand,” Perrin Aybara cut the debate short. “But since Taim is here… He does have real crimes to answer for. As a False Dragon, he destroyed parts of Saldaea, and many innocents were killed or severely injured in the uprising.”

“Taim is not on trial,” Natael said. “And there was an Amnesty.”

“That was not the purpose of Rand’s Amnesty!” Aybara protested. “Taim wasn’t absolved of his past crimes, he was merely allowed to live because Rand needed him…at the time.”

“Enough with the hypocrisy!” one of the nobles said. “Let’s hang all three of them and be done with this masquerade. We all knew where this was going; let’s not delay the issue any longer. We all have better things to do.”

“Haven’t they been punished enough, Perrin?” Egwene Trakand asked her old friend. She was at the back of the jury, and Natael hadn’t noticed her until she stood. “They have all redeemed themselves as best they could, Taim included, and they’ve paid a heavy price for their redemption. Master Torn is right: they deserve a second chance. As for Master Natael and Bao…I believe that we have much to learn from them. I know several Brown sisters who cannot wait to pick their brains…”

“I would like that, too,” the only Ogier present said. His rumbling voice echoed loudly in the hall, but Natael had a feeling that he was speaking in as low a tone as he could manage. “My book-”

“If they’d destroyed the White Tower and murdered your sisters, would you still be willing to give them a pass?” a weary-looking young woman demanded. From her features, Natael guessed that she was Saldaean.

Egwene smiled sadly. “The Seanchan did that, yet here they are.” She pointed to the shaved man who sat in one of the front seats, but he didn’t react. “They will get away with what they did, to me and to others. We will have to learn to live together, to share the world. Rand sacrificed his life so that we could live, and he wanted the world to be at peace. The White Tower signed the Dragon’s Peace, Faile. Most everyone here has signed it. Together, we can rebuild, and we can do better. The real enemy was and always will be the Shadow. We cannot fight amongst-”

“Well, I didn’t sign anything. And what’s your signature worth, anyway? You’re the Amyrlin Seat no longer.”

“Actually, I signed the treaty,” Cadsuane Sedai said. “If we can persuade Master Taim and Master Natael to sign, as well, then they will have to-”

“Well, it really should be Logain and Damer,” Taim interrupted her.

“Oh, I think not. You will remain at the Black Tower, Master Taim. You and Master Natael. I want you where I can keep an eye on you.” Some of the nobles looked ready to complain, but she raised a hand and subdued them with that one, simple gesture. She was going to be a fearsome Amyrlin, that one. If he was truly allowed to live, Natael wasn’t looking forward to dealing with her.

“And what about Demandred?” Yet another noble decided to say his piece. “Do you also intend to let him rule over Shara? With all due respect, Cadsuane Sedai, this is insane. Dragon’s Peace or not, he will betray us, sooner or later.”

“Bao will remain these people’s Wyld, whatever that means, but he cannot be their king, I agree. We will form a diplomatic committee and negotiate with this Galbrait woman, that she may also sign al’Thor’s treaty. For this to work, the Sharans must learn to be part of the world.” She fixed her gaze on Torn. “Slavery will remain abolished in Shara, if I have a say in this. And I will have a say in this.” She turned to the man who appeared to be the leader of Seanchan, or its representative, at least. “Once you have resolved your nation’s many issues, Lord Galgan, I also expect you to do something about these damane. If you do not, you will have to answer to the rest of the world.”

“I’m not the one on trial, Cadsuane Sedai,” Galgan retorted. “Seanchan’s affairs are none of yours. And by the way, I disagree with everything you just said. Your opinion is not this jury’s final decision. We cannot allow these men to go free. They will wreak havoc and-”

“Your people have done exactly that, and worse, Lord Galgan,” Egwene said. “You invaded us and enslaved our people, and I doubt that Semirhage’s influence had anything to do with it. Yet we are prepared to give you a second chance, as well.”

“The Forsaken do not deserve second chances! They are evil. Their souls are forfeit, rotten to the core. How dare you compare them to us? We will resolve our issues civilly. Can you really expect Demandred to do the same?”

“I have no issues to resolve with these people,” Bao said. “My goal was always to unify Shara and open it up for trade, to unite the nations, to make the world a better place, ultimately.”

“Lies! Your goal was to murder the Dragon Reborn so that the whole world could be swallowed up by the Blight! You wanted to rule us all!” Roedran spat.

Moiraine Sedai stood up, but even then she was barely taller than any of the seated nobles. Still, everyone fell silent and turned their eyes on her. “As I’ve said before, Bao had the means and opportunity to do what he wanted, but he chose to sacrifice his ability to channel for the greater good. He chose to set aside his centuries-old hatred of Lews Therin Telamon and come to Rand al’Thor’s aid when he needed it most. In the end, he did the right thing: he chose to deny the Shadow and save the world.”

Roedran stood, too, but, despite being two heads taller than Moiraine, she was still the centre of attention. “Your opinion isn’t more important than anyone else’s. Just because you were at Shayol Ghul-”

“And where were you during the battle, Lord Roedran?” Lan Mandragoran asked softly. His tone wasn’t accusatory, nor even judgemental, but that put Roedran in his place regardless. He sat down again, his jaws clenched.

“What you say is partly true, Roedran,” Bao admitted, which was probably a bad idea. Honesty was not always the best policy. “I believed that your decadent civilisation could benefit from me being in charge, because I knew that Lews Therin – al’Thor – was not up to the task. I was hoping to avoid repeating the mistakes of the past. Our Age, which you seem to think of so fondly, out of sheer ignorance, was on the brink of collapse even before we bore a hole in the Dark One’s prison.” There was a short pause. “I still believe that.”

That generated another outcry; Natael couldn’t make out the individual protests. Burn Bao! They were so close… Cadsuane was willing to give them a chance, Moiraine, Elayne, Egwene and Lan were on their side, and he was ruining it.

He spoke loudly so he could be overheard over the cacophony of outraged voices. “Bao has a lot to offer, my lords and ladies.” They quieted down so that they could determine how angry they were going to be with what he had to say. “While it is obvious that he cannot be in charge of anything or anyone, not until he has gained your trust, he would make a fine adviser. To the Sharans, to all of you. He does have some good ideas… He should be part of the diplomatic committee.”

Well, they were quite angry. Cadsuane let them ramble on for a minute while she considered Natael’s words. Then she raised a hand again, and silence fell. “It’s settled, then. Natael and Taim will remain at the Black Tower…as advisers to Asha’man Flinn and Ablar. A group of Aes Sedai will stay there to keep an eye on things, at least for a year. During that time, we will also devise the terms of an alliance between the two Towers.” She turned to Bao. “You will help us negotiate with Galbrait, but you will also stay at the Black Tower. I want all three of you in the same place for the time being.” She leaned forward. “One misstep, however, and you will be hanged. No trial. No discussion. You get a second chance, but there will not be a third.”

“Cadsuane Sedai,” Roedran said, “with all due respect, while your opinion and sage advice are greatly appreciated, the decision is not yours to make – not unilaterally. Why bother gather us all here if you were not going to listen to-”

The Amyrlin didn’t even deign to look at him. “Democracy is a fine concept, Lord Roedran, but unless you are willing to spend the next ten years debating what we should do with them, until a unanimous decision can be made, it will be as I said.”

“Is that how it’s going to be, then? Are you now a tyrant, and self-declared ruler of all nations? Because I don’t remember voting-”

Cadsuane rolled her eyes. “The White Tower has always been and always will be pulling the strings, whether you like it or not, Lord Roedran.” Yes, subtlety was not her strong suit. “But have it your way. You want a vote? Very well. The majority wins. Who is in favour?”

There was some hesitation amongst the jury, though a few said “aye” without a pause, and others raised their hands immediately. Natael watched them anxiously, but after a painfully long minute, it was official: the majority was in favour of Cadsuane’s plan. Possibly out of fear of the woman, but the result was the same. Natael made certain to note everyone who was willing to give them a chance, all potential allies in the future, which they would certainly need: Moiraine Sedai, Egwene Trakand, Lan Mandragoran, Elayne Trakand, all of the Aiel representatives (Natael assumed that they had gained enough ji with their redemptive acts to please them), the Ogier, an old man who was dressed in clashing colours, most of the Borderlanders, a lad who was probably the most beautiful human being to have ever lived, the young ruler of Altara, Dobraine Taborwin and a few he didn’t know, but whose names and positions he would quickly learn.

Not so bad. He wouldn’t lose faith in humanity just yet.

“I can’t help but notice that no one seems interested in our opinion,” Logain said.

Cadsuane arched an eyebrow. “Did you wish to see Master Natael hang, Sealbreaker?”

Sealbreaker? “Oh, no, I’m glad Nate won’t die just yet. I do enjoy having him around to provide constant, copious whining and, occasionally, musical ambiance.” Hmph. “The thing is, Taim never said anything about Damer and me being in charge of the Black Tower, and I’m quite sure I don’t want that.”

“I’m afraid we all must do things we’re quite sure we don’t want. In case it wasn’t obvious, I didn’t ask to be Amyrlin.” Maybe she didn’t want the position, but she was born to play the part. “Give it a year. You may resign then, if you still wish to.”

Logain’s tired face showed little expression, but he crossed his arms over in chest in silent protest. Taim whispered in his ear. Natael couldn’t make out what he was saying, but Logain relaxed slightly. “Fine! A year. Starting now. Mark the date.” He turned around and called to the assembled Asha’man. “Let’s go! I want to feel the Source again.” What a callous thing to say in Natael’s presence!

Flinn shrugged and followed the men outside. Natael hoped that the two of them would make as fine a team as Taim and himself. Speaking of Taim, he still wouldn’t meet Natael’s eyes. He seemed to be waiting for Cadsuane to formally dismiss him.

“You may leave with the Asha’man, Master Taim. You as well, Master Natael. We will meet again, very soon. Please tell Asha’man Ablar that I will hold him personally responsible, should anything happen to you, or if you should…disappear. Master Bao, you are not allowed to return to Shara at the moment, not until we have spoken with Galbrait and come to an agreement. You will stay at the Black Tower until you are summoned. You will all be…escorted, wherever you go, until further notice.” She glanced at a Warder, who nodded.

Bao disapproved of the word “summoned”, just as Natael had thought, but he didn’t comment on it. He bowed his head a fraction in acknowledgement, then walked over to Shendla to discuss privately before they had to leave.

Cadsuane stood. “Well, that’s that. I’m sure we all have more important matters to attend to… I know I do.” She didn’t wait for a response from the jury as she made her way to the back door. She was trailed by several Aes Sedai who had not actively participated in the trial and their combined Warders. As soon as she was gone, the seated lords and ladies began to whisper amongst themselves.

They had to leave quickly and catch up with Logain, Natael realised, otherwise they would be stranded in Far Madding forever. He turned to talk to Taim…and found him gone. He approached the closest Warder, Leonin. “Um, where’s Taim? He was there a moment ago!”

“Devon escorted him outside. Don’t worry, Meidani Sedai will open a gateway for you, when you’re ready to leave.”

“Well, I am!” He had to talk to Taim. Even though he had been given a respite and wouldn’t be hanged today, it felt urgent. And even though he had no idea what he was going to say to him. “Let’s go now.”

Leonin shook his head. “We have to wait for Bao. Meidani Sedai is not going to Travel back and forth for you.”

Bao was deep in conversation with Shendla and Torn, of course. Natael couldn’t blame him; there was much to be said. “What if I run to catch up to Devon and Taim?”

“Then I’ll tackle you and sit on you until we’re all ready to leave.”

Mm…nah. He had been humiliated enough for one day. “Can you at least remove the manacles while we wait? Please? It’s quite painful. And unnecessary.”

The Gaidin shrugged. “Eh, I don’t see why not. You’re unlikely to outrun me even without ‘em.”

When it was done, Natael sat down on the floor and waited. There was nothing else for him to do, and perhaps he could come up with something of substance to say to Taim when they were reunited at last.

Chapter Text

It stands between us

The shadow of what was lost

I can’t lose you, too

The Black Tower had not changed. That was a shock, though Natael wasn’t sure why. After all, the battle had taken place far away from here, and he had been gone less than a fortnight. Soldiers and Dedicated were milling about, doing their assigned tasks and chores, practicing their sword forms and weaves, saluting him politely as if nothing had happened. Natael had no clue how many men they’d lost during Tarmon Gai’don, but the Black Tower was as busy as ever.

Perhaps he expected the place to have changed because he had changed. Everything seemed different now. He would never experience the world the same way as before, when he could channel, when he was more than a mere mortal. In another life.

“I don’t know why I expected chaos and desolation,” Bao murmured, “but this routine bustle is even more disquieting, somehow.”

There he was again, echoing Natael’s thoughts. It was disturbing. They were nothing alike; they shouldn’t think alike. They had, however, suffered the same trauma – first the searing out, then a trial that had very nearly had a tragic ending.

How strange, to have suddenly so much in common with the man who was once Demandred, at first a bitter rival, then a vicious foe, and more recently a reluctant ally.

“Life goes on,” Leonin said gruffly. “What would you have them do?”

“Well, I would have given them the day off, at least,” Natael muttered. “I could certainly use some time off myself.” To think. Try to clear his mind. There was a lot to process… A lot to consider, too. What was he going to do now?

“You heard Cadsuane, man. You’ve got to help Logain and Flinn keep the place up and running. If you don’t, and she has to come down here to discipline your recruits for you…” He shook his head. “You’ll be sorry, believe me.”

“But how can I expect the Asha’man to defer to me, to obey me, when they can channel and I’m-” He hesitated. “And I can’t.”

“I know it’s easier said than done, but you need to understand that this…lack does not define you. Also, you’re an adviser, now, not their leader. You don’t really get to order them about. But think about it: the Amyrlin Seat is not always the most powerful channeler alive, far from it, yet the Aes Sedai – and everyone else – listen to her. Kings and queens obey her. Strength in the Power does not necessarily equate…well, power.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re just a Warder. How could you understand? If you lost your sword hand, you’d-”

“…learn to fight with my other hand. And if I lost both, I’d kick anyone trying to harm Meidani, and they’d be sorry. If I lost all my limbs, I’d head-butt them, crack their skull and spit on their grave afterwards. But that’s beside the point. Nobody is just one thing. You can’t define yourself with just one word.”

Bao snorted. “Hear that, Musician?”

“Indeed, Demandred, I hear him,” Natael countered with a smirk. He Who Twists the Blade: it was not just one word, not in the Common Tongue, but it was even sillier than Natael’s former name. “But wouldn’t you define yourself as a Warder, Leonin?”

“I’m a man. I’m Arafellin. I’m someone’s brother and someone’s uncle and I’m Meidani’s friend, her protector and her confidante. It’s the people in your life that help define who you are, Natael. It’s your personality, your quirks and flaws, your passions, your choices. Not your abilities. I’d be the same person I am now if I lost my ability to fight. I’d still be fiercely loyal to Meidani and I’d be fond of painting and collecting small figurines of the strange animals that live beyond the Waste and the Aryth Ocean. I’d be homesick when the cooks at the White Tower have decided to bake apple pies as a treat for someone’s nameday and I’d eat too much because, even though they’re not as good as those my Ma used to bake, they remind me of her. I’d be a sore loser and I’d pick my nose when I think nobody’s looking. I’d still have a life. Yours is not over because you can’t channel anymore. That’s ridiculous. The wound is still fresh, so to speak, but, in time, you’ll come to that realisation yourself. Cadsuane gave you a chance, she took a stand for you. I strongly suggest that you don’t squander this opportunity.” He glanced at Meidani, who was reading a long parchment some distance away, frowning in concentration. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, we’ll be on our way. Babysitting you two has been exhausting, and we have other matters to attend to.”

“I thought we were supposed to be monitored at all times?” Bao rolled his eyes, likely cursing Natael mentally for reminding the Warder.

Leonin shrugged. “It was indeed mentioned, but nobody asked me to do it. Farewell.” He stalked away without another word and gently drew Meidani’s attention by placing a hand on her shoulder. She nodded absent-mindedly when he whispered to her, then carefully rolled the parchment and put it in her pouch. She checked the area to make sure she could open a gateway safely. Neither of them spared Bao and Natael a look as they left.

“Why would you say that, you idiot?” Bao grumbled. “Now they’re going to send someone else to watch over us. Perhaps you do, but I don’t need a babysitter.”

“Believe it or not, I have other things on my mind at the moment.” It was really just one: Taim. Their relationship. Their future. Would Taim forgive Natael his rudeness this morning? Would he even agree to talk to him? Had he saved Natael's life because he felt obligated to do so, or because he cared?

Natael needed some time alone to ponder his options and, more importantly, he needed some wine. He needed, as Elan used to jest, to drink about it.

Raised voices caught his attention as well as Bao’s. Three men had just stormed out of the main building: Logain, Damer Flinn, and the man Natael both longed and was afraid to see. Logain still looked drained of energy, but managed to shout loud enough for Natael to hear him.

“Burn you, Taim! Why would you do this without talking to us first? Without a cursory warning? I don’t want this! I never wanted this! Why would you think this was a good idea?”

Taim didn’t respond. His face was pale, and his posture was not as straight as usual. He looked…defeated, worn out, when barely an hour ago he was giving a compelling speech in front of two dozen nobles, a capable leader of men if ever there was one. What had happened since then? Was Logain harassing him? That was hardly fair! The day had been trying for everyone. Natael walked closer to the trio, though he wasn’t sure what he could contribute to the conversation. He still had no idea what he was going to say to Taim…

“Actually, he and I did talk about it…” Flinn said. “And we agreed that M’Hael and Ghraem would remain in command.”

“That was before they put Nate on trial, Damer. If they’d decided to have him executed, what would I have done then? I couldn’t do this alone. Besides, your heard Cadsuane. We’re supposed to advise you, nothing more. We can’t be in charge. Nobody in their right mind would allow that. I certainly wouldn’t. I’m not even sure Nate will let me stay…”

“He doesn’t have a choice, does he?” Logain argued. “That was part of the deal. You both have to stay here. I have to stay here. Even bloody Demandred has to stay here! Talk about a fun cohabitation.” He exhaled a long sigh, which seemed to leave him winded. The man had to get some sleep; he looked ready to keel over. “None of us have a choice in the matter.”

“Even if we had a choice,” Natael heard himself say, “I wouldn’t want you to leave, Taim. Not without me.”

Taim spun, his eyes widening in surprise, but Natael embraced him before he could react. “I’m not going to die,” Natael said hoarsely. “I’m alive. You’re alive. We’re both gloriously alive.” The sheer relief, which he hadn’t allowed himself to feel until then, nearly drowned him. He choked up, sobbing on Taim’s shoulder. He was trembling like a leaf. If not for Taim, he would be swinging from a noose right now. He would be dead. He thought he’d accepted that it was a possibility, back when he was waiting for the jury’s verdict, and when they first announced the dreaded sentence, but he was wrong. He’d understood the concept, the idea, but not the fact that he would cease to exist, then and there. Without having said goodbye to Taim, without having told him one last time that he loved him.

“I would never have let them kill you,” Taim murmured.

“That’s flaming adorable,” Logain sneered, “but-”

“Shh!” Flinn scolded him. “Give them a moment, burn you. They need it. Come on, let’s talk in the study. Master, ah, Bao, if you’ll follow us? We will find you some proper accommodations.”

Natael’s swirl of emotions progressively subsided, and he stood there, holding on to Taim tightly, until it started to rain. “We should get inside,” Taim murmured.

Natael was about to say that he didn’t care if he got wet, as long as they were together but, while the sentiment was romantic, it was also stupid. He did mind being wet. Besides, he couldn’t wait to get out of his borrowed garments. He longed for a warm bath. Preferably one with Taim in it.

They stepped into the main hall, which was deserted. “What about the servants?” Natael wondered aloud. “Do they still work for us? I need a bath.”

Taim was watching him, a slight frown marring his brow. “Glad to see that your brush with death hasn’t changed you a bit. Well, that and…everything else.”

Natael scoffed. “If you’d been wearing the same clothes for over a week, you’d want a bath, too, I assure you. Nothing vain about that, it's plain necessity. Besides, sharing a bath with you would make me feel much better – and you, too, I bet. You look exhausted, darling.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He was avoiding his gaze. “I just… Mere hours ago, we were barely on speaking terms, and now you want us to... You said… I thought… Nate, I thought you hated me. I actually considered leaving before you got here, so you wouldn’t have to see me again, but Logain wanted a word… Well, he wanted to tell me that he hates me… It seems everyone hates me now. Even Damer. What I’m trying to say is… I assumed you’d want me to leave. Even if I’m not supposed to. I will, if that’s what you want. I don’t care if they arrest me. Or if they…” He trailed off, then finally met Natael’s eyes. “Don’t you hate me?”

I thought I did. I wanted to, because leaving you would have been easier if I hated you.

But he didn’t want to leave anymore. He didn’t want Taim to leave. He didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to be without Taim, ever. “I could never hate you.” He moved closer to Taim. “You’ve made that impossible.” He leaned in for a kiss, but something was wrong. He had a creeping feeling that someone – something? – was watching them.

He took a look around, first toward the kitchen. No one. No discreet servant, waiting to fulfil Natael’s every whim. Toward the staircase. No lurking Myrddraal. Toward the-

Natael started as his gaze completed a full circle. There was someone there, standing so motionless that they could have been a statue.

Gorman.

“Blood and ashes, he’s still alive?” Natael breathed.

“I…” Taim hesitated. “I didn’t have the heart to… That is, I was…more or less hoping that he’d die in the battle, like the others, but…” He took a deep breath. “That was a selfish wish, wasn’t it? I wanted him to be killed by the enemy so that I wouldn’t have to deal with him myself. I’ll…I’ll give him some asping rot tonight. He deserves a peaceful death.”

Natael took Taim’s hands in his. “First of all, I thought we agreed: you don’t poison the recruits yourself. It turns you into a blubbering mess. A dangerous blubbering mess. And secondly… Don’t we owe it to Gorman to at least try to find a remedy for his condition?”

“You said there wasn’t one,” Taim reminded him.

“Well, Logain did have a good point: many things had no remedies, back in my day, that have one now. Severing, for one, thanks to Nynaeve al’Meara. The former Amyrlin invented a counter-weave to prevent the effects of balefire. Flinn can Heal the madness in male channelers. If these three put their minds together… Surely they can figure something out.”

“Are we still talking about Gorman and Turning?” Taim asked quietly.

Natael scowled at him. “Of course. What else?” Incredibly, it did take him a moment. “Oh! You mean…me. Us. The searing out.” Just like the aforementioned conditions, he had been taught that it couldn’t be Healed. Could the miracle workers of this Age fix him? When Natael was in his comatose state, he had heard Flinn himself insist that it was impossible. That the ability to channel couldn’t be generated from nothing.

He shook his head firmly. “No. Flinn said it couldn’t be done and, as in all things pertaining to Healing, I believe him. I won’t give in to false hope. It would drive me insane as surely as the madness would have.”

“Nate-”

“But the Turning, though,” Natael spoke over him, “now that could be reversed. Hypothetically. The key, I suspect, would be to find an equivalent to the Myrddraal – whose exact role in the Turning remains a mystery to me.”

“They act as a magnifier, I guess,” Taim said. “Perhaps as a filter, of sorts. I don’t think there’s an equivalent to a Myrddraal, though.”

“Maybe the Ogier…” Natael mused. “Oh, they would resent the comparison, but Treesinging is a powerful Talent, and pure. It belongs to the Light and the Shadow could never taint it. Perhaps it could be…adapted for purposes other than gardening. Or perhaps these Sharan shaman could help, somehow?” He shrugged. “I’m just thinking out loud. I’m sure Flinn and al’Meara will come up with better ideas, and Egwene Trakand can help, too, even if she can no longer channel. They’re all quite resourceful.”

“Nate, we need to talk about this.”

“What, Treesinging?”

Taim sighed. “You are a true master of deflection. Nate, we need to talk this out. You can’t just…change your mind about being mad at me, just because you’re afraid of what would happen if we…parted ways. I know you don’t want to be alone, and neither do I, but-”

Natael wanted to ignore everything Taim had just said, as he had done before. Talking about being seared out wouldn’t magically fix the problem, would it? If he ignored it long enough, though, if he pretended that it had never happened and that everything was as it had always been…then he might forget about it entirely, one day. In his humble opinion, it was always easier to ignore a problem than to confront it. “Isn’t that enough? That we stay together because we don’t want to be alone? And also because I love you and you… Well, you still love me, don’t you?”

Taim didn’t reply right away, which sent Natael into a panic. Oh, Light, he doesn’t even love me anymore. I’ve ruined everything. I was angry for five minutes and it ruined everything.

“I do love you. I always will,” Taim murmured. “But to answer your first question, no, I’m not sure that it’s enough. Not after what I did to you.”

“You didn’t do this to me. You did it to us. We’re both seared out. We’re in this together, as we have been together in everything for the past months. And you did it for all the right reasons… It’s still terrible, horrible. It doesn’t entirely make up for the damage that’s been done. And I hate it – it, the fact that I can’t channel anymore. Not you. I blamed you at first, because…well, because you caused it. Inadvertently. Whilst trying to save me, and the rest of the bloody world. And Light, I really hate the world for it – that it needed saving in the first place. I never wanted to be a hero, let alone a self-sacrificing one. I thought it was mighty generous of me that I stopped actively trying to kill you all, but I wasn’t willing to do much more than that.” As he had hoped, Taim rewarded him with a half-smile. Natael gently gripped the lapels of Taim’s coat. “It pains me that I can’t channel anymore, but I don’t regret what happened. Because if you hadn’t channelled too much and seared us out, we’d be dead. Now at least we get to live on, even in our diminished condition…and we could spend the rest of our lives together, if you want. I know I do. I don’t need months or years of therapy to tell me that, but I’m open to discussion, if that’s what you need.”

“Therapy?” Taim repeated questioningly.

Natael waved the word away. “That was Graendal’s thing. We’re better off without it, believe me. You’re all the therapy I need." A good bath, a little alone time with Taim, a glass of wine, and he'd be good as new. He had to believe that. Because what else was there? "The question is, darling, how do you feel about us? We may be a bit broken, you and I, but I think that what we have is salvageable and, more importantly, that it’s worth saving. It’s worth fighting for. I also believe that we’re stronger together. And I also know I won’t make it on my own. You know how useless I can be when I’m left to my own devices… I need you, Taim. Please consider it, at least. Don’t throw it all away because I said some rash things. I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you, and I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.” He smiled tentatively. “Flinn was right. I am a changed man. A new and improved version, wiser and somewhat less selfish. Wouldn't you say?”

Once again, Taim didn’t reply right away. Oh, no, he truly hates me. I've ruined the only good thing that ever happened to me. Flinn was wrong! I'm worse than ever.

Just when Taim was about to reply at last, Natael heard rapid footsteps coming down the stairs. He reluctantly let go of Taim to glare at the intruders: Flinn, Logain, Bao. “We’re not quite done,” he barked at them.

“Who cares?” Logain responded in kind. “There are more pressing-”

“Ishamael has escaped,” Bao informed them.

Natael gaped at him. “But… You said… I thought he was quite ill?”

“I also said he was getting better,” Bao countered.

“Apparently, he was well enough to get up, slip past the guards and flee,” Logain said. “Anyway. Point is, we need to be on the lookout for him. He must be especially mad at you two,” he went on, gesturing toward Bao and Natael. “You know, for betraying him and the Shadow and everything you were supposed to stand for.”

Natael swallowed some bile. Why couldn’t al’Thor have survived, instead of Elan? It was so unfair. He would never be able to live in peace, knowing that Ishamael was out there, waiting for an opportunity to murder them.

“As I’ve stated before,” Bao said, “you’re overreacting, Logain. Ishamael was also burned out during the battle. He’s still a threat, of course, but he’s not the fearsome Chosen he once was.”

“I think you’re underreacting,” Natael muttered. “Elan is nearly as terrifying as you are, even if he can’t channel.”

“I doubt that he’s hell-bent on revenge,” Bao insisted. “Especially against you. It would be unlike him. Elan will wait until the cycle begins again, while the Shadow regroups, but he won’t do anything rash in the meantime. He has no reason to. The battle was lost, and the seals on the Dark One’s prison will hold for a long time. Elan and all of us will be reborn many times before He can attempt to destroy us all again.”

Natael scoffed. “You think you know Elan so well, mm?”

“Well, I never bedded him, so I don’t know him as…intimately as you do, certainly, but we were colleagues for several decades. Perhaps even friends, before he betrayed mankind. You were lovers, but were you ever a friend to him? Because he hardly ever mentioned you, you know. Yes, I think I do know him better than you do.”

Logain and Flinn shifted awkwardly, and Natael was very conscious of the fact that he couldn’t open a gateway to Travel to the other end of the world to escape this conversation.

Taim cleared his throat. “I think that Bao makes some good points…” Natael gave him a hurt look. Did he hate him so much that he was willing to side with Bao, of all people? “…but we should be on our guard, just the same.”

“People will be guarding us whether we want it or not,” Bao said. “So there’s really no point in worrying about Elan. We should discuss matters pertaining to the Black Tower instead, and notably your alliance with Tar Valon. Where is this Androl Genhald now? And why wasn’t he approached to rule this place?”

“Yeah, I’d love to know that, as well,” Logain said with a pointed look in Taim’s direction. Why me? he seemed to be asking again. Hessalam had really broken him. Hopefully not beyond repair, but it would take time for him to fully heal. The multiple attempts to Turn him had taken a heavy toll.

Bao’s question was actually a good one. Logain was a born leader, but he didn’t want to lead. If Genhald was willing to take his place… Flinn and he would make a good team. They were both level-headed, the men respected them and, as a bonus, they both had an Aes Sedai for a partner.

“Where’s Gabrelle, by the way?” Natael asked.

“Not here, as you can see,” Logain mumbled.

Mm. Trouble in paradise? Well, their relationship was far from heavenly… They had met under strange circumstances, for one thing. Logain had had control over her for a long time, too. Now that Gabrelle was free of the Compulsion that came with their bond, and that she didn’t feel the need to please him out of fear or just to gain his trust… Perhaps love had never been a part of this – it was a relationship of convenience all along.

“I’ll track down Androl,” Flinn said. “He must be at the White Tower, with Corele. I’ll be back shortly.” He sighed. “Try not to fight while I’m gone.”

“Give us some credit,” Natael said. “We’re all grown men-” He suddenly jumped backwards. “Moghedien!”

Of course, everyone spun, on high alert. Logain and Flinn must have seized saidin, and Bao was in combat mode, even though his sword had been confiscated.

Taim, on the other hand, was smiling. “Ahem. Not the Forsaken,” he clarified. “There’s a spider.” He pointed to Bao’s sleeve, where the creepy-crawly was nimbly making its way toward the collar of his shirt. Natael shuddered at the sight; ugh, all those legs! It was deeply disturbing. These past few months, after he’d realised how they affected Natael, Taim had become quite good at disposing of the offending critters, sometimes before Natael could even notice them.

Bao rolled his eyes and casually brushed off the mo… Er, the spider. Almost certainly by design, it landed at Natael’s feet.

He promptly climbed on the window sill while Taim picked up the thing. With his bare hands. Just like that! He almost seemed to be cradling it. Natael felt queasy. Taim didn’t even crush it; instead he went outside, deposited the live spider on the ground, and returned as if nothing had happened.

Now that the object of his revulsion was gone, Natael became aware of the fact that he was still precariously perched on the window sill, and that three pair of eyes were watching him as if he’d gone mad. His cheeks heated up. “I, um… It was… I’m pretty sure it was…venomous. Deadly.”

“It was just a common house spider, you-” Logain shook his head. “I was going to make fun of you, because it seems like the obvious thing to do, given the circumstances, but if it had been a rat, I’d be the one on the window sill, so… Let’s just forget about it. Everyone has their quirks.”

It was more of a phobia and less of a quirk, but Natael was grateful for the lack of mockery.

Unfortunately, Bao didn’t see it that way. “I hope that the Ogier who is chronicling everything will not ask me why you were deemed fit to become one of the Chosen, because I have no answer for him. Not a clue, really.”

Taim clicked his tongue. “I thought it was evident: Ishamael hoped that, by promoting him, Nate would be relatively safe. He could keep an eye on him and protect him. Just as he’s been doing since Nate awakened, notably by forbidding everyone to kill him, even after al’Thor severed his link to the Dark One.”

Right. The promotion wasn’t due to Natael’s immense musical talent, nor to the fact that he was one of the most powerful channelers alive, even back in the day, nor even to his irresistible charisma.

No, it was because Elan was secretly in love with him. Or cared about him, at least.

“I think that Bao was making a rhetorical and cruel point rather than actually asking,” Natael muttered to Taim.

“Yeah, I just realised that. Sorry,” he whispered back.

“Regardless,” Natael said in a louder voice, “I’ll have you know that the Great Lord valued my music and my managerial abilities. He told me so Himself.”

“How lucid and conscious were you when you heard Him say that?” Bao enquired. “You were only there once, when you ascended. Most people pass out the first time they hear His voice. You were probably delirious, and hallucinating.”

“Well, He did make me one of the Chosen, didn’t He? He must have sensed my potential.”

“Why are you two ninnies even arguing about it?” Logain interrupted them. “None of this matters anymore. The Dark One is gone.”

“Technically-” Bao began to say.

“Oh, do shut up. You know what I mean. He won’t bother humanity again for a long, long time, and by then He won’t be our problem. And Nate, when it comes to learning what sort of person you are, you should rely on your friends’ opinions, not the Dark One’s. Personally, I think you do have great potential…to be somewhat less of a pain in the arse, now that Tarmon Gai’don is behind us.”

Natael eyed him flatly. “You’re too kind.”

“I know. But don’t let it go to your head. It can barely contain your bloated ego as it is.”

“Alright, enough niceties, you two,” Taim scolded them – well, mostly Logain. “What do we do now?”

“Like I said,” Flinn spoke into the brief moment of silence, “I will look for Androl. I trust you’ll keep an eye on these three while I’m gone, M’Hael.” He didn’t wait for a reply and exited the building. Natael hoped that he would step on the moghedien on his way out, otherwise it would just crawl back inside and end up in Natael’s bed or bath or-

Ugh, why hadn’t Taim just killed the bloody thing? Did he do that to all the spiders he encountered? Did he move them outside so that they could sneak up on Natael later?

“Nate?”

“Huh? Yes, I’m all ears, dear.” He’d actually missed the last thirty seconds or so of conversation – and the fact that he was now alone with Taim, apparently.

Well, it may have been longer than thirty seconds. Perhaps he should ask Flinn to check his brain for signs of madness. After all, he'd had to channel tainted saidin for several months. What if-

"Nate!"

"Sorry!" Blast, his mind was really wandering. At the worst possible time, too. Focus! This may be the most important conversation you'll ever have. "Sorry. What were you saying?"

“I was saying…” Taim hesitated. “What about our…sleeping arrangement?”

“What about it? Logain and Flinn are not going to take over our room, are they?” Not after all the time he’d spent decorating it!

“No, I was just wondering if we should continue to…share it. The two of us.”

Natael felt faint. Hadn’t they settled this matter? Oh, right. They’d been interrupted. “Are you saying that you don’t want us to share it? Taim, are you breaking up with me? I thought-”

“I don’t want to.” He gripped Natael’s arm. “But I think it might be for the best. You obviously have other things on your mind and...well, seeing me all the time will only remind you of what you've lost."

"And not seeing you all the time will remind me that I’ve lost you. You’re more important to me than my ability to channel.”

“I am?”

Did he have to ask? Taim appeared genuinely taken aback by that statement. “Of course you bloody well are! Took me a moment to realise it, I’ll admit. I had a lot on my mind, it's true, what with my impeding execution... But regardless of my many plights, it shouldn’t even have been in question. Of course you’re more important. You’re everything to me, Taim. You’re the one and only thing I truly couldn’t live without. So please don’t-”

He didn’t finish, because Taim was kissing him. Natael hated to be interrupted…except in this manner.

For a blessed minute, he forgot about all the awful things that had happened to him, to them both, and about the even worse ones that had almost happened. Taim was kissing him, and all was well. All was as it should be.

Everything was going to be fine, that kiss told him.

Chapter Text

Therapy with Min

A friendly intervention

And a quiet life

“Alright, time’s up!” his therapist announced loudly. “I’ll see you next week.”

Natael half-raised his head to look at her. “Has it been an hour already? I feel like I just got here!” he exclaimed.

“It’s been nearly two hours, bard. I couldn’t find a moment of silence long enough to tell you that the session was over. Seriously, man, do you breathe through your vocal cords?”

Now that he thought about it, his throat felt quite dry. Some wine would be welcome. Why wasn’t there a pitcher here? Well, there was one, but it contained only water. He wasn’t that thirsty. “I have a lot on my mind.”

“Yes, well, so do my other patients. Please leave.”

“Min…”

She rolled her eyes. “What?”

“Does Taim ever talk about me when he comes here?”

“I’ve told you a dozen times that I’m not at liberty to disclose this information. Patient confidentiality. You know this, bard.” Her curiosity got the better of her, in the end, and she leaned forward in her chair. To be fair, the concepts of therapy and patient confidentiality were both new to these Third…er, Fourth-Agers. “But why wouldn’t he? You talk about him a lot.”

“In a positive way! He’s supportive to a fault. Incredibly patient.”

“The word you’re looking for is ‘long-suffering’,” Min supplied with a smirk. “What makes you think he mentions you negatively?”

“I-” Natael hesitated. “He doesn’t?”

Min sniggered. “No, but I do. And when I do, he fights tooth and nail to protect your honour.”

“You complain to him about me?” She was supposed to listen to her patients’ complaints, not the other way around!

“Oh, not just to him – to just about everybody, mainly to show them that there’s always someone worse off than they are. It helps them put things into perspective.”

“You’re not a very good therapist, you know that?”

“Perhaps…but I’m the only one.” She grinned at him.

A fair point. She’d learned the subtleties of the job…well, on the job. She was a good listener, most of the time. She gave good advice, too. But she had favourites amongst her clientele, and it showed. “I suppose I should leave… Logain will be waiting.” If he’d been waiting for nearly an hour, he would be in a terrible mood. Logain wasn’t known for his patience. But he wouldn’t let Min suffer for it. Natael would take the brunt, probably later tonight (they had dinner plans, the four of them – Natael would have called it a double date, but he didn’t want to die just yet. Knowing Min and Logain, he would double die).

“Oh, is it Logain’s turn?” She idly checked the scribbled list of names on her notepad. “Mm. You’re right.”

As if she hadn’t been dying to see Logain for a week and didn’t know exactly when his session was scheduled. Very smooth, Min. When were these two lovesick idiots stop beating about the bush? Al’Thor was dead. Min had observed a six-month period of mourning. What were they waiting for? Ugh, it was killing him. They would have to be more than gently nudged, and tonight would be the perfect opportunity. He would devise a cunning plan with Taim-

“Why are you still here?” Min demanded. “Are you having an internal monologue again? I thought we’d fixed that.”

Natael pouted. “Well, like I said, you’re not a very good therapist.” Logain and she deserved each other – they loved to mock and tease him. That was how they had bonded in the first place, before Min became the Black Tower’s appointed – and first ever in this Age – therapist.

He stood up and massaged his lower back. Ugh, being mortal sucked. When were chiropractors going to make a comeback? “See you next week.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Min said dismissively. She affected an air of complete casualness. “Let Logain in, would you?”

Just as anticipated, Logain was in a foul mood indeed. He was pacing the room like a caged lion, his mane of brown hair in disarray, as though he’d spent the past hour raking his hands through it. He glared at Natael the moment he set foot outside Min’s office. “What took you so bloody long? I’ve been here all morning!”

“Good day to you, too,” Natael said. Logain seemed to consider which part of him to punch first. “Ahem. We lost track of time… Sorry about that.” He gave Logain a disarming smile, which the other man ignored as he headed for the office. “She’s all yours.”

Logain glanced over his massive shoulder, scowling, but quickly discarded Natael’s tone and remark as he slammed the door behind him.

“Nate… I thought you agreed to stop meddling in other people’s lives. Remember the last time you tried to play matchmaker?”

“They were really cute together, don’t you dare say otherwise,” Natael muttered. “Besides, he was the dead lad’s half-brother. They could have bonded over their shared grief… In fact, they did!”

“Pushing a romance between those two was a mistake and you know it. Egwene was not ready for it, and Galad has lost several limbs… They have other things on their minds. Also, Berelain will see you dead if you try anything of the sort ever again,” Taim reminded him. “She wants Galad for herself and chances are, she will have him. Sooner rather than later, I’ll wager.”

“But Egwene is so heartbroken! It makes me sad. I just wanted to cheer her up.” Just as he was trying to do with Min and Logain. And Gorman. And everyone else who had lost someone during the battle, who had been broken and battered, who had suffered at the metaphysical hands of the one Natael once served. He considered it his new mission in life: to make the world a better place, after having contributed for so long to its slow destruction. It was a considerable task, but that was a good thing, because it kept him busy. Between his newfound purpose and Taim, there was little time for him to contemplate what he had lost. Except in therapy. Following Min’s advice, he preferred instead to focus on what he had gained: love, friendship. Some self-respect, and the respect of others. He’d never really had friends before. Acquaintances he had made to further his career. Groupies whose names he forgot come morning. Colleagues he never saw outside of work. And then Elan, but Elan was never his friend. He was both more and less than that – Natael’s first real love, but a person whom, in the end, he’d never truly known.

Now he spent his life surrounded by people he actually cared about, and that, he had come to realise, was more important than power or immortality. It was the only thing that really mattered in life. As a great philosopher once said (sometime during the First Age): “It’s not how long you live that matters. It’s what you live for.”

“Egwene is a grown woman and she doesn’t need you, Nate. Give her some space, some time. She doesn’t deal with loss the same way you do. She wants to be alone, for now. You should respect that.”

“But-”

“The same goes for Logain – and Min, to an extent. The man was broken nearly beyond repair, Nate. Several times. It’s a wonder he’s alive at all. If they want to be together, if it’s meant to happen, then it will happen. All in good time. You can’t force these things.”

“But they’re perfect for each other!”

“I agree, Nate. I’m not saying that you’re wrong, I just don’t like the way you meddle. And I’m sure Min and Logain don’t appreciate it, either.”

Natael crossed his arms over his chest. “Fine. I’ll back off. But if they’re not together by the time we get married-”

Taim got flustered, as he always did when Natael mentioned their wedding. Not nearly as flustered as the time Natael had actually popped the question, though. “You’re really intent on seeing this through, mm?”

“About as intent as Elayne, which is a lot, yes. She’s working tirelessly to pass the law – preferably without instigating a revolution in Andor. That means educating the people. Improving their primitive mind-set. It won’t happen overnight, but she sounds confident. So does Avi.”

“I can’t imagine Elayne sounding anything but confident,” Taim noted.

That was a good point. When the Queen of Andor decided to get something done…it got done.

Taim cleared his throat. “Um, by the way… Minuscule change of plans for tonight.”

Natael arched an eyebrow. “Please don’t tell me you cancelled because you were afraid I would make a scene.”

“Oh, no. You know me. I lecture you a lot, but I secretly enjoy it when you make a scene. It’s usually very amusing. Especially when it doesn’t involve me. No, I actually invited more people to join us.”

“Gorman?” Natael asked hopefully. It had been weeks since they’d last seen the Asha’man – since he’d been declared officially Healed by Damer Flinn and Nynaeve al’Meara. He was currently recovering in Mayene, along with two dozen other people who had been Turned to the Shadow, then Turned back, so to speak. The reversal process was just as arduous and taxing as the original, and it took a long time – because too much stress could easily kill the already-strained victims. It had taken four months in total, but that was just the beginning. Now these poor wretches had to learn how to exist again, because much of themselves had been lost in the original process. They had to reinvent themselves, in a way.

But they were alive, and they walked in the Light again. Another miracle to add to the ever-growing list of miracles accomplished in this new Age.

Taim shook his head. “Nate, he’s not ready yet. Damer warned us it would take time.”

“I know,” Natael said dejectedly. He took a deep breath. “Who will be joining us, then?” Hopefully Elayne and Avi, but that was unlikely; they had their hands full, running a country and taking care of newborn twins. Among other things.

“Shendla,” he said slowly, “…and Bao.”

“I don’t suppose it could have been Shendla alone?” Natael was quite fond of the Sharan woman, especially now that they were both fluent in each other’s languages. She reminded him of Min: fiercely intelligent, with a caustic sense of humour. As a matter of fact, the two women got along pretty well. Min participated actively in the negotiations with the East, so they had ample opportunities to discuss.

Natael still wasn’t fond of Bao, however, and the feeling remained mutual. But Taim and Bao were very nearly friends now…a fact that deeply perturbed Natael. How had it happened? Granted, it was better to have Bao as an ally rather than as an enemy, but to think of him as anyone’s friend was simply too bizarre.

And yet. While Natael preferred to spend time with Min, Elayne or Aviendha, it was not uncommon for Taim to have informal meetings with Bao, which sometimes lasted well into the night. According to Taim, it was nice to have an intellectual discussion, once in a while, instead of a gossipy soirée – although, of his own admission, he enjoyed both.

“They were both there, Nate. I couldn’t invite Shendla and not him, it would have been rude.”

“I’m just saying, Logain and Bao at the same table? This will make for a lively dinner.” They didn’t hate each other, but they had a way of generating intense debates, which occasionally turned into bitter arguments. They were both opinionated. Or, to be more accurate – though he’d never say the word out loud in front of either of them – pig-headed.

It was a bit silly, really, because they actually agreed on most important things. Half the time, it was mere details that caused tension between them. The rest of the time, it was a manly need to assert their dominance, and it was much worse if there were women present. Which would be the case that evening.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Taim said. “Min and Shendla will smooth their ruffled feathers.”

“If you say so, darling. I trust your judgement, as always.” He gently pulled Taim to him and they shared a lingering kiss.

Taim laughed against his mouth. “It’s not even midday, Nate. I have a lot on my plate. So do you,” he reminded him with a false air of sternness.

“Leave all that to Androl and Flinn… It is their job, you know.” He started to unbutton Taim’s shirt…and Taim didn’t stop him.

“Cadsuane will be here in less than an hour!”

“An hour is plenty of time,” Natael said with a mischievous grin.

“But I have preparations to-” Taim’s complaints were half-hearted at best, and became inexistent when Natael and he tumbled into bed.

“I truly must compliment you,” Natael whispered to Shendla. He gallantly spoke isleh, even though she could understand the Common Tongue. “He’s very well-behaved.”

On the other side of the table, Bao and Logain were arguing loudly, and Taim was trying to pacify them, without much success. Min simply looked on, a small smile on her lips. Perhaps because Logain seemed to have the upper hand – he was shouting the loudest, anyway.

Natael wasn’t even sure what was the bone of contention, this time. Why had they decided to sit next to each other? Logain should have been placed beside Min, with Shendla as an extra buffer. The place was packed tonight, however. They’d had to add a rickety table next to the one Taim had booked.

The Black Tower tavern, which the men (and their wives) fondly referred to as “The Doghouse”, though it had no official name, was doing well. Anders, now an Asha’man, had opened it a few weeks after the Last Battle – with Genhald and Flinn’s permission, of course. It had been built on the new expanse of land that Elayne had allocated the Black Tower after they’d agreed to accommodate a few hundred refugees.

In other words, the Black Tower would soon qualify for the term “city”. And to think it had started out as a dilapidated little farm, with Natael, two goats and some chickens as its sole inhabitants…

Shendla smirked and replied in the Common Tongue. “He’s even potty-trained, now. How’s yours doing?”

Natael observed Taim with unconcealed affection. He was pinching the bridge of his nose, eyes closed, but Natael was almost certain that he was at least as entertained as he was embarrassed and annoyed. In fact, he was almost certainly holding back laughter. They would have a fun time recounting the events of this impromptu triple date later, in bed. It would make great pillow talk.

“Mine is absolutely perfect.”

“Is the…therapy helping?” Shendla was entirely serious now. “What about the nightmares? Does he sleep at all?”

Natael glanced at Min, who shrugged. How she managed to follow both conversations, he didn’t know. She really was a great listener. “Ask him, if you want to know, bard. What are you so afraid of? He’s not going to bite your nose off, you know.”

Shendla looked perplexed. “But you sleep in the same bed. Surely you would notice if he was struggling to sleep.”

Min chuckled. “That one? He sleeps like a log. Wouldn’t notice if a dozen Trollocs danced the sa’sara around his bed.” She eyed him with as much seriousness as Shendla. Uh-oh. They were ganging up on him. “If you didn’t drink so much-”

“I do not-”

“How many cups have you had tonight?”

Natael frowned at his wine. “It’s only my second cup…” Second or third. What difference did it make?

“Since we got here, perhaps,” Min cut in. “What about this afternoon?”

Peace, what was this? An intervention? “Just a couple. I do need to drink, you know. To survive. I’m mortal, now.”

“And again, I must ask: what’s wrong with water? That’s what most people drink, bard.” She pointed to her own cup, then to Shendla’s…then to Bao’s.

That was hardly fair; the man had never had an alcoholic beverage in his life. Which was almost certainly why he was so dull and partly why Natael distrusted him. “Water has no taste,” he mumbled. “What’s the point of drinking it?”

“To quench your thirst without being completely drunk by noon every day.”

“I’m not drunk!” he protested.

“You’re not sober, either,” Min pointed out.

“So what? I don’t need to be.”

“Bard, we’ve talked about this… You use alcohol to numb the pain. To forget what you lost. Just to get through the day, sometimes, I’ll wager. That is not a healthy habit.”

“It’s not true. I don’t need it to get through the day. I could totally live without wine. I just choose not to.”

He recognised the look in Min’s eyes as the one she often gave him in therapy. “Prove it. Starting tomorrow, you will not have a drop of wine…at least until our next session.”

“You want me to stop drinking for an entire week?”

He realised he’d spoken a little too loudly; Logain, Bao and Taim were all observing them now. They’d stopped arguing to listen in on Min’s improvised therapy session.

“It would do you good, Nate,” Logain said.

“Hey, don’t you lecture me. You drink, too.” He’d had at least as many cups as Natael this evening, and it wasn’t a first occurrence.

“Yeah, Min mentioned that,” he muttered. “Tell you what: how about we do this together? Only water for a week. Consider it…a challenge, of sorts.”

“If you care to make this challenge more interesting, I’ll wager neither of you can make it to day two,” Bao said.

Ah, Bao. Always the gambler. And just like that, Logain and he were arguing again. Taim paid them no attention, however. He must have asked Shendla to switch places, because he was sitting beside Natael now. “You don’t have to do this, Nate. I won’t think less of you. I don’t mind that you drink too m-” He cleared his throat. “It doesn’t bother me that you drink wine occasionally.”

Aw. Long-suffering indeed. He really was perfect. “It’s only a week. I can do this. Really, it’s not even a challenge.” To prove his point, he grabbed Min’s water cup and drank it whole. Transparent, boring, insipid water. He felt healthier already.

And he hated it.

“Nate…”

“No, Min’s right. I should do this. A week. Then maybe I’ll diminish my daily consumption. It’ll be good for me. Maybe I can climb the stairs without being utterly winded halfway through,” he said with faked good humour. “Do you think I should exercise, too?”

Please say no. Light have mercy.

Taim smiled and put his arm around Natael’s shoulders. “One thing at a time, darling. I need you alive for the next few decades.”

“Hello, Nessosin.”

Natael woke up with a start. The room was fully dark. Had he dreamed the voice? Had he been dreaming at all? He couldn't remember. It didn’t help that he’d had too much to drink last evening – to preemptively make up for the lack of wine in the week to come.

He patted the bed beside him and realised that Taim wasn’t there, which did nothing to comfort him, let alone subdue his heart rate.

Had someone spoken, or not? No one ever called him Nessosin anymore. Few enough people even remembered that it used to be his third name – something in which he once took great pride, but which merely made him nostalgic now.

Someone cleared their throat and whispered loudly. “Natael? Are you awake?”

Natael definitely wasn’t alone in the room. Worse – he had a feeling that he knew that voice. “Reveal yourself,” he spoke into the darkness. It had been…maybe a couple of weeks, maybe just one, since he had last reflexively attempted to seize saidin. Of course, as usual, there was nothing to be seized and, also as usual, the realisation/reminder caused heartbreak, anger, and a ghastly feeling of helplessness.

As usual, all he could feel was the vast chasm inside him.

He missed wine already. Min would be quite busy with him next week.

“Where’s Taim?” he added before the intruder could respond or comply. “What have you done with him?”

“He’s in the study. Brooding, it looked like. I was hoping to talk to you alone.”

That didn’t bode well, but Natael’s first thought was: Taim still isn’t sleeping. We really need to do something about that.

There was some rustling, then a soft thud followed by a muttered curse, footsteps and more rustling. The door opened at last, a pale light filtering inside the room, revealing the tall silhouette of a man. Natael couldn’t distinguish his features, but few men were quite so tall… “Elan? Is that you?”

Had he come for Natael at last? The deep voice reminded him of Elan’s last incarnation, Moridin, but the tone and words were more reminiscent of-

“Oh! No, no, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you!” The silhouette took one of the glowbulbs in the hallway and moved forward to finally show his face.

It was Moridin!

Ugh, and again, Natael tried to seize saidin. When would he stop doing that? Would he ever stop doing that?

Moridin laughed. “Alright, that’s a lie, I was hoping to scare you a little. But it’s just me…”

Natael held the covers against his chest, hoping that they would somehow protect him. “I can see that,” he murmured.

“No, it’s me, Rand. Al’Thor,” he clarified, as though Natael knew several people named Rand.

Well, he did now, sort of – many of the Asha’man who had welcomed baby boys in the past six months had named them after the Dragon Reborn. How original… And not a single one was named Natael, or Jasin, or even Ghraem – and what a powerful name that was!

Anyway. Whatever this man decided to call himself, he certainly wasn’t Rand al’Thor. Had the Dark One reincarnated one of the Forsaken in Moridin’s body, after punishing Elan for his failure, perhaps? Was He still strong enough to influence the world in such a significant manner?

“I don’t know who you are, but-”

“It’s really me, Natael. I swear it, under the Light and by my hope of salvation and rebirth.”

This was quite confusing. “But…you look like…”

“Yes, thanks for noticing.” He rolled his eyes. “Don’t you think I know that I look like the man who tried to kill me and destroy the entire world? More than once?”

“But why do you look like him? How did this happen?”

More importantly, if al’Thor was trapped in Moridin’s body for some reason, then where was… What had happened to Elan? Was he dead? Truly dead, and was he the one who had been cremated? Had they burned and honoured a Forsaken in place of mankind’s own saviour? Oh, the irony.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Well…yes.” Wouldn’t anyone want to know?

Al’Thor sighed. “So would I, but I have no idea. No explanation. I woke up like this, just in time to see Elan draw his last breath…in my body. It was disturbing, to say the least. I watched the funeral from afar – saw all these people mourning him, crying over the pyre. My own father...”

“Why in the Pit of Doom did you let everyone think you were dead?”

There was still a slim chance that this was really Elan, trying to pass for al’Thor, to manipulate him for some reason, but Natael doubted it. He didn’t sound like Elan, not at all.

“I suppose I wanted – no, I needed a break. The past few years have been quite, um, burdensome.”

…fair enough. “Wait. You did tell some people, didn’t you? Min knows! That’s why instead of properly mourning you, she was openly mocking my fear that Elan would return to murder Taim and myself in our sleep! She was smirking the entire time that I was getting my concerns off my chest. Instead of telling me that it was you who were alive, so that I could sleep in peace… So that Taim could sleep…” He drew a long breath before he passed out. “That little minx!”

Al’Thor smiled – a fond, but rather sad, smile. “That does sound like Minx. I mean Min. Ahem. When did you last see her? How is she?”

Natael raised an eyebrow. “Having trouble keeping track of your numerous paramours, my Lord Dragon?”

“No, I… In truth, Min and I… She didn’t say anything, then? Oh, well, I suppose not, since you didn’t know I was alive. She kept my secret, despite-”

“She broke up with you, uh?”

“…yes.”

“Good for her. She deserves to be someone’s only focus, and your attention must be quite divided, what with the twin miniature spawns that Elayne recently expelled. And the…how many more are on the way? Aviendha said four, if memory serves?”

Al’Thor paled. “Four, yes,” he whispered.

“Congratulations! Did Elayne tell you that I have been made Gawyn’s godfather?”

Somehow, al’Thor turned a lighter shade of pale. “Very funny, Natael.”

“Oh, it’s no jest, my Lord Dragon. The good queen and I have become fast friends – we’ve been working closely together to pave the way for a better future in Andor.”

“I’m fairly certain that Elayne would have asked for my opinion before she made you-”

“I guess a deceased person’s opinion is not as valid as a live one’s.”

“Why does she need your advice, anyway? I could help her. I told her I would always be there-”

“We’re looking into legalising same-sex marriage. Among other things, of course – but she truly values my input on the subject. And Aviendha’s.”

“I don’t know what Avi could possibly contribute to the conversation. And what’s Elayne’s interest in this? Aren’t there more pressing political issues to resolve?”

Had he spent any time with either woman recently? These two were more than “sisters”, anyone could tell. But al’Thor was strangely blind to that sort of things – the sort of things that was never openly discussed in small villages such as Emond’s Field. Well, he was in for a surprise, when they finally decided to tell him.

Not necessarily a bad surprise, depending on how al’Thor handled it.

It was not Natael’s place to reveal their not-so-secret secret, however, no matter how much he wanted to, especially after al’Thor gave him such a scare, earlier. “My Lord Dragon…why are you here, exactly? I assume that you didn’t come simply to prank me in the middle of the night?”

His face grew sombre. “I wanted to talk about the Aes Sedai.”

“Well, Genhald and Flinn are still polishing up the details of our alliance with the White Tower, and Cadsuane Sedai is a bit of a bully but, all in all, I’d say that it’s going relatively-”

“I meant the Aes Sedai who perished at the Black Tower, Natael.”

Oh, right. Those Aes Sedai.

Blimey, had he actually managed to forget about them? Taim certainly had not. Sometimes, Natael caught him staring out the window at the remains of the second palace, where they had placed a memorial stone to honour the women’s sacrifice – after coming clean about the whole nasty business to Cadsuane.

She had not punished them for it, not even Bao. She had determined that it was primarily Elaida’s fault, and that the former Amyrlin had been indirectly punished for it and every other irrational thing she’d done during her short reign. Apparently, she’d been captured by the Seanchan, just like Moghedien. The White Tower would have preferred to give her a proper trial, with stilling as a likely outcome, but negotiations with the Seanchan were not going as well as those with the East – and that was saying something because, if Cadsuane was a bully, Natael couldn’t think of a term strong enough to describe Galbrait, the leader of the Sharan Ayyad, who was also probably the oldest living person on Earth. Shendla claimed that she was nearly a thousand years old, and Natael was willing to believe it. She was at least twice as cranky and uncompromising as Cadsuane, so the math added up.

“I… Um, that is, we… They… Demandred was… Well, Cadsuane said that…” Natael closed his mouth when he realised that he couldn’t form a full sentence. Al’Thor had caught him off-guard.

“I’m really sorry,” the Dragon Reborn said when Natael stopped stuttering.

Natael blinked. “You’re sorry?”

“Their deaths are on me.”

He hadn’t been able to shake off the intense, usually unwarranted guilt that assailed him whenever a woman died, had he? He’d never even met these people! “My Lord Dragon, it was nobody’s fault, really-”

“I should have been there. How many times have I come here, Natael? Twice? Thrice? Not once after Dumai’s Wells. I didn’t even tell you about my plan to cleanse saidin, even though I was doing it for you. Everything that happened at the Black Tower, every tragic death is on me. I don’t know what I was thinking…”

He could use some therapy time with Min…although that might be awkward, now. “You had…other things on your plate,” Natael said hesitantly. And you were mad for a long time, he added to himself. “As for cleansing saidin, even if we didn’t know about it beforehand, it was a pleasant surprise.”

At the time. Back when he could still feel saidin…

Ugh, not this again. Focus, burn you. Think happy thoughts. You’re alive. You’re in good health. Taim is alive, and he loves you. You are a respected member of the community. You have friends.

It was Min’s advice. Whenever he remembered that he’d lost his ability to channel – about every five minutes – he had to consider all the good things in his life. And she was right: there were plenty.

“I should have been there,” al’Thor repeated. “If I could do it all again…”

“Well, I suspect you’ll have to.” Al’Thor stared at him. “You know…in the next Age, or the next Turning of the Wheel… You’ll be reincarnated at some point, and the next…you will have to do it all over again. The Dragon Re-Reborn.” No, that didn’t sound good. The Dragon Thrice Born? The Dragon Born Yet Again? Well, future generations would decide. “Maybe you’ll be the one stuck in their head, driving them mad…”

Elan would have to do it all over again, too, but at least he’d been granted a brief respite, this time. He was actually dead, not stuck between the Bore and the real word, slowly losing his sanity.

Natael wasn’t sure how he felt about Elan’s death – sad, relieved, regretful, nostalgic? – but he knew he could count on Min to help him figure it out and process it. He had lied earlier: she really wasn’t that bad a therapist.

“Light help me, I hadn’t thought of that,” al’Thor murmured. “I assumed… The Dark One is properly sealed, now. Do you really think that-”

“There will always be a next time. The Dark One will find a way. It may take a million years…but He’ll be back to bother us, you can be sure of that. That’s how it works. Elan would have gladly told you all about it. Are you familiar with Reality and the Absence of Meaning? It’s a thrilling read…” Natael had never made it past the second chapter, but Elan enjoyed discussing his complex theories at length, even though Natael couldn’t understand every other word. Ninety percent of these discussions ended in sex, because Natael got bored and needed to create a distraction to shut him up.

“I know the gist of it,” al’Thor said with a sigh. “I have Lews Therin’s knowledge in me.”

There was no indication in his tone as to whether that was a good or a bad thing, but Natael assumed it was a bit of both. “Until that happens, my Lord Dragon, may I suggest that you take a vacation and relax? You’ve earned it.” Even if you don’t feel like you deserve it. “Let us deal with the aftermath of-”

That was the wrong thing to say. “The aftermath? Why? What’s going on? I thought I’d united… I mean, we won the battle...”

Where had he been the past six months? In a cave? “Well, we’re trying to prevent a war against Seanchan. Galgan is…a hard man, ambitious and ruthless. Also, Shara is in turmoil, and it’s our business, too, because Bao opened up its borders, before he was forced to abdicate. Most nations face their fair share of internal troubles. War has consequences, my Lord Dragon. Refugees everywhere, a lack of resources due to the infernal weather last year, soldiers who require Healing and too few Healers… Power-hungry people taking advantage of the chaos to sit on thrones that do not belong to them…” He made a dismissive gesture. “But I’ll spare you the details. That’s not for you to worry about. You’ve done your part. We’ve got this.” Hopefully they did.

Al’Thor looked…tormented, to say the least. Crestfallen, one might say. He sat down on the bed, staring at the floor. Natael had said too much. “I thought that the Last Battle would be the worst part…”

“It was,” Natael assured him. “Everything will get better, eventually. Slowly but steadily. We’re taking it one day at a time.”

“I should help. How could I be so selfish, leaving you to deal with the consequences of the troubles I started-”

“My Lord Dragon,” Natael interrupted him sternly, “I won’t hear of this. You very nearly gave your life for us. You were willing to give it. You have done more than enough for mankind. Now it’s up to us to make certain that your sacrifice was not in vain. I beg you, rest and relax. Take a nap. Have a glass of wine.” Ah, wine. “Enjoy life! You’re the most selfless person I’ve ever met, but it’s time for you to forget about the world for a minute and start thinking about yourself. You should-”

“What’s going on here?”

Natael glanced toward the door. Taim was back. Natael could only imagine what he must be thinking: Natael was being nice to Moridin, the good-looking body that had briefly hosted Natael’s former flame. “It’s al’Thor!” he clarified hastily.

“What?!”

Admittedly, that was just as weird. “They…swapped bodies somehow. Elan is dead. We’re safe, dear. He won’t bother us ever again.” That ought to appease him a little.

Taim glared at al’Thor, looking very much unappeased. “Seriously? Now you show up?”

“Darling, I promise you, he feels guilty enough, there’s no need to rub salt into the wound…”

“Oh, I disagree,” Taim snarled. He took several steps forward. From his stance, Natael assumed that he’d tried to seize saidin. The fact that he couldn’t probably did nothing to appease him, either. “He’s been alive for six months and he’s only letting us know now? I’ve been worried sick about Ishamael coming here to murder you in your sleep!” He stopped moving suddenly. “Did Min know about this?” he murmured.

Well, Min had lost this one’s trust for sure. Natael respected that she had to keep her former lover’s secret, but Taim hadn’t had a proper night of rest in months…

“Taim, I’m sorry,” al’Thor said. “Really I am. I didn’t think-”

“Get out of here,” Taim growled. “And don’t you dare come back.”

He couldn’t channel anymore, but being unable to channel hadn’t stopped him from killing Hessalam in cold blood. Al’Thor would be persona non grata at the Black Tower, from now on, despite the statue that commemorated his “sacrifice” in the middle of the main square.

Al’Thor complied without another word.

“I can’t believe…! To have the gall…!” Taim exclaimed.

Natael stood and held him tight. “Hush, darling. It’s all over, really and truly. Elan is dead. Al’Thor has opted for anonymity and he won’t be bothering us again. The worst is behind us.” Taim was breathing hard, his heart thundering in his chest. Natael had never seen him so furious.

“I was worried sick…” he repeated hoarsely. “Every time I managed to fall asleep, I woke up terrified that I’d find you dead at my side. Every bloody time.”

“I know. Take a deep breath. Inhale, exhale-”

Taim pushed him away. “Don’t you use her techniques! She lied to us, Nate. For months! She knew exactly what was bothering me, she could have easily set my mind at ease, but she chose not to.”

Oh yes, that was the end of therapy for him. They might have to fire Min, lest Taim decide that she needed a knife in her throat.

Unless… “I think it’s time for us to move on.”

Taim stared at him, looking just as crestfallen as al’Thor did, five minutes ago. “Are you…breaking up with me? Now?!” He gripped Natael’s arm. “If this is about the wine-”

“Are you bloody mad? No, I don’t want to break up with you. And it’s not about the wine.” Though he could use a cup or two right now. “I meant that we should move…somewhere else. Just the two of us. I like living here, I like our life…but it’s a lot of pressure. I think we need some peace and quiet. Some alone time. We could go to Shara…” They could find a cottage in an isolated area. Or a little farm, with a few goats and chickens. They would be safe there – their…lifestyle wouldn’t bother anybody. They already knew the language. Maybe they could even get married – he’d have to ask Shendla if that was a thing, in her native land.

They’d have to ask permission to Cadsuane. They were supposed to stay here for at least a year… But she had already lifted Logain’s obligation to co-lead the Black Tower. The Aes Sedai who were supposed to keep an eye on them had returned to the White Tower months ago; Taim and Natael had proven their trustworthiness, just like Bao. Surely Cadsuane wouldn’t mind. She had other things to worry about.

He held Taim’s hands in his. “I think it would be good for us. Will you consider it? Please?”

Taim smiled at last. “I don’t need to consider it. I think it’s a marvellous idea.”

Ah, that smile. It didn’t matter where they lived, or for how long. As long as that smile was his, Natael would be quite content.

“It’s not how long you live that matters. It’s what you live for.” – quote by Rick Riordan.