- Location
- Earth
Oooh no Baelfire here means Be'lal gets a second chance. Thanks Lord of the Grave!
A New Player in the Game (Wheel of Time)
- Thread starter Teebs
- Start date
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- Tags
- wheel of time
The Great Lord also has an excellent dental plan.
- Location
- Earth: Universe Meta - 1
Maybe, but now Taija gets a male angreal that's probably pretty powerful.
TBH I think it's the right call. Be'lal coming back Vs an angreal for Rand. Not tha she knows he can come back.
- Location
- Earth: Universe Meta - 1
And won't that be a shock to her. Oh boy, it could also push Tel off the deep end given his backstory. The agreement to not use Balefire actually was a major victory for the dark side.
Interlude XIII - Realisations
As usual all speech in italics is in the Old Tongue.
Interlude XIII - Realisations
Sammael thought back to his conversation with Graendal. She'd be expecting him soon. He knew he was due to go back to her to get her answer to his proposal and yet, as that deadline got closer, he found himself less and less eager for it. Had he just been deluding himself about what he wanted to do?
Every time he thought of Graendal all he could see was the spark of life draining out of terrified brown eyes, pleading with him for help. How could he even justify that? Sacrifices needed to be made to preserve what he could. Fuck. When he was nae'blis that wouldn't be happening, but he wasn't nae'blis and were some sacrifices worth it? For years he'd have said yes, but he couldn't deny that he wasn't sure now.
How could anyone work with a monster like Graendal? What had he even been thinking? When he'd made his way to Shayol Ghul with her she'd seemed like such a kindred spirit. Two people failed by the world, ready to bend it into the shape that it should be. She'd understood him, sympathised, felt the same things! He'd seen her indulge her pleasures before, what was wrong with him?
Was revenge on Lews Therin, on Ishamael or Lanfear worth this? Was preserving what he could of the world in the face of the failings of the Light worth it?
Inevitably, as it had so many times since his first visit to Tear, his mind went back to Taija. He didn't need to concentrate to see her disgusted, devastated face.
"Pathetic," Sammael muttered to himself, not sure whether he was agreeing with her or condemning her.
He'd been thinking though. He wouldn't be who he was if he hadn't been. Using Graendal to help him destroy Lews Therin's allies wasn't going to work. Tel suspected she was just stringing him along anyway, but in his current state he couldn't seriously consider fighting by her side. Even Lews Therin didn't deserve a fate like the one that Graendal would inflict on him. No one did.
Still, Sammael knew how to work around his own failings. Taija had thrown him off, he was having an emotional moment. That was to be expected. It would pass. He had few weaknesses, but knowing them allowed him to minimise them.
Graendal was disgusting, she always had been, and he lowered himself by working with her. Going to her had been a foolish idea, pathetically seeking comfort from someone who would never be capable of giving it. Fuck. Pathetic.
Fortunately he had a plan that would make Graendal and the rest of the Chosen unnecessary, irrelevant even. It all made much more sense. Why was he even scrabbling around with filth like her, when he could have his revenge and ascend to lead the forces of the Shadow at the same time?
That was why he was walking through the dimly lit corridors of the Stone of Tear, wearing the drab clothes of a servant and carrying a pitcher of wine. Lews Therin had revealed himself to the world by taking Callandor. He had also made himself a target for any of the Chosen that wished to take the sa'angreal from him.
Taija had removed the tracking weave from the boy, of course she'd worked that out. However, it was easy enough to find Lews Therin now that he had claimed the mantle of Dragon once again. The boy would be on his guard, no doubt, but no man could be awake at all hours.
No one ever looked at servants. His enemies thought him too arrogant to abase himself like this, but they always underestimated his desire for victory. He hated to be looked down upon, to be in second place, but that didn't mean he couldn't pretend when he had to. He wasn't Demandred.
Of course Taija had placed anti-Traveling wards around the Stone, for all her failings she wasn't completely stupid, but they did little to prevent someone like him from simply walking in. Bribes, compulsion, easy disguises. He hardly needed to be Moghedien to go straight through their security, especially with the disruption to everything that came with Lews Therin taking over.
When Sammael reached the door to Lews Therin's room he paused. If the boy had Callandor with him then this would become a far riskier venture, he needed to be cautious. He would only strike when he could be assured of surprise and then he could take the sa'angreal for himself. Hopefully the boy would be asleep.
Cautiously he leaned towards the door, listening. There was someone speaking inside. Was Lews Therin alone? It was too much of a risk to go in if there were other people with him. The wrong ones would mean disaster. What if it was Taija? He cringed at the thought and then remembered himself, bringing his face back to its normal cold composure. He'd only have one shot at this.
Sammael carefully sent out inverted flows of spirit to check for any wards spun with saidar, or less likely inverted saidin, around the room. They found nothing, so the next step was an inverted web of spirit and air that would allow him to hear clearly whatever was being said in there.
He channeled, extending the web away from him, brushing it under the door and suddenly everything in the room was as clearly audible as if he was standing next to Lews Therin.
He could hear boots pacing, back and forth and a man's voice, quietly angry. He sounded like he'd been speaking for some time. "…am I meant to do? I'm not ready for this. How can I be the Dragon? I just want to go home." It didn't sound like Lews Therin, but the voice was unmistakable so he continued to listen.
"They're all looking at me, expecting me to take charge and I've got no idea. The High Lords, the Tairens, even these black-veiled Dedicated, they all think I've got answers. How can I deal with it? Burn me!" He seemed to be ranting, but Sammael couldn't hear anyone else. Maybe he was alone?
"Taija tells me to just be myself and do my best." Tel ignored the lurch in his stomach at her name. "What does she know though, she's so, so centred and all I can do is flail along as the Wheel drags me where it will." Surely there couldn't be anyone else in there… This really didn't sound like Lews Therin, he was always full of himself, in control and confident to the point of offensive pomposity at times.
"If I make the slightest slip the Shadow wins. If I show any weakness a High Lord will put a knife in my back and half the world will thank him for it. How am I meant to save these people? How can they be asking this from me?!" Lews Therin's voice rose to an agonised cry and Tel heard a loud thump followed by a curse.
"The Forsaken want me dead and I can barely even hold saidin. Every time I do it's like bathing in filth and yet I want more. What am I even meant to do? I'll kill myself, or worse someone else. Won't that be a thing, recreating the Kinslayer without even meaning to…" A dark chuckle tore its way out of Lews Therin.
"The Shadow waits for me with open arms and daggers concealed behind them, aes sedai seeking to manipulate me, the world against me." There was a soft thud, Tel imagined it might be Lews Therin throwing himself onto his bed.
Lews Therin's voice dropped to a whisper and then started to rise. "I just want to go back to the Two Rivers, see Tam, be back on the farm. I didn't ask for this. They all look at me like I'm Lews Therin Kinslayer. They don't know me, I'm not him! I'm Rand al'Thor! Taija's the only one who even looks at me as a person these days, but how can I live up to what she says when I'm just going to go mad and kill everyone around me, unless I can die in the Last Battle first. What in the Light am I meant to do?" Was that a sob? Surely not.
"I need to be better, to do better than the Dragon ever did, but I don't know how. How can I?!" Lews Therin continued to rant to himself, but Tel didn't need to hear anymore. He didn't want to. He let his web dissipate, the sound fading into the background.
He could walk in and kill the boy right now. No one would stop him, there was no one to help Lews Therin and the boy was clearly incapable of doing it himself. The man he hated most in the world was at his mercy.
So why wasn't he moving? His hand refusing to rise to the door handle, his feet rooted in place.
Tel just felt ill. Sick to his stomach. He couldn't go on like this, if he kept it up someone was going to kill him. Whether it was one of the Chosen or someone on the side of the Light, he just wasn't in a fit state to fight. He needed to get out of here before someone saw him standing outside Lews Therin's door and started asking questions.
After a moment he turned on his heel. He needed to leave. This wasn't even Lews Therin, it was just some boy. Trying to do his best against monsters like Graendal. Monsters like Sammael. Monsters like Tel Janin.
Thinking felt like wading through treacle, but as he strode as fast he safely could towards the outside world, to get out from under Taija's wards his mind never stopped moving.
Lews Therin and his friends working together to fight him. Laughing together. Friendship, allies, trust. Horrified screams as he betrayed his own comrades. Dead eyes staring emptily up at him from corpses scattered across the broken concrete. Lined of broken slaves trooping past him. Faces filled with terrified hate from prisoners who already knew their fates. The delighted joy dancing in Graendal's eyes. Life fading from deep brown eyes.
As soon as he stepped out from under Taija's wards he opened a gateway straight to his bedroom with a snarl. Why couldn't he get his head straight!?
If it was still the Second Age he'd have been pulled off the line by now, ordered into a period of rest and recovery. He gave a choking laugh at the idea of the Shadow ever caring that much about its servants. When had he last laughed? He'd told himself he'd have the last laugh over the other Chosen, but there was no laughter to be had.
Without conscious thought he sank to the floor, his back against the wall, not even bothering to light the lamps with the Power.
What was it all worth? He'd talked, ranted to Taija about the failings of the Light, about revenge. What had he actually done? Ishamael lived. Lanfear lived. The Shadow was as vile as it ever was. Pathetic. She was right. How could she understand? There was nothing worth understanding.
He couldn't even kill Lews Therin. Why did he even want to kill Lews Therin? Because he'd killed Taija? He hadn't. Because he'd doomed the Light with his refusal to support Tel? Tel had stabbed the Light in the back. Because Lews Therin didn't fight hard enough for the Light? Lews Therin had knowingly gone to his doom rather than surrender, unlike him. Because Lews Therin was a better man than he'd ever been?
This wasn't even really Lews Therin, this was a frightened boy doing his best in the face of an implacably hostile world.
In this Age they said no man could walk in the Shadow so long he could not come back to the Light. Bollocks. Some things were unforgivable, could not be justified. He'd seen it in her eyes. He was damned, there was no coming back.
Taija's face seemed to hover at the edge of his vision unbanishable and for the first time since he'd visited Shayol Ghul Tel Janin admitted it to himself, mumbling into the dark of his bedroom, "I was wrong."
Interlude XIII - Realisations
Sammael thought back to his conversation with Graendal. She'd be expecting him soon. He knew he was due to go back to her to get her answer to his proposal and yet, as that deadline got closer, he found himself less and less eager for it. Had he just been deluding himself about what he wanted to do?
Every time he thought of Graendal all he could see was the spark of life draining out of terrified brown eyes, pleading with him for help. How could he even justify that? Sacrifices needed to be made to preserve what he could. Fuck. When he was nae'blis that wouldn't be happening, but he wasn't nae'blis and were some sacrifices worth it? For years he'd have said yes, but he couldn't deny that he wasn't sure now.
How could anyone work with a monster like Graendal? What had he even been thinking? When he'd made his way to Shayol Ghul with her she'd seemed like such a kindred spirit. Two people failed by the world, ready to bend it into the shape that it should be. She'd understood him, sympathised, felt the same things! He'd seen her indulge her pleasures before, what was wrong with him?
Was revenge on Lews Therin, on Ishamael or Lanfear worth this? Was preserving what he could of the world in the face of the failings of the Light worth it?
Inevitably, as it had so many times since his first visit to Tear, his mind went back to Taija. He didn't need to concentrate to see her disgusted, devastated face.
"Pathetic," Sammael muttered to himself, not sure whether he was agreeing with her or condemning her.
He'd been thinking though. He wouldn't be who he was if he hadn't been. Using Graendal to help him destroy Lews Therin's allies wasn't going to work. Tel suspected she was just stringing him along anyway, but in his current state he couldn't seriously consider fighting by her side. Even Lews Therin didn't deserve a fate like the one that Graendal would inflict on him. No one did.
Still, Sammael knew how to work around his own failings. Taija had thrown him off, he was having an emotional moment. That was to be expected. It would pass. He had few weaknesses, but knowing them allowed him to minimise them.
Graendal was disgusting, she always had been, and he lowered himself by working with her. Going to her had been a foolish idea, pathetically seeking comfort from someone who would never be capable of giving it. Fuck. Pathetic.
Fortunately he had a plan that would make Graendal and the rest of the Chosen unnecessary, irrelevant even. It all made much more sense. Why was he even scrabbling around with filth like her, when he could have his revenge and ascend to lead the forces of the Shadow at the same time?
That was why he was walking through the dimly lit corridors of the Stone of Tear, wearing the drab clothes of a servant and carrying a pitcher of wine. Lews Therin had revealed himself to the world by taking Callandor. He had also made himself a target for any of the Chosen that wished to take the sa'angreal from him.
Taija had removed the tracking weave from the boy, of course she'd worked that out. However, it was easy enough to find Lews Therin now that he had claimed the mantle of Dragon once again. The boy would be on his guard, no doubt, but no man could be awake at all hours.
No one ever looked at servants. His enemies thought him too arrogant to abase himself like this, but they always underestimated his desire for victory. He hated to be looked down upon, to be in second place, but that didn't mean he couldn't pretend when he had to. He wasn't Demandred.
Of course Taija had placed anti-Traveling wards around the Stone, for all her failings she wasn't completely stupid, but they did little to prevent someone like him from simply walking in. Bribes, compulsion, easy disguises. He hardly needed to be Moghedien to go straight through their security, especially with the disruption to everything that came with Lews Therin taking over.
When Sammael reached the door to Lews Therin's room he paused. If the boy had Callandor with him then this would become a far riskier venture, he needed to be cautious. He would only strike when he could be assured of surprise and then he could take the sa'angreal for himself. Hopefully the boy would be asleep.
Cautiously he leaned towards the door, listening. There was someone speaking inside. Was Lews Therin alone? It was too much of a risk to go in if there were other people with him. The wrong ones would mean disaster. What if it was Taija? He cringed at the thought and then remembered himself, bringing his face back to its normal cold composure. He'd only have one shot at this.
Sammael carefully sent out inverted flows of spirit to check for any wards spun with saidar, or less likely inverted saidin, around the room. They found nothing, so the next step was an inverted web of spirit and air that would allow him to hear clearly whatever was being said in there.
He channeled, extending the web away from him, brushing it under the door and suddenly everything in the room was as clearly audible as if he was standing next to Lews Therin.
He could hear boots pacing, back and forth and a man's voice, quietly angry. He sounded like he'd been speaking for some time. "…am I meant to do? I'm not ready for this. How can I be the Dragon? I just want to go home." It didn't sound like Lews Therin, but the voice was unmistakable so he continued to listen.
"They're all looking at me, expecting me to take charge and I've got no idea. The High Lords, the Tairens, even these black-veiled Dedicated, they all think I've got answers. How can I deal with it? Burn me!" He seemed to be ranting, but Sammael couldn't hear anyone else. Maybe he was alone?
"Taija tells me to just be myself and do my best." Tel ignored the lurch in his stomach at her name. "What does she know though, she's so, so centred and all I can do is flail along as the Wheel drags me where it will." Surely there couldn't be anyone else in there… This really didn't sound like Lews Therin, he was always full of himself, in control and confident to the point of offensive pomposity at times.
"If I make the slightest slip the Shadow wins. If I show any weakness a High Lord will put a knife in my back and half the world will thank him for it. How am I meant to save these people? How can they be asking this from me?!" Lews Therin's voice rose to an agonised cry and Tel heard a loud thump followed by a curse.
"The Forsaken want me dead and I can barely even hold saidin. Every time I do it's like bathing in filth and yet I want more. What am I even meant to do? I'll kill myself, or worse someone else. Won't that be a thing, recreating the Kinslayer without even meaning to…" A dark chuckle tore its way out of Lews Therin.
"The Shadow waits for me with open arms and daggers concealed behind them, aes sedai seeking to manipulate me, the world against me." There was a soft thud, Tel imagined it might be Lews Therin throwing himself onto his bed.
Lews Therin's voice dropped to a whisper and then started to rise. "I just want to go back to the Two Rivers, see Tam, be back on the farm. I didn't ask for this. They all look at me like I'm Lews Therin Kinslayer. They don't know me, I'm not him! I'm Rand al'Thor! Taija's the only one who even looks at me as a person these days, but how can I live up to what she says when I'm just going to go mad and kill everyone around me, unless I can die in the Last Battle first. What in the Light am I meant to do?" Was that a sob? Surely not.
"I need to be better, to do better than the Dragon ever did, but I don't know how. How can I?!" Lews Therin continued to rant to himself, but Tel didn't need to hear anymore. He didn't want to. He let his web dissipate, the sound fading into the background.
He could walk in and kill the boy right now. No one would stop him, there was no one to help Lews Therin and the boy was clearly incapable of doing it himself. The man he hated most in the world was at his mercy.
So why wasn't he moving? His hand refusing to rise to the door handle, his feet rooted in place.
Tel just felt ill. Sick to his stomach. He couldn't go on like this, if he kept it up someone was going to kill him. Whether it was one of the Chosen or someone on the side of the Light, he just wasn't in a fit state to fight. He needed to get out of here before someone saw him standing outside Lews Therin's door and started asking questions.
After a moment he turned on his heel. He needed to leave. This wasn't even Lews Therin, it was just some boy. Trying to do his best against monsters like Graendal. Monsters like Sammael. Monsters like Tel Janin.
Thinking felt like wading through treacle, but as he strode as fast he safely could towards the outside world, to get out from under Taija's wards his mind never stopped moving.
Lews Therin and his friends working together to fight him. Laughing together. Friendship, allies, trust. Horrified screams as he betrayed his own comrades. Dead eyes staring emptily up at him from corpses scattered across the broken concrete. Lined of broken slaves trooping past him. Faces filled with terrified hate from prisoners who already knew their fates. The delighted joy dancing in Graendal's eyes. Life fading from deep brown eyes.
As soon as he stepped out from under Taija's wards he opened a gateway straight to his bedroom with a snarl. Why couldn't he get his head straight!?
If it was still the Second Age he'd have been pulled off the line by now, ordered into a period of rest and recovery. He gave a choking laugh at the idea of the Shadow ever caring that much about its servants. When had he last laughed? He'd told himself he'd have the last laugh over the other Chosen, but there was no laughter to be had.
Without conscious thought he sank to the floor, his back against the wall, not even bothering to light the lamps with the Power.
What was it all worth? He'd talked, ranted to Taija about the failings of the Light, about revenge. What had he actually done? Ishamael lived. Lanfear lived. The Shadow was as vile as it ever was. Pathetic. She was right. How could she understand? There was nothing worth understanding.
He couldn't even kill Lews Therin. Why did he even want to kill Lews Therin? Because he'd killed Taija? He hadn't. Because he'd doomed the Light with his refusal to support Tel? Tel had stabbed the Light in the back. Because Lews Therin didn't fight hard enough for the Light? Lews Therin had knowingly gone to his doom rather than surrender, unlike him. Because Lews Therin was a better man than he'd ever been?
This wasn't even really Lews Therin, this was a frightened boy doing his best in the face of an implacably hostile world.
In this Age they said no man could walk in the Shadow so long he could not come back to the Light. Bollocks. Some things were unforgivable, could not be justified. He'd seen it in her eyes. He was damned, there was no coming back.
Taija's face seemed to hover at the edge of his vision unbanishable and for the first time since he'd visited Shayol Ghul Tel Janin admitted it to himself, mumbling into the dark of his bedroom, "I was wrong."
- Location
- Earth
Wow what kind thoughts about your (ex?) fiancée
Although at least this time he got his revelation without giving Taija more trauma lol
And hey he met Rand before he begins talking to the Lews Therin in his head
I think it is a fair assumption that Taija has dumped him, even if she hasn't explicitly said it.
Actually when she said Tel Janin was dead, that probably counts as breaking up.
- Location
- Earth: Universe Meta - 1
Most people tend to react badly to break ups, and he just sort of had one...
I'd say so.
Having a mental breakdown is understandable, becoming a mass murderer not so much. The big problem is that even if he was pushed into it by Graendal, he still did it of his own free will.
Graendal meanwhile f***ed up. She missed just how much Taija was a grounding influence, and massive part of his life. She should have known that since I'm pretty sure it's what let her turn him in the first place. However, she's too used to the stability of his stubbornness.
What happens next will be interesting. Tel is used to betrayal, so he could very well decide to kill Graendal.
The thing from Graendal's perspective is that for all she was/is an expert psychologist, she's also one of the Forsaken and that colours the way she views people.
She didn't particularly know Tel pre-war and what she'd have seen when she started working on him was a jealous man who blamed LTT for everything and was in despair about the failings of the Light.
So it would be easy to underestimate Taija's importance to him. Seeing her death as a trigger for existing darkness to come out rather than as the fundamental plank of his fall.
ClawClawBite
Mad Engineering!
- Location
- Seattle, WA
Especially if most of what she knew about Taija came from Miren, whose views on her as an academic rivel certainly implied to someone like Graendal a great deal of professional skills, but would not have included her more subtle traits or supportive elements.
Absolutely. The Forsakens' opinions of her will be shaped by their own prejudices and lack of experience.
There are only two pwho knew her beyond perhaps having bumped into her at a drinks reception she didn't want to be at once or twice. Mierin is one. The other would be a spoiler. Beyond those two it's all reputation and vague memories. Outside her specialised area she wasn't really a public figure.
Edit: two excluding Tel Janin/Sammael.
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I assume you mean three, then, counting Tel.
- Location
- Earth
I'm guessing, and not expecting confirmation here, that its Mesaana, given her backstory is "nobody gave me a research grant so I turned to satan"
Sorry yes of course. Tel is in a category of his own.
Perhaps
- Location
- Earth: Universe Meta - 1
I've forgotten all about her. That's a hilarious way to describe someone though.
Including, it seems, continually underestimating her. Be'lal knew she was supposed to be there, his wards didn't so what they were supposed to, but he still was almost taken by surprise.
Ishmael is in large part so dangerous because he doesn't seem to have that issue. Actually, how did he even get into the chamber. Anti-traveling wards should have stopped him.
See the flashback from when she met Tel, or even when she blew up her own physics department. She never acted like a powerful channeler and so people often forgot.
He arrived on foot same as everyone else. For leaving, he brought down the wards first. Taija wasn't looking for it and Be'lal was distracted/dead.
Chapter XXXIV - Iaido is Kind of Cool
As usual any speech in italics is in the Old Tongue
Chapter XXXIV - Iaido is Kind of Cool
Tel wasn't sure how long he'd spent sitting staring at the wall of the lush bedroom afforded to someone of his status. It didn't matter though.
It was like a wall had broken within him. Every small realisation leading to the next. Every single one worse than the last. His whole world view shattering around him, every little justification, rationalisation broken down and thrown away.
He hadn't slept all night, just sitting and thinking, then pacing and thinking, sometimes raging, sometimes calm. There were several dents in the room's carved wooden panelling where he'd punched it in his anger.
He'd argued with himself, of course, repeating the same tired justifications that he had for so many years. But it all boiled down to the same thing. He'd been wrong.
It was inexcusable. He didn't mean that the way he normally did, that errors were beneath him. Maybe unforgivable was a better word. The things he'd done…
He was a logical enough man to understand the problem. Once you took away the foundations underlying his choices, every single one became unjustifiable. A cascade of evil. He could die a thousand times over without redeeming himself.
It wasn't until the next morning that he felt able to leave his room and that was only to tell his majordomo to cancel all of his appointments. He needed more time to think. And after a fitful nap that was exactly what he did.
He sat and thought about the future, about what he really wanted and what he could do. Instincts ingrained by years of War and service to the Shadow told him that he should use his position of Power, he had Illian, he could lead the Light and redeem himself defeating the Shadow.
That was insanity though. A continuation of everything that he'd done wrong since the start of the War. It was just an excuse to seek more power, even if through a new route, and he'd seen where that led.
He knew that what he really wanted was to go straight to Taija and throw himself at her feet. To beg for her mercy and forgiveness. To ask her for redemption. To ask her for her love once more. He also knew that it was a deeply selfish idea, one that followed on from years of selfish ideas.
He'd broken her heart twice now. Once when she thought he was dead and again, worse, when she found why he was alive. He'd seen the way she looked at him. She was right to. There was no way she would accept him, no way she could forgive him.
He might be able to find redemption in death at her hands. Would she actually kill him? He wasn't sure, but putting that decision on her would just hurt her more. He wouldn't, couldn't be even more of a burden on her. She needed to think Tel Janin and Sammael were both dead and gone. Dying would be the kindest thing he could do for her. Perhaps then she could eventually move on, find someone in this Age who could help her heal, help her be happy once more. The idea hurt, but it felt right.
If he truly believed that what he had done was wrong then he needed to think strategically. What was the most good that he could do? The most good he could do without delusions of leadership.
If he even had a future and he suspected he didn't, he also needed to think about himself and his flaws in a way that he hated. What selfish weaknesses had led to him betraying the Light? How could he reverse them? Never mind seeking absolution from others, he needed to find absolution from himself.
Eventually, a plan started to come together. It would be difficult, but it would help the Light. It also went against every negative instinct in him. He hated the idea of it with a passion, but that was what made it perfect.
That night Tel opened a gateway to a small stone cairn in the middle of nowhere. A cairn that very very few people knew about. On the cairn he left a message. That was the first step.
Afterwards he slept better than he had in weeks.
It was a couple of days later, when he checked the cairn, that he found a slab of stone with a few short symbols carved into it. It was just a time and a location. Yet it was exactly what he'd been waiting for.
Later that day Tel stood in his bedroom, carefully adjusting his clothes. A fine green, embroidered coat of silk with just a touch of lace at the cuffs covered his top half. Brown breeches and knee high leather boots were visible below it. Looking at himself in a reflective web of air and spirit he tightened his belt, the heron marks clear on the hilt of the sword sheathed through it. He looked the epitome of one of the backwards nobles of this era, wealthy, but not foppish. A man of action, the way Sammael always liked to look. It was fitting.
Suitably attired, Tel Traveled to a non-descript manor house in the Altaran countryside. The place seemed to be dead, the gardens around it covered in snow and the building itself in dire need of maintenance. However, when he raised his hand to knock on the door it swung open with a low creak just before he could touch it. Behind it stood an empty eyed man dressed in black. Much like one of Graendal's slaves in fact, but without the devotion or nudity. With a low bow the mindless man gestured for Tel to follow him.
As soon as he stepped over the threshold Tel released saidin. Walking into this place holding the Power, even with it concealed, was asking to be killed. He had no false modesty about his abilities, but here, seeing this man, well…
It was a short walk to the main reception room and the servant opened the wide doors to it with another bow.
Tel strode inside, not even sparing a glance for the servant, he was beyond thanking anyway. Inside stood a bearded man with a kindly face. The sort of man who you might think should have been teaching undergraduates philosophy, at least until you saw the stream of black saa flowing across his eyes.
Tel suppressed a spike of fear and the urge to turn and flee. Instead he strode forward as Ishamael greeted him, "Sammael. I hope your request for an emergency meeting was not frivolous, I am a busy man." Even his voice was mild, trustworthy, although perhaps a bit less friendly than usual. Actually, he was holding himself oddly, had he been injured? It didn't matter.
"Thank you for making the time to see me Ishamael," he kept walking forward, "I have urgent news to share. It's of the greatest importance, something dire has happened."
Ishamael's face took on a more focused look, "tell me Sammael." He was a paranoid madman, but he clearly felt relaxed with the True Power blasting through him and Tel carefully not even thinking about touching saidin.
"Of course, it's about the Dragon," rage flashed across Ishamael's face, the kindliness vanishing to be replaced by something vile.
There, close enough. Tel leant forward gesturing wide with his left hand to Ishamael's attention away, "he's found…" he didn't need to think, his right hand moved instinctively. A movement he'd honed with over a century of training.
It was faster than thought, faster than he could channel. Fingers closed round the hilt of his sword and he was drawing. The steel blade moving so quickly it painted a diagonal line across his vision as it slashed upwards.
Time seemed to freeze for a moment. Tel should have brought the sword down again, struck a second time, but he was caught in the moment too.
Ishamael looked down from Tel to his torso, eyes widening in disbelief, nothing seemed to have changed at first except a thin, red line gradually widening across it.
The stream of saa in Ishamael's eyes briefly increased to a storm and then vanished, at the same time Tel felt the man seize saidin, a huge amount of the Power, far beyond what Tel could handle. He must have an angreal. For a moment it surged through the man, his lips working soundlessly. Then he fell to his knees, blood suddenly streaming down his front and saidin faded once more.
With a soft thump Ishamael hit the floor face down and Tel let out the breath he'd been holding in a long sigh of a relief.
He was committed now. There was no turning back.
Whether he'd killed her or not, Ishamael had separated him from Taija. The first step in his fall. Revenge for that wasn't sweet, it was cold ashes on his lips, but he had made the first step. Now to continue with the plan.
=======
It was surprising for Taija how quickly the Stone of Tear got back to a semblance of normality. The Dragon's banner now flew above it and the scars of battle still marred it in places. However, beyond that life seemed to continue largely unchanged for its inhabitants. Well as far as she could tell anyway, she was hardly an expert.
Taija was occupying her time teaching the girls and talking with Rand. The burden of his position was clear on him. She spent time trying to support him and give him advice. Not on the politics, frankly she hadn't a clue there, the Tairen nobles all seemed to be snakes and frankly she found the whole system deeply distasteful but she couldn't say much more than that. Still though she could talk to him and listen to his problems, be a sounding stone for his thoughts.
Aleksi seemed to have come down with a nasty fever, but luckily Moiraine and Nynaeve were both talented healers and spent time with him. She was assured by them that he was in no immediate danger.
Now that Taija wasn't undercover she'd gone back to wearing 'men's' clothes. One thing that gave her some pleasure was being in a position of sufficient wealth and power that she could order clothes designed to replicate the fashions that she used to like. The materials weren't right, but it was nice to be back in practical-chique. Leather boots, loose trousers made of thick cloth, with pockets! A light silk blouse tucked into the trousers and an open coat over them.
The looks she got from the Tairens irritated her, but they were more scared of an aes sedai than they were of her breaking of social norms. The Dedicated on the other hand seemed to find it completely unremarkable once they found out that she was an aes sedai. As far as Taija could tell they just accepted that aes sedai were different and could do what they wanted. She supposed there was an element of truth to that, especially in this time when might made right.
As for the Dedicated, they were both intriguing and confusing. Just the fact that they called themselves the Dedicated was odd.
She'd never had much to do with the Dedicated to Peace by aes sedai standards. Taija hadn't really needed them and her career didn't lend itself to their services. Of course she still encountered them during her infrequent visits to the Hall of Servants and at formal events that she couldn't avoid. However, she'd also found them a bit unbalanced, service was vital, but it wasn't everything, people also needed to look after themselves. Not that that was an opinion she could have shared in her time without causing great offence. Regardless of that, she missed them, their songs, their compassion the happiness they shared with their aes sedai...
Anyway, these Dedicated were nothing like those she remembered. Certainly not peaceful or subservient. Instead they seemed to be dedicated to war. Hard eyed and hard bodied men and women who put her a bit on edge with the way they moved. She'd met enough very dangerous people in her life to be able to recognise them. It wasn't that they scared her, but when she wasn't entirely confident whose side they were on or what they really wanted it worried her.
One afternoon Taija found herself walking with Rhuarc, not for the first time. A Dedicated clan chief, he was a giant of a man. So many of the Dedicated were. Taija thought he must be around 200 centimetres tall though, it was such a difference from her own height that she felt faintly ridiculous walking next to him. She couldn't say she enjoyed how fast she had to walk to keep up either, practically scurrying.
"I see you Taija sedai." He greeted her in the way the Dedicated seemed to like.
"Hello Rhuarc, how are you today? Is everything well?" Taija was going to feel the strain in her neck if she spent too much time looking up at him as they talked.
"All is well. The wetlanders continue to squabble, water still falls from the sky and the dream goes on." He seemed mildly amused by something, Taija wasn't sure if he'd just made a joke.
He'd already shown her his dragon tattoo and explained that the Dedicated thought Rand was their prophecised Chief of Chiefs, and the other Dedicated seem to agree with him. However, beyond that Taija had found them very tight lipped. Whenever she'd asked them deeper questions they'd been highly apologetic and spoken of secrets that were only for those who'd been to Rhuidean.
She thought perhaps Rhuarc might be more helpful. "Rhuarc, why are the Dedicated called that? What exactly are you dedicated to?"
When she'd asked other Dedicated they'd said that they only knew that they had failed the aes sedai in some unknown way and would need to atone for their sins. It was very frustrating! "Some things are to be known only to Clan Chiefs and Wise Ones Taija sedai." He at least looked guilty.
"If you say so," she replied, struggling not to sound grumpy. "No one seems to know much of the Dedicated though." Her voice took on a nostalgic tone. "I remember the Dedicated to Peace. It's a funny coincidence really that they share a name with you, they didn't dress that differently to you either. Very different people though," she glanced at the spears and buckler on his back, "I suppose it's a common enough word." Concern shot through her, "are you alright, are you choking?"
Rhuarc managed to stop coughing, "it is nothing Taija sedai, please do not worry."
He definitely looked awkward, but Taija was fully into nostalgic memories and refused to be distracted by the man swallowing a fly or whatever had triggered his coughing fit. The Dedicated to Peace were something that could never have survived the War and the Breaking, but still… "They were such lovely people. I remember once going out to the fields in spring and the songs they sang…" She smiled faintly, lost in the memory.
"You saw…" Rhuarc seemed to be speechless. Taija supposed he wouldn't really know what to say to something like that, it couldn't exist in this time. "Does the White Tower have ter'angreal to see… such things?"
"Oh…" She was brought crashing back to the present by the mention of the White Tower. "I suppose it might, I don't really know." She felt bad for it, but she was annoyed at him for ruining the moment. "The ways of the aes sedai are mysterious and should not be questioned." Her tone was clearly sarcastic, but he didn't seem to pick up on it, instead nodding firmly and quickly making an excuse to leave.
Taija felt somewhat guilty for that and was in a bad mood for the rest of the day.
=======
Despite what Taija had said about its dangers Egwene kept on finding herself in Tel'aran'rhiod. She could normally stop herself from going there when she fell asleep, Taija's advice had worked, if only partially, but she still wanted to visit it to explore her new found abilities. So, often she simply allowed herself to walk into the World of Dreams.
She was fairly sure Taija hadn't meant to encourage her to visit more, but her explanation of how things worked there made everything so much easier. She still struggled to control her clothing and surroundings it was true, but she'd made huge progress! Just knowing that it was a matter of will and focus at least gave her something to work on.
With a happy smile she focused and jumped to the Two Rivers. Tonight she'd see whether anything had changed back home.
=======
Somewhere in one of the finest palaces in Illian a sudden, gigantic explosion ripped through Lord Brend's apartments, annihilating them utterly.
No explanation could be found for it, but people muttered about darkfriends and aes sedai plots and thanked the Creator that through some fortuitous coincidence none of the servants had been present there. Apparently a voluptuous blonde woman in scandalous clothing had been seen going to them, presumably for a liaison with the Lord, but no one seemed to know who she was and it was presumed that she had perished with Lord Brend.
Nothing was left of poor Lord Brend or his lover, but a number of people suddenly found themselves reconsidering their plans for both their own houses and Illian itself, wondering why they had tied themselves to such an upstart lord. In the end a small funeral was held for him in his palace grounds following which everyone tried to discretely forget he'd ever existed.
Chapter XXXIV - Iaido is Kind of Cool
Tel wasn't sure how long he'd spent sitting staring at the wall of the lush bedroom afforded to someone of his status. It didn't matter though.
It was like a wall had broken within him. Every small realisation leading to the next. Every single one worse than the last. His whole world view shattering around him, every little justification, rationalisation broken down and thrown away.
He hadn't slept all night, just sitting and thinking, then pacing and thinking, sometimes raging, sometimes calm. There were several dents in the room's carved wooden panelling where he'd punched it in his anger.
He'd argued with himself, of course, repeating the same tired justifications that he had for so many years. But it all boiled down to the same thing. He'd been wrong.
It was inexcusable. He didn't mean that the way he normally did, that errors were beneath him. Maybe unforgivable was a better word. The things he'd done…
He was a logical enough man to understand the problem. Once you took away the foundations underlying his choices, every single one became unjustifiable. A cascade of evil. He could die a thousand times over without redeeming himself.
It wasn't until the next morning that he felt able to leave his room and that was only to tell his majordomo to cancel all of his appointments. He needed more time to think. And after a fitful nap that was exactly what he did.
He sat and thought about the future, about what he really wanted and what he could do. Instincts ingrained by years of War and service to the Shadow told him that he should use his position of Power, he had Illian, he could lead the Light and redeem himself defeating the Shadow.
That was insanity though. A continuation of everything that he'd done wrong since the start of the War. It was just an excuse to seek more power, even if through a new route, and he'd seen where that led.
He knew that what he really wanted was to go straight to Taija and throw himself at her feet. To beg for her mercy and forgiveness. To ask her for redemption. To ask her for her love once more. He also knew that it was a deeply selfish idea, one that followed on from years of selfish ideas.
He'd broken her heart twice now. Once when she thought he was dead and again, worse, when she found why he was alive. He'd seen the way she looked at him. She was right to. There was no way she would accept him, no way she could forgive him.
He might be able to find redemption in death at her hands. Would she actually kill him? He wasn't sure, but putting that decision on her would just hurt her more. He wouldn't, couldn't be even more of a burden on her. She needed to think Tel Janin and Sammael were both dead and gone. Dying would be the kindest thing he could do for her. Perhaps then she could eventually move on, find someone in this Age who could help her heal, help her be happy once more. The idea hurt, but it felt right.
If he truly believed that what he had done was wrong then he needed to think strategically. What was the most good that he could do? The most good he could do without delusions of leadership.
If he even had a future and he suspected he didn't, he also needed to think about himself and his flaws in a way that he hated. What selfish weaknesses had led to him betraying the Light? How could he reverse them? Never mind seeking absolution from others, he needed to find absolution from himself.
Eventually, a plan started to come together. It would be difficult, but it would help the Light. It also went against every negative instinct in him. He hated the idea of it with a passion, but that was what made it perfect.
That night Tel opened a gateway to a small stone cairn in the middle of nowhere. A cairn that very very few people knew about. On the cairn he left a message. That was the first step.
Afterwards he slept better than he had in weeks.
It was a couple of days later, when he checked the cairn, that he found a slab of stone with a few short symbols carved into it. It was just a time and a location. Yet it was exactly what he'd been waiting for.
Later that day Tel stood in his bedroom, carefully adjusting his clothes. A fine green, embroidered coat of silk with just a touch of lace at the cuffs covered his top half. Brown breeches and knee high leather boots were visible below it. Looking at himself in a reflective web of air and spirit he tightened his belt, the heron marks clear on the hilt of the sword sheathed through it. He looked the epitome of one of the backwards nobles of this era, wealthy, but not foppish. A man of action, the way Sammael always liked to look. It was fitting.
Suitably attired, Tel Traveled to a non-descript manor house in the Altaran countryside. The place seemed to be dead, the gardens around it covered in snow and the building itself in dire need of maintenance. However, when he raised his hand to knock on the door it swung open with a low creak just before he could touch it. Behind it stood an empty eyed man dressed in black. Much like one of Graendal's slaves in fact, but without the devotion or nudity. With a low bow the mindless man gestured for Tel to follow him.
As soon as he stepped over the threshold Tel released saidin. Walking into this place holding the Power, even with it concealed, was asking to be killed. He had no false modesty about his abilities, but here, seeing this man, well…
It was a short walk to the main reception room and the servant opened the wide doors to it with another bow.
Tel strode inside, not even sparing a glance for the servant, he was beyond thanking anyway. Inside stood a bearded man with a kindly face. The sort of man who you might think should have been teaching undergraduates philosophy, at least until you saw the stream of black saa flowing across his eyes.
Tel suppressed a spike of fear and the urge to turn and flee. Instead he strode forward as Ishamael greeted him, "Sammael. I hope your request for an emergency meeting was not frivolous, I am a busy man." Even his voice was mild, trustworthy, although perhaps a bit less friendly than usual. Actually, he was holding himself oddly, had he been injured? It didn't matter.
"Thank you for making the time to see me Ishamael," he kept walking forward, "I have urgent news to share. It's of the greatest importance, something dire has happened."
Ishamael's face took on a more focused look, "tell me Sammael." He was a paranoid madman, but he clearly felt relaxed with the True Power blasting through him and Tel carefully not even thinking about touching saidin.
"Of course, it's about the Dragon," rage flashed across Ishamael's face, the kindliness vanishing to be replaced by something vile.
There, close enough. Tel leant forward gesturing wide with his left hand to Ishamael's attention away, "he's found…" he didn't need to think, his right hand moved instinctively. A movement he'd honed with over a century of training.
It was faster than thought, faster than he could channel. Fingers closed round the hilt of his sword and he was drawing. The steel blade moving so quickly it painted a diagonal line across his vision as it slashed upwards.
Time seemed to freeze for a moment. Tel should have brought the sword down again, struck a second time, but he was caught in the moment too.
Ishamael looked down from Tel to his torso, eyes widening in disbelief, nothing seemed to have changed at first except a thin, red line gradually widening across it.
The stream of saa in Ishamael's eyes briefly increased to a storm and then vanished, at the same time Tel felt the man seize saidin, a huge amount of the Power, far beyond what Tel could handle. He must have an angreal. For a moment it surged through the man, his lips working soundlessly. Then he fell to his knees, blood suddenly streaming down his front and saidin faded once more.
With a soft thump Ishamael hit the floor face down and Tel let out the breath he'd been holding in a long sigh of a relief.
He was committed now. There was no turning back.
Whether he'd killed her or not, Ishamael had separated him from Taija. The first step in his fall. Revenge for that wasn't sweet, it was cold ashes on his lips, but he had made the first step. Now to continue with the plan.
=======
It was surprising for Taija how quickly the Stone of Tear got back to a semblance of normality. The Dragon's banner now flew above it and the scars of battle still marred it in places. However, beyond that life seemed to continue largely unchanged for its inhabitants. Well as far as she could tell anyway, she was hardly an expert.
Taija was occupying her time teaching the girls and talking with Rand. The burden of his position was clear on him. She spent time trying to support him and give him advice. Not on the politics, frankly she hadn't a clue there, the Tairen nobles all seemed to be snakes and frankly she found the whole system deeply distasteful but she couldn't say much more than that. Still though she could talk to him and listen to his problems, be a sounding stone for his thoughts.
Aleksi seemed to have come down with a nasty fever, but luckily Moiraine and Nynaeve were both talented healers and spent time with him. She was assured by them that he was in no immediate danger.
Now that Taija wasn't undercover she'd gone back to wearing 'men's' clothes. One thing that gave her some pleasure was being in a position of sufficient wealth and power that she could order clothes designed to replicate the fashions that she used to like. The materials weren't right, but it was nice to be back in practical-chique. Leather boots, loose trousers made of thick cloth, with pockets! A light silk blouse tucked into the trousers and an open coat over them.
The looks she got from the Tairens irritated her, but they were more scared of an aes sedai than they were of her breaking of social norms. The Dedicated on the other hand seemed to find it completely unremarkable once they found out that she was an aes sedai. As far as Taija could tell they just accepted that aes sedai were different and could do what they wanted. She supposed there was an element of truth to that, especially in this time when might made right.
As for the Dedicated, they were both intriguing and confusing. Just the fact that they called themselves the Dedicated was odd.
She'd never had much to do with the Dedicated to Peace by aes sedai standards. Taija hadn't really needed them and her career didn't lend itself to their services. Of course she still encountered them during her infrequent visits to the Hall of Servants and at formal events that she couldn't avoid. However, she'd also found them a bit unbalanced, service was vital, but it wasn't everything, people also needed to look after themselves. Not that that was an opinion she could have shared in her time without causing great offence. Regardless of that, she missed them, their songs, their compassion the happiness they shared with their aes sedai...
Anyway, these Dedicated were nothing like those she remembered. Certainly not peaceful or subservient. Instead they seemed to be dedicated to war. Hard eyed and hard bodied men and women who put her a bit on edge with the way they moved. She'd met enough very dangerous people in her life to be able to recognise them. It wasn't that they scared her, but when she wasn't entirely confident whose side they were on or what they really wanted it worried her.
One afternoon Taija found herself walking with Rhuarc, not for the first time. A Dedicated clan chief, he was a giant of a man. So many of the Dedicated were. Taija thought he must be around 200 centimetres tall though, it was such a difference from her own height that she felt faintly ridiculous walking next to him. She couldn't say she enjoyed how fast she had to walk to keep up either, practically scurrying.
"I see you Taija sedai." He greeted her in the way the Dedicated seemed to like.
"Hello Rhuarc, how are you today? Is everything well?" Taija was going to feel the strain in her neck if she spent too much time looking up at him as they talked.
"All is well. The wetlanders continue to squabble, water still falls from the sky and the dream goes on." He seemed mildly amused by something, Taija wasn't sure if he'd just made a joke.
He'd already shown her his dragon tattoo and explained that the Dedicated thought Rand was their prophecised Chief of Chiefs, and the other Dedicated seem to agree with him. However, beyond that Taija had found them very tight lipped. Whenever she'd asked them deeper questions they'd been highly apologetic and spoken of secrets that were only for those who'd been to Rhuidean.
She thought perhaps Rhuarc might be more helpful. "Rhuarc, why are the Dedicated called that? What exactly are you dedicated to?"
When she'd asked other Dedicated they'd said that they only knew that they had failed the aes sedai in some unknown way and would need to atone for their sins. It was very frustrating! "Some things are to be known only to Clan Chiefs and Wise Ones Taija sedai." He at least looked guilty.
"If you say so," she replied, struggling not to sound grumpy. "No one seems to know much of the Dedicated though." Her voice took on a nostalgic tone. "I remember the Dedicated to Peace. It's a funny coincidence really that they share a name with you, they didn't dress that differently to you either. Very different people though," she glanced at the spears and buckler on his back, "I suppose it's a common enough word." Concern shot through her, "are you alright, are you choking?"
Rhuarc managed to stop coughing, "it is nothing Taija sedai, please do not worry."
He definitely looked awkward, but Taija was fully into nostalgic memories and refused to be distracted by the man swallowing a fly or whatever had triggered his coughing fit. The Dedicated to Peace were something that could never have survived the War and the Breaking, but still… "They were such lovely people. I remember once going out to the fields in spring and the songs they sang…" She smiled faintly, lost in the memory.
"You saw…" Rhuarc seemed to be speechless. Taija supposed he wouldn't really know what to say to something like that, it couldn't exist in this time. "Does the White Tower have ter'angreal to see… such things?"
"Oh…" She was brought crashing back to the present by the mention of the White Tower. "I suppose it might, I don't really know." She felt bad for it, but she was annoyed at him for ruining the moment. "The ways of the aes sedai are mysterious and should not be questioned." Her tone was clearly sarcastic, but he didn't seem to pick up on it, instead nodding firmly and quickly making an excuse to leave.
Taija felt somewhat guilty for that and was in a bad mood for the rest of the day.
=======
Despite what Taija had said about its dangers Egwene kept on finding herself in Tel'aran'rhiod. She could normally stop herself from going there when she fell asleep, Taija's advice had worked, if only partially, but she still wanted to visit it to explore her new found abilities. So, often she simply allowed herself to walk into the World of Dreams.
She was fairly sure Taija hadn't meant to encourage her to visit more, but her explanation of how things worked there made everything so much easier. She still struggled to control her clothing and surroundings it was true, but she'd made huge progress! Just knowing that it was a matter of will and focus at least gave her something to work on.
With a happy smile she focused and jumped to the Two Rivers. Tonight she'd see whether anything had changed back home.
=======
Somewhere in one of the finest palaces in Illian a sudden, gigantic explosion ripped through Lord Brend's apartments, annihilating them utterly.
No explanation could be found for it, but people muttered about darkfriends and aes sedai plots and thanked the Creator that through some fortuitous coincidence none of the servants had been present there. Apparently a voluptuous blonde woman in scandalous clothing had been seen going to them, presumably for a liaison with the Lord, but no one seemed to know who she was and it was presumed that she had perished with Lord Brend.
Nothing was left of poor Lord Brend or his lover, but a number of people suddenly found themselves reconsidering their plans for both their own houses and Illian itself, wondering why they had tied themselves to such an upstart lord. In the end a small funeral was held for him in his palace grounds following which everyone tried to discretely forget he'd ever existed.
- Location
- Earth
Sammael redemption arc let's go!
- Location
- Mahāpadma
Oh wow, it's actually happening?
Sounds like Tel was able to balefire Graendal. Not Ishamael unfortunately, though it's reasonable that he wasn't dumb enough to try. Even just removing Ishamael from the board temporarily is big, if he can go after the other Forsaken without Ishamael able to interfere. Official sources have Sammael as the 4th strongest, so as long as his ego doesn't make him take Rahvin or Demandred on 1v1 face to face, he should do well.
Sounds like Tel was able to balefire Graendal. Not Ishamael unfortunately, though it's reasonable that he wasn't dumb enough to try. Even just removing Ishamael from the board temporarily is big, if he can go after the other Forsaken without Ishamael able to interfere. Official sources have Sammael as the 4th strongest, so as long as his ego doesn't make him take Rahvin or Demandred on 1v1 face to face, he should do well.
- Location
- Earth: Universe Meta - 1
Yeah, turns out the guy who killed his own command staff is good at betrayal. Who could have guessed.
Also, I dont think he Balefired anyone. He still doesn't know that they can be resurrected, and very deliberately doesn't use it.
I can also see him actually training Rand. Not because he wants to, but because it's atonement. Which probably means being bound in some way. Really, this is probably exactly the situation the binding rod is made for.
Also, I dont think he Balefired anyone. He still doesn't know that they can be resurrected, and very deliberately doesn't use it.
I can also see him actually training Rand. Not because he wants to, but because it's atonement. Which probably means being bound in some way. Really, this is probably exactly the situation the binding rod is made for.
Chapter XXXV - Can You Forgive The Unforgiveable?
As usual speech in italics is in the Old Tongue.
Chapter XXXV - Can You Forgive The Unforgiveable?
While the Dedicated were intriguingly odd, there was something else in the Stone that captured Taija's attention.
It was Moiraine that told her that there was a store of artifacts from the 'Age of Legends' in the bowels of the Stone. Taija could tell she wasn't happy revealing it to her, that woman kept secrets like they were treasure, but she thought Taija might have more luck than her in identifying what some of the ter'angreal were meant to do.
So one day Taija descended with Moiraine down into the depths of the fortress. She led Taija to a damp, dark room that looked like it was strewn with rubbish. When the ball of light that Taija channeled into the air illuminated it she could see that it might once have been richly decorated and well organised, but now random objects lay haphazardly everywhere.
Taija carefully picked her way through the room glancing at what surrounded her. There must have been well over a hundred items in there, but as soon as she saw it she only had eyes for one thing. A ter'angreal that she instantly recognised. A large doorframe, made of a red stone that seemed to twist to make a continuous edge that her eyes refused to follow. Wavy lines bedecked its sides and edges.
"Do you recognise it?" Moiraine asked, a hint of impatience in her voice.
Taija stared at it for a long moment, "yes, I'd never seen it, but I recognise it. The Aelfinn…" She gave herself a shake, "you know of it?"
Moiraine didn't answer immediately. "Yes. The White Tower has studied it, I am aware of its nature."
"Mmm," Taija stared a little longer before tearing her eyes away. "A dangerous thing to leave unattended. Dangerous for anyone who walks into it. I'm surprised it isn't better guarded."
"No one comes here, the High Lords despise anything to do with the Power," Moiraine didn't seem to be overly interested. "What about the other items."
"Oh. Yes." She'd be back for the doorway when Moiraine wasn't around. Taija started to pick her way through the room, careful not to touch anything without looking at it first. She picked up a small intricately decorated box. "This was used to make video-calls. Umm to view and speak to someone from a distance. Useless now."
She kept looking, "this will produce a bright light from one end if the button on it is pushed down. It should still work." Taija showed Moiraine a torch.
She found a blank screen encased in a metal frame. "This was used for entertainment, imagine seeing a play whenever and wherever you wanted. It wouldn't work anymore."
There was a pistol made of some kind of hardened plastic sitting on a pedastal. Clearly an officer's weapon, it was ornately decorated. Taija picked it up and sighted along it, being careful not to point it at Moiraine or anything potentially valuable. "This was a miniature shocklance. It would shoot… tiny fireballs, but you needed… bolts to put in it and it's useless without them." She pointed it at the wall and pulled the trigger to the sound of a dull click.
"This is a mobile telephone, it was used to communicate over long distances." Taija found quite a few of those. All useless without infrastructure.
She spotted a small ball made of a black metal and while Moiraine was distracted by one of the other items Taija slipped it into a pocket in her coat. It might come in useful at some point and would be a neat trick to have up her sleeve. Once charged with a flow of saidar she could set a timer by twisting it and then it would work as a reusable flashbang.
There was a small, silvery metal rod, separated into two parts that could be twisted separately. "This one's actually useful." Taija tried not to sound surprised. "You can use it to create a bubble of silence, like a ward against eavesdropping, but it also blocks light and electromagnetic signals." She took a certain immature pleasure in not explaining the last two words.
Many of the items Taija discarded as rubbish, nothing to do with the Power or her time.
She found a metal rod with a pair of probes on the end, "this is more interesting. You'd use it to detect electrical activity, umm tamed lightning, perhaps if you were a builder. I think it would still work, but I'm not sure what you'd use it for now."
As Taija progressed through the detritus of her civilisation, doing her best to explain concepts that were blindingly obvious for her to someone who didn't even know what a steam engine was, she found herself getting more and more depressed.
"This one I've got no idea." Moiraine didn't say anything, but Taija had said it about a few things and she could feel her being unimpressed each time It was actually very irritating that Moiraine seemed to expect her to know what everything was. Lots of the objects were mass manufactured, some of them weren't even really ter'angreal in any sense beyond using the standing weaves to function or just simple electricty, but there were thousands, millions of different ter'angreal. Many of them custom made. Why on earth would she know what someone's special, personal 'massage wand' looked like?!
"This one controls the weather in a small radius. If you channel air and spirit into it you can charge it so it'll be useful for a few hours. The very rich would use it for garden parties to ensure good weather, I'm not sure it's got much use to it beyond that." That was a flat golden disc with clouds etched into it.
Finally Taija got to the last item. "Another mobile telephone." She wondered what that said about her world, that half the remnants were mobile phones. "I'm afraid that's it Moiraine sedai. There's nothing more that I can identify."
She nodded graciously, "nevertheless thank you Taija sedai, you have been most helpful."
=======
Rand sat at the ornately carved desk in his room staring at the piles of reports on it. Callandor was propped up against the wall. He wasn't mad yet. Surely. But it was ridiculous, everyone was looking up to him when he knew what his fate was. He laughed at the dark irony.
He looked up, his laughter cut short when his door swung smoothly open on its well oiled hinges. A servant walked in carrying a jug of wine. It was odd, he hadn't called for anything, but the Aiel had let him past so he supposed it was normal. He was still getting used to being more than just a farmer.
There was a certain tension about the servant though. Something not quite right.
Rand immediately reached for the Power, seeking to seize saidin, just in case.
Instead of feeling the raging torrent of saidin he smashed into an unseen barrier. Panic spiked in him, he'd been shielded!
With a snarl Rand dived for Callandor, only for the air around him to ripple into solidity, leaving him uncomfortably frozen mid leap. All he could do was stare at the 'servant' fury and despair competing for dominance in his eyes.
The 'servant' met his eyes with a hard look of his own and then seemed to waver as his appearance rippled to be replaced a few seconds later by an arrogant looking blonde man, hair and beard cropped short, blue eyes hard and a scar torn across his face. Saidin also seemed to suddenly fill the man, presumably as an inverted web was allowed to dissipate.
Sammael looked at Rand for a long moment before using his web of air to drag him back to a more comfortable position in his chair.
"What do you want?" Rand spat, defiance his last weapon as he stared death in the face.
Instead of the gloating or torture that he expected Rand received an awkward shrug. "Lews Th… Ah Rand… I'm sorry, let me ex… No, you'll understand soon enough." He could feel saidin raging through Sammael, more than he could possibly hold.
Helpless as he was, all he could do was wait for death and watch.
So he looked on with ever wider eyes as Sammael drew his sword. He could see it was a masterwork, herons stamped into the hilt. The sword came slowly out of its sheath and Sammael held it between them as if weighing it up. Then, with a sudden, decisive movement he turned it towards himself, hilt pointing to Rand before laying it smoothly onto Rand's desk.
"W what are you doing?" Rand stammered.
Sammael's reply was terse, "be silent, for once in your life." Rand could feel tension thrumming through the man. "You'll understand soon enough." He repeated.
The Forsaken then pulled a pair of daggers from his belt, again laying them on the desk with their hilts pointing towards Rand. The scowl that Rand had come to associate with the man from their brief encounters was there as strong as ever.
Then came another dagger from inside Sammael's coat and another one from each boot. Each silently placed on the table with careful, almost formal precision, although Rand was sure he could see a slight tremble in the man's hands.
Finally, he reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a long gem encrusted ivory tooth, thicker than Rand's thumb and almost as long as his hand. That too was laid on the table beside the sword. The amount of saidin Sammael held felt like it diminished greatly as he put that down.
Sammael then took a step back and spread his arms. "I am unarmed." His tone was flat, but with a hint of pain to his voice.
At this point Rand was left watching him with shock dominating his other emotions. There was something deeply ritualistic about what Sammael was doing, Rand wasn't sure why, but it somehow felt like a familiar pattern.
Sammael met his eyes then, furious, sharp blue eyes boring into his before he suddenly looked down. Was this it? Was this when it all ended? Some sick joke for Sammael to prove he didn't need weapons to kill him? Rand closed his eyes, perhaps death wouldn't be so bad.
He heard a thump and franticly reached for saidin. The shield was gone! He seized it before opening his eyes, drawing in as much as he could hold, Be'lal's angreal, a statuette of a bald, fat man sitting cross-legged and holding a sword, allowing him to hold far more than he could unassisted. Sammael had sunk to his knees before him. His eyes down and hands clenched in tight fists at his side.
"Lews Th… No. Rand al'Thor. I have wronged you. I have wronged the Light and I have wronged the world." Under Rand's stunned gaze Sammael prostrated himself, folding over his knees so that his forehead touched the cold, stone floor. "I have committed crimes for which there can be no forgiveness. I acknowledge and accept my guilt, I can offer no defence and I do not ask for mercy. I offer you my life, so that my blood might begin to redeem the slightest of my sins. I do not ask for forgiveness, I beg for redemption that I do not deserve."
An old wording, practically ancient and achingly formal, but deeply serious. How did he know that?
Rand didn't know how to react, what to do with a member of the Forsaken on his knees in front of him. In the end all he could do was gasp out one word, "why?"
Sammael straightened up, still kneeling with his head bowed. "I've…" His body language was wildly different to the arrogant confidence that Rand had seen from him the last two times they'd encountered each other. "I've been thinking and… the more I've thought the worse it's been." He took a deep breath, his hands clenching into white knuckled fists at his sides. "I don't want to try to justify myself, there is no justification. I'll just say that since I found that Taija was alive, since I spoke to her, the justifications have made less and less sense. I…"
He trailed off, sounding more like a broken, unsure man than one of the Forsaken. Rand needed to be careful, the Forsaken were manipulators, dangerous. He stood, ready to burn Sammael to a cinder without warning. "Why me? Why have you come here? Why not go to Taija?"
Sammael laughed, a hollow humourless sound. "Going to Taija would have been easy. It would also have been one of the most selfish things I could do. She will never forgive me, how could she? If I offered her my life she'd have to decide whether to take it. How could I do that to the woman I loved, still love? She's burdened with so much already. I've put my actions on top of that. Tel Janin is dead. Sammael is about to die." He sounded utterly broken. "Let her move on, find someone else who'll make her happy."
"You still haven't answered my question." For some reason Rand felt himself growing angrier. Every word Sammael said seemed to inflame something inside him, a mounting urge to kill the man, to make him suffer and watch him burn. "Why me?" He knew his voice was cold and distant filtered through the void.
"You… I could have just killed myself, it would have been easy. Oblivion and an end to my shame. It wouldn't have been enough. It would have been too easy. I hated Lews Therin you know. Even before Taija di… left, I severely disliked the man. I thought he was pompous, foolish and wrong about almost everything. Afterwards, I can't even describe my hate for him. I blamed him for Taija's death. I blamed him for the Light's defeats. I even blamed him for my own failings. I wanted him dead and I wanted nothing more than to do it with my own bare hands." Rand resisted the urge to recoil from the vehemence in Sammael's voice at the same time as he tamped down on the drumbeat of rage inside him that was demanding he exact his own punishment on the Forsaken. "I was wrong though. Oh Lews Therin had his flaws, of course he did, but how could a man like me judge a man like him?"
Sammael took a deep breath and then continued, "What better way to atone for the unatonable than by submitting myself to the man I hated most in the world. I know, you're not Lews Therin, that much is clear to me now. I could have killed you three times in the last few weeks and each time you showed me you weren't." What was the third time?! "But you're still Lews Therin reborn. I must not, cannot take the easy route, so I'm here offering myself to you. My life is forfeit a thousand times over. I deserve to die. I want to die. But it's your choice. I swear under the Light and my hope of salvation and rebirth that I will serve you and the Light to the best of my ability if you so choose. Otherwise, perhaps my blood will serve to wash away some small part of my sins and you'll have one less of the Forsaken to worry about."
Sammael subsided into silence though he was breathing heavily, he seemed to have said his piece. Rand paused for a second, studying the man who knelt there head bowed before him. Internally he was in turmoil, raging torrents skittering across the surface of the void, it was like he felt a voice screaming for him to kill Sammael now.
With a low hiss of metal on leather Rand drew his sword. "I don't know a fraction of what you've done Sammael, but I know enough to say there can be no forgiveness for your crimes."
Rand came round the desk with slow steps and at the same time Sammael reached up to the collar of his coat with trembling fingers and rolled it down exposing the bare skin of his neck. The man was clearly very brave, but terror was starting to show signs in him too.
Kill him! He had to be hard. The Dragon Reborn needed to be able to act. Kill him! Needed to fight for the Light. This man was so dangerous he couldn't even imagine half of what he could do. Kill him! Had committed crimes that made the worst darkfriend look like a kindly grandmother.
Rand stopped beside Sammael, looking down at him as the man bowed his head, fingers digging into his thighs.
Rand raised the sword, hands shaking with the fury hurtling through him. "For what you've done there can be no forgiveness," he repeated the words as he brought the sword down. At the same time he channeled, not totally sure what he was doing, vaguely remembered webs from when he'd first fought Ishamael forming an intricate pattern around the descending sword.
The razor-sharp, saidin-clad blade sliced through the air behind Sammael cutting through something Rand could neither see nor feel. "But maybe there can be a chance at redemption."
Rand was left standing there panting as Sammael screamed in brief, excruciating pain.
=======
Deep in the bowels of the Stone Taija once more stood in the dark, dingy room of ter'angreal looking up at the twisted red stone doorway. She didn't know anywhere near as much as she'd like about it, but she knew enough. She needed answers.
No frivolous questions, no questions that touched on the Shadow. Such simple rules, but she'd heard enough about what happened to people who broke them, whether accidentally or deliberately.
Chapter XXXV - Can You Forgive The Unforgiveable?
While the Dedicated were intriguingly odd, there was something else in the Stone that captured Taija's attention.
It was Moiraine that told her that there was a store of artifacts from the 'Age of Legends' in the bowels of the Stone. Taija could tell she wasn't happy revealing it to her, that woman kept secrets like they were treasure, but she thought Taija might have more luck than her in identifying what some of the ter'angreal were meant to do.
So one day Taija descended with Moiraine down into the depths of the fortress. She led Taija to a damp, dark room that looked like it was strewn with rubbish. When the ball of light that Taija channeled into the air illuminated it she could see that it might once have been richly decorated and well organised, but now random objects lay haphazardly everywhere.
Taija carefully picked her way through the room glancing at what surrounded her. There must have been well over a hundred items in there, but as soon as she saw it she only had eyes for one thing. A ter'angreal that she instantly recognised. A large doorframe, made of a red stone that seemed to twist to make a continuous edge that her eyes refused to follow. Wavy lines bedecked its sides and edges.
"Do you recognise it?" Moiraine asked, a hint of impatience in her voice.
Taija stared at it for a long moment, "yes, I'd never seen it, but I recognise it. The Aelfinn…" She gave herself a shake, "you know of it?"
Moiraine didn't answer immediately. "Yes. The White Tower has studied it, I am aware of its nature."
"Mmm," Taija stared a little longer before tearing her eyes away. "A dangerous thing to leave unattended. Dangerous for anyone who walks into it. I'm surprised it isn't better guarded."
"No one comes here, the High Lords despise anything to do with the Power," Moiraine didn't seem to be overly interested. "What about the other items."
"Oh. Yes." She'd be back for the doorway when Moiraine wasn't around. Taija started to pick her way through the room, careful not to touch anything without looking at it first. She picked up a small intricately decorated box. "This was used to make video-calls. Umm to view and speak to someone from a distance. Useless now."
She kept looking, "this will produce a bright light from one end if the button on it is pushed down. It should still work." Taija showed Moiraine a torch.
She found a blank screen encased in a metal frame. "This was used for entertainment, imagine seeing a play whenever and wherever you wanted. It wouldn't work anymore."
There was a pistol made of some kind of hardened plastic sitting on a pedastal. Clearly an officer's weapon, it was ornately decorated. Taija picked it up and sighted along it, being careful not to point it at Moiraine or anything potentially valuable. "This was a miniature shocklance. It would shoot… tiny fireballs, but you needed… bolts to put in it and it's useless without them." She pointed it at the wall and pulled the trigger to the sound of a dull click.
"This is a mobile telephone, it was used to communicate over long distances." Taija found quite a few of those. All useless without infrastructure.
She spotted a small ball made of a black metal and while Moiraine was distracted by one of the other items Taija slipped it into a pocket in her coat. It might come in useful at some point and would be a neat trick to have up her sleeve. Once charged with a flow of saidar she could set a timer by twisting it and then it would work as a reusable flashbang.
There was a small, silvery metal rod, separated into two parts that could be twisted separately. "This one's actually useful." Taija tried not to sound surprised. "You can use it to create a bubble of silence, like a ward against eavesdropping, but it also blocks light and electromagnetic signals." She took a certain immature pleasure in not explaining the last two words.
Many of the items Taija discarded as rubbish, nothing to do with the Power or her time.
She found a metal rod with a pair of probes on the end, "this is more interesting. You'd use it to detect electrical activity, umm tamed lightning, perhaps if you were a builder. I think it would still work, but I'm not sure what you'd use it for now."
As Taija progressed through the detritus of her civilisation, doing her best to explain concepts that were blindingly obvious for her to someone who didn't even know what a steam engine was, she found herself getting more and more depressed.
"This one I've got no idea." Moiraine didn't say anything, but Taija had said it about a few things and she could feel her being unimpressed each time It was actually very irritating that Moiraine seemed to expect her to know what everything was. Lots of the objects were mass manufactured, some of them weren't even really ter'angreal in any sense beyond using the standing weaves to function or just simple electricty, but there were thousands, millions of different ter'angreal. Many of them custom made. Why on earth would she know what someone's special, personal 'massage wand' looked like?!
"This one controls the weather in a small radius. If you channel air and spirit into it you can charge it so it'll be useful for a few hours. The very rich would use it for garden parties to ensure good weather, I'm not sure it's got much use to it beyond that." That was a flat golden disc with clouds etched into it.
Finally Taija got to the last item. "Another mobile telephone." She wondered what that said about her world, that half the remnants were mobile phones. "I'm afraid that's it Moiraine sedai. There's nothing more that I can identify."
She nodded graciously, "nevertheless thank you Taija sedai, you have been most helpful."
=======
Rand sat at the ornately carved desk in his room staring at the piles of reports on it. Callandor was propped up against the wall. He wasn't mad yet. Surely. But it was ridiculous, everyone was looking up to him when he knew what his fate was. He laughed at the dark irony.
He looked up, his laughter cut short when his door swung smoothly open on its well oiled hinges. A servant walked in carrying a jug of wine. It was odd, he hadn't called for anything, but the Aiel had let him past so he supposed it was normal. He was still getting used to being more than just a farmer.
There was a certain tension about the servant though. Something not quite right.
Rand immediately reached for the Power, seeking to seize saidin, just in case.
Instead of feeling the raging torrent of saidin he smashed into an unseen barrier. Panic spiked in him, he'd been shielded!
With a snarl Rand dived for Callandor, only for the air around him to ripple into solidity, leaving him uncomfortably frozen mid leap. All he could do was stare at the 'servant' fury and despair competing for dominance in his eyes.
The 'servant' met his eyes with a hard look of his own and then seemed to waver as his appearance rippled to be replaced a few seconds later by an arrogant looking blonde man, hair and beard cropped short, blue eyes hard and a scar torn across his face. Saidin also seemed to suddenly fill the man, presumably as an inverted web was allowed to dissipate.
Sammael looked at Rand for a long moment before using his web of air to drag him back to a more comfortable position in his chair.
"What do you want?" Rand spat, defiance his last weapon as he stared death in the face.
Instead of the gloating or torture that he expected Rand received an awkward shrug. "Lews Th… Ah Rand… I'm sorry, let me ex… No, you'll understand soon enough." He could feel saidin raging through Sammael, more than he could possibly hold.
Helpless as he was, all he could do was wait for death and watch.
So he looked on with ever wider eyes as Sammael drew his sword. He could see it was a masterwork, herons stamped into the hilt. The sword came slowly out of its sheath and Sammael held it between them as if weighing it up. Then, with a sudden, decisive movement he turned it towards himself, hilt pointing to Rand before laying it smoothly onto Rand's desk.
"W what are you doing?" Rand stammered.
Sammael's reply was terse, "be silent, for once in your life." Rand could feel tension thrumming through the man. "You'll understand soon enough." He repeated.
The Forsaken then pulled a pair of daggers from his belt, again laying them on the desk with their hilts pointing towards Rand. The scowl that Rand had come to associate with the man from their brief encounters was there as strong as ever.
Then came another dagger from inside Sammael's coat and another one from each boot. Each silently placed on the table with careful, almost formal precision, although Rand was sure he could see a slight tremble in the man's hands.
Finally, he reached into his pocket and pulled out what looked like a long gem encrusted ivory tooth, thicker than Rand's thumb and almost as long as his hand. That too was laid on the table beside the sword. The amount of saidin Sammael held felt like it diminished greatly as he put that down.
Sammael then took a step back and spread his arms. "I am unarmed." His tone was flat, but with a hint of pain to his voice.
At this point Rand was left watching him with shock dominating his other emotions. There was something deeply ritualistic about what Sammael was doing, Rand wasn't sure why, but it somehow felt like a familiar pattern.
Sammael met his eyes then, furious, sharp blue eyes boring into his before he suddenly looked down. Was this it? Was this when it all ended? Some sick joke for Sammael to prove he didn't need weapons to kill him? Rand closed his eyes, perhaps death wouldn't be so bad.
He heard a thump and franticly reached for saidin. The shield was gone! He seized it before opening his eyes, drawing in as much as he could hold, Be'lal's angreal, a statuette of a bald, fat man sitting cross-legged and holding a sword, allowing him to hold far more than he could unassisted. Sammael had sunk to his knees before him. His eyes down and hands clenched in tight fists at his side.
"Lews Th… No. Rand al'Thor. I have wronged you. I have wronged the Light and I have wronged the world." Under Rand's stunned gaze Sammael prostrated himself, folding over his knees so that his forehead touched the cold, stone floor. "I have committed crimes for which there can be no forgiveness. I acknowledge and accept my guilt, I can offer no defence and I do not ask for mercy. I offer you my life, so that my blood might begin to redeem the slightest of my sins. I do not ask for forgiveness, I beg for redemption that I do not deserve."
An old wording, practically ancient and achingly formal, but deeply serious. How did he know that?
Rand didn't know how to react, what to do with a member of the Forsaken on his knees in front of him. In the end all he could do was gasp out one word, "why?"
Sammael straightened up, still kneeling with his head bowed. "I've…" His body language was wildly different to the arrogant confidence that Rand had seen from him the last two times they'd encountered each other. "I've been thinking and… the more I've thought the worse it's been." He took a deep breath, his hands clenching into white knuckled fists at his sides. "I don't want to try to justify myself, there is no justification. I'll just say that since I found that Taija was alive, since I spoke to her, the justifications have made less and less sense. I…"
He trailed off, sounding more like a broken, unsure man than one of the Forsaken. Rand needed to be careful, the Forsaken were manipulators, dangerous. He stood, ready to burn Sammael to a cinder without warning. "Why me? Why have you come here? Why not go to Taija?"
Sammael laughed, a hollow humourless sound. "Going to Taija would have been easy. It would also have been one of the most selfish things I could do. She will never forgive me, how could she? If I offered her my life she'd have to decide whether to take it. How could I do that to the woman I loved, still love? She's burdened with so much already. I've put my actions on top of that. Tel Janin is dead. Sammael is about to die." He sounded utterly broken. "Let her move on, find someone else who'll make her happy."
"You still haven't answered my question." For some reason Rand felt himself growing angrier. Every word Sammael said seemed to inflame something inside him, a mounting urge to kill the man, to make him suffer and watch him burn. "Why me?" He knew his voice was cold and distant filtered through the void.
"You… I could have just killed myself, it would have been easy. Oblivion and an end to my shame. It wouldn't have been enough. It would have been too easy. I hated Lews Therin you know. Even before Taija di… left, I severely disliked the man. I thought he was pompous, foolish and wrong about almost everything. Afterwards, I can't even describe my hate for him. I blamed him for Taija's death. I blamed him for the Light's defeats. I even blamed him for my own failings. I wanted him dead and I wanted nothing more than to do it with my own bare hands." Rand resisted the urge to recoil from the vehemence in Sammael's voice at the same time as he tamped down on the drumbeat of rage inside him that was demanding he exact his own punishment on the Forsaken. "I was wrong though. Oh Lews Therin had his flaws, of course he did, but how could a man like me judge a man like him?"
Sammael took a deep breath and then continued, "What better way to atone for the unatonable than by submitting myself to the man I hated most in the world. I know, you're not Lews Therin, that much is clear to me now. I could have killed you three times in the last few weeks and each time you showed me you weren't." What was the third time?! "But you're still Lews Therin reborn. I must not, cannot take the easy route, so I'm here offering myself to you. My life is forfeit a thousand times over. I deserve to die. I want to die. But it's your choice. I swear under the Light and my hope of salvation and rebirth that I will serve you and the Light to the best of my ability if you so choose. Otherwise, perhaps my blood will serve to wash away some small part of my sins and you'll have one less of the Forsaken to worry about."
Sammael subsided into silence though he was breathing heavily, he seemed to have said his piece. Rand paused for a second, studying the man who knelt there head bowed before him. Internally he was in turmoil, raging torrents skittering across the surface of the void, it was like he felt a voice screaming for him to kill Sammael now.
With a low hiss of metal on leather Rand drew his sword. "I don't know a fraction of what you've done Sammael, but I know enough to say there can be no forgiveness for your crimes."
Rand came round the desk with slow steps and at the same time Sammael reached up to the collar of his coat with trembling fingers and rolled it down exposing the bare skin of his neck. The man was clearly very brave, but terror was starting to show signs in him too.
Kill him! He had to be hard. The Dragon Reborn needed to be able to act. Kill him! Needed to fight for the Light. This man was so dangerous he couldn't even imagine half of what he could do. Kill him! Had committed crimes that made the worst darkfriend look like a kindly grandmother.
Rand stopped beside Sammael, looking down at him as the man bowed his head, fingers digging into his thighs.
Rand raised the sword, hands shaking with the fury hurtling through him. "For what you've done there can be no forgiveness," he repeated the words as he brought the sword down. At the same time he channeled, not totally sure what he was doing, vaguely remembered webs from when he'd first fought Ishamael forming an intricate pattern around the descending sword.
The razor-sharp, saidin-clad blade sliced through the air behind Sammael cutting through something Rand could neither see nor feel. "But maybe there can be a chance at redemption."
Rand was left standing there panting as Sammael screamed in brief, excruciating pain.
=======
Deep in the bowels of the Stone Taija once more stood in the dark, dingy room of ter'angreal looking up at the twisted red stone doorway. She didn't know anywhere near as much as she'd like about it, but she knew enough. She needed answers.
No frivolous questions, no questions that touched on the Shadow. Such simple rules, but she'd heard enough about what happened to people who broke them, whether accidentally or deliberately.
- Location
- Mahāpadma
I will admit, I didn't quite expect him to turn himself in that fast. It's also not entirely clear what Rand did to Sammael there, but I'm gonna guess a severing? It's the only thing that makes contextual sense I can think of off the top of my head, but I may be wrong. It retains him as an information source while also removing the most directly dangerous thing about him in case of a relapse.
ClawClawBite
Mad Engineering!
- Location
- Seattle, WA
After all this time I get my hands on the latest model phone, and there is not network!
I would have been amused if the video device still worked, and had a sword-sport video to play.
I would have been amused if the video device still worked, and had a sword-sport video to play.
- Location
- Earth
Severing is the obvious answer, but surely Rand would be able to see that? Has he... has he cut him off from The Dark One? Because that is 100% something Rand can do but doesn't understand it yet.
I guess it could also be severing, and Nynaeve does need to learn how to fix that.