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Chapter Text

I lifted my head, my muscles screamed from the days of torture that I had been made to endure. They locked a golden collar around my neck when they took me—before I was even thrown in this cell. Ever since then, I’ve been exhausted, feeling as if something was taken from me. Every time that my captors would come into the cell, they would question me, and with every question came a tightening of the ring around my neck before it was released, if only slightly upon them leaving the cell. No matter what I told them, they were never satisfied, never believed that I was telling the whole truth, even when I would swear on the Light and the Creator, they still would not believe that I was telling them everything. They always started easy, "What is your name?" Or "Where were you born?" To which I always answered the same, I am Alex Dorevain, and I was born in Cairhien. They'd ask what my experiences were, and how I learned to harness the power given to me. I never knew what they meant with this question. I was born to a blacksmith and a noble woman, at least according to my father. He had been a, "secret shame" to my mother, and thus she was never involved in my life, not wanting it to hurt her chances in daes dae’mar.

I resented their Game of Houses, and I refused to play it, even if I could have leveraged my mother's supposed status to make some gain within the city. All that it would serve to accomplish would be scandal and gossip, a commodity of which there is no shortage in Cairhien, and I did not need to contribute more to it. 

My father had taught me everything I knew, how to work the forge, how to refine a blade, and how he seemed astonished by me creating a pair of blades that were seemingly unbreakable. Not even able to be scratched by any material we tried. Telling them that always seemed to start them on another entire line of questioning, which almost made me wish I had not told them at all, but knowingly holding back information would only make my punishment so much worse. 

From the other side of the wall I was shackled to I heard a faint crying, there hadn't been anyone in there that I could remember or hear in the past days I had been stuck in here. I couldn't tell how many days I had actually been here, or where here even really was anymore, but it had felt lonely and hopeless, with only the ones calling themselves sul’dam visiting or coming near me at all, giving me barely enough water to survive, and feeding me even less than that. Hearing the crying filled me with some level of morbid hope, it meant someone was there, someone was within a distance where they could hear me! I called out to them, filled with hope,

“Hello? I’m sorry if this is a bad time… I hear you’re crying and all,” gosh get on with it, you are in a cell in a prison, not the streets of Cairhien where you are expected to hold a certain level of decorum, “I’ve been trapped here for a while, do you have any idea where we are?”

“It’s all right. I just… needed a moment. And no, I don’t know where we are—only that it isn’t where I am meant to be. Who are you to be trapped in here?” Replied a woman voice. She sounded nothing like what I had expected from a woman I had just heard crying, there was a calm in her voice that seemed unnatural for a place like this. She seemed determined as she spoke, but also as if her tone were slightly measured, making sure that she did not reveal to much or appear as weak, even to someone she had only just met, and through stone walls of all places.

“My name is Alex Dorevain, from Cairhien. And you?” I said nervously. I knew nothing about this woman, and here I was revealing far more of myself than most in Cairhien would see fit to, as untrusting as the people of my home were. Perhaps it was because of having been stuck here and questioned for so long, or maybe it was something in her voice that let me know she was different from the people at home. 

“Egwene. That’s all I can give right now. Hopefully you understand”

“Of course. Never know who could be listening, especially when it is someone in a cell.” I mentally kicked myself for having revealed so much information without prompting for it. “So, Egwene, you don’t know where we are, and I’m guessing you also have one of these collars on you?” I wanted to know as much information as she had to offer, and if these collars are the standard practice of these sul’dam, it meant Egwene might be someone they see as having value as well. 

“Yes… they collared me.” She replied softly, before biting back with an almost inquisitive and pressing tone, “But, these are supposed to be only for women, only for those who can channel. Why would they put one on you..?” Egwene trailed off for a moment and my thoughts drowned me in the silence that followed. Why would they put me in a collar that is supposed to only be for those who could channel? I was a man, I was raised from childhood with the talk of people in Cairhien gossiping about False Dragons and men who attempted to touch the one power, Saidin, that would be gentled by Aes Sedai so that they would not go mad. “Sorry, I needed a moment with that… Light, I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t wish this pain on anyone. We will get out of here though,” then with more force, “we will be free.”

“Well Egwene,” I began, “that would be nice, but given that we don’t know where here is, how are you so sure anyone is coming for us? Are you secretly a noble that I don’t know about?” I regretted those words as they came out of my mouth. My disdain for the royalty of Cairhien and their daes dae’mar had seeped into my voice, “I don’t mean that negatively, or to offend, I simply don’t know who would be looking.”

“No, I am no noble. I’m a village girl, training to be an Aes Sedai.” Aes Sedai! If legends of the women of the tower were to be believed then maybe we truly did stand a chance here, if the women wielding the One Power and their legions of warders came looking, it would take a truly powerful army to stop them from getting to one of their own. “And someone is looking for me. Whether it be those in the tower, or the people I love, I will not be forgotten. I have to believe that.” She paused, and I thought I heard a hint of sadness come back before she said with new steel and determination, “But even if they don’t come, I will find a way out of here, and I will take you out of here with me. I will not let either of us die in a collar.” 

Her words resonated with me as I heard the door to her cell open. I couldn’t make out most of what was said between Egwene and the person in her cell, but it was clear what the moral of it all was, the woman who had come in was trying to break Egwene, to shape her into a weapon, the same way my father had taught me to shape steel, but even from our brief encounter, I knew that Egwene would not break easily. The pain returned like a tide, and darkness followed it. I never heard the woman leave Egwene’s cell, but I remembered Egwene’s words in the dark void of my mind— she would not die in a collar, and she would not let me be left here when she finds herself rescued. Those words brought me hope that maybe, just maybe, I would someday be outside of these walls again.

Chapter Text

When I woke up again, I could hear Egwene calling to me from the next cell, she sounded slightly panicked, “Alex! Alex, you need to be awake. Please, please say something.” Egwene’s calls made me quickly shake my head, after seemingly weeks in a cell alone, someone actually calling my name that did not seem hostile was naturally a shock. 

I moved to reply weakly, “I… I’m awake. Don’t worry, I’m still here.” I chuckled slightly at the thought that there was any chance I wouldn’t be still stuck in this cell, before thinking about it for another moment and realizing that Egwene may have been worried that I had not left but rather passed away. Thinking about it made the marks in my back burn from where they had been whipped repeatedly, and I glanced to the wall where I could see the cuff the sul’dam used to control this torture device around my neck. Egwene’s concern was certainly a valid one. “What has you in such a panic? I thought you had a sure amount of steel in your spine.” 

“Alright you woolhead,” Egwene snapped back, “if you insist on being as stubborn as someone from the Two Rivers then I will be forced to treat you as I would that woolheaded fool Rand, light burn him. Just because I am strong and stubborn as any good woman of the Two Rivers must be, doesn’t mean I don’t care for people just as fiercely. I heard something I wasn’t meant to… the guards were talking about you, a man who they say could be as strong in the One Power as the marath’damane of old. I believe they were speaking of you. But they said something else too. It made the hairs on my neck rise the second I heard it. One of the sul’dam, an old one who sounded worn and tired, she said it so quietly that I thought she may be afraid to even say the words. She said, ‘He doesn’t carry the madness. Not yet. Not even a shadow of it. It is as if the taint of the male half slides off him before it can take root. Like the Light itself shields him—or something older.’” Egwene paused after saying this, my thoughts racing, what is Egwene trying to say, she already hinted that with the collar on me I must have some level of the one power within me, but what could it mean for the taint to not touch me..? “At first I thought they were being dramatic, but then the other spoke harshly, she called it, ‘burning the taint away.’ Like it couldn’t touch you. Not just that you were untouched, but that you actively… destroyed the taint before it could touch you. That it recoiled from you, like a fire scouring poison from a wound. They don’t understand it, and they are afraid of what it could mean.” 

I was shocked, I couldn’t put words together for a minute, allowing Egwene to continue her thoughts as if she could hear my mind screaming to her for something to tether to. “Light, Alex, do you know what that could mean? If it is true, and you really can channel without the taint touching you, then you could be a power the likes of which the White Tower and the world has never seen before. Something even the Forsaken would look at with fear. That kind of strength… that kind of resistance… that what they are circling for. That is why they have been holding you here for, to try and figure out if you know your own power, and if you know to harness it. The circle you like moths around a flame, they can’t decide whether to snuff you out, or worship you and wield you as their new weapon… if they could find a way to control you.” 

My mind reeled even further, I sputtered out hastily, “But Egwene, I can’t channel. If I could then why would I be left to my own devices, why would the Red sisters from the tower not hunt me down and gentle me, or take me away from where I might do someone some amount of harm? Why would I be allowed to continue on with my life? I’m just the son of a blacksmith, I cannot…” I stopped, thinking back to the swords that I had made, their unnatural strength and how they could not even be scratched no matter how much strain we put them under. Was Egwene right? Was I some kind of male channeled? As if the thoughts could suffocate me, my mind rushed through all the times in my life that things had happened too conveniently. Falls from heights that should have caused injuries, flames flicking and winds blowing in just the right way to aid my work, the sudden bursts of strength when I was tied from working the forge, and the sickness that seemed to follow them when I was young. “Egwene, I… I don’t know how any of this could be true. Why would the Creator single me out? Why make it so I can channel without going mad?”

“Alex,” Egwene replied softly, the walls between us seeming thinner than the harsh stones I knew them to be, “the Creator didn’t single you out. The Pattern did. The Pattern does not ask permission, it doesn’t care if we understand it or not. I travelled with an Aes Sedai named Moiraine, and she would always say, ‘The wheel weaves as the wheel wills’ and if the wheel wills for you to exist in this fashion, then it is because you are needed as such.” There was a pause before Egwene spoke again, her voice firmer now, as if she had resolved to try and comfort me through this, “Whatever this is, whatever you can do, whatever it is that is inside you, it isn’t evil. It’s a part of you, and it will be what you choose to do with it that will decide how you are seen. You wouldn’t be the first man to touch the Power without knowing it, and it is only natural for it to change you to some extent. But I’ve seen madness, watched as Logain was carted through the streets with Aes Sedai shielding him, saw how it broke him… seen how I suspect it to be slowly breaking Rand… but you? You are not broken.” 

I exhaled shakily, slightly from the exhaustion my muscles felt, and slightly from the weight of what Egwene had told me. It was all a lot to take in at once. Egwene started again, slightly weary herself, “Perhaps… perhaps there is something different about you. You haven’t gone mad yet, especially not from what I can tell of you. Did you ever experience sickness as a child that seemed to have no explanation, and would seemingly go away as fast as it came on?” 

I shook my head, how could she know that? I cautiously replied, “Yes, my father and I always thought it was just heat exhaustion from being by the forge too long…” Egwene interjected cutting off my thought, “While it may have been, young people who channel, and many who channel for the first time, experience sickness as a backlash of using the source, or of releasing it. If you were touching Saidin, you could have been pushing yourself, even without knowing it.” She followed up in a whisper, “A wonder of the pattern that you didn’t burn out your abilities.” I laughed at that, the thought that somehow the idea of a man kindling more of an ability to channel was a blessing, that I could channel and have it be a blessing.

“So what? The sul’dam fear me because I can channel without being damaged by the taint? And that’s why they’ve kept me trapped here? Why they beat me, starve me, torture me, all to try and gain some knowledge of how I can do what you think I do?” I still found it hard to believe, how could any of this be real?

“I don’t know their motivations, but if all of it is true, you are not a curse. You have to stay strong… I know my friends will come for me, and I will do everything in my power to make sure that we survive long enough to find out what you are meant to be. We will make it out of this, together.” Egwene spoke with the same determination that had made me sure she was as strong as steel, but in such a manner that made it clear she was also soft as silk, a fierce defender of those she cares about. 

“Thank you…. Thank you Egwene. You have given me some new level of hope of getting out of here, despite the… rather stark realizations you have awakened. I feel as though you have peered into my entire life and yet I know so little of yours.” I lightened up slightly, preparing to dig into Egwene’s personal life from before being trapped here, “Tell me about this Rand you spoke of, a woolhead of the Two Rivers, was it?” I heard Egwene laugh slightly, the first true sign of happiness I had heard since I had come here. We sat there and talked for hours about her life in the Two Rivers, of her fire haired crush from the Two Rivers, her village wisdom, and her friends, and how they had journeyed out of from their home with an Aes Sedai and her Warder. Her story filled me with determination as I felt our bond growing in this dark place. When finally we had both had our fill for a time, it was almost sad to say goodnight, much as we both knew we needed the rest. 

Chapter Text

I woke again to the sharp sound of chaos. I heard Egwene seeming to panic in her cell and called out, “Egwene? What’s happening? I can’t see anything out there.” I heard the sound of heavy boots pounding on the stone floor, as well as screaming and the clashing of metal in the streets. Warranting a guess, I’d say whatever city was out there had just become an active battle field.

“I don’t know, but this may be our chance…” She was cut off by her cell door blowing open with what sounded like a violent kick “This is it Egwene, our chance to show that we are the strongest. You will listen, you will obey, and you will do as you are told out there. Otherwise? I won’t be able to save you out there. If you disrespect me, I will have to treat you in the traditional ways.” Bit the sul’dam. The way she had said that made my skin crawl and I felt the rage in me start to well up. I had not known Egwene long, but she was the one thing that had made this experience somewhat bearable. I started to feel a cold air forming around me as my skin grew hot, making me feel truly awake for the first time since this collar had been put on me.

I barely heard Egwene ask what the punishment would be in the background, to which the sul’dam replied, “Depending on how badly you defy me, you could lose a finger, but most of the time the first thing we take is the tongue. Disobedient slaves do not get the the gift of being able to speak.” That is what sent me over the edge. I felt my blood start to boil as Egwene was taken out of the cell next to me, and the chains that bound be to the wall started to melt off and the sound of metal cracking came from the collar around my neck.

As the rage boiled over I let out a yell and time seemed to slow. The collar around my neck shattered and sprayed, striking deep into the walls around me and I felt a rush coming to me. The absence that I had felt since the moment the collar was put on me finally being filled by a thing I never even knew I was missing. Was this what it felt like to embrace the one power? It wasn’t just power coursing through me, it was memory, grief, rage, and hope all made real. As if the Power had known me longer than I’d known myself. I stumbled and fell to my hands and knees, breathing heavy, as the toll of the past days took over on my body, my legs no longer being accustomed to holding my weight.

I had no clue how long I had been sitting there, though I finally felt a cool breeze coming through the cell door that had been blown open in the impact from my collar being destroyed. Through the smoke and debris, I could hardly make out a tall man with flaming red hair who had come towards my cell, his presence was almost blinding in it intensity. I could hardly lift my head, the effort seeming to take all the effort from me, but from just that brief glance I could see him being struck by something, I felt it surround him—something that was flickering off me, an aura faint but unmistakable.

As he moved into the room I could see that he held a heron-marked blade in one hand, which he seemed to hold almost expertly, despite his obvious youth. He had to be roughly the same age as I was.

“You… how did you manage this?” His voice was unfamiliar, yet firm. I connected the dots of information in my head and gathered who he must be—Rand al’Thor, the man Egwene had spoken so fondly of, her fiery-haired and stubborn love from the Two Rivers.

I tried to speak, though my throat was raw and my voice was weak. “Egwene… she thinks I can burn the taint away. She heard it described that it would… recoil from me.” The words were a struggle, but I forced them out. My throat burned as I said them, dehydration evident. Summoning up every ounce of strength I had left, I managed to push myself to my knees so that I could meet Rand’s gaze. The shock on his face was unmistakable—yet beneath it, something new flickered: a glimmer of hope, fragile but real. He could not possibly have known of my inner turmoil, the feeling I had inside of me only just beginning to accept that I could channel, and then only starting to recognize it as a blessing rather than the curse that I had been raised to believe men channeling would be.

Rand’s eyes softened, but only slightly, there was a great weight on him that was evident to me even from where I sat. “If what you say is true… if you can channel without the taint taking hold, and somehow cleanse those who channel near you… that changes everything.” He hesitated, searching my face before remembering where we were, and what I had said, “Wait, you said Egwene thought this, how do you know her? Do you know where she is? Where she has been taken?” He sounded rushed and almost panicked, wanting to find the girl that I suspected he shared feelings for.

I swallowed hard, trying to summon the strength to push out the words of an answer. “She was in the cell next to this one… they took her somewhere. To defend… wherever we are.” My voice was raspy, and the more I spoke the closer it got to a whisper. I could see relief flash across Rand’s face before he steeled himself for the task he was surely about to take on.

“We are in Falme.” He responded quickly, I took in the small victory of finally knowing where I had been held for so long. I saw his jaw tighten, “We don’t have much time, if what you say is true about her being taken to defend this place. The White Cloaks are attacking the city, and are sure to push to attack this tower soon.” He rose to his feet, pausing for only a moment longer to look at me before glancing sharply toward the corridor, as if gauging the coming battle to get to Egwene. “If Egwene is in danger we must move, and I cannot leave you here. If you can channel, the Seanchan would want to use you as a weapon, and I will not let that happen.” His determination stood resolute, and his kindness reminded me of Egwene.

His eyes flicked back to me, and I saw the war going on behind them, the fire of compassion and the weight of leadership burning in them. “Can you move?”

I briefly made a small nod in his direction. Though my muscles screamed at me that there was no way I could get up. When I thought to second guess myself, I felt a warm tug towards the part of myself I had only just awakened, the part of me that could channel saidin, as it moved to wrap my muscles in what felt like warm fibres that filled me with renewed strength, feeling more sure of myself, I raised my eyes to meet the tall mans gaze, “I can try.”

Rand hesitated again, then reach out his hand to steady me and help me to my feet. I grabbed it and felt the firm grip of someone who had trained for quite some time, preparing for something that had hardened him. “Together, we get you out of here, and we find her. Whatever you are, and whoever you are… whatever this is inside you—Egwene trusted you, and that will have to be enough for me.”

The sounds of battle outside were growing loud now—shouts, the clash of steel, the cries of warhorses, and the sound of crushing stone. Falme was already beginning to fall to pieces.

“I’m going to be fighting at your side,” he said, his voice firm, clear. “It’s only right you know my name. I am Rand al’Thor.” I laughed at that, he seemed so formal for someone who I had already had described to me, with more than one story Egwene had told me flashing through my head.

“I gathered that, Egwene described your adventures quite extensively and… fondly.” Rand’s cheeks coloured at that. “You don’t look like someone from the Two Rivers though, however, I do not judge.” I replied with a renewed vigour, my throat not burning nearly as badly, though it still called out for water to soothe the residual tightness. “I am Alex Dorevain, from Cairhien.”

I saw it at once—how his expression shifted at the name. His face tightening and shadowing at the thought. “So,” I said, softer now, “you’ve had your own bad run with the place. That’s no surprise. Bloody nobility and their daes dae’mar, I would sooner tear the whole place down and start from the rubble. I imagine we share that same fondness—or lack there of.” I stopped, almost forgetting where we were before snapping back to reality. “We need to move, I don’t know how long it would remain safe for Egwene, even if she is channelling from afar.”

Rand’s jaw clenched at my words, but there was something behind his eyes—an exhausted agreement, maybe even a dark wish fulfilled. “You’re not wrong,” he said, voice low. “I saw enough of Cairhien to know that daes dae’mar rots everything it touches. Burn the Game. Burn the people who smile while they twist knives into your back.” He blinked hard, then shook his head free, as though casting off the memory. “But that is not where we are now. You are right, we need to move.” He made towards the broken door, toward the echoing sounds of battle—hooves pounding stone, metal clashing, the cries of soldiers and something more… unnatural. “This city is about to come down around us. My friends are out there, Mat and Perrin, and they have blown the Horn of Valere, the heroes of old battle alongside us. We must push to get to Egwene.”

I nodded agreement and moved to push out the door alongside Rand, but ended up leaning against the wall of the hallway for support, Rand came out and threw my arm over his shoulder, wrapping his free arm around me to support me. “We will get through this, together.” He told me. Having settled into a rhythm, we began moving through the tower, only occasionally being stopped and having to fight, Rand handling what little resistance we met with his sword.

The corridors twisted like a dying serpent. We passed broken cells, shattered furniture, and one or two other prisoners—Seanchan slaves, too far gone to heal in any way, despite my kneeling down occasionally to try, remembering how Aes Sedai could heal people with the One Power, saidar.

“Do you feel it?” I murmured. The warmth again, not physical but other, humming beneath my skin. Saidin embracing me. The taint seemed a far off thing, as if it had been filtered through multiple layers of cloth and burned off, leaving only pure saidin to move through me.

Rand glanced at me sharply, searching my eyes. “I can feel you, holding it”

“No,” I replied, “it’s more as if… it is holding me. I’m not sure quite how to explain it.”

He was silent a moment, then nodded. “We’ll talk about that later—if there is a later.”

We ascended a narrow stairwell, where I leaned heavily on the railing to allow Rand a better chance to fight off anyone who may come towards us. My legs screamed at me despite the strength I had drawn. We climbed two levels before Rand froze and held me back from progressing further. Two sul’dam approached, chatting with one another as they moved down the hall back towards the roof, and the second I heard the voice of one of them, rage and anger filled me. It was Egwene’s captor, the one who tortured her, who threatened to carve out her tongue. I let saidin fill me as a pushed past Rand.

“Get back!” Rand tried to say as he grabbed for my arm but I pushed on, filled with the One Power and prepared to strike down the sul’dam, I yelled and pushed out the force I could summon. There was no time to think—only the fury and the image of Egwene on that woman’s leash. The weaves came to me without though: fire, spirit, and air woven together to form a projectile. I didn’t know the name of the weave, and I didn’t need to. The world narrowed to the space between my outstretched hand and the sul’dam who turned just as the blast struck her.

The explosion wasn’t loud—more like a sudden compression of air that slammed the woman into the far wall, and a pop as her armour crumpled into her. She didn’t get up, and blood started to pool around her where she lay crumpled on the ground.

The second woman screamed, turning to run towards her waiting sisters above us. Rand was faster. He crossed the space like a flash of lightning and slammed the hilt of his blade into her skull. She dropped without a sound.

I stood there, panting, the room around me spinning. I expected to feel the sickness, the madness of the taint, as if the aura around me had been only temporary. But there was nothing—just the purity of the Power, bright and steady, surrounding me, and making me feel as though as was one with everything around me.

Rand turned to me, stunned. “Bloody ashes…. You could have gotten yourself killed. That kind of raw force…” he stood in awe, “That shouldn’t be possible,” his voice now a low murmur. “Saidin is… it’s fouled. It eats at you.” He looked at me as if I were an apaprition. “But you… You feel clean… how?”

I staggered slightly, the exhaustion I had felt coming back to me as I backed towards the wall. “But I didn’t die. I don’t fully know how this all works yet. She—she was the one binding Egwene, with her out of the picture, Egwene’s collar should come off… you need to get upstairs, make sure she is safe.” Rand nodded at that and ran up the remaining stairs to the rooftop. I could feel Egwene channeling from where I stood, and as I moved to join Rand, the feeling only got stronger. I saw light still flickering at the tips of my fingers as I looked down at my hands, before I exited to the roof to join Rand and Egwene, and face whatever would come next.

Chapter Text

As I came out to the roof—slowly, labouring for every step— my legs screaming with each motion, the toll of the climb pressing against days of restraint and torment.The wind was the first thing to hit me, it was charged, heavy, alive. Saidin and saidar mingled in the air like oil and flame, thick and vibrating, tasting electric, yet metallic, and laced with dust of the crumbled building elements. 

The male half of the Power was more pure here, the taint clearly trying to push its way in before being forced back. I could still feel it crackling along my skin, some lingering echo of what I had unleashed below. 

Sunlight kissed my face for the first time in what I knew to be days. I blinked into it, too raw to enjoy it, too weak to hate it. My skin gleamed slick with sweat, streaked in places with a mix of red dried blood and fresh bloods still flowing, and the telltale red marks from the shackles and Seanchan cruelty.

My bare feet scraped against fractured stone as I staggered torward from the doorframe. The roof was ruined—whole sections having collapsed or been scorched, stone fragments laying shattered around the ground, as if launched by some contraption. My fingers caught on part of the doorframe for balance; it was still warm, blackened from some recent burst of the One Power. Was this my work, or someone else’s? 

Then I looked up.

Rand stood ahead of me—tall, tense, the wind tugging at his coat. He was holding a woman, cradling her close to him. She looked small, frail, her limbs limp, her head tired weakly against his chest, as if he was the only thing supporting her. Even without ever having seen her before, I knew she could only be Egwene.

A breath caught in my throat as I pushed away from the doorframe and stumbled toward them, barely registering the sear in my ribs or the blood still running down my side. I had to reach her, had to know she was okay. Egwene looked up, and her eyes found me, widening slightly. Concern was etched across her face—raw and unfiltered. I couldn’t tell if she recognized me yet, or if she was simply reacting to the sight of a bloodied, yet determined man staggering toward her through the wreckage. But her gaze held me. She saw me. 

For that moment, that was enough to keep me moving, each step a laborious task, needing to remind myself to take one step at a time while trying to pick up my pace despite the pain I was in. I stumbled and fell to my knee, before I heard the sound of footsteps, of Egwene coming towards me. As sudden as I had heard the footsteps start, they had stopped, and she was there, kneeling beside me. “Light, Alex—“ her voice cracked on my name, equal parts disbelief and horror. 

Her hands hovered for a moment, unsure what to do, and where to touch—so many bruises, open cuts, and torn skin lay bare in front of her. In the end, she placed her hands gently on my shoulders, grounding me and steadying herself in equal measure before leaning her head towards mine.

“I thought—“ Her breath hitched again. “I thought they would have taken you… or worse… I thought you could have been dead.” Her voice was catching in her throat, and as I matched her gaze I could see her eyes shimmering with unshed tears, wide with shock but fixed wholly on me now. Whatever part of her that hadn’t recognized me before—had been frozen by fear or some other emotion—was now long gone. “I’m so sorry,” Egwene pleaded out, quiet enough that only I could hear, “I knew you were suffering… and I could do nothing.” 

She moved to pull me into her arms—not tightly, nor fiercely, just close enough that I felt her warmth, and the trembling in her limbs. “You shouldn’t have come for me,” she whispered, “you should have fled, gotten yourself to safety. But I’m so glad to see you.” I felt Egwene begin to pull on saidar, a feeling I was going to have to get used to given what I am… what the Pattern has laid me out to be. I gently grabbed her hand, “Egwene, it’s okay. Don’t strain yourself to try and do something for me. I’ll… I’ll be fine.” I managed to get out. 

Egwene’s breath hitched as she sank slightly closer, gripping my hand with a quiet desperation, as if pleading for me to let her try and help me. Her eyes, still shimmering as a stray tear began to fall, yet softened with a mixture of gratitude and sorrow. “You shouldn’t have had to suffer all these,” she moved her hand to my wounds as she whispered, her voice trembling yet steady, “I was so afraid… afraid that we wouldn’t make it through this, that I’d never see you, or hear your voice again.” She hesitated for a brief moment, then closed her eyes, drawing on saidar more gently now, and looking at me with defiance entering her eyes, as if daring me to object to this small bit of help. She gently circled me in soft threads, a thing I could barely see, and I felt how she was shaking, yet determined to ease my pain. 

With a sigh, she released the weave after only a few seconds, knowing that was all I would let her do. She smiled at me gently, a bittersweet gesture. “We’ll get through this. Together. Just like I told you in the cells. You don’t have to carry it all alone anymore.” Her fingers squeezed my hand briefly before she pulled back, just enough to meet my gaze, the steel I had come to know her for returning to her voice as she spoke up. “But now… we have to be ready, and we need to get out of here. This city is a war zone, and not one we want to stay in.” 

A sudden pressure dropped into the air, like a stone in water. The moment of calm shattered. The air grew cold—not in temperature, but in weight. My skin prickled as the light around us seemed to dim, not from clouds or time of day, but as if something dark had simply willed it to be so. A sound echoed from above and behind—stone shrieking against stone, the grinding collapse of something being reshaped by power. The sky above us crackled with black lightning, and from it, a man emerged.

I didn’t know who he was. Not by name. But every nerve in my body knew he wasn’t just someone. He wasn’t even something I could comprehend truly. He wasn’t just channeling saidin or saidar—but something that felt entirely different, as if both halves of the Power had been put together to form something else. The Power twisted around him, and it stank of rot and inevitability. It slithered over the rooftop like smoke that didn’t rise, tendrils curling at the edges of vision. 

I wanted to breathe, to think, to rise to my feet and stand firmly beside Rand—but my body refused to move. It wasn’t fear, not in the normal sense. It was instinct, older than thought, that whispered: you are prey. As I looked to Rand, I could see his stance had shifted. Not looking exactly defensive anymore, but… familiar. Tired. Like he’d faced this man before in past dreams… or past lifetimes.

“Who—“ I managed to croak out, before coughing through a dry throat. “Who in the hells is that?” A question which received no answer. Egwene just stared at him, lips slightly parted, one hand clenched on my shoulder, and the other tightly at her side as she moved her body in front of mine as if to shield or protect me in some way. 

The man—if he could still be called that—moved forward a few paces. Not hurried, not slow, but as if time didn’t quite matter to him. “Lews,” the man said softly, as if greeting an old friend who’d disappointed him too many times to count. “You still wear his face. Still trying to make a difference, still trying to change… as if the ending was ever in question.”

Rand’s grip tightened on the hilt of his blade. His heron-marked sword shimmered faintly in the dim rooftop light, the metal catching the weight of the moment like it understood who stood before us. I recognized the metal, as it looked alarmingly similar to that which I had worked myself… like the two blades I had made, that my father and I had tested so many times against so many different materials. “I’m not him,” Rand said, but the words didn’t carry strength—only weariness. “Not this time. And you will not win. Not if I can do anything about it.” 

A half-smile curled across the stranger’s face. “Oh, but you are. You carry his soul. His pain. His failure. And you’ll carry it again, Lews Therin. Because that’s what the Wheel demands.” He began to circle slowly, gaze fixated on Rand, as if no one else in the world existed. “I’ve broken you before. Over and over. In every winding of the Wheel. I’ve watched you kill everyone you loved. Seen the madness take you. Held your corpse in my dreams more times than I can count.” He paused, and his tone seemed to shift. “You don’t have to die again, you know. Stop running, join me, and we can end this cycle.” 

My heartbeat thundered in my ears, recognition dawned on me. Rand hadn’t moved, he was frozen, as if stuck, considering. I climbed to my feet, using the strength Egwene had allowed back into me, and moved to step forward, my barefoot on the cracked stone. I tried to understand who this man could be. He wasn’t just a Darkfriend, he was something else, something more. 

The moment I moved, the man stopped. His gaze shifting towards me, and towards the area around me. I glanced quickly down and realized what he had seen. His dark aura, the smoke covering the rooftop, burned around me, as if I was a fire and it nothing more than sawdust. “And what, are you?” He said in a voice, low and strange, as though he had just noticed something that could not exist, but yet was right in front of him. “You are not Lews. You’re not even one of his.” 

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move, his gaze made me freeze in place, as if it had turned my legs to stone. “Yet somehow… you touch the saidin, yet I see no rot around you, no shadow, and now darkness. It dies when it comes near you.” His eyes narrowed, as if he could somehow squish me out wish just a gaze. His voice came back, sharp as a knifes edge and filled with malice, “What are you?”

A flicker of something pass through the man’s expression. Not fear- no, not yet— but unease. The kind of unease a scholar might feel upon finding an equation that breaks the laws of logic. He took a slow step toward me, the air rippling slightly with his presence. “You shouldn’t exist,” he whispered, more to himself than to me. “You… break the Pattern just by standing in it.” I felt the strange Power return to the man, circling him as if he was readying something. 

Rand stirred, as if waking from a trance, stepping protectively between us, ready to defend me even though he knew nothing of me. With his coming closer to me, the area that fought the fog emanating from the strange man burned wider, enveloping us both, as well as Egwene who had similarly moved to my side, read to defend. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I managed to push out, though my voice was hoarse and thin. “I’m no one, just a blacksmith.” 

The mans smile returned, colder now. Crueler. “Oh, no. Not no one. Not anymore.” He glanced at Rand without turning his head. “You see, Lews, this… creature… standing beside you, this is why the Wheel slips. Why your threads fray. The Pattern brings new pieces when it begins to fail. Unwritten ones. Unwoven.” He raised a hand, not to strike, but to hold a moment. “Well, never let it be said I am without manners, after all, you will not make it past this battle. I am…” The man paused, his smile growing colder, wider—as if tasting the name before speaking it aloud. “…Ishamael.” 

The word fell like a blade across the rooftop—quiet, but final. The name didn’t echo, didn’t ring. It hung, as if burned into the world the very moment he spoke it. I felt Egwene flinch and move closer to me as he spoke the words, as if just being closer would protect me. Similarly, Rand tensed, as if the words had struck some primal chord within him. He began again. “Betrayer of Hope. Heart of the Dark. Nae’blis.” His voice was calm, conversational, almost amused. “I was at Lews Therin’s side when the world was broken. I will be there again to see it end.” His eyes locked onto mine, and I felt the temperature drop, as if his gaze siphoned the warmth out of the world. “And now… I see you, blacksmith.” He said the word as if it soured his mouth, and filled him with disdain. “Unmarked. Unchained. Not in the script, not in the prophecy… yet you dare to burn through my designs?”  

The hand which Ishamael had raised suddenly seemed to spark with power, not to strike, but to feel the space around me, and to see through me. “I’ve felt the taint burn into men’s mind for three thousand years,” he murmured, “but near you, it unravels. Not because you fight it. Because it flees you.” His hand twitched, and his face curled in disgust. “I should kill you now,” he said flatly, as if it was just a natural part of reality. “And yet… I don’t know if I can.” 

Rand’s voice was like a spark hitting dry straw, the determination and stubborn power Egwene had told me of registering now more strongly than I had witnessed. “You won’t touch him.” He stepped forward, the sword a flash in his hand, gleaming dully in the sun, now pitted and scored from battle. The heron etched into the blade caught the light for just a moment—like the eye of a hawk watching from the sky. I felt saidin flow into Rand, chaotic and sharp-edged, but…clean. As clean as that which I had channeled myself. My presence was still burning away the rot, and even Ishamael seemed to feel it.

The Betrayer of Hope did not look at Rand, despite speaking to him. “You are bold, Lews,” Ishamael said, almost bored. “But predictable.”  He stepped forward, slowly, boots silent against the cracked stone. His gaze never left me. “But you, child… You were not in the Pattern, Not until now. And yet you touch the very bedrock of it. You’re not meant to exist. The Pattern doesn’t allow this kind of freedom.” The power surged around him like a dark tide. And for the first time, I felt it — raw, ancient, vicious power—and yet my own aura out it back. The sickness couldn’t stick. The shadow that oozed from his weaves evaporated as it neared. And what’s more, it pulsed back, the aura growing outwards. 

He snarled, his composure breaking for the first time. “You corrupt my work just by standing here!” He lashed out, a weave of fire and shadow, not directed at Rand, but at me. I closed my eyes, anticipating the strike, before a shield of hardened air formed in front of me. 

I felt the singing feeling of saidar as Egwene focused intently. I could feel her power sparking as she stayed to defend. The blast struck Egwene’s shield and shattered like a hammer on glass—but the shield held. The impact knocked me backward, and I felt Egwene’s hand on my shoulder anchoring me, grounding me, her breathing was sharp and focused. “I won’t let you hurt him,” she said—not shouting, but rather declaring it, voice ringing with a quiet, defiant power. “I will not let harm come to him, not again.” My heart swelled at the show of care which Egwene clearly held for me.

Ishamael’s eyes narrows, his amusement gone entirely now, having been replaced by something dark, something primal. “You’ve grow bold, girl,” he said, turning his attention briefly to her. “But not wise. You’re all puppets of the Wheel. You think this…accident beside you can free you?” His gaze flicked back to me, full of revulsion and curiosity. “It is corruption in another form. Hope masquerading as salvation. And you will die believing in it.”  Another surge of Power crackled around him—fire and storm laced with something deeper, colder, older. I couldn’t explain what I was feeling, but it coiled around my bones and pulled at something within me that I hadn’t meant to touch again. Saidin seized me, like a river bursting its banks, I felt like it might burst out from beneath my skin. Without thinking I reinforced Egwene’s shield, moving out of necessity, the necessity to defend those who had already come to care for me, and who I had already come to care for in turn. 

Then Rand stepped forward. I could feel his presence, like a storm building to surround me. The weight of leadership seeming to fit perfectly on his shoulders, as if he commanded it be so. “You will not harm them. You will not even lay a finger on them.” He said, voice like thunder over stone. Saidin blazed around him, not wild, but purposeful—focused. For the first time, the two of us stood side by side. Not just wielders of the Power. Mirrors. Parallels. And the moment we neared one another, something happened. The Power in the space between us shifted. The black fog Ishamael carried with him shivered and pulled back—not out of fear, but something like recoil. And instinct to feeling pain. The pattern around us warped subtly, the very threads bending and realigning, no longer fraying where Ishamael had touched them, but resisting. 

His eyes widened. “What are you?” He whispered—not as a taunt this time, but a question born of genuine uncertainty. For a creature like Ishamael, who believed himself the master of all knowledge of the Patter, it was perhaps the worst thing he could feel. 

While Rand and I stood, sparking with pure, clean, saidin I could hear the sound of two people coming to the roof, running as if their lives depended on it. I allowed myself a brief glance, and saw the two women, recognizing one in an instant from the reverent descriptions of Egwene. Her braid was swinging like a whip behind her as she marched into the chaos. Nynaeve al’Meara, the former village wisdom of whom Egwene had spoken with the kind of reverence you gave someone who terrified you as much as you trusted them. 

The second woman, however, I did not know. She held herself with a regal posture, and had hair like polished copper-gold. Her eyes were sharp, yet wide with shock. The only words needed to describe her were beautiful and regal. She moved as if the battle didn’t dare to touch her. There was something commanding in the way she carried herself, even as her gaze snapped to Rand—and then to me. 

That was when they both froze. Not at the storm of fire and fog still coiling from the man I now knew to be Ishamael. Not even at the sign of Egwene standing tall, her arms raised, saidar blazing from her like sunlight to hold our joined shield. But at Rand and me. At what we were doing.

I could see it in their faces. The disbelief. The confusion. The dawning horror—not of fear, but recognition. We were both channeling. Standing side by side. And yet the air around us did not channel with corruption, but pure power. The taint that should have clung to us—to scream across our skin and souls—was no where to be found. 

The woman I didn’t recognize whispered something to Nynaeve, but I couldn’t hear it over the crackling wind and the sheer exertion to hold the shield against Ishamael’s relentless attacks. Nynaeve shook her head slowly, eyes narrowing. “There’s no… wrongness,” I thought I heard her say. “It’s clean. How—“ but before she could finish, a flash of momement erupted behind them, snapping us all back to the present. Soldiers and channellers… the Seanchan. 

Egwene turned to look me in the eyes, and an understanding passed between us. We both nodded and Egwene spun with a fluid instinct, dropping her shield before throwing out a strong force of air to knock the lead solider off their steps. “I’ve got them!” She shouted, her voice fierce. “You two—handle him!”

If it hadn’t been for the intensity of the moment I could have laughed at how easy she had made it sound. Instead, I forced my legs to move again, pushing up beside Rand. Saidin roared in my ears. Not wild, not-frenzied—-but coiled. Ready to strike as soon as Ishamael took a break from his assault. The pressure of Ishamael’s presence pressed like a weight against my skull, but I could feel Rand beside me, steady. Anchored. And the moment Rand and I moved together, the fog recoiled.

Whatever this was—whatever I was—it was affecting him. I could see it in his face. For the first time, Ishamael looked almost desperate, and scared. 

Behind me I could barely make out Nynaeve muttering. “Who is he??” She asked Egwene—or maybe she had meant to be speaking to no one. Then the stranger beside her spoke; “I do not know. But the pattern turns around him.” And in a quieter tone “and he is rather dashing.” 

Then Ishamael moved, slow and deliberate, and the sky began to crackle. His strikes came slower now, labored—as though the effort of sustaining the battle was draining even him. I looked to Rand, and he looked to me, a wordless understanding passing between us. We moved as one.

I advanced with my shield of Air, shaping it into a tightening sphere, pressing it forward like a ram. Rand followed, his sword raised, the heron-marked blade catching fire as he wove flames into the steel, the metal glowing red-hot as if it shared his fury.

With each step forward, Ishamael took one back. Until he stopped. He stood at the very edge of the rooftop, heels braced, cloak flaring around him like shadow made flesh. I felt the pressure of his will resisting mine, but I pushed harder—wrapping him in strands of Spirit and Air, trying to hold him. Rand’s sword came down, carving through Ishamael’s defenses. The blade pierced through flesh, and for a heartbeat, everything was still.

Then Ishamael collapsed. Not with a scream, not with fury—but silence. His body fell like something being discarded, and the fog he had carried with him burned away like morning mist.

Saidin slipped from my grasp, as if it had never been there, and I staggered with the weight of exhaustion. Rand did the same. The battle had ended.

I turned to where Egwene had been, blinking through the light that now filled the rooftop like dawn breaking over the horizon. More people stood there now—at least a dozen—some glowing faintly, surrounded by that strange ethereal shimmer that felt half dream, half miracle. I didn’t know them.

But they looked at us.

No—at me.

One stepped forward. A man with a golden moustache and the air of command, his armor too fine for this age, his eyes clear and steady.

“You’ve no name in the stories,” he said, voice rich and calm, “but the Pattern has marked you. A flame that purifies. A thread unspun yet woven clean.”

He raised his sword—not in challenge, but in salute.

“We will remember you, blacksmith.”

He held the blade to his chest for a breath, then turned away, already fading with the others into light.

Before I could even begin to understand what had happened, more figures stepped up behind the glowing ones. These were solid. Real. Flesh and blood. One of them carried a horn in one hand and a short blade in the other, looking slightly out of breath and thoroughly annoyed despite the awe surrounding him.

“Blood and bloody ashes,” he muttered, glancing around at the rooftop devastation. “We missed the fun, didn’t we?”

The other was broader, bearded, with an axe at his hip and eyes that flicked warily over everything—especially me. He said nothing at first, but he stopped just short of the line of battle-scorched stone, his gaze settling on Rand and Egwene before finally landing on me.

“I saw that fog burn away,” the quiet one said—his voice deep and even. “It was like you tore the Blight out of the air.”

Rand’s face cracked into something that might have been a smile if it weren’t so heavy. “Mat. Perrin,” he said. “You made it.”

The man with the horn gave a casual salute. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get all weepy on me. You can thank me later—I brought cavalry.” He jerked a thumb toward the vanishing figures of the Heroes of the Horn, like they were just another set of tavern companions. “They like you, by the way,” he added, looking at me. “Not something they say about just anyone.”

I stared. You brought them?

Mat grinned, lopsided. “Don’t ask me how it works. I blew the Horn, they showed up, now everybody thinks I know what I’m doing.”

Perrin stepped forward then, his tone quieter, more serious. “And somehow… they followed you into battle too,” he said, looking directly at me. “I don’t know what you are—but the Wheel does.” I didn’t know what to say. My knees felt like they might give out again, but I stayed standing, if only because Egwene was still holding my hand.

For a moment, it was all still. The rooftop cracked and scorched beneath our feet, the wind teasing the remnants of smoke away. Around us stood a gathering of the world’s most important people—and me. A blacksmith. Whatever I had become… whatever they saw in me… I didn’t yet understand it. But they did. 

As the group of us stood on the roof, I felt I needed to introduce myself, but Egwene took care of that before I could, “I would like you all to meet Alex Dorevian, from Cairhien. He is a blacksmith, Perrin you should get along with him for that.” She said while eyeing the group before introducing me to all of the others. I paused when she got to the only woman I didn’t recognize from her stories, “And lastly, this is Elayne Trakand, daughter heir of Andor, and my fellow initiate at the White Tower.” I was stunned. I instinctively moved to bow to her, before she laughed at my while Egwene lightly grabbed my shoulder, “None of that! You’ll get her in trouble when she gets back to the tower.” 

“It’s alright Egwene, I can understand the reaction.” Laughed Elayne. She was still truly beautiful as she moved forward towards me, laying a hand on my arm, and before I knew it I was wrapped in weaves of saidar. I could not object to the daughter heir trying to heal me, and as she did I felt the exhaustion leave my body, as wounds healed over and closed as though they had been given weeks to heal as opposed to only just recently having been opened. 

“Thank you, your-“ I started to say before Egwene levelled me with a look, “I mean… Elayne. Thank you Elayne.” She laughed again. Oh what I would do to hear that laugh again, if only one more time. “You are welcome, Alex. I would quite like to know how you came about your power, it is unlike anything I have ever heard of or read about!’ 

Egwene levelled her with the same intense look she had given me, “Ah… I suppose there will be time for that later though. You’ll need to rest and… well I think we could all use the chance to get cleaned up.” I was suddenly very aware that I was wearing only pants with no shirt or shoes, as my face coloured. Before we could have any chance to say anything more, we heard cheers coming from the city below. 

We all walked towards the edge of the tower, as wrecked as the roof had become. The people had gathered in the city beneath us, cheering for the people who, from what they could tell, had saved their city. The cheers rose like a wave, cresting high from the streets below us and rolling across the rooftops. False, bloodied but standing, roared its gratitude to the figures silhouetted against the sky. For a breath, I forgot the remaining pain. Forgot the fire and the fear and the shaking in my hands. For a breath, I let myself believe that we had won. 

Rand stepped to the ledge beside me, wind tugging at his cloak, his heron-marked sword still faintly glowing with the remnants of heat. He didn’t say anything, not at fist. But then he looked to the sky. “There,” he murmured. 

And I saw it too. 

A serpent, massing and resplendent, coiling in light across the sky — the Dragon banner. Or something like it. The winds themselves had shaped it from cloud and light, swirling above the tower, unmistakable. The people saw it too, and the roar grew louder. “The Dragon!” They cried. “The Dragon is reborn!” 

I looked to Rand, and he looked back at me with something between sorrow and understanding. It was his destiny, yes— but not his alone. And I would be sure that he would not go mad, even if it meant staying by his side through thick and thin. 

Then the winds shifted again, and the light caught something else. I didn’t notice it at first. It was nothing more than a glint, a shimmer in the air above the roof—above me. It wasn’t a banner. Not exactly. It wasn’t made of cloud, cloth, or flame. It was… a forge hammer, wreathed in golden flame. Floating, not burning, but gleaming. A symbol of craft. Of making. Of mending. It hovered above us, luminous and wordless, and though none spoke it aloud, I heard the whisper of it pass through the crowd below. A single phrase, passed from mouth to mouth as if the Wheel itself whispered it: 

“The Flameforged.” 

Not a title I chose, and certainly not one I understood. But I felt it take hold-as if the Pattern itself had named me. Elayne gasped softly, and even Nynaeve took a half-step back. Mat swore under his breath. Egwene took my hand again, quietly, and didn’t let go. I felt a hand on my shoulder, and turned to see it was Rand’s, and when he pulled it away I noticed that burned into that hand was the mark of the heron, inevitably burned into his skin when he had put the flame through his blade.

The hammer lingered for only a few heartbeats longer, before it flew into the sky to cross with the Dragon that was still bannered above, fitting together as if they were two pieces of a puzzle. The mark the two symbols left would remain in the hearts of those who saw it for some time to come. I stood atop the tower, bare-chested, barefoot, with dried blood and soot still covering my body. I wasn’t anyone’s lord, nor a prince or hero of legend. But the Pattern, it seemed, had chosen me just the same.

Chapter Text

As we descended the tower, the group talked among themselves of plans for what to do next, yet all that could be agreed on was that we should not be staying in Falme. I, however, had a more immediate concern than leaving the city. “Would it be possible to do something to get me some… clothes?” I said, suddenly starkly aware that I was in only pants. At that point, Mat and Rand both broke out into a raucous laugh, while Egwene, who was still holding my hand, suddenly coloured and averted her eyes slightly. Elayne on the other hand smiled, while turning to look at me dead on. 

Elayne raised an eyebrow, her smile widening just enough to make me wonder if I’d said something more amusing than I had intended. “Well,” she said lightly, “for someone who just helped take down the Betrayer of Hope, I think you’ve earned at least a shirt. Possibly even boots, if we’re feeling generous.”

Mat snorted at that. “Oh, give him a crown while you’re at it.”

Elayne didn’t miss a beat. “Don’t tempt me, Matrim. Cairhien’s politics would implode at the daughter heir of Andor, marrying a blacksmiths son.” I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came, my cheeks were already burning red at the thought that she might be serious—or worse, half-serious—left me reeling. Her smile shifted, just slightly, but enough to show she knew exactly what she was doing. Then, in a voice that danced the line between jet and prophecy, she added, “But truly, Alex—somehow, I don’t think this will be the last of people trying to dress you in something more befitting your… new reputation.” 

Rand quickly jumped at this opportunity, grinning. “Light, at least you’ll have a choice in your clothes. Moiraine— an Aes Sedai who dragged us from the Two Rivers— simply had all our clothes taken and replaced with what she saw fit. No warning, no asking, just gone.” I blanched at that. Being told what to wear by an Aes Sedai was not how I imagined my day ending, and I suddenly felt very fortunate that Moiraine wasn’t here with us. But when I glanced between Elayne and Egwene, the shared look they exchanged said all I needed to know: I might not get much say in the matter after all. 

As we reached the street level, the group paused just long enough to find a path forward through the crowd. Rand, Mat, Perrin, and Nynaeve quickly agreed to seek out the Shienarans—the soldiers who had accompanied the three boys to Falme—intent on updated them and gathering supplies for our departure. Plans were forming, but not yet set in stone. 

Before I could ask what the rest of us would do, I found. Myself flanked—Elayne on one side, Egwene on the other. Each took one of my hands in perfect coordination. I blinked. “Wait—where are we—?”

“We’re going to find you something to wear,” Elayne said, far too cheerfully.

“Yes,” Egwene added, her tone deceptively mild. “Something that doesn’t look like you just fought a Forsaken in nothing but your sleep wear.” And just like that, I was being pulled—gently, yet firmly—into the city, led by two determined women with a very clear idea of what came next. I wasn’t sure whether to feel grateful, or doomed. First they took me to a small inn, where Elayne arranged for me to have a room to get cleaned up before they started putting me into clean new clothes. I was grateful for this… until Elayne entered the room with me. She didn’t hesitate. Just walked right in, like it was the most natural thing in the world. I stood frozen, one hand half-raised in protest, while the other held a plain white shirt that we had picked up quickly on the way here. “Elayne—!’

“Oh, relax,” she said breezily, taking the shirt from my hand and setting it down neatly on the bed. “I’ve seen worse during healing sessions. Besides, I’m not staying. Egwene’s getting you a pair of boots, and I wanted to make sure that there aren’t any more wounds on you. Plus, Egwene and I will need your measurements if we are to pick out clothes for you. Can’t very well guess. Though you do seem to favour ‘barefoot and half-dressed in soot and battle-scorch.’ Very rustic, but it suits you.” She said the last part with a half smile, clearly being playful while knowing that she would get what she wanted.

I blinked, unsure whether to attempt to cover myself with something nearby, or just disappear into the floor. “This really doesn’t seem necessary.”

Elayne raised an eyebrow. “You stood against Ishamael wearing less than a soldier’s undershirt, Alex. I think you’ll survive me taking a few measurements and checking to make sure there are no threatening wounds that I had not found before.” 

I sighed, resigned that this was just another absurd thing to enter my new life. “I was hoping to finish dying of embarrassment in peace.” I muttered “Light, to think an entire town saw me like this… most I’m used to is a few passers by while I work the forge.”

Elayne chuckled. “No such luck, not for the Flameforged.” She crossed the room in three calm strides and reached for a length of knotted twine she’d brought in, and gestured for me to life my art. “Now hold still. You wouldn’t want Egwene and me to pick something that pinches in all the wrong places, would you?” She smiled briefly.

“I wouldn’t want to wear just anything you two think is appropriate,” I muttered.

She laughed—a rich, honest sound that filled the small room like sunlight through a window. The sound made my heart feel light inside “Good. That means you’ll end up in something at least halfway presentable.” She finished her measurements efficiently—almost too efficiently, I thought, for someone who claimed to not be staying long, she then took a seat on the bed, motioning for me to do the same. “You may not see it yet, Alex, but the world is watching now. And no matter what you think of yourself… you stood side by side with the Dragon Reborn. You’re part of the Pattern, whether you’re ready or not.” She reached for my hand and gave it a comforting squeeze before getting up and walking to the door, “Egwene and I will be back with more clothes for you, we’ve already decided you’ll be matching at least one of us before we leave.” She chuckled.

As she reached for the handle, she looked back once more, eyes slightly softer now. “So clean up, and maybe try to look like someone who just changed the fate of a city.” And with that, she was gone, and I was left alone again—towel clutched in hand, shirt waiting on the bed, and a quiet, unfamiliar sense of gravity settling over me. Not from her presence, but from the truth of her words. I could not go back to just being a blacksmiths son in Cairhien… no matter how much I longed to. I took to the arduous task of cleaning off the dried on soot and blood from myself for some distraction from the thoughts now swirling in my head. 

I scrubbed away the blood and soot with water that was perhaps too hot, and the bar of soap that sat in the washbasin did little to ease the ache in my hands. Not from wounds—Elayne had been sure to see to those—but from the pressure of everything still settling inside me. I had faced a Forsaken. And lived. And worse—or better—I’d changed something. Something in the Pattern itself. I didn’t know what that meant. Only that I’d never walk through life unseen again. As I looked to the small mirror above the washstand, I didn’t see the blacksmith’s son I’d known my whole life. I wasn’t sure who I saw. Not yet. 

I had barely finished towelling off when the door opened again—without a knock, of course. “I told you he’d still be covered in something,” Egwene said with theatrical disappointment, striding in with Elayne close behind, each of them carrying bundles of neatly folded fabric. 

“Oh good,” Elayne said brightly, “We’ve arrived just in time for you to try on all that we’ve brought you. Those pants will have to go as well, however.” Elayne looked at the pants laid on the floor from myself having just finished getting fully clean, having been wrapped in only a towel when they entered. 

I grabbed the towel a little tighter around my waist. “You’re enjoying this far too much.” Elayne laughed at this while Egwene slightly coloured and averted her eyes. Elayne tossed me a pair of dark trousers. “You stood on a tower, half-naked, while fighting a Forsaken in front of half of Falme. I think your modesty has already been thoroughly compromised.” She gave me a look that I might have mistaken for sympathy—had it not been for the mischievous gleam in her eye. “You’ll thank us when the crowd doesn’t start cheering for ‘the Barefoot Hero of Falme.’”

“I thought we were trying to avoid giving people titles,” I muttered.

“Too late,” Egwene said, a slight smirk crossing her face. “Word is already spreading. While we were out getting clothes for you, all I heard about was a handsome shirtless man who burned bright as a star and fought beside the Dragon Reborn.” She chuckled slightly as if to tease me. I moved around to hide as best I could while I switched from the towel to the new pair of pants, surprised by how well they fit. 

Elayne stepped closer after this, handing me a simple white shirt while holding up a deep forest green tunic, edged in silver and embroidered with leaves. “This one, I think. It brings out your eyes.” She said, while I noticed that the green matched the dress Egwene had put on, while the silver accents matched accessories I could swear were new for Elayne. 

I blinked. “My eyes?”

She shrugged, entirely to innocent. “If people are going to be watching you, best not to look like someone who wandered out of a forge mid-apocalypse.”

I opened my mouth to object, but there was no point. The two women eyed me intently, and between the two of them, this was clearly a battle I had lost before it had even begun. I shrugged on the white shirt before sliding on the green tunic. Everything fit as if it had been custom tailored for me, and it was a wonder that these two women had gotten everything so fast. The final touch, which Egwene provided, were a pair of black leather hunting boots, which would need to be broken in, but certainly felt better than walking on stone and gravel with my bare feet. “There,” Elayne spoke, “doesn’t he look more like a man that a Queen could stand next to?” 

I flushed again, adjusting the collar of the tunic more out of nerves than need. “I’m fairly certain a Queen would have better options than a blacksmiths son.” 

Elayne raised an eyebrow, the corners of her mouth tilting with the same knowing smile she had given before. “You’d be surprised what Queens can find themselves drawn to. And Queens to be, for that matter.” 

Egwene stood from the bed and looped her arm through mine before I could stammer out a reply. “Don’t let her get to you. She just likes watching you squirm.” She winked at Elayne, then looked up at me with a warmer, yet more serious expression. “But… she’s right. You do look the part now. People are going to be looking to you, Alex. Not just because of what you did up there—but because of who you are, and what you represent.” 

While I didn’t fully know what to say, I choked out the question, “And what is that?”

“Hope” Egwene said, before gathering me into a hug that felt of all the comforts of home. As she let me go, Elayne stepped forward, and brushed an imaginary bit of lint off my shoulder before looping her arm through my free one. “Come on then, hero. Falme’s waiting for its newly dressed saviour, and we really must be meeting the others with the Shienarans.” The two women, both regal, guided me out of the inn and through the streets, where people cheered with recognition as we passed. I was certain that even here, rumours would be travelling quickly of the hero of Falme and the two women both holding his arms affectionately. What was their plan? Why did they want to be seen as such in the streets with me? 

I wasn’t sure whether they meant to offer protection, make a statement, or simply tease me further. Maybe all three. Egwene walked with the kind of calm purpose that made people instinctively step aside, while Elayne wore her poise like a crown—even without one. And I? I still felt like the blacksmith’s son caught in the wake of something too big to hold in my hands. Yet… they held onto me as if I belonged with them. As if I were someone worth standing beside. And as the cheers followed our steps, echoing through Falme’s broken but hopeful streets, I began to wonder if maybe—just maybe— they were right. 

——————————————

We found the Shienarans outside the western gate, gathered together as soldiers in quiet reflection rather than celebration. Their armour bore the scuffs of hard battle; faces were lined with exhaustion and something deeper—grief, perhaps, though they wore it wit the stoicism of men who knew loss far too well. As we approached, I saw Mat, Perrin, and Nynaeve standing together, and moved to join them, Elayne finally letting go of my arm, though not before planting a kiss on my cheek, what was this woman thinking? 

Mat gave me a lopsided grin as I stepped into their circle, clearly having witnessed Elayne’s little gesture. “Light, Alex” he said, clapping me on the shoulder. “First you make yourself known to all of Falme, saving the city and that, and now you’re collecting Royalty?” Nynaeve grabbed him by the ear and yanked him back, clearly not having his improper conduct.

Perrin just shook his head, though a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You clean up well,” he said, eyeing the tunic and clearly noticing how I matched the two women next to me. “Almost didn’t recognize you, now that you have a shirt on and all.”

Nynaeve snorted softly. “You look less like someone who walked out of a forge, and more like someone they’d name in ballads.” She said it almost like an accusation more than anything else. Before I could come up with a reply, Rand stepped into the group, flanked by two Shienaran soldiers, his eyes fixed on me. “Alex, good to see you all cleaned up.” He gave me a brief smile.

“Rand,” I nodded, still a little unsure how to meet his eyes after what had happened atop the tower. I was grateful to him, for having come and helped me, as well as for protecting me and standing at my side. But after standing together, with the sky burning aflame and the air thick with battle, the environment now was almost quiet.

Rand turned slightly and gestured to one of the soldiers beside him. “Uno and the others wanted to see you. Properly, not just looking up to you on a rooftop.” The two Shienarans exchanged a glance before one of them stepped forward—he had a square-face and a thick scar crossing his temple, with only one eye. “You showed honour,” he said. “And more than that, you showed heart. For that, we would like to present you with these.” He handed me a pair of blades, twin short swords. How had he known that these were my weapons of choice? Before I could ask, another man stepped forward, this one leading a tall grey gelding with a proud neck and a calm, weathered gaze. “This was Ingtar’s horse,” he said quietly. “A stubborn beast, but he will surely take to you. Honour his memory, ride strong, and do us proud.” 

I blinked. “Thank you but, why me?” 

The horse stepped forward and pressed his muzzle gently against my chest. I instinctively reached out, running my hand along his mane. There was something in him—something quiet and weighty. A kind of sorrow I recognized from the forge, when iron remembered every blow. 

“Well, even if we hadn’t chosen you, the horse has.” The man with one eye, who I gathered to be Uno, said. “As for the swords, they were also Ingtar’s, but given what you will need to do, they will do you well. He would never want them to go rusty with disuse.” 

“I… I don’t know if I deserve this,” I said, voice low.

Uno crossed his arms, his single eye narrowing at me. “No one ever does. The question is whether you’ll make yourself worthy of it.” I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. The weight of the blades weren’t heavy—but the meaning of them was like carrying an anvil. 

Elayne gently placed her hand on my shoulder. “You look the part now,” she said, her voice gentle. “But this makes it real, you are one of us, and we will all be by your side, to support you.”

Egwene, quiet on my other side added, “Not many get the chance to carry on a fallen man’s duty. You just did what needed doing, and that exactly why you’re the right one to carry it.” 

Rand met my gaze again, something unspoken passing between us. He had not yet asked, but I knew what was coming. We were not just men anymore—not to the rest of the world. But maybe to each other, we still could be. I nodded to him, affirming him that I would follow him before he even needed to ask, and he gave me a slight smile. “Alright,” Rand spoke out, “with the formalities done, we need to move, we have all gathered resources, there’s just a few things that need doing before we can ride out. Uno and the Shienaran’s will ride back north, while the rest of us will ride out of here, find some place safe, and gather our thoughts of what to do next.” 

With that everyone broke about to complete the tasks which needed to be done for us to set out. Horses were saddled, packs were loaded, and the camp erupted into fevered movement. It seemed like chaos to me, but somehow organized, as everyone seemed to know their roles. Elayne gave my shoulder one more squeeze, as well as planting another kiss on my cheek before she moved off to make her own arrangements. Egwene, finally deciding not to be out done, pulled my cheek down to her and planted a kiss on the cheek opposite to where Elayne had. I flamed with a crimson blush as the smaller woman sauntered away, while Mat caught my eye through the chaos, giving me a clear grin. 

As I got into my saddle, preparing to depart with the group of seven, I saw two horses galloping towards us at speed. One a shorter white mare, and the other a taller black stallion. The white mare came to a smooth, graceful stop, her rider reining her in with the practice ease of someone long used to command. The black stallion followed a heartbeat later, hooves churning up the dirt before skidding to a halt beside her. The man on the back of the stallion looked every bit a Shienaran, and wore the cloak of a warder, with colours ever shifting, it made for a nauseating sight. From the descriptions Egwene had given in the cells, as well as the talk of the other members of the group, I put together that this must be Moiraine, the Aes Sedai that they had described. And yet… she looked so familiar, as if I had seen her somewhere before. 

She swung down from her horse in one fluid motion, as graceful on the ground as she had been in the saddle. Her deep blue traveling cloak stirred faintly in the breeze, trimmed with silvery thread that caught the late afternoon light like frost on a windowpane. She was shorter than I expected, but there was a presence to her—a kind of gravity, quiet but undeniable. 

Her eyes swept the camp with sharp intelligence, pausing only briefly on each of the others, as if she had expected them all to be there, before they landed on me. For a moment, something passed between us. Recognition? No, that was impossible. We had never met, yet the feeling lingered. A flicker of memory that wasn’t mine—or perhaps not entirely mine, Like a name on the tip of the tongue, or a dream slipping away at dawn. Her expression did not change, but something about the tilt of her head said she noticed it too. 

“You’re Alex,” she said, her voice calm, precise, and carrying a weight that made my name feel suddenly too small. I nodded, swallowing thickly. “Yes, Aes Sedai.” I choked out. How had she known my name? Her brows lifted just slightly. “Well-mannered. Rare in men who burst into legends shirtless.” 

Mat coughed in laughter behind me, while Elayne muttered something about not helping and Nynaeve moved to swat at him. Moiraine stepped closer, her gaze never leaving mine. “You’re from Cairhien, yes… I remember hearing about a blacksmith there who made fine swords and weaponry, as if made by the hand of the creator.” She paused, considering her next words, “You have stepped into the Pattern, boy from Cairhien. Whether by accident or design, the Wheel has found you. And now it turns faster because of you.”

I had no answer for that. Only questions. Too many, and none of them simple. I was grateful for Rand stepping up beside me, and the presence of Egwene, Elayne, and the rest of the group not far behind. Moiraine’s warder dismounted, and I heard Nynaeve whisper, “Lan,” as if she longed for him. I gathered that it must be his name. He silently moved to join Moiraine at her side, as steady and unreadable as stone. 

Moiraine turned her attention to Rand next, speaking to him in low tones that carried a gravity I dared not to overhear. Whatever words passed between them were meant for another weight entirely—one that I did not yet understand. As the group began to move again, I felt a hand call gently onto my shoulder. Uno, gruff and one-eyed, gave me a nod that was as close to warm as I suspected he ever got. “You’ll ride with us for a stretch,” he said. “There’s a matter to attend to before you part ways.”

I blinked, not entirely sure what he meant, but nodded. Egwene gave me a questioning glance, and I shrugged lightly—just enough to let her know I was alright, but that I did not know what was going on. Rand gave Uno a respectful incline of his head as I turned to Kojima, the horse that was once Ingtar’s, to follow the one eyed soldier and a small knot of Shienarans as they trotted off a short distance from the main group.

The world felt strangely quiet after all that had happened. Falme lay behind us—smoke still lifting like whispers to the sky. I didn’t know where I was going next, not really, only that I would be surrounded by my new friends and that t would be gravely important. 

“We lost too many,” Uno said after a pause. “And their bodies may not be recovered. But we stand here to honour them.” I bowed my head, knowing that this was a moment of grief and sorrow. Uno then spoke up, “May you rest in the palm of the Creator’s hand, and may the last embrace of the mother welcome you home.” A chant that echoed through the rest of the group and that I then repeated, deeming it the right thing to do in the moment. With the solemn words completed, Uno gestured to the others that it was time to ride North, he gripped my shoulder one last time, “May Kojima guide you well, and may the blades protect you and yours. You carry an importance that none of us may understand, but if you need us, we will answer your call.” And with that, the Shienarans left. 

As I stood there, overlooking the city, I felt the weight of everything that had happened, and was only broken from my state of thinking by the sound of a horse riding up behind me. I turned and saw it was Elayne. “We are to be leaving Falme aboard a ship,” Elayne started, her voice gentler than I had expected, as if she too could feel the gravity of the moment till hanging over me. She dismounted to come and stand next to me, taking my hands in hers to ground me and provide some level of comfort. We stood there for a few moments, neither of us said anything. The wind of the sea tugged at her golden hair, and the salt mingled in the air with the scent of smoke and distant fire. Falme was still there underneath the cliff—scarred but free. For a moment I could almost forget there was anything else in the world other than me and Elayne. 

Elayne finally spoke, looking me deep in the eye as she spoke steadily. “The others are gathering down at the docks. Moiraine secured us a vessel that will take us away from… this.” She said while her hands gestured vaguely toward the city, as though the ruins and the pain, and the victory we both fought for were too much to name aloud. 

I nodded, still feeling the echo of Uno’s words in my chest. You carry an importance that none of us may understand. I didn’t know what to do with that weight, not yet. And yet it clung to me, as surely as the swords on my back, and the lives I had helped to change. I stood there, a question burning in my throat, imploring me to ask it. “Elayne… what if I’m not ready for this? What if I am not enough for what the world needs me to be? Before I was taken I was just a blacksmiths son, even if my mother was some kind of noble, I was never more than a blacksmith…” 

Elayne cut me off, pressing a hand to my chest, “You have never been just a blacksmith, and not just because of what you are. I have not known you long, but by the strength you have shown, the courage, and caring, I can tell, you have, and always will be a man of honour. “ She looked at me with a fire that made her words feel like a vow. “You faced a Forsaken and did not falter. You broke an a’dam through sheer will. You walked back into the heart of the storm not for glory, not for duty—but for Egwene. For someone you cared about. That alone speaks more of your worth than any title or birthright ever could.”

Her hand lingered against my chest, and I could feel my heartbeat thudding beneath it—unsteady, unsure, but alive. Real. I lowered my gaze for a moment, not in shame, but simply feeling overwhelmed. It felt like no one had ever spoken about me like that before. Like I was something more, and will be more still. A tear rolled down my cheek, “Elayne,” I said quietly, “what if I’m not who I think I am anymore?”

“Then it’s time to find out who you are now,” she replied without hesitation, her fingers curling gently around mine again. “Not alone. We don’t have to face any of this alone anymore, any never again. I will be here for you, even if you do not yet choose to take me on as someone close to you in your life…” 

To that I leaned down and gently planted a kiss on her forehead. She closed her eyes as my lips touched her brow, just for a breath, but in that moment it felt as though time slowed—the salty air, the ruin of Falme beneath us, the fire still smouldering in the streets below—it all faded into the stillness that settled between us.  When I pulled back, Elayne’s expression had softened, but there was a glimmer of something deeper in her eyes. Not expectation, not demand—just a quiet hope. She gave my hands one last squeeze and stepped back, her voice now steadier, almost regal again, despite the glow on her cheeks. “Come on, then. If we stay here any longer, they’ll either come looking for us or start thinking we’ve eloped.” 

I chuckled despite myself, wiping the tear from my cheek before mounting Kojima and moving to follow her down from the overlook. As we rode, I glanced back one last time toward the city—the city that I helped to save despite what it had done to me. How it had caged me, tested me, and in someways reshaped me into exactly what the Pattern had wanted me to be. I let that chapter settle into my memory, like a cooled blade sliding into a sheath. Not forgotten, but tempered, and forgiven. The city owed me nothing, nor I it. The world owed me nothing, and no matter how the Wheel would spin, it would continue to do so. And I would do what I had to, because it was right and because it was kind, but most of all because it is what needed to be done. 

Down below, sails bobbed in the harbour—the ship Moiraine had arranged for us waiting, its deck already crowded with the others: Rand deep in conversation with Lan; Nynaeve helping Egwene to adjust her cloak; Mat and Perring arguing about something trivial as Mat gestured wildly and Perrin rolled his eyes. It felt for the first time in what seems like forever, like something close to a family. As Elayne and I reached the gangplank, Egwene turned and spotted us and caught Elayne’s hand still lightly holding my arm, the sea wind tugging her hair toward me. But, Egwene did not frown, nor smirk. What I saw on her face wasn’t jealousy or hurt. It was something deeper—something that I could not name right away. Her gaze flicked to where Elayne touched me, then up to my eyes… and her lips curved into the faintest, almost secret smile. One not just of understanding, but recognition. It felt like a jolt of lightning in my chest—that whatever thread bound me to Elayne, it was not one which would pull me away from Egwene. If anything, it drew me closer to her too. 

It dawned on my that this might not be some kind of love triangle where one is at odds with another. The Wheel, it seemed, was weaving something stranger, yet possibly strong. When Egwene finally stepped toward me, she didn’t speak right away. She reached for my hand—not possessively or in rebuttal, but in welcomed acceptance. 

It was then, with Elayne holding my arm in support and Egwene holding my hand, her fingers laced delicately in mine, that I felt I was not alone. I turned to take in the rest of the ship and saw Moiraine stood near the prow, speaking quietly with the ship’s captain, her hair whipped back by the wind like a banner of purpose. Lan stood not far off, his presence as solid and silent as ever, despite his having been speaking to Rand not a moment ago. The rest of the group had gathered around a few barrels near the mast, where Mat was loudly declaring that if he had to share any kind of bed with Perrin agin, he’d rather swim to Tar Valon. 

But there was someone else there too—leaning against the rigging wit the ease of someone who had seen too many ports and too many storms to be impressed by anything that could be thrown his way. He wore a worn cloak, patched in a hundred places and yet somehow still dramatic, the mark of a gleeman. A lute hung lazily over one shoulder, and a dagger gleamed at his hip—not for flair, but ready for use. His mustaches twitched beneath a knowing smile as his sharp eyes landed on us.

Mat was the first to react, “Thom! Light, I thought you would be halfway back to Tanchico by now.” The gleans face lit up as he took in the group, but then froze on me for a moment, taking in how close the daughter heir of Andor was to me with some suspicion, before he seemingly returned to his cheerful way. “Mat, Perrin, Egwene, Rand, and of course, fine lady Nynaeve,” he greeted each in turn with a nod, his voice warm with the familiarity of old roads and older memories. “And of course, my lady,” he added, bowing low to Elayne. “You seem… well accompanied.” 

Elayne titled her chin, all regal composure. “Thom Merrilin. I’m glad to see you in one piece.” She didn’t remove her hand from my arm, if anything, she shifted closer to me.

“And I you, Daughter-Heir,” Thom said smoothly, but his eyes flicked to me again, sharp with unspoken questions. Then he turned to Rand. “You’ve grown into your cloak, sheepherder. Or maybe it’s just heavier than you expected.” 

Rand gave a quiet smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You could say that.”

Thom finally turned to fully face me. “You must be the one I’ve heard whispers about. The man atop the tower, fighting back a Forsaken in only his pants. What were they calling you again… ah yes, Flameforged.” He extended a hand. “Thom Merrilin. Gleeman. Occasional assassin. And often the only man on these boats with any sense at all.” 

I took his hand, meeting his gaze. “No need for any title, I am just Alex, a blacksmith.” At that I received a pinch from Egwene as well as a sigh from Elayne, both clearly wanting me to take my role in the pattern more seriously. Thom’s grip tightened slightly. “Mmm I doubt that,” he muttered before releasing my hand with a faint smile. “You’ve stirred up a lot of talk lad, more than you probably know.”

Mat, ever one to break tension, leaned in between us. “Don’t let him get too mysterious on you,” he stage whispered. “He’ll start quoting ancient poetry next and then expect us to pay him for it.” Thom snorted at this and stepped past me with a flourish of his patched cloak. “Poetry I for those who survive long enough to hear it, and for now I think you lot could use rest. There will be time for… questions… later.” He finished before moving to the forward deck.

I felt Elayne’s hand give my arm a small squeeze. “He’s protective,” she said, almost apologetically. “He was there when I left Caemlyn. More of a guardian than he lets on.” I nodded my understanding while watching the old gleeman settle into the ships rhythm with practiced ease. “He’s also saved all of us more times than I can count. If he is here… it means something” pipped in Egwene, still at my side despite having released my other hand before Thom had approached. 

Suddenly Moiraine was behind me, “Thom is correct,” I started, the Aes Sedai moved almost silently. “Those of you who have seen battle must rest, go below and sleep. Our first stop will be in Cairhien, I suspect Alex has some belongings of his own that he may wish to grab, and I have need to go there anyways. From there we sail for Tear.” Moiraine said, with a tone of finality that told us all to head below deck and sleep. 

We all began to take to below the deck, with Elayne giving my arm one last squeeze, and Egwene giving me a look that said we still had much left to talk about. Thom tipped his head to me, with the same unreadable smile before turning to tune his lute. I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of steel on my back, the faint hum of power deep in my bones, and the echo of Uno’s words still burning in my mind. 

Whatever lay ahead—Cairhien, Tear, the weight of the Pattern itself—I would meet it. And I would not be alone. And so I turned and followed my friends below deck into the shadowed halls and uncertain dreams, leaving the ruins of yesterday behind us—sailing into the unknown turnings of the Wheel.

Chapter Text

I was woken barely before dawn by Moiraine’s warder, Lan. I moved to ask what was going on before he made a motion to put a finger over his lips. I understood what he meant and got out of the hammock, the ship not having enough proper beds for everyone to rest in. As he turned away, I gathered he wanted me to follow, and I did so, knowing that if I did not then he would likely come back to get me and be all the more angry for it. We marched up onto the deck of the ship, and he waited for me to have the hatch closed before he began to speak. 

“I noticed they gave you Ingtar’s swords, Smith.” Rand had forewarned me that Lan would adopt a nickname based on what my profession was before this journey. “I intend to make sure that you are worthy of them.” I squared my shoulders as I realized what Lan had meant. The bitter chill of the pre-dawn wind started to seep in before I steeled myself. The deck was mostly empty, save for a single sailor at the far end checking ropes. The sea heaved gently beneath us, waves lapping at the hull like a slow heartbeat.

“I didn’t ask for them,” I said, my eyes meeting his and I felt a chill at his stark blue stare. “But I intend to honour them.” I had learned how to fight in testing my blades and training with those who I smithed blades for, but I knew it was nothing compared to the work of a warder. 

Lan gave a slight nod. Not approval—not yet—but a recognition that I had answered in a way which he respected. “Steel does not care what hands hold it,” he said. “But a man’s worth is shown by how he bears the weight. Ingtar fell in battle, as did many. That steel carries duty now—and expectation.” 

He stepped forward and motioned for me to draw one of the blades. I hesitated only for a moment before obeying. The sword was not as heavy as some that I had made, clearly intended to be used in tandem with a second blade. I gave it a soft spin in my hand, working some light movements to get accustomed to the exact weight and make of the blade. While the blade was not necessarily heavy, the emotional weight that I felt carrying it was heavy.

“Show me,” Lan said simply, drawing his own sword with that silent, fluid grace which I had expected of a man so accustomed to his blade. “No grandstanding. Just move, flow, and let me see what you can do.” What followed wasn’t exactly a duel. Lan didn’t press or move to overpower me. He moved like a stormcloud—steady, coiled, and watching. Every strike I made was met and countered, every mistake laid bare but not made a sticking point. He wasn’t testing my skill—he was testing my understanding and how quickly I could learn on the fly. It became very clear very fast that whatever I knew from swinging a hammer or breaking chains in Falme, was still not enough. 

By the time we paused, sweat had soaked through my shirt despite the chill. We had garnered a small audience, Rand and Perrin sitting near by on some barrels, while Elayne and Egwene watched from above the rail, having started to cheer with every strike I landed, and support me in my far more frequent failures. Moiraine on the other hand, seemed to be staring us down like a hawk, focused yet evaluating, it almost felt like she saw me as pray. 

“You’re strong,” Lan said finally, as he sheathed his blade. “But strength without control is as dangerous as a dull blade. You can be more, and I will help shape you to be more.” He didn’t say it like a threat, but rather a promise. “I’ll teach you. Not because you asked, because you need it.” 

I nodded, my breath still heavy but recovering fast. “Then I’ll learn.”

Lan studied me for a long moment, the faintest glimmer of approval entering his gaze. “Good,” he said. “We reach Cairhien in three days. You’ll train at dawn. Every day until the blade fits you like your own skin.” He turned slightly to look over to Rand, “And you Sheepherder, don’t think I’ve forgotten that we did not finish your training. I’ll make you worthy of that heron-mark yet.” 

I sheathed the sword, feeling the weight settle back at my hip. Not just steel and edge—but responsibility. Purpose. Maybe even hope. 

Rand waved me over to where he and Perrin were seated. Once I got within a few paces, he perked up with a half-smile, his usual easy calm tinged with something heavier. “He doesn’t say that to many,” he said, nodding toward Lan. “You’ve earned something, I think.” 

Perrin added, “And now you get to wake up early every day. Welcome to misery.” 

Egwene and Elayne came down from the railing “Perrin, I think I could talk Lan into having you and Mat join Alex and Rand in training.” Elayne teased. I found myself joining in the laughter that followed, despite the aching muscles. Egwene’s eyes met mine for a moment, and in them I didn’t see pity or concern—but pride. Like she believe in the man she saw emerging from the bruises and mistakes. I would have to make it a point to have a conversation with her, alone, sometime while we were still on the boat. 

Despite the moment feeling so light, shared among friends and ones who are cared for, I couldn’t shake the cold feeling of eyes on me. I turned to look and saw that Moiraine’s gaze still lingered on me, sharp and unreadable. As if she was trying to fit me into some piece of a puzzle that I hadn’t known existed. For a heartbeat, it felt like I wasn’t just being trained—I was being measured. It made me feel uncomfortable, hoping that I could live up to the expectations of all these people around me, while still trying to figure out who the people I would surround myself with truly were. The only people I was sure of were Rand, Egwene, and Elayne, and even then there was still so much more to know. 

The laughter lingered in the sea air for a moment longer, like a song fading out with the tide. Then the moment passed, and one by one the others began to move and go about their days. Rand clapped me on the shoulder, and Elayne offered a small smile before going below deck. Egwene hesitated, her fingers brushing mine briefly before she too turned away—no words spoken, though none were needed. 

I remained a moment longer, standing at the head of the ship overlooking the water that sped beneath us. Moiraine had turned away at last, disappearing into the shadows of the aft deck with Lan beside her. But the chill of her gaze still lingered on my skin, like the memory of a cold wind down the back of your neck. 

So lost in my thoughts was I that I didn’t hear the footsteps of one coming next to me, not until he spoke. “You seem lost in thought, lad.” The voice belonged to Thom Merrilin. He moved beside me with the practiced ease of someone who had spent half his life on decks like this, and the other half surviving what came after them. His cloak flared slightly with the sea breeze, and his pipe glowed as he took a long, steady draw.

I nodded slightly. “Hard not to be… so much has happened in the past days, it would be impossible not to be lost in deep thought. And yet somehow I have to be better, and pass all these tests that others put ahead of me, veiled as just being an attempt to know me more.” I paused, thinking better of what I had said, given my present company. 

He studied me for a long beat, his gaze half-hidden by shadows but no less sharp for it. “You carry yourself like a man who’s been through more than he lets on. And not just since Falme.” He turned his head, watching the horizon. “Men who live by the forge know how to shape steel. The question is whether you know how to hold it hone it gets hot.” 

I glanced at him, suddenly more sure that this was a test from Thom, but unsure whether he spoke in metaphor or from memory. 

“I’ve seen a great many young men think they’re ready to carry more than they should. Wars, women, power, prophecy. And you stand close to it all right now.” He paused, heavy and deliberate. “Elayne’s the daughter of Andor. That means more than noble blood and lessons in diplomacy. It means duty. Danger. Sacrifice. Anyone who stands beside her had best be ready to be more than just a name in the wind.”

I met his eyes, clear now that this was a test spoken true. “Are you asking me if I am? Ready to be more than just a name in the wind, I mean.”

He took another puff from his pipe, then tapped out the bowl with a quiet clink against the rail. “No,” he said. “I’m watching to see if you’ll show me that you are.” The wind played with his patched cloak as he turned slightly toward me. “She sees something in you. Egwene too. And Moiraine… well, she stares at you like she’s reading the end of the book before the middle’s even been written. You’ve stepped into a story bigger than yourself, lad. The kind where choices echo long after they’re made, and I do not envy you that.”

I exhaled, trying to steady myself against the rising weight of everything implied in those words. “I never asked for any of this, you know? I was taken from my home, from everything I know, and tortured, made to be something so much more than what I was and yet I was trained in none of it, not prepared in the slightest. I don’t know what I am meant to do, what I am meant to be.” 

“No one worth trusting ever asks for this lad,” Thom said, softer now. “But that doesn’t excuse you from seeing it through. If you care for them—even just one of them—don’t waste it. I know you didn’t ask for this life, lad. But you have a gift. The stories I heard even just by listening here on the ship tell me that much. You burn the taint away, you make it safe for men near you to channel, and you can bring back the sanity to them. You’re something special, and something that to my knowledge has never been seen. I won’t lecture you more, and I’ll be here if you need to talk, but you can’t give up on this path.”

I looked out across the sea, “I won’t waste the opportunity. And I am never, giving up.”

Thom said nothing for a moment, taking a long while to drink me in, as if assessing me in a new light. “Good.” With that he turned and began to walk away. But just before he disappeared out of ear shot, he stopped. “I’ll be watching, lad. Not because I don’t trust you — yet— but because I might need to know that I can.” Then he was gone, leaving behind only the scent of smoke, and the impression of someone who’d been measuring not my words—but my soul. 

————————————————

Tired of people trying to judge me so early in the day, I stayed towards the front of the ship, watching the water go by beneath us as we sailed towards my home, if I could even call it that anymore. I highly doubted that it would feel same, or could ever feel the same again after everything that happened. I faintly touched saidin while standing there at the front of the ship, trying to accommodate myself to the feeling of it, of identifying the different threads and elements I could work. I found that while I was embracing the source, I could hear and feel things around me better, as if they became one with me. So I was not taken by surprise when Rand approached me while I was working to grasp a thread of air, while realizing that each time I grasped it, I was grasphin a large knot of threads rather than a single one like I had wanted. 

“I see you’re trying to practice,” Rand said, as he approached me an leaned on the railing. “Likely a good idea, though, perhaps better to do it with a clearer mind?” He flashed me a smile at that and the brevity with which he spoke made me laugh in spite of myself. 

“You’re likely right,” I replied. “It feels like every time I try to do anything small, I instead grasp far to much… almost like my life right now.”

“I can’t say I don’t know how you feel. A few months ago, I was nothing more than a shepherd from the Two Rivers, and now I am expected to be the Dragon Reborn, a man who could destroy the world, and who could channel, despite the fact it could destroy me and all I hold dear until yesterday.” Rand was right, but it certainly felt as though it was another weight put on me, to keep him sane.

 “I know, it likely feels as though everything is on you, but just like those things in the sky, at the very least you and I are in this together. And you have no idea how nice it feels to know that there is someone I can share this weight with. Ever since I knew I was the Dragon, I felt like I was alone, even when surrounded by my friends I knew that I would only hurt them if I stayed near them.” Rand was opening up to me, and I felt bad for him, for how alone he had felt. “But now, with you here, I don’t have to push them away. You have given me hope, the hope that I will not go mad, and that I have someone who I can be honest with, and who I can learn with, it’s a wonder.” 

“I’ll be honest Rand, things are hard, and I know, you’re just coming to grips with being the Dragon, but at least your role is somewhat known. No one seems to know what I am, or how I am to play into the Pattern. I am lucky to have you, and lucky to have such people around me to help, it’s all just a bit of a shock.” I wanted to be open with Rand, as he had just done for me, but I also didn’t want to snatch away the hope that Rand had just revealed he felt.

Rand considered my feelings for a moment before he replied, “Then let’s not think of that heavy stuff for a bit.” He chuckled, “Lets talk about your love life.”

I blinked staunchly, caught wildly off guard. “My what?” 

He grinned. “Don’t play dumb, Smith. Even this Sheepherder can see what’s going on. Egwene, Elayne … half the ship’s crew is probably placing bets on which one drags you below deck first. And that’s not even mentioning the way they dragged you into the Shienaran gathering before we left.”

I groaned, shaking my head, but I couldn’t suppress the smile tugging at my lips. “Light help me.” 

Rand laughed, a real hearty laugh—something rare enough to feel like the sun breaking through storm clouds. “You’ve got the worst luck. Two of the most dangerous women I’ve ever met, and both of them seem to be… interested.”

I inclined my head and one of my eyebrows arched “Dangerous?” I asked incredulously. 

“Oh, without question,” Rand said, laughing slightly. “One of them will most definitely end up running a kingdom. The other? She’ll have the White Tower kneeling one day. And you’re stuck in the middle trying not to die of embarrassment while they each tug you in their direction.”

I leaned down onto the railing beside him, watching the sea roll by. “It’s not like that. Not exactly. Light, it’s like the two would be perfectly happy to share me sometimes, and yet neither has known me a very long time. I don’t know… maybe the Wheel is weaving something strange.”

He looked at me, his grin fading only slightly. “Strange doesn’t mean bad, you know. Sometimes the best things are, You know, you wouldn’t be the only one to have multiple people bound to them.” At that I turned and looked fully to him.

“You mean… you?” 

He nodded solemnly, “Back when we first left the Two Rivers—when I still thought this was all some mistake— I was told a piece of my future. That I would bind more than one woman to my heart. And that, no matter what I had believed growing up, none of them would be Egwene.”

I looked at him, my chest tightening. If he’d seen Egwene growing closer to me, it must have felt like a blade twisting in his gut.

He saw it on my face and raised a hand, stopping me before I could speak. “Don’t. Don’t feel sorry for me. It doesn’t hurt—not like it used to. Truth is, seeing her smile at you… it makes it easier. Knowing we weren’t meant for each other? That’s one thing. But seeing her with someone who treats her right? That helps.” 

I looked at Rand then, truly looked at him—and realized he was more than just someone I shared a burden with. In that moment, he was my friend. I reached out and patted his shoulder, an awkward gesture maybe, but heartfelt. A way of saying, I see you. I’m glad you’re here. We stood there joking with each other for a while, finally feeling at ease and relaxed, as if I was safe. 

The moment stretched, as if we talked for hours, and yet it also ended all too soon. Elayne approached, a regal sureness to her step. 

“I’m sorry, Rand,” Elayne said, her voice soft—but there was something in her eyes, something unspoken and firm. “Do you mind if I borrow Alex for a bit?”

Rand only smiled. “Not at all,” he said, stepping away with that faint smirk of his. Before turning he met my gaze—and in his eyes, I saw the gleam of a wager remembered. The sailors’ bet may be settled sooner than anyone had guessed “We’ll catch up later.”

Elayne Toko my hand and led me toward the bow, where the ship’s edge rose like the lip of the world, sea and sky blurring in to a wash of blues and golds. The wind was brisk, brushing her hair loose from its ties and dancing strands across her cheeks. She didn’t speak right away, instead, she leaned against the railing, gazing out across the waves as they crashed behind us. 

I stood beside her, letting the silence stretch between us. It wasn’t awkward—in fact it felt almost deliberate, as though she was letting something settle before she chose her words. Finally, she turned to me. “You and Rand… you’ve grown close. I’m glad. I can tell he needs someone who sees him as a man, not just as the Dragon Reborn.”

I nodded. “He’s been good to me. Honest. And I think he trusts me in a way that matters to us both. We both know we have some grand role in the pattern, and that we can help each other. But more than that, it feels like there is a kinship between us. As though we have known each other since we were boys, rather than only just having met not long ago.” 

She smiled faintly, then glanced down, her fingers drumming lightly on the wood rail. “I could almost say the same thing about you and everyone else in our rag tag group… And Egwene?” She asked, eyes flicking back up to mine. “That thread between you two… it’s real. I can see it.”

“Yes,” I said carefully, considering my next words, “it is. But it’s not the only thread I feel.”

Elayne looked at me then—not shyly, not cautiously, but with the quiet confidence of someone who had spent a lifetime stepping not difficult truths. “Yesterday, you told me you didn’t know who you were anymore, that you had been thrown into something bigger than you. I think… you’re someone who is still becoming themselves. And it’s beautiful to watch.” She took a half-step closer. “You make me feel like I can be more than just the Daughter-Heir… like I can be me, and not just what people expect me to be.” 

I blushed at that and swallowed hard. “You make me feel like I can be more than just… what I’ve survived, and more than just another piece in some grand puzzle.” 

She reached up then, brushing back a piece of hair that had fallen onto my forehead with the backs of her fingers, the touch soft, deliberate. “You’re not a blacksmith pretending otherwise be a hero, Alex. You’re a man, standing at the edge of something vast, and still choosing to move forward. That’s not pretending. That’s courage… and it gives me hope.” 

I searched her face, trying to say something, anything—but the words caught in my throat. She stepped in even closer, and her voice dropped to a whisper. “And if we’re both still becoming something new, becoming all that we can be, perhaps you’d be okay with us building it… together.” 

I didn’t reply, I didn’t have to. I reached for her and she met me half way. The kiss was slow at first—hesitant, like a question. But then her hands came together around the back of my neck, and mine slid to her waist, and the question answered itself.

It wasn’t a kiss of passion unchecked—it was something deeper. A promise. A beginning of something new, and a journey that we would face together. When we finally pulled apart, her forehead rested against mine, her still slightly elevated on her toes, and her breath warm on my lips. “That settles it,” she murmured with a playful smile, “we are in this together, you and I.” 

I smiled, my hands still resting gently on her waist. “Together,” I echoed, the word feeling like a vow spoken to more than just her— it felt like something spoken to the Patten itself, as if it would pull our threads of the tapestry tightly together, and wind them into one. Elayne exhaled a small laugh, as if the weight between us had lightened just enough to let her breathe more freely. “Light, if my mother knew…” she began, then shook her head. “But that can wait. We are going to your home first, not mine.” There was a flicker of nerves in her eyes, quickly swallowed by something steadier. Confidence, affection, maybe even the start of love. In that flicker, I realized that this wasn’t just some flirtation. Not for her, and certainly not for me.

A shout rang out somewhere on the deck—Mat, probably—but neither of us moved right away. We stood there for a moment more, letting the wind thread through us, and letting the silence between our heartbeats speak what words couldn’t quite reach. 

Then she finally stepped back, lowering herself from her toes and smoothing her dress, though the blush on her cheeks lingered. “Come on,” she said, her smile still tugging at her lips as she offered me her hand, “before Mat starts yelling about scandal.” I fell into step beside her, fingers interlaced as we walked back toward the others who had now gathered in the middle of the ship. And though no one said it aloud, I knew that my bond within this group had been more cemented, no longer of necessity, but of hope, want, and something like belonging. Whatever came next, we would face it side by side.

————————————————

The rest of the day passed without incident, though Elayne remained close by my side more often than not. Her hand would find mine in quiet moments, or she’d lean gently against me as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

By sunset, the ship had taken on a golden hue, the water shimmering with the fading sunlight. As well as settled for our evening meal, Thom, Rand, and Mat decided to put on a show—Mat attempting to juggle with dramatic flair, while Rand played the flute in time with Thom’s steady strumming of a worn lute. The music was lively, our laughter was louder. For a moment, it felt like we were not just survivors or friends—but a found family. Elayne tucked herself closer under my arm, and I let the warmth of her presence settle the frayed edges of my thoughts.  

That fragile peace was short-lived, however. A hand settled on my shoulder. I looked up to see Lan standing over me, as unreadable as ever. “Moiraine would like to see you, Smith,” he said. His voice was low, but final. Elayne straightened beside me, concern flickering in her eyes. “Alone,” Lan added. Just like that, the spell was broken. Elayne gave me a soft kiss on my hand as I stood up, as well as a reassuring squeeze. “She’s waiting in the captains quarters.” Then he turned and walked away. 

I shouldn’t be surprised. A commanding woman like Moiraine wouldn’t think twice about taking over the captain’s space if it suited her purposes, let alone a private conversation. Still, the thought gnawed at me: this wouldn’t be a pleasant chat, but an interrogation, to try and discover who I am, what I am. 

I swallowed the unease clawing at my chest. Whatever waited inside, it would do me no good to keep her waiting. So I squared my shoulders, summoned what courage I could scrape together, and marched towards the captain’s quarters with steps that I hoped looked steadier than I felt. I gently rapped at the door before being invited in. 

“Ah, good,” Moiraine said from her seat beside the small porthole, barely glancing up from a stack of parchment. “I had expected some bit more hesitation.”

“I thought about it,” I admitted while stepping inside. There was no point to lying to her about it, she would surely see straight through me, and it would only work to hurt whatever image she was forming in her mind. The room smelled of ink, sea salt, and some herbal tea that curled faintly in a porcelain cup near her elbow. 

She looked up then, and her dark eyes studied me in that way of hers—like she was flipping through the pages of a book that only she could read. “Sit, if you would. I have a feeling this conversation may take a while, it would do you well to be comfortable.” She gestured to a plain wooden chair across from her, and I moved to sit. The wood creaked under my weight, or maybe just under the pressure of her gaze. It felt as though that gaze could cut through an entire army before it was satisfied.

“I imagine you know why I asked for you,” she said calmly. 

“I have a few guesses, seeming as almost anyone who isn’t from the Two Rivers or the daughter-heir of Andor has seemed to want the same thing of me today.”

She smiled at that, “Then tell me. I’d like to hear what you think I am thinking.” Her voice wasn’t mocking—but there was a challenge in it. She wanted to see if I would rise to this occasion, or sit there and squirm under her gaze.

I decided to meet her gaze, with all the strength I could manage into my own. “You’re trying to decide what I am. Whether I am a threat, a tool to be used, or something else entirely. You’ve heard what I can do, but find it hard to believe for yourself, and that’s why you had your warder test me this morning.”

That made her pause, as if she were turning over what I had said. It wasn’t long, but it was enough to know I had gotten through to her. Moiraine leaned back slightly in her chair, settling to put down any parchment she had been reading and folded her hands into her lap, a faint smile flickering across her face. “Not bad,” she said softly. “But no. You misunderstand me, if only slightly.”

Her eyes locked onto mine, cool as deep water. “I am not deciding what you are. That has already been decided—by the Wheel and the Pattern, not by me. You are more than a tool, though you may prove instrumental to our success. You are more than a threat, though you are dangerous in ways I cannot yet define. You are, simply put, something new.” Her words hung in the air, taut with implication.

“The Pattern,” she continued, “has no patience for idle speculation. It weaves as it wills, and it pulls in pieces where it sees fit. And you — Alex— have been woven in where no one expected you to appear. That is no accident. Already you pull apart what tapestry I had seen forming and reshape it into something far more complex.” She seemed to study my face as she said this, trying to see if I would react in any one way. “You’ve hardly been known to these people more than a few days, and yet they already trust you, and in some cases, give you more than just that.” 

I didn’t look away from her, even though a dozen thoughts clamored in my mind. Elayne’s soft kiss still lingering on my lips. About Rand’s quiet faith, and the bonds of brotherhood we had already shaped. And about Egwene’s eyes when she looked at me like I was something worth believing in.

“And once more, you were wrong about Lan. I did not have to order him to test you, he did that of his own will, and I only found out about it through the tugging of our bond while you two were sparring on the deck. If he had told me of his plans, I would have been there to measure you from the start, not simply coming to see once you had already started through the motions.” 

I considered her words at this. “I didn’t exactly ask for any of that,” I said finally, my voice low. “Their trust, their faith, or their respect. Light, I’m not even sure I deserve it.”

“No,” Moiraine agreed, her voice like a river cutting through stone, despite the slight note of sympathy. “But that is the nature of the Pattern. It gives no thought to what is deserved, nor what is asked for. Only what is necessary.” She rose then, not suddenly, but with the grace of someone who always chose her movements with care. “And that is why I asked to see you, Alex. Because I must know: do you understand what you’re becoming? What your presence here may do to the threads we all walk?”

I hesitated at that. Not out of defiance—but because the weight of her question rang too true. “I know I can channel,” I said, quietly. “And I know… it doesn’t feel like it is supposed to. Not the madness, not the taint. It’s like… something different. Something cleaner. I know that when Rand is around me, he can do the same, and that he claims when he came close to me it felt as though all the taint was wiped clean of his soul. And I know that frightens you.” I left out the thoughts of how it had frightened the Forsaken as well, not wanting to draw comparisons where there should be none.

Moiraine tilted her head slightly, as if she were studying a delicate piece of porcelain for fractures not visible to the naked eye. Her silence bore weight—but it was not judgemental, merely searching. Though for what I could not say. “It does frighten me,” she said finally, and there was no pretence in it, nothing veiled and nothing barred. “Anything so largely unknown should. But not because I think you’re evil, or lost to the Shadow. No… you may be the largest boon to the Light that the Pattern ever saw fit to weave.” 

She stepped closer. “It frightens me because you were not in the stories. Not in the Dreaming, or the Foretellings, or even in the bones of the Pattern I’ve spent my life learning to read. Rand is the Dragon Reborn, yes. He is meant to break the world and remake it. But you… you are a ripple that was never meant to be cast, and the waves you send out have already begun to reshape shorelines.” She paused, then added more quietly, “And because when something steps outside the Pattern… the Wheel has no thread prepared to catch it.”

I opened my mouth, but the words failed to find me. What did you even say to that? I wasn’t the Dragon, or a Forsake, or a prince or a king, I was just—me. “I’m not special,” I murmured. 

She raised an eyebrow at that. “You broke an a’dam, Alex. No man has ever touched one and lived—let alone shattered it while still bound. And you did it without training, without understanding. You stood up to a Forsaken and held him such that none around you would be hurt. You stood atop a tower where the Dragon Reborn was announced for all to see, and the Pattern saw fit to proclaim you as something new, but bound to him. You may not want to be special. But you are.”

I couldn’t look at her, not right away. My eyes found a knot in the wooden floor instead, something solid and unchanging, something that I could wrap my head around. “I didn’t ask for any of this,” I said again, not angry, not even desperate—just tired. “If I had known what was coming in Falme I might have stayed in that cell.”

Moiraine’s face changed, softened almost. I half expected her to chide me for being so stubborn, to speak of duty or honour, but her voice came out softer and more thoughtful than that. “No, child, I know you didn’t ask for it. But you came out of that cell, you made these decisions that have done so much good.” She stopped there, her sympathy being allowed a moment to sink in before she continued. “No one worth the Pattern’s favour ever seeks it out,” she said. “Not Rand, nor Egwene. Certainly not me.” She let out a slow breath, almost a sigh. “And yet here we are. You were not meant to be in this story, and still, you are. You changed it the moment you chose not to break, and we are all the better for it.” 

Her eyes met mine again. That impossible blue—not cold, but certainly not able to be described as soft. “Tell me something, Alex. When you look at Rand, at the way Saidin responds to you both, or the way you strip out the taint… do you ever wonder if you do not simply change the Pattern—but purify it?”

That landed like a spark to dry tinder. I stiffened, not out of fear—though some of that certainly crept in— but because deep down, a part of me had been wondering the same thing. I had wondered it ever since I saw how Ishamael’s darkness reacted to me, how it burned away. “I don’t know what I am,” I said honestly. “The people call me Flameforged, as if it is some title that has always been known. All that I know is that I would sooner walk blindly into the Blight than let this… gift turn into a curse.” 

Moiraine gave a faint nod at that, as if I had passed some test that I had never had the chance to prepare for. “Good,” she said, though almost to herself. “You will need to remember that when others try to define you. The Tower will not ignore you, certainly not once word reaches them, word which I am sure is already travelling now. The Forsaken certainly won’t. And even those who care for you—Elayne, Egwene, Rand— will one day have to wonder what it means to stand in the light of something that was never predicted to exist.” She turned then, her voice cooling to something more formal. “That will be all for now. You may go.” She said as she waved to dismiss me. But just as I reached the door, her voice stopped me. 

“Oh, and Alex?” I looked back at her as she studied me one last time. “Whatever you do, do not let yourself be made small to fit someone else’s vision of what you should be. That path is for threads already spun, and none as significant as the one you walk on. Yours, is still being woven.” And with that she waved me out of the room. I opened the door to find Lan standing there, waiting. He stood like a statue beside the door, arms crossed, expression unreadable. For a moment, he said nothing. Then:

“She doesn’t say things like that lightly, Smith.”

I blinked hard. “You were listening?”

“No,” he replied simply. “I just know her.” He turned his eyes to mine then, piercing in a way that made me feel like he could see all the doubts I tried to bury beneath confidence. “You may not know what you are yet,” he said. “But I’ve fought beside heroes, kings, and monsters. You don’t move like a boy pretending at strength. You move like a man who’s already made the choice to stand strong. Keep making it.” And with that he moved into the captains quarters which Moiraine had seemingly made her own, for now. The captains door closed softly behind me, but the words I carried did not fade with it. Moiraine’s voice still echoed in my head, and Lan’s gaze still clung to my spine. I walked through the quiet corridors of the ship without really thinking, until the air turned cool and open again, and I found myself back on the deck.

The others had gone below, leaving the night quiet, save for the gentle creak of wood and the rhythmic slap of waves against the hull. The sails whispered above me. No laughter. No music. Just a calm stillness. I moved to the far end of the deck and lay down flat on my back, arms folded behind my head, eyes turned skyward.

The stars were sharp and endless, scattered across the sky like fragments of something ancient and broken. They didn’t care who I was or what I might become. They just were, and would continue to be no matter what I did.

And yet…

I let out a slow breath. The Pattern, the Wheel, Moiraine’s talk of ripples and threads—I wasn’t made for those things. I was just … me. A smith’s son who had bled in a cage, screamed through pain, and somehow walked away from it all. I didn’t ask for any of this… but maybe that didn’t matter anymore. If the Wheel had not planned a thread to catch me, then maybe I was meant to make my own.

I don’t know how long I lay there, listening to the waves, the rigging above creaking like the bones of some old beast. Time slipped loose. I might have drifted into sleep, or into thought so deep it circled back to dreaming. Then I heard the soft creak of a footstep beside me. I didn’t look to see who it was, not at first. There was something sacred in the quiet. 

“You’re staring up at the sky as if it has some answer to give you,” came a familiar voice. Soft, and almost teasing in nature. I turned my head and found Egwene standing there, arms wrapped around herself, hair stirred by the night breeze. She wasn’t smiling—not really—but there was warmth in her eye, and something else I couldn’t name.

“I had missed seeing the sky while we were locked up in Falme. It has a certain majesty, that leaves me wondering if the stars ever look down and wonder about us the same way we look up to wonder about them.”

Egwene’s expression softened, and after a beat she stepped forward and lowered herself beside me. She didn’t lie down right away, instead sitting cross-legged, looking not at the sky, but at me. “I used to think that,” she said quietly. “Back in the Two Rivers, I’d sneak out sometimes just to lie in the grass and stare at them. I’d make up stories for the constellations—pretend they were heroes, or lovers, or monsters we’d one day defeat.”

I smiled faintly at that. “And now you’re the one in the story, perhaps one to be written in the stars yourself.”

That made her pause. She glanced up at the sky, then lay back beside me with a sign. “Light, that’s the terrifying part. I thought I wanted to be part of something bigger. I just didn’t know how much it would take.” We both lay there quietly for a moment. The ship creaked around us, shifting gently with the waves. It was a strange kind of peace—fragile, hard-earned. 

“I meant what I said when we were in Falme,” I started. Egwene turned her head to look at me as a I did the same, our faces close now, shadows dancing between us. “You won’t have to do any of this alone, Egwene. Whatever comes next… we’re in this together.” Egwene’s eyes shimmered faintly in the starlight, not with tears exactly, but with something deeper—something raw and open. Her lips parted as if she meant to reply right away, but instead she simply looked at me, studying my face like it might slip away if she blinked. 

“You say that like it’s simple,” she whispered. “But it’s not. Not with Elayne. Not with everything else hanging between us.”

“I know,” I said softly. And I did. The moments I shared with Elayne were real—but so was what I felt with Egwene. What we had grown together in that cell, forged by silence and survival, the way her hand clutched mine when everything else was falling apart. “Nothing about this is simple.”

Egwene nodded, barely. Then she reached for my hand, fingers threading between mine like they’d always belonged there. “We might not have simple,” she said, “but maybe… we have honest.” I didn’t answer, I couldn’t. There was nothing to be said in that moment, as we both looked into each other’s eyes. The kiss we shared next was not planned. It was not rushed. It was slow and deliberate, born of long silences and shared pain. Egwene leaned in first, hesitantly, her eyes never leaving mine. Once I understood what she meant, I met her part way.

Our lips touched, gently at first—tentative, like testing whether the world would break again beneath us. But it didn’t. The world held. It wasn’t the fire of passion unchecked, nor the innocent curiosity of youth. It was something heavier, something earned. A promise forged in chains and soot and soft words exchanged in the dark. It said: I see you. I remember you. I am still here.

When we finally parted, neither of us spoke. She just rested her head upon my chest, her hand still in mine, the stars glimmering above us in silence. Whatever lay ahead, this moment—this quiet, honest truth—was ours. We would deal with the rest later, for now, we could enjoy this peace and just breathe.

Chapter Text

The morning came early, as it did the day before with Lan, it seemed he always wanted training to start before the sun was up. The sun had just barely begun to crest the horizon, but already the clatter of wooden practice swords rang out on the deck. The sea was calm, golden light glinting off the weaves. Peaceful—until Lan barked out an order.

“Again!” His voice rang out like the crack of the whip.

I staggered back from Rand, panting, sweat already soaking through my shirt. He grinned at me, flushed but enjoying himself far too much for someone being forced to spar before breakfast. “I don’t know how you’re still standing,” I muttered as we reset our stances. “Aren’t you still tired from fighting a Forsaken like… two days ago? Shouldn’t that come with some kind of mandatory bed rest?” I said while looking at his scarred hand incredulously, shocked he wasn’t keeling over.

Rand laughed at that. “I could say the same about you. You escaped a Seanchan cell, destroying their collar, and fought a Forsaken and somehow came out of it without any lasting injuries.” 

“Maybe I’m too stubborn to die,” I said, raising my sword again. I readied myself for Rand’s relentless onslaught to start again.

“If you were that stubborn I’d say perhaps you came from the Two Rivers after all.” He joked. 

I snorted and stepped to the side, countering his movement. “I’ll take that as a compliment, I think.”

“You should! We’re a mule-headed lot,” he replied, lunging forward with another series of strikes. I parried, barely, the wood clacking between us. “Stubborn, suspicious, and entirely too slow to trust.”

“And yet here we are,” I muttered through clenched teeth, blocking a downward blow that rattled my arms. “Trust each other with wooden weapons before breakfast.” We both laughed at this.

As Rand moved to take another strike, I parried and lunged, pushing towards him instead. “Though maybe without a shirt you were able to move better and avoid any real damage,” Rand said. I laughed at this, though it perhaps wasn’t fully true… the nightmares that wracked my brain last night flashed through my head, of the interrogations, the whips on my back, the strangulation… every last draining bit. 

I decided to open up about it to Rand and Lan, thinking perhaps the two of them might understand. “Would you mind if we took a break? There is something I need to air with the two of you, if that is alright?” I asked, looking to Lan for confirmation. 

Lan’s eyes narrowed slightly at my request—not with suspicion, but with a kind of measuring calm. Then he gave a single nod. “Very well. Breathe, but don’t let your muscles cool too much. You will practice your forms as you talk. Start with Parting the Silk.” I nodded back to him, beginning to flow through the forms, despite the ache in my arms. Rand’s head tilted as he moved through the forms at a similar pace to mine. His brow furrowed with curiosity and something more—concern, maybe.

“What’s on your mind?” He asked, while straining through the forms. I glanced between the two of them—Lan ever stone-faced but attentive, Rand still moving and flowing through the forms, red-gold hair damp from the morning heat. They’d both been through their own share of darkness. Maybe that’s what gave me the courage to speak.

“It’s… about Falme,” I said quietly. “The cell. The a’dam.” Rand’s expression shifted immediately, and Lan’s arms loosened slightly, but he didn’t interrupt. I took a breath, grounding myself as I flowed through the forms the same as water flowed under the ship. “Everyone talks about what happened on the tower, or the fight with Ishamael. But it’s not that part that keeps waking me up at night. It’s the time before, when I was trapped in the cell… the attempts to break me. I wasn’t just imprisoned. I was stripped of everything—my name, my will, I didn’t even get to keep my thoughts some days. The a’dam didn’t care what I wanted, and every time I resisted answering the questions of the sul’dam…” My voice faltered. “It made me want to obey. Not through fear, but something worse. Like the leash was crawling into my head and convincing me it was right to submit, to answer their every last question and obey every command.”

Rand didn’t speak, but his knuckles went white around the practice sword. Lan said nothing either, yet I could feel his presence anchoring me—steady as a mountain. 

“It wasn’t just the pain,” I went on. “Though there was plenty of that too. It was the way it made you doubt. Doubt you were ever real in the first place. I only broke it because…” I swallowed. “Because I heard Egwene being taken, and I couldn’t let them do anything to her. Even if it meant dying. Her talking to me through the cell walls was the only thing that held me to who I was. Her stories of friends, and constant reassurance the only things that kept me sane.”

Silence hung on the deck like fog, thick and heavy.

Rand finally spoke, voice rough. “Light, Alex…” 

But I cut him off, “I didn’t say any of this for pity,” I said quickly. “I said it because… it’s still with me. The way it felt, the way it twisted me, and I think, if I don’t start talking about it now, it’ll twist me all over again. Like it’s still around my neck, choking me, and making its will my own.” 

Lan’s voice came then, stoic and rumbling like a mountain. “It won’t. Because you did break it. In spectacular fashion from what the sheepherder here tells me. Shattered the thing to a million pieces before he could even come to see it. You chose pain over submission. And you remembered who you were, even when the leash tried to make you forget. That’s not something easily undone.”

Rand stopped his forms and stepped towards me,, placing a hand on my shoulder. “You’re not alone in this,” he said firmly. “Just like Egwene was there for you in the cell, we are here to support you now. You won’t be alone in these things ever again.”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak. But I nodded, holding onto that truth like a lifeline. Lan’s voice was the first to break the silence. “Good. Now that you’ve spoken your piece, back to sparring. The best way to silence nightmares is to remind them you’re stronger. And, I promised I’d make you worthy of your blades, both of you.” 

Rand and I reset, our wooden swords raised once ore. This time, my grip felt firmer. My breath steadier. Something inside me had shifted—unburdened of a truth I had been keeping to myself, even if just a little. When I struck next, it was with purpose. With clarity. With so much force and focus that the wooden sword crack on Rand’s block, the splintering snap echoing across the deck. 

I stared at the ruined blade, chest heaving while I hear applause from the railing as Mat whooped and hollered, Egwene and Nynaeve next to him looking on in awe. Elayne and Perrin simply stared from where they were seated on a few barrels not far from us, though Elayne looked at me with a certain pride to her gaze. 

Rand blinked. “Light,” he muttered. “I am glad to have you on our side…” We both laughed as Lan insisted that we had done enough for the day, and should towel off and cool down. The sun had risen finally by the time Lan dismissed us. The deck was beginning to bustle again with sailors tending to their tasks, but the stern of the ship remained quiet. 

Rand and I found. Spot near the aft rail, out of the way, where a few crates made for convenient seats. Mat came over and claimed one with a flourish, legs kicked up as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Perrin on the other hand, joined us, leaning on the railing nearby, arms crossed. His golden eyes thoughtful beneath his shaggy hair. Rand sat beside me, wiping sweat from his brow with the edge of his shirt, while I took the chance to finally breathe without the weight of a wooden blade swinging at my head.

“You’re stronger than you look,” Mat said with a grin, flicking a walnut at me from a pouch he must’ve filched somewhere. “I mean, breaking a sword like that? Very dramatic. I’d have clapped louder if I wasn’t worried Lan would make me join in on training… or that Nynaeve would cuff me for it.” 

“Careful,” Perrin rumbled. “You say that too loud and he might decide you need a little morning exercise.” A smile broke across his broad face while he said that. 

“Light help us all,” Mat muttered. “You’ll notice I’m smart enough to keep my distance from any sword training. The sword isn’t exactly my style anyways.” Mat said, brandishing a dagger he seemed to produce form no where in particular. “I like a smaller blade, less heavy that way.” 

Read chuckled and gave me a sidelong glance. “So, what’s been happening with you and Egwene, she came downstairs awfully happy last night after she was on the deck with you.” 

Mat nearly choked on the walnut he’d just popped into his mouth, while Perrin blinked in surprise.

I stiffened. “Oh so this is really where we’re going now?” I laughed slightly, trying to hide the growing blush in my cheeks.

“Oh no,” Mat said, grinning wide. “We’re definitely going there. Especially with how Elayne was following you around like some doe eyed village girl yesterday rather than her usual royal proper self.” 

Rand raised his hands. “Hey, we aren’t here to judge.” Though Mat’s grin said he was totally judging how two women would fall for me so quickly. “I’m just trying to understand how that even happens. Two of the most dangerous women I’ve ever known falling for you so easily.” 

“I didn’t exactly plan for this,” I muttered. “It’s not like there’s a guide for this sort of thing, I mean Light, how was I supposed to know they would both kiss me on the same day—“ 

“Woah! Wait, they both kissed you?” Mat interjected, eyes wide. “Alright blacksmith I think I found what your true calling should be, you need to write down whatever it is you’re doing. ‘How to Accidentally Win the Hearts of Two Powerful Women and Have them Both Show it on the Same Day’. Bestseller material right there.” He laughed with his signature mischievous grin across his face. 

Perrin on the other hand looked at me with those eyes, analyzing me before furrowing his brow just a bit. “You’ve got yourself tangled in more than just sword and battles, haven’t you, Alex?” His voice was quiet, almost gentle, but there was a weight behind it—as if he understood the trouble, but also wished it wasn’t on my shoulders. 

I rubbed the back of my neck, a small smile tugging at the corner of my lips despite the knot tightening in my chest. “Yeah,” I admitted. “It’s complicated. Elayne and Egwene… they both mean a lot to me. More than I expected, honestly. And now I’m trying to figure out how to be fair to both of them without breaking anyone’s heart.”

Rand chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Sounds like you’ve got yourself into a real web, brother. But I’m not surprised. Both of them are strong-willed, smart, and… well, if they’re both interested in you, that says something about you too.” Rand said. “Plus, it’s not like you’d be the only one here to be destined for multiple women.”

Mat elbowed me playfully. “Just don’t mess it up, big guy. You’re lucky to have them both, but that kind of luck can turn quick if you’re not careful.” 

I sighed, leaning back against the ships railing. “I don’t want to choose between them. Not when they both make me feel like I matter. But I also don’t want to cause them any pain. They are both so different yet, they make me feel like I have never felt before. I just don’t know how this all happened so fast…” 

Perrin nodded slowly. “Whatever path you choose, be honest with them. And with yourself. That’s all anyone can ask of you. Have you tried talking to them both about this?”

I hesitated, swallowing hard. “We’ve started,” I said slowly. “Egwene and I… we shared some truths last night, she knows that I have feelings for both of them. It wasn’t easy, but it felt real. And Elayne… she’s been patient, but I know she’s waiting for more clarity, too. She also knows that I have feelings for both of them.” 

Rand leaned forward, eyes thoughtful. “Honesty may not be the easiest path to walk, but it’s the one that holds steady in the end. Both of them care about you, Alex, and it’s obvious you care for both of them. If you can be truthful—but gentle— they’ll respect you for it.” 

Mat nodded in agreement, though his grin never left. “Just keep your head, brother. Heart stuff can be a battlefield, and sometimes it’s harder than any fight with a Forsaken.” 

I chuckled at that despite myself, grateful for their understanding and the warmth of their support. “I guess it’s time to learn to fight for more than just peoples lives.” 

Perrin smiled softly. “And you won’t be fighting alone. We’ll be here for you after you have your talk, but that conversation will be best had between just the three of you.” 

——————————————

After another short while of talking with Mat, Perrin, and Rand, I felt a strategy forming in my mind. I steeled my nerves and approached Moiraine to ask if I could use the captain’s cabin for a private discussion. She gave me a measured look, clearly understanding the weight behind the request, and agreed to let me have the cabin just after supper.

I sent word separately to both Egwene and Elayne, letting each of them know that the conversation I needed to have might be difficult—but necessary. They each gave me a soft, knowing look in response, quietly agreeing to come. I was grateful I had been careful to keep their invitations far enough apart that neither overheard the other. Then I set to choosing an outfit for the nights events, wanting to appear more confident than I truly was. I settled on a simple outfit, with dark brown pants and a red overcoat, embroidered with silver. 

As the sun slipped below the horizon and the ship settled into the calm rhythm of evening, I waited anxiously in the cabin. Days ago I had walked into a battle with a Forsaken without a second thought other than to protect people, yet the idea of a simple conversation was enough to have me tied up in knots. As I was lost in my thoughts, the door opened, with Egwene stepping in first. Her expression was steady but wary. A moment later, Elayne followed, graceful and composed, though her eyes held a flicked of uncertainty. 

I motioned for the two women to please sit, in two chairs that I had prepared for them. The quiet hum of the sea beyond the windows was the only noise as I tried to gather myself. “This isn’t easy for any of us,” I began, tension rising in my throat, “but I can’t keep pretending the feelings I have for both of you don’t exist. You both mean more to me than I ever expected—and I want to be honest with you, and myself.” 

Egwene’s gaze softened, the wariness having worked its way out as she saw my nerves, and Elaynes fingers twitched on her lap where they sat. The moment hung there, fragile but real, as I allowed the words to sink in for a moment. 

I spoke again, “I believe you have both known that there is something more between us than friendship, and that I have had these feelings for both of you… but after each of you acted on those feelings yesterday… I didn’t feel right not airing these feelings and letting you both know about them.”

The two women shared a look, shock at first, followed by another moment of silence, broken by Egwene. Her voice was steady, but gentle, cutting through the silence like a clear bell. “Alex, we weren’t blind to what was happening. We both felt it—something growing among the three of us, even if we were hesitant to voice it.” She paused, “I think we are both a bit shocked that we had developed these feelings for you so quickly, and that we each decided to act on them. But we certainly both knew that each of us had feeling for you.”

Elayne nodded, slowly but surely, her gaze was steady but soft. “It was a risk—opening ourselves like that—but it felt right. I won’t lie; I at least was scared of how you might react to me acting on my feelings, and that they might not be shared. It was nice yesterday, knowing that you shared them.” She smiled, a beautiful smile framed by her golden locks. She glanced at Egwene briefly, then came back to me. “And I think that if Egwene felt the same way, then you truly are something special to each of us.” 

I swallowed hard as Egwene confirmed Elayne’s words. I felt the weight of their honesty, and the weight of needing to make a decision. “I don’t want to lose either of you. I care for you both more than I can put into words. But I don’t want to dishonour either of you, or the feelings we share.” 

Egwene and Elayne seemed to share a look, before both turning back to me with eyes gleaming. Egwene reached out and took Elayne’s hand gently. “Alex, none of us are in a rush. This—“ she motioned between the three of us, “—this is new territory for all of us. While it might not be conventional, it’s a rare situation. We’ll need patience, understand, and time to learn how to walk this path… but I believe the three of us can walk it together.”

Elayne nodded, her fingers tightening around Egwene’s hand. “We don’t have all the answers right now, and maybe we never will. But what we do have is something real—something worth exploring, even if it means facing uncertainty.” Elayne paused for a moment, thinking through how to phrase her next words. “Our focus is on you, Alex, we both would wish to court you. I believe that Egwene and I can… share you. If you have room in your heart enough for the both of us. And I trust, that if we keep speaking honestly, we can find a way that honours us all.”

I swallowed, the mixture of relief and awe washing over me. I could feel the weight of their honesty and the care they were putting into this, such that neither of them would have to lose me. “I believe… I believe I do have room for that.” I said it quietly, as if speaking to loud may break the moment we were in and see it all come crumbling down around me. “More than I ever thought possible. And I promise to be honest, patient, and to never take either of you for granted. I care for each of you deeply, and I want to honour that in every step we take.”

Egwene smiled softly, giving Elayne’s hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it. “Then we walk this path together, with respect for each others boundaries and feelings. What matters is the trust and the bond between the three of us, and the care we each feel for you, Alex.” 

Elayne’s smile was quiet but sure. “We’ll take this one step at a time, and keep speaking openly. Whatever comes next, we face it honestly, with you at the centre.” She stood then, and embraced me in her regal grace. “Thank you, for putting this together, I am sorry that we could not make you feel less nervous earlier in the day, and that you had to hold these thoughts to yourself.” She pulled away slightly before rising to give me a tender kiss that let me know she was happy with the result of this conversation, despite how strange it may seem.

Egwene stood next, stepping close after Elayne had finished. Her eyes held that familiar fire that I had seen since the moment I met her, but behind it now was warmth, gentleness, “You carried this weight because you care for us,” she said softly. “That’s not something to apologize for. But you don’t have to carry it alone anymore.” She reached up, brushing a strand of hair from my forehead before rising onto her toes to kiss me—quiet, meaningful, and grounded but with all the sweetness Elayne had shown in hers. 

When she stepped back, she glanced at Elayne briefly—not with jealousy, but with understanding. The three of us stood there for a breath, something tentative but real forming between us. “I don’t know what tomorrow will look like,” I said, voice low, “but I know I don’t want to face it without either of you.”

Egwene smiled, the expression lighting her eyes. “Then let’s not. After all, if Green sisters can share their hearts with more than one Warder, I don’t see why Elayne and I shouldn’t be able to share yours between us.”

We all laughed at that—lightly, warmly—relief and hope mingling in the sound. And when we stepped out of the captain’s cabin, the stars above and the sea calm below, I walked with the two women I cared for beside me—one on each arm—and for the first time since Falme, my future didn’t seem quite so uncertain. It felt like something we could shape together.

Chapter Text

After the conversation in the captain’s cabin, I was surprised by how light I felt—and even more surprised by how content the two women who held my heart seemed to be. Elayne, never one to be outdone, had declared it only fair that she share a hammock with me that night, since Egwene had fallen asleep on my chest the night before, and after all, Elayne certainly believed in balance. I wasn’t about to argue. I’d learned quickly that winning an argument with the Daughter-Heir was about as likely as defeating Lan in single combat with a hand tied behind my back.

Still, when the predawn light began to creep across the horizon, I felt a presence at my side. Lan stood above me, stoic as ever, with Rand just behind him—grinning like a foot at the sight of Elayne curled against me, her head rising and falling with each of my breaths.

I carefully eased out from under her, trying my best not to wake her. She murmured something soft in her sleep, but didn’t stir. I followed the two men onto the deck, boots barely a whisper against the wood. Lan didn’t say anything at first, he simply handed me the two of Ingtar’s swords. These were real steel, not training wood. The weight I had started to get accustomed to settled into my palm, heavier in meaning than in metal. 

Only then did he speak, somewhat teasing in his tone. Or, as teasing as I could ever imagine the stoic man to be. “You broke the practice blade yesterday, Smith,” he said, as if it were something entirely normal to do. “So today, you train with steel.  Do your best not to break these ones.” He then dutifully drew his own sword in one fluid motion. Turning to Rand he added with the quiet authority that always seemed to carry further than raised voices, “You’ll go through the forms with your heron-mark while I spar him. If either of you manage to actually get past my defence, training ends early. If not, I work you till you drop.” He offered as a sort of challenge. 

It wasn’t boastful in any way, just a simple face delivered with the calm certainty of a man who’d survived more battles than either of us could imagine. I nodded while adjusting my grip on the twin blades. I knew better than to expect a victory—I was sure that I would be lucky if I could even make a move he wouldn’t anticipate, let alone one that would get past his defences. 

Once the warder saw that I was ready, he wasted no time. From the moment we began, I found myself on the defensive. His first strike came without warning—no grand gesture, no preparatory stance. One moment he stood at ease, the next his blade was slicing towards my ribs like a streak of silver. I barely got one of Ingtar’s swords up in time, the clash of steel ringing out sharp in the quiet morning air. He did not relent. 

Strike, parry, repeat. Advance, deflect, pivot. His rhythm wasn’t brutal; but it was precise. Measured. Like a river that flowed just fast enough to drown you, while still giving you hope that with effort you could swim against it. I managed to hold my footing, but it felt like balancing on a blade’s edge. Every movement demanded all of me—my focus, my strength, and my will not to yield.

Lan spoke between flurries of strikes, his voice like gravel over stone. “Your left side is slow.” I adjusted—to slow for the warder. He swept low and I barely twisted out of reach before his follow—up nearly took me across the shoulder. Steel rang again as sparks leapt. 

“I see what you’re trying to do,” he said, pushing me back with a series of blistering strikes, “but trying isn’t doing. If you are going to strike, then strike. If you are going to defend, then defend.” I gritted my teeth. I wanted to talk back, but there wasn’t time. Lan didn’t give openings, so if I wanted to land anything, I had to create them.

Behind us, I could see Rand out of the corner of my eye, moving through The Heron Wading in the Rushes. His focus was absolute, his sword flowing through the motions with almost effortless grace. We were all training—but only I was being hunted. I managed to push forward, slipping past one of Lan’s strike just enough to throw a counter at his flank. 

His sword flashed and steel met steel again. My wrists jarred with the force of it, as if I had been at the forge for hours working on a blade.

“Better,” Lan said, almost a reward for all my effort. “But you hesitate. Hesitation gets you killed.” I didn’t answer him, I couldn’t, so I gave a nod to acknowledge I had heard him. Every breath felt like fire now, my shirt clinging to my back with sweat. Still, I didn’t retreat, I tried to press where I could.

There was something freeing in the struggle—something that made the noise in my head quiet for a while. In this, there was only the present. Lan’s sword and my own. And the space between us that would kill me if I misjudged by a fraction. We circled again.

“You’re learning,” he said quietly, almost an afterthought, but the words filled me with new determination. “Now show me.” And with that, he came at me again, another flurry of strikes, yet this time I was able to match them faster, and able to start using both hands more actively with the two swords I wielded. The twin blades no longer felt foreign to me. My muscles ached, yes, but they also remembered thee rhythm of battle. I met his next cut with a block from my right, and followed through with try left in a smooth arcing counter not meant to land—but to push him back, to make him react.

Lan’s eyes narrowed, the ghost of something—approval perhaps?—flickered across his face. He answered with a sweep low at my legs, but I hopped over it, twisting in midair to bring one blade up to catch the next strike coming from above. Steel screamed, but still I held my own. I drove forward, my breath burning in my throat, the world narrowing to his stance, his balance, his eye. I started to understand, just barely, how he flowed from one form to the next—not thinking, not even reacting, just being. A kind of stillness in motion.

“Good,” he muttered as I forced another half step back. “You’re not trying to overpower me anymore. You’re starting to think like a sword.” The compliment was brief—gone like the wind—but it lit something in my chest, and filled me with energy. I stepped into The Courtier Taps His Fan, slicing high and low with both blades, making Lan accelerate to block the blows of each sword, which he did with controlled grace but no longer walking through me like I was nothing. I dared a breath. Between the clash of strikes, adrenaline making my limbs feel lighter than they had any right to be, and electricity flowing through me. 

But Lan’s blade whipped in without warning, a sudden feint to my left that turned into a thrust toward my right shoulder, which I turned from a second too slow. The flat of his blade slammed into me—not hard enough to wound, but hard enough to send me stumbling back a pace, my ribs ringing.

“Still too slow on the turn, Smith,” he said, his voice as even as ever. “But that was the first time I had to adjust to you.” There was a note of pride in his voice, acknowledging the progress I had made in such a short time. 

I straightened, panting, sweat slick on my skin, but pride burned through the haze of exertion. My arms shook, and my legs ached, but I was still standing. Rand paused in his forms to glance over, brows rising in mild surprise. “Light,” he said, his smile warm. “He’s actually making you move, Lan. And is that sweat I see?” He laughed, the sound light and genuine, and I couldn’t help but chuckle once—between heaving breaths.

Lan turned just enough to meet Rand’s gaze. “I said he was learning,” he replied. Then he returned to me, “Again. One more round. Then rest—before you fall over.” As much as I was determined to keep going to push to match the ability of the Warder, my muscles knew he would inevitably be correct. 

I nodded and shifted into stance, blades steady—though barely.

Lan gave me a look that might almost have been respect. “Good. Now,” he said, lifting his sword once more, “show me what you’ve learned.”

He came in fast. A feint low, a high strike, then a twist and pivot that forced me to give ground or lose my footing. I met him with both blades, relying more on instinct than memory now, muscle and reflex guiding where thought could not. Sparks flashes as steel met steel. I twisted, ducked, blocked, parried—and nearly stumbled. 

“Too slow,” Lan murmured, stepping into another strike. I caught it just in time, one sword bracing, the other turning his blade aside with a wrench of my wrist. My arms screamed, but I felt the opening—just a flicker of imbalance in the Warder’s stance, a breath too deep as he repositioned. 

I didn’t think. I moved.

Spinning in low, I let one sword drop as though it slipped—then reversed my grip on the other and drove upward, catching the inside of his guard with the pommel, not the blade, aiming for his ribs. It wasn’t graceful, but it was fast, and it was unexpected. Lan stopped. His blade halted just short of my neck. Mine pressed lightly against his side.

For a moment, the only sound was our breathing—mine ragged, while his was steady. Then Lan stepped back and lowered his sword. “Well struck,” he said, voice unreadable. “We’ll call it a draw.”

I stared at him, blinking sweat from my eyes. “A draw?” 

“You saw an opening,” he said. “You took it. That was your first true instinctive strike. Your footing was awful, and your balance worse, but your choice was right.” He sheathed his sword in one fluid motion. “That’s the kind of mistake that could kill me… if I were careless enough to allow it. But I am a man of my word. You got past my defence, your training is done for the day.”

Rand let out a low whistle. “Light. I think you actually surprised him.” Lan fixed him with a look that told him he was next, though there was no anger in it, but full of implications. At that, the grin on Rand’s face faded. “Why don’t you go say hi to your fan club, while I pray to the Creator that you wore Lan down enough for me to stand a chance.” 

The warder gave the faintest snort—his version of a bark of laughter—as he stepped back, nodding for Rand to take my place.

That’s when I noticed them. Mat leaned against the railing, casually clapping with exaggerated flair. Perrin gave a small cheer and raised a fist in support. Egwene’s smile was radiant, warm with pride, while Nynaeve’s arms were crossed—but even she looked like she was biting back a grin. “How long have they been standing there?” I asked, half to myself.

“Long enough,” Mat called. “You’re not bad, Smith. Not Forsaken-slaying good, but you know solid ‘sword-buddy’ material.” 

“You mean sword sibling,” Perrin offered.

“Creator save us,” Rand groaned as he stepped forward to face Lan, “we’re never going to hear the end of this.” 

“Come on sheepherder,” Lan called out, “Time to show me how little you remember.”

Rand sighed. “Try not to miss me too much, Alex.”

“I’ll be sure to send flowers,” I said, half limping toward the railing to lean on it for some support.

As I leaned against the railing, catching my breath as the sun rose higher over the sea. My arms ached, and a dull throb had settled into my shoulders and thighs. Every bruise and strain from the spar with Lan was making itself known now that the adrenaline was wearing off.

Mat sauntered over first, offering a water skin with a dramatic bow. “Your swordsmanship was valiant, Lord Smith. Truly, the stuff of gleemen’s tales.” 

“You offering to write the balled?” I asked, accepting the water gratefully.

“Oh, Light no. That kind of praise gets you expectations.” He winked then leaned closer. “Still, that was impressive. I think you actually made Lan blink.”

“Twice,” Perrin added with a grin, stepping up beside me. It’s not just strength with you. You’re… fast, and your footwork’s good. You’ve been paying attention, and learning quickly.”

Egwene joined us, slipping in beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world. She placed her hand on my arm gently, despite how badly of sweat I must have smelled. “I told you Lan would push you, but you did better than I expected. Perhaps I’ll have to have you as my Warder.” Egwene added the last part with an air of brevity, though we both knew she was likely to be facing some contest if she wanted to bind me as a warder, as a man who could channel without the side effect of the taint.

Nynaeve gave a sniff but said nothing—though I swore I saw the faintest smirk which betrayed her demeanour.

I glanced at Egwene, and though I tried to hide it, I must have winced. Her eyes narrowed immediately. “You’re hurting.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said automatically. “It’s just sore muscles. And maybe a few bruised ribs. I’ll feel better by morning.” Egwene gave me a look that I had already come to realize meant I shouldn’t fight her on this. I had somehow ended up with two women who were both more stubborn than I was, and both knew not to allow me a chance to fight them on things.

She ignored the bravado that I had put up, and stepped in front of me, placing a hand on my chest. “Hold still.”

I did as asked, watching her expression shift into calm focus. I could feel it then—the faint tingling of saidar brushing across my skin like warm sunlight. The hairs on my arms had stood up at her embracing the source. My muscles relaxed, the ache ebbing from sharp and stubborn to something manageable, almost pleasant. I let out a soft breath that I hadn’t realized I was holding. Then I felt the release of the power Egwene had grasped at. She was still a bit clumsy, but she did well to help me to recover sooner. 

“Thank you,” I said quietly.

Her smile was gentle. “Don’t mention it. You’re going to need to be in one piece if we reach Cairhien today.” 

Mat chimed in before I could respond, voice full of teasing mischief. “Yes, Elayne’s been fussing over her outfit since she woke up and found you not in her arms, and Egwene’s braided and unbraided her hair six times trying to decide how to impress your father.”

Egwene turned a slow, withering look on him that could’ve carve a hole through stone. Mat unbothered as ever, gave her a little salute and leaned casually against the railing, clearly proud of himself.

I couldn’t help but chuckle, even as a thought tugged at the edge of my mind—something I hadn’t really considered until now. 

My father. 

With everything that had happened. These past days—the escape, the battle, the revelations, the two women who had bonded themselves to my heart so readily—I’d barely noticed how close we were getting to Cairhien. Home. And yet now, with Mat’s jab still hanging in the air, I realized just how strange this moment was. Were Egwene and Elayne really nervous about meeting him? 

The thought was almost surreal. They were two powerful, radiant, and brave women who had faced such challenges. Egwene facing off against sul’dam, surviving a prison next to me, and a confrontation with the Forsaken that I remembered had not been her first. And Elayne, the daughter-heir of Andor, a noble who had faced skepticism and criticism her whole life. Yet both had found moments to care for me in the quiet times between it all. And yet the idea of meeting the man who had raised me, a simple blacksmith, made them hesitate? It felt almost backwards. And yet, it was oddly touching. 

A voice cut gently through the haze of thought. “Alex? You with us?” Perrin asked, his golden eyes watching me with quiet concern, as I realized the group had all been looking at me, as though they were expecting an answer to some question they had asked. 

“What?” I asked, still shaking off my thoughts. “Sorry, I got a little lost in my thoughts. What did I miss?” 

Mat didn’t miss a beat. “Oh, nothing important,” he said with his Cheshire grin that practically gleamed. “Just whether we should start placing bets on which one of your lovely companions will charm your da the fastest. Egwene’s got the glare of a Wisdom, but Elayne has the diplomatic smile of someone who’s had to survive a hundred stuffy royal dinners. Tough call.” 

Egwene let out an exasperated sigh. “You are not making a wager about who charms Alex’s father, Matrim Cauthon.” 

“Oh come on,” Mat said, his hands rising in mock surrender, “if the Wheel’s going to spin out a love triangle with a blacksmith at the centre, the least it can do is make it entertaining for the rest of us.” He then continued, slightly quieter. “And of course, profitable for a lucky few.” 

At that Nynaeve thwacked Mat on the shoulder with a sharp flick that would have made children change their tone on instinct. “Don’t tempt the Wheel, or me, or I’ll have Lan running you ragged through the streets Matrim Cauthon.” 

I hadn’t even thought of that part of the two women meeting my father. How would I explain to him that in the time since I had suddenly disappeared, I had found not one, but two women who wanted to be with me. And that I had let them proclaim those feelings for me, and somehow that they agreed to share me between the two of them? Light, I could only imagine how he would react. I’d be lucky if he didn’t have me cleaning out metal shavings from the furnace before I even got half the words out of my mouth. 

Egwene’s fingers curled gently around my arm, her touch steady, as if to pull me back to reality. I glanced at her, and she gave me a small knowing smile that somehow held both warmth and mischief. “He’s your father, Alex,” she said softly. “Not a Whitecloak Questioner. If he’s half the man you’ve told us he is, he’ll understand. Maybe not right away—but he’ll see your heart.” 

I let out a slow breath, her words settling something inside me. Maybe she was right. My father had always seen through the smoke I tried to throw up around my feelings. I’d never been able to lie to him—not about a broken blade, or a burned arm, or a day when I’d come home looking like the world had knocked me sideways. He’d just look at me with those sunken, quiet eyes, and wait. He never asked questions I wasn’t ready to answer, simply provided me space until I was ready. And I certainly had a lot I needed to be ready to tell him now. Between channelling, somehow being a special man who could burn the taint around him and keep people sane, having the ability to push back the dark, being trapped in a Seanchan prison in Falme where I still had no idea how I had gotten there, and binding two women tightly to my heart.

But yes, maybe… maybe this wouldn’t be so different.

“Light,” I murmured, “he’s going to give me that look.”

“What look?” Perrin asked, his brows furrowing under his shaggy hair.

“The one where he doesn’t say anything, just stands there, arms crossed and eyebrows slightly raised. It makes you want to confess everything you’ve ever done wrong, even the things you didn’t know you were guilty of. And more than that, everything just comes pouring out of you like a ripple of flame.”

Perrin looked at me with consideration, then understanding. “Sounds like the Luhan’s back in the Two Rivers… maybe that’s just a trait of the blacksmiths.” He and I both chuckled at that.

Mat gave a low whistle. “Sounds like Nynaeve.”

“I heard that,” Nynaeve said without looking away from where Lan and Rand were sparring. There was a ghost of a smirk tugging at her mouth though.

I couldn’t help the laugh that came out of me at that. “And then after you spill all your sins out there, he’ll just nod once. Only once. Then hand you a broom or a rag and point to whatever’s least pleasant in the forge.”

“And that’s how you’ll know you’re forgiven?” Egwene asked.

I shrugged. “That’s how I’ll know he’s listening. Forgiveness takes longer. He’s not exactly quick with his words, the few that he speaks, but he listens with his hands. You’ll know he cares, and he’s paying attention, even when he’s working the forge, or sharpening a blade. He’ll give the occasional grunt, or nod of acknowledgement. But that is about it.”

The group fell into a quiet moment after that, though it didn’t feel heavy, just full. There was something comforting about standing there, sun creeping higher over the wave, friends close by, the sounds of Rand and Lan sparring behind us—steel clashing like distant bells. 

And then, right on cue, came the unmistakable sound of Thom clearing his throat, theatrically loud and full of significance. I turned to look at him, breaking away from the mesmerizing sounds of the spar. Thom stood there with his usual half-smile, one brow raised as if he’d walked in on the punchline of a joke only he understood. His cloak flared slightly in the breeze, the multicoloured patches catching more light that hadn’t quite lost its golden hue. “She’s asking for you,” he said, voice gravel-warm and laced with amusement.

I blinked at him, not registering what it was he meant. “She?”

Thom gave a mockingly exaggerated sigh, as though I’d just missed the most obvious answer in the world. “The Daughter-Heir, of course. Currently holding court in the captain’s cabin like it’s the Lion Throne itself. From what I gather, she’s narrowed it down to six potential ensembles, each more regal than the last.”

I blinked again, slower this time. I was slightly stunned at his casual tone.

“She commandeered the cabin?” Mat asked, not even trying to hide the grin blooming across his face.

“Oh, not just commandeered,” Thom said. “She annexed it. Moiraine walked in after watching the young lad spar her warder, took one look at the chaos, and backed out without a word. I think she’s hiding somewhere near the bow with a cup of tea and a book of some sort, writing for the storm to pass. You’d best hurry lad, Captain says we’ll be in Cairhien before midday.”

That drew a snort from Nynaeve, though she tried to cover it with a cough.

Egwene turned toward me, heroes bright with laughter. “Well, go on then, it would appear you’ve been summoned by your other love.” She laughed before giving me a kiss on the cheek and let go of my arm.

“Creator help me,” I muttered, pushing away from the railing. “What if she makes me pick one? I didn’t even pick my own clothes, you two grabbed them all for me.” I said while looking at Egwene.

“She will,” Perrin said.

“She definitely will,” Mat added, almost gleeful.

Thom merely chuckled as I trudged dutifully toward the cabin like a man heading for the gallows, leaving behind the sound of laughter, steel on steel, and the quiet comfort I had felt, to enter the lions den, of the woman who would one day sit on the Lion Throne. 

——————————————————————————

I knocked at the door to the captain’s cabin and was beckoned in. The door creaked open, and I stepped inside, blinking at the change in light. The scent of lavender and fresh sea air mingled oddly, and I caught the sight of fabric—so much fabric—draped across the small table, the back of a chair, and even part of the bunk. Dresses, tunics, shawls. Silks and brocades and something that glittered faintly in the lantern light. All kinds of jewelry lay splayed out on a small table, and the sight of it all had me overwhelmed already.

Elayne stood in the centre of the whirlwind, barefoot, her hair half up, half tumbling in golden waves around her shoulders. At the moment, she wore a dressing robe that I couldn’t see anything underneath, it was a deep blue one that I recognized as Moiraine’s—borrowed, I assumed, during this impromptu fashion crisis. She was holding a gown up in front of her, examining her reflection in a polished steel mirror that had been propped up on a crate. 

She saw me in the reflection before she turned, eyes lighting up. “Finally,” she said, lowering the dress and giving me a once-over before coming around the table and wrapping me in a tight embrace. “You’re here. I desperately need your opinion—Creator knows you’re the only one who would know what your father will approve of.” She moved and gave me a quick kiss, soft and familiar now, though it still sent a ripple through my chest. Then she stepped back and turned in a slow circle, arms outstretched to indicate the chaos around her. “This,” she said, with all the dignity of a queen surveying a battlefield, “is the mess I’ve made trying to decide what to wear when we reach Cairhien. I need to look composed, intelligent, approachable, and just regal enough to be taken seriously without frightening your father.”

I blinked, glancing around again at the forest of fabric. “You do know he’s a blacksmith, right? Not a lord. He’ll be more worried about whether your boots are practical than the embroidery on your sleeves.”

She arched a delicate brow. “That may be true, but I am the Daughter-Heir of Andor, and you may some day be a Lord. I won’t arrive looking like a wash woman.”  She paused, then gave a self conscious tug at the robe’s sash. Had she realized that she had just implied she intended to see me married? Or perhaps she had other plans that I did not yet know of.  “And I can’t very well walk into your father’s home looking like this, either.” 

My eyes drifted just slightly down before I yanked them back up to meet hers, cheeks warming to what I could only imagine was a bright crimson. “I—uh—you look fine. I mean, not fine as in ‘fine,’ just—appropriate. No, not appropriate either—“

She laughed, bright and delighted, and I gave up mid sentence, sighing. Clearly she was trying to get to see me squirm, but her laugh was just so beautiful. “You’re doing this too me on purpose.”

“Of course I am,” she said, grinning as she turned back toward the mirror and lifted the crimson and gold dress again. “Flustering you is half the fun, my Flameforged love.” 

I watched her in the mirror, her face falling into thoughtful lines. It was strange—comforting and yet unnerving all at once— to see her vulnerable in this way. She who had faced off against the Seanchan, politics, and danger all without blinking, now caught up in choosing the right outfit to impress a man who made his living hammering out iron and steel.

“I just want him to think well of me,” she said quietly, not looking at me this time. “That I’m worthy of the person he raised.”

That caught me off guard. I stepped toward her, gently taking the dress from he hands and setting it aside on the nearby bunk. “Elayne,” I said, voice low, “you’re more than worth. He’s going to see that the moment you speak to him. You don’t need embroidery or gold to prove your heart. If anything, I worry about when I have to meet your mother and try to impress her as a simple blacksmiths son.”

She looked at me then, and whatever teasing remained in her expression softened into something deeper, more tender. She looked at me as though she was understanding a part of me she had not seen before, a part that made her like me even more than she had before. “You have nothing to worry about from my mother. If anything we can play into the fact your mother is an unknown noble in Cairhien, and she would see it as strengthening ties between the two kingdoms.” She sighed. “But as for your father… if you’re sure, then help me pick something simple,” she said. “Something that feels… like me. Not a queen. Not a Daughter-Heir, or an Aes Sedai. Just Elayne.”

I gave her a soft smile and nodded, the tension in my chest easing a little. “That I can help with,” I laughed a little at that. “Let’s find you in this pile,” I said glancing meaningfully at the chaos of gowns, shawls, and jewelry strewn across the room like the aftermath of a noblewoman’s rebellion.

She gave me a small, tired laugh and sank down onto the edge of the bunk. “I started with practical. Then I spiralled. I don’t even know what I want anymore. Other than that I want you.”

I crouched beside one of the crates she had taken over, carefully shifting a silken wrap that shimmered like sunlight off water. “Nothing wrong with wanting to look your best,” I said. “But I think you forget—your best isn’t just what you wear.”

“Flatterer,” she said, though her cheeks coloured a little. I held up a soft green dress with minimal embroidery and a clean silhouette, the colour reminding me of new leaves after rain. “What about this one?” I chimed.

She considered it for a moment, then nodded slowly. “It’s…not trying too hard. Not too fine, not too plain. That could work.”

“You’ll still make the rest of us look like we crawled out of a barn,” I said, standing to hold it against her frame. “But you won’t scare my father into thinking he’s meant to bow and scrape.”

That earned a more genuine laugh, and her smile returned in full. She stood and took the dress from me, brushing her fingers lightly against mine and planting a kiss on the tip of my nose. “Turn around,” she said with a raised brow.

I blinked then quickly turned my back, my ears burning “Of course. Yes. Definitely not looking.” I said, while knowing that deep down I would truly want to look, to catch even a glimpse, but I knew that I wouldn’t be able to look away after just a glance at her. 

She laughed again, softer this time, and I could hear the whisper of fabric as she slipped out of the robe she had borrowed from Moiraine and into the soft dress. A moment later, her voice came, calm but unsure. “You can look now.” 

I turned and for a moment I forgot how to breathe. The green framed her perfectly, elegant without being excessive, the colour highlighting the gold in her hair and the warmth of her eyes. She looked… like Elayne. Not the Daughter-Heir or a future Aes Sedai, just the woman who I had come to care for—brilliant and fierce, and oh so full of light.

“Better?” She asked, though I could still see the uncertainty in her eyes, and hear it seeping into her voice.

I nodded to her. “Absolutely perfect.”

She stepped closer and wrapped her hands behind my neck as I grabbed her waist. “Thank you, Alex.”

“For what?”

“For seeing me,” she said. “Just me.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, but she didn’t allow me to respond anyway, as she kissed me passionately. Her lips were soft, but the kiss had weight behind it—like she was trying to say everything all at once. I kissed her back, slow and steady, letting her know she had nothing she needed to prove. That I was here, that I saw her, and that she was enough for me. 

When we finally pulled apart, she rested her forehead against mine, our breaths mingling n the quiet between us. “Light,” she murmured, “I was terrified this would be too much, too fast.”

“It isn’t,” I said. “It’s real. That’s all it needs to be.” 

She smiled again—brighter this time—and let out a breath that it sounded like she had been holding in for days. Then she gave me one last, small kiss before stepping back and smoothing the dress over her hips with practiced fingers. “Now, help me find a pair of shoes that don’t make me look like I’m trying to walk into a ball,” she said, voice light again.

I laughed, “You mean the boots you borrowed from Egwene don’t match?” That earned a mock-scandalized look from her just as—

Knock-knock. 

The door rapped twice. “We’re less than an hour out from port,” came Thom’s voice through the wood. “You may want to make sure you both still remember how to be presentable. And the blacksmith may want to get cleaned up and changed as well.”

Elayne groaned under her breath. “Thom Merrilin, you have the timing of a gleeman with a broken drum.” 

I chuckled and turned toward the door. “I need to get ready, but I am glad you’re in better spirits now.”

Elayne gave me a wistful little smile, one hand still smoothing out the skirt of her dress. “I think I just needed the reminder to be myself again.”

I stepped back toward the door, pausing with my hand on the handle. “Then wear that. It’s you—elegant, sharp, grounded. And if my father doesn’t see that, then he is not the man I remember.”

She titled her head, eyes sparkling. “And what if your father likes me more than you?”

“Then I’ll consider my life’s work complete.”

She laughed at that—full and true this time— and it stayed with me as I stepped back into the corridor, closing the door softly behind me. Thom fixed me with a look of approval as I walked out of the room, as if he had heard how I made Elayne feel, and decided that I was good for her, at least in this moment. 

I retreated below deck and used the small wash basin and cloth to get clean before changing into an outfit I had known would match Elayne’s and hoped would also go well with what Egwene had chosen to wear. I paired dark brown pants with a simple white shirt, before putting on the green vest with silver leaves that I had worn that day as we left Falme, before adding on a similarly green jacket, with polished silver buttons, and finally adding the hunting boots the women had chosen for me.

I took a deep breath, rolling my shoulders to ease the nerves building in my chest. It wasn’t the outfit—I’d worn most of it before, and the two women I had bound to my heart had done a fine job choosing it for me—but there was something about seeing home again, after everything. It no longer felt like I was stepping back into the life I had left behind. No, this time I was returning with the weight of everything I had seen and done, and the impossible truth of who I had to be, Flameforged. 

When I emerged on deck, the morning sun had climbed high into the sky, casting golden light across the waves. Lan and Rand stood by the railing, the sparring match long finished, both of them now looking ahead. Nynaeve and Egwene had been talking, though now Egwene stopped and fixed me with a look of approval, clearly approving of the outfit I had chosen, and appreciating how it hung from me. Mat lounged atop a barrel quietly beside them, and Perrin leaned against the mast, arms crossed and calm as ever. Thom and Moiraine stood ahead of the others, talking to one another about something that they seemed to be in agreement about. 

Then I saw it. Cairhien, my home. Rising in the distance were the familiar spires and rooftops breaking the horizon, framed by the rising hills and dotted with banners fluttering in the breeze. The city looked just as I remembered—orderly, elegant, reserved—and yet it felt different somehow. Smaller, perhaps, or maybe just less certain. As though I had grown and it had remained the same.

While I had been lost in my thoughts, Egwene had approached me and smiled softly while looking up at me. “You clean up well,” she said, stepping close enough to adjust the collar of my jacket.

“You didn’t think I’d show up to see my father looking like a runaway prisoner, or a man who had been trained till he was ready to drop, did you?” I teased.

“No,” she said, smoothing out the lapel, “but I did think you might forget to tie your boots.”

“I double-knotted them,” I said, mock wounded. “I’m not a complete disaster.”

She leaned in, rising to her toes and pressing a kiss to my cheek, just as Elayen stepped onto the deck behind me. Dresed in the gown I’d helped her choose, hair pinned with understated elegance, she looked every inch herself—the regal and caring woman I had fallen for. 

The moment held, quiet and perfect, before Thom’s voice cut across it with a dramatic flourish. “Dock lines in five minutes. Everyone look appropriately noble—or at least like you didn’t just roll out of a haystack or a tavern floor.”

Mat gave a two-finger salute. “Too late for me.”

We all laughed at that, though Lan fixed him with a gaze that made me think he just might be joining our next training sessions, if only to teach him some discipline. I gazed out and it drifted back to the city ahead. Home.

Soon, I would be there to meet my father again, and face the trails that would come from trying to explain all that had happened to him. At least I would be supported by these two strong women that stood on either side of me. Yes, I can do this. I had to do this. And after, I would share a drink with Rand, Mat, and Perrin and make jokes about how difficult it had been. Light, what has my life become.

Chapter Text

The walls of Cairhien rose around us, stark and proud beneath the morning sun, flanked by tall banners bearing the Rising Sun of Cairhien. Smoke curled gently from chimneys, and the great gates stood open as wagons, merchants, and riders passed freely through. The city had always looked imposing to me, orderly in its chaos, each tier of rooftops like pieces in a game of stones. From the deck of the ship, I could see the river docks already bustling with activity: stevedores shouting over crates, dockworkers waving ships into place, and the ever-present aroma of spice, sweat and smoke rising from the city’s heart. 

The barge creaked as it angle toward the docks, the deck alive with movement as the crew and passengers readied themselves. My hands tightened slightly on the railing as I looked ahead, my gaze drifting over the streets I had once known. Home. Or something like it. Behind me I could feel the presence of the others. Egwene and Elayne talking softly, their eyes wide with anticipation as they tried to create a plan of action for how they both would meet my father, knowing both of them wanted to impress him. 

Rand stood near Lan and Moiraine, saying little, though his shoulders were tense. Perrin and Thom had wandered toward the prow to get a better look, while Mat was already angling for a shortcut to the nearest tavern, looking to make some quick coin while playing games with the locals. 

Moiraine’s voice broke through the din, calm and composed as ever. “We will dock at the northern quay. From there I will make my way to the Damodred estate. I have business there with my sister, and I am trusting her to get an account of the events in Falme to the Amyrillin before we make it back to Tar Valon.”

“Wait,” I said, her words stirring something half-forgotten in me. “House Damodred? That’s… I’ve been there. Once”

Moiraine turned to me, eyes sharp. “Have you?”

I nodded, memory rising like steam off a blistering hot iron. “Years ago, I delivered a pair of ceremonial blades there. Blacksteel, engraved with the Rising Sun—some of my finest work, I considered myself lucky my father let me take on that commission. The servants made me bring the blades all the way inside. And in the front hallway, there was a portrait… that was you, wasn’t it?”

Moiraine regarded me with faint amusement. “Yes. My sister had it commissioned before I left for the Tower. So she would always have a piece of me there with her. A rather romanticized likeness, but accurate enough.”

“That’s why you seemed familiar,” I murmured. “I thought I’d imagined it“

Moiraine offered a small, enigmatic smile. “The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills.”

As we drifted toward the dock, the clang of hammers, the calls of merchants, and the cawing of gulls seemed to blur together, forming a wall of sound between me and what came next. My father was somewhere in that city—likely still bent over his anvil, unaware of how far his son had gone, that he was still alive, or what he now carried. I reached for the hilts of the twin blades at my sides—not for comfit, but for something real to grip onto. Egwene stepped closer, brushing he hand against mine.

“You’ll be alright,” she said softly. “We’re here with you” Elayne matched her on my other side, holding onto my arm and resting her head on my shoulder. 

As the sailors tied us off and the gangplank dropped with a heavy clunk, Moiraine made one last comment to us all. “We will be staying here for one night, you are all expected to make your way to The Nine Rings before midnight, else I’ll send Lan to find you and bring you there.” And with that, we were all allowed to go our separate ways. Thom made for an inn, set upon putting his skills as a gleeman to good use, while Perrin followed Mat, in his best attempt to keep him out of trouble. Nynaeve moved to gather some supplies for herself while in the city, and Rand, Lan, and Moiraine all made for house Damodred.

Egwene, Elayne, and I lingered for a moment longer on the dock, the bustle of Cairhien swirling around us like river mist. I could feel the weight of the city pressing in—the tall, grey-stone buildings with their sharp, angular rooftops, the orderly chaos of carts and wagons weaving through narrow streets, and the ever-watchful eyes of the Cairhienin nobles behind shaded palanquins, each trying to show off their status to try and gain some ground in their daes dae’mar. I knew these streets. I knew the scent, the backroads, and the rhythm of the crowds. But today they felt like a test that I had not studied for, and it made me nervous.

I turned to the two women beside me, feeling both steadied and exposed by their presence. “The forge isn’t far,” I said. “Just off the Avenue of Kings. You’ll know it by the sound of metal, and the smell of old iron and soot.”

“Sounds charming,” Elayne said, with a soft, teasing smile. “I could just imagine you wielding a hammer, all toned and muscled.” She laughed at the fact that made me blush. “And I imagine it suits your father well.”

“It does,” I said. “He’s part of the foundation there. Always was.” I paused, thinking carefully about what it might be like with me walking these streets again. “It’s not very likely anyone would recognize me, not like this.” I motioned to the formal clothes I now wore.

Egwene gave me a thoughtful look. “Maybe not,” she said, “but you walk like someone who’s earned respect. People will notice that, clothes or no, Lord Flameforged.” Egwene teased me with the title I had been given by the people of Falme, though I had grown somewhat used to hearing it while aboard the ship for the past three days, as the crew had taken to calling me a lord after hearing Mat tease me with it, and would not stop no matter how much I insisted I was just a blacksmith. 

“And we’re walking beside you,” Elayne added, a spark of mischief in her eyes. “Even if they don’t recognize you, they’ll certainly start asking questions about the man dressed as a lord with two women on his arms.”

I snorted softly. “Light, that’s exactly what I was hoping to avoid.”

Still, there was comfort in their presence, even if they stood out almost as much as I did. Cairhien had always been a city of masks and measuring gazes, but I wasn’t coming to play their Game—I was coming home. Or at least… trying to. We made our way form the docks towards the Avenue of Kings. The streets here were as tight and clean as I remembered, the buildings rising with almost militant precision, each one a silent monument to structure and rank. We passed cloth merchants crying out prices, a troupe of musicians setting up near a square, and a noble’s carriage that nearly took up the entire road, the house colours proudly displayed in a cascading banner of silk. 

As we turned the last corner, the scent hit me before the sight did—smoke, coal, and hot metal. A sharp pang of memory struck behind my ribs. I could almost hear my younger self hammering away under my father’s stern watch, proud just to be trusted with a real commission. The forge came into view. The stone walls were blackened from decades of smoke, the roof a patchwork of repairs that we had made with practicality, not style. The sign above the door still bore the name: Havenforge Ironworks. The letters were slightly faded, but the anvil sigil remained bold. 

Through the opened windows,I heard the unmistakable ring of hammer to steel—steady, measured, and strong. My father hadn’t changed his rhythm at all.

“He’s here,” I said, barely above a whisper.

Egwene gently squeezed my hand. “We’ll wait outside, if you want,” she offered.

I shook my head. “No. You’re both part of this now.”

And with that, I stepped through the opened door, letting the heat of the forge wash over me, like a warm hug that I had come home to.

“Dad?” I called out, hoping to get his attention without harming him in any way. He came walking around the corner, a still burly man lumbering his way through his shop, but when he saw that it was me, his walk turned into a run and he got to me within only a few steps, pulling me into a crushing hug. 

“My son! Thank the Creator you’re back.” I barely had time to return the embrace before he was gripping my shoulders, holding me at arms length like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh, cry, or tell me off for not having come back sooner. “Light, boy, you’re thinner than I remember—and dressed like a courtier! What in the flaming Light happened to you?”

“I—“ My voice caught in my throat. I looked back at Egwene and Elayne, both standing just inside the doorway, watching with quiet patience. “It’s a long story, da.” 

My father’s eyes followed mine, landing on the two women. He gave a small grunt—half surprise, half appraisal—-but didn’t comment just yet. Instead, he gestured toward the back of the shop where a small room, barely more than a corner with stools and a worktable, had always served as a resting place for tired arms and sore backs.

“Then you’d best start telling it,” he said, already moving toward the chairs. “And don’t leave out a single detail, Alex. One night we’re both sleeping and the next morning you’re gone, No word, no notes, none of your things packed to go with you… Light, I thought you were dead.”

I sat down heavily after having pulled out chairs for both Egwene and Elayne, not wanting to appear improper to my father and give him another thing to scold me for. The warmth of the forge was behind me, the pressure of memory and expectation ahead. “I nearly was,” I admitted, though far too quietly for my own liking. “More than once… and very painfully at that.” I took in a sharp breath, then started the story. “I was taken to Falme, a captive. I was alone for a long time, though I couldn’t tell you exactly how many days. They put a collar around my neck that made me feel drained and like they wrecked trying to strangle out everything that made me… me. Then Egwene was placed into the cell next to mine, and she helped me fight to keep true to who I am, allowing me to hold onto who I really was and telling me stories of her home. Then Falme was attacked, and Egwene was taken, and hearing her get taken made me get so angry and worried that I… blew up the collar. That’s when Rand found me and we went to the roof where we ran into a Forsaken—“ I was speaking so fast I hardly noticed the expressions on my fathers face, Elayne placed her hand on my leg under the table and gave me a pinch, making me look at her where she reminded me to be calm, and slow down.

I took a breath and steadied myself. Elayne’s gaze held mine just long enough for the whirlwind inside me to slow. Egwene reacher for my hand on top of the table, grounding me with her presence. 

My father didn’t speak at first. He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, and his thick eyebrows drawn tight with more than just concern—there was fear there too. But he was doing his best to bury it all beneath his gruffness that I remembered so well.

“A collar,” he said at last, voice low. “Light. You were enslaved.”

“Yes,” I said. “By the Seanchan.”

“And you broke it?”

“With saidin,” I answered, quieter now, more measured. The physical touch of the two women who cared for me so much allowing me to think more clearly. “I didn’t know I could channel. I didn’t want to. But it came out of me like fire bursting through iron. And then—Rand and I, we fought one of the Forsaken. Ishamael. We stood on the heights above the city, and.. we beat him. Together. Though not before discovering something special about me. I, apparently, have some ability to burn away the taint and push back darkness, which allows me, and anyone near me, to channel saidin without going mad.”

I watched may father carefully, waiting for disbelief or anger. But he just ran a hand through is beard, his mouth set in a thin, unreadable line. He let out a long breath, the kind that seemed to carry years of worry and hope in equal measure. “That’s… a lot to take in.”

I nodded. “I know.”

“But I believe you,” he said, and looked up at me again. “Because the boy I raised never lied. He’s stubborn, reckless, always trying to fix things that weren’t his problems, and wanting to understand things beyond his grasp—but never a liar. And because I have heard rumours, Alex. About Falme. About strange lights in the sky and a battle between heroes. Of a dragon in the sky, and then one of them on the roof who had been shirtless having a flaming hammer above his head before it moved to join with that dragon in the sky. The kind of talk that makes people whisper and cross themselves.”

He leaned forward, brawny elbows resting on the worn table between us. “Now you tell me it was you in that sky.” 

“Me and Rand. And Egwene. And many others. I wasn’t alone… but I played my part… as the shirtless one with the flaming hammer symbol above his head after the fight was done.” I stared down at the table after saying the last part, knowing my father would not approve of his son saving the world in such a fashion. 

There was a beat of silence. Then—

My father snorted. Full and loud, the kind of sound that made his beard twitch and his chest shake. I looked up at that, startles.

He shook his head slowly, eyes shining with disbelief, and yet also full of relief. “Shirtless, flaming hammer, on the bloody roof, is it? Light help me, son.” He leaned back in his chair with a groan. “You always had to do things dramatically, didn’t you?” I heard Elayne have a faint laugh at this, while I could see Egwene attempting to hold in her laughter.

I blinked hard at my dad. “You’re… you’re not angry?” 

“Oh, I didn’t say that lad. I am angry,” he said, still chuckling. “You vanished without a word and nearly died more times than I care to try and count. But that part? That flaming hammer foolishness?” He let out another laugh. “That’s the first thing you’ve said that makes me sure it was you, Flameforged was it? That’s what they call you, yes?” 

Even Egwene could not hold back her laughter at this point, while Elayne, ever the graceful lady, covered her mouth with her hand to stop herself from breaking down in hysterics. 

My ears burned. “I didn’t exactly plan to fight shirtless on a rooftop. Or to be kidnapped for that matter.”

“No, but you never needed a plan to cause a spectacle,” he said. “Just a reason and half a moment. The hammer though—“ he looked at me again, more sober now. “That wasn’t just for show, was it”

I shook my head. “No. It came from…something real. From the Pattern itself. I didn’t feel anyone channeling to put it there, but it certainly was intended to mark me, to show that I refused to break. Or to signify my ability to purge the taint in a kind of flame.” 

He nodded once. “Then you hold onto that. That spark. The world’s going to try to shape you now—bend you into a weapon or a banner, or worse. But that stubborn light of yours? That’s what brought you home. Everything else? Well that would be more your mother’s domain.”

I looked at him in shock, he rarely ever mentioned my mother, let alone in front of company. He reached across the table and gripped my forearm, his rough hands warm and strong. “You’re my son. And now you’re more than that too. I don’t know what this gift of yours means, or what it’ll cost… but I’m proud of you.” 

My throat tightened. I swallowed and gave his hand a squeeze back. “Thanks, Dad.”

He gave a short nod, then he looked pointedly at Egwene and Elayne. “And what of these two women you’ve brought home. I gather Egwene here is the one you were trapped with, but you haven’t actually introduced me to either of them.” 

I blinked and prepared myself for worse. “Right. Sorry. That’s fair… umm… this part isn’t going to be any easier to tell you.” I chuckled.

Egwene gave me a small nudge with her elbow, her smile amused but understanding, while Elayne straightened in her chair with regal poise, the kind that did try to command a room but still did. 

I cleared my throat. “As you gathered, this is Egwene al’Vere, she is from Emond’s Field in the Two Rivers. And yes, she… she was the reason I didn’t lose myself when I was chained. She kept me steady, reminded me who I was. Without her, I don’t think I’d have made it out, even as scarred from the whips and the torture as I was.”

Egwene flushed, but didn’t look away. “He kept me steady too,” she said. “Even when I thought I couldn’t take one more day. We found a way to keep hope alive. Together.”

My father gave her a long look, then inclined his head. “Then I owe you thanks, Egwene al’Vere. You’ll have my respect as long as you walk beside my son. I’m glad you were there for him, and if what you say is true, the stubborn oaf was there for you too.” Then he turned to Elayne. “And what about you?”

“I am Elayne Trakand,” she said, voice calm but with a quiet strength behind it. “Daughter-Heir of Andor.”

He blinked. “Andor.” 

“Yes,” she said, eyes meeting his without hesitation. “But I am here because I, and Egwene, choose to be. Because we care for your son, and have decided to bond ourselves to his heart. I am here not because of titles or crowns or power.” She hesitated just a moment before continuing. “Though I won’t lie—I may have kissed him in a moment of chaos, then kissed him again to be sure I meant it.” 

Egwene followed. “And then I may have kissed him while laying under the stars on the boat back here.”

My father blinked once. Then twice. Then he barked out a laugh—loud, full, and so unexpected it made all three of us jump slightly. He leaned back in his chair, a thick hand scrubbing through his beard as the laughter slowly tapered off into a low chuckle. “Well,” he said at last, wiping at the corner of his eye. “Light help me, I didn’t see that coming.”

He looked at me, his eyes twinkling with amusement and something softer beneath. “You go off and come back a channeled, a war hero, and now you’re tangle up with not one, but two women bold enough to kiss you under a dragon-filled sky and still look me in the eye about it.”

I buried my face in my hands. “Please don’t summarize it like that.”

Elayne tried to hide her grin behind a raised hand. Egwene was less subtle, giggling while trying to cover it with a cough. 

But my father sobered again, his voice going gentler. “Look, I’m not fool enough to think this is simple. And I won’t pretend to understand the reasoning why the two of you would both agree to bond my son, and only my son. But if you’ve found something true in each other, something that holds firm even when the world’s running around you—then hold onto it. The Wheel doesn’t give out gifts like that often.”

He looked between the women once more, his tone sincere. “You’re both welcome in my home. And in my life, so long as you don’t let this steel headed fool forget his roots.”

I felt something loosen in my chest at those words—something I hadn’t even realized I’d been holding in for so long. “I’ll try,” I said quietly. “To hold onto all of it.”

He nodded again, tightly, then stood to fetch a bottle from a nearby shelf. “Well then. That sounds like a moment worth a drink, and it should help me tell you what I should’ve told you long ago. Who your mother truly is.” 

I sputtered at that thought, why was it so important to tell me now when he hadn’t for all these years. 

“Since you’re bound to the Daughter-Heir of Andor, it is worth it for me to tell you about my time with your mother… given she’s one of the highest nobles in Cairhien… Colavaere Saighan.”

I stared at my father after his admission. “Colavaere Saighan?” I repeated, certain I’d misheard him. “That Colavaere?”

He nodded grimly, pouring amber liquid into three small cups, and then his own. “Lady of House Saighan. Cousin to the royal line. And as ambitious as a starving wolf at a feast table.”

Elayne let out a soft gasp, not quite able to mask her surprise. Egwene just looked at me, her hand sliding into mine under the table and giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I… I don’t understand.” The words felt hollow in my mouth. “You told me that my mother died. That she was a kind woman. A healer.”

“She was kind. At least at that point. And she could heal. Just not with herbs,” he said, pressing one of the cups into my hand before grabbing his own and downing it. “Your mother was all fire beneath silk. She came to the forge one day—said she needed blades reforged for a hunting party. She stayed for two weeks.” He sunk back into his chair, eyes distant. “We were young. Foolish. She didn’t tell me her name until she was already leaving. Just vanished. I thought she was gone from my life forever. Then a month later came a sealed letter saying she was with child, and a pouch of coin to keep my mouth shut. Some months later, you were delivered by a rider, with another sealed note containing a name. Your name.”

My mouth had gone dry. “And you never thought to tell me?”

“What good would it have done?” He said, suddenly fierce. “To know that your mother had returned to her House, married some cousin of the King, and never once tried to see you again? I raised you, son, not the name she left behind.”

I didn’t know what to say. My entire life had just been shifted on its head, again. Cairhien wasn’t just home. It was blood. It was legacy. And all of it tangled in the very game of houses I’d spent my whole life avoiding. I looked to Elayne, but she too sat frozen, lips parted in stunned silence. Even she seemed to be at a loss for words.

“It’s not a trick?” I finally asked. “Not part of some plan, or——“

“No trick,” my father said. “Just a truth too heavy to give to a child. But you, the man sitting in front of me, you’re no child anymore.”

My hands shook slightly as I took the drink. The warmth hit my throat but did little to steady me. “So what now?”

He gave a bitter chuckle. “Now? Now we wait and see if she learns you’re in the city, and knows even some of what you now are. And then, we decide whether to run, fight, or play the game she lives for.” He sighed. “I’m sorry, son. I know, this isn’t what you expected upon coming home.”

He was certainly right about that. I had expected to be punished, made to clean the forge, made to wipe out the smelter, or feed the furnace coals for hours on end. “I… I need some time. I’m going to go gather a few things from my room. I’m afraid to say that we won’t be able to stay. Moiraine expects us at The Nine Rings before midnight.” And with that I stood up and went upstairs to gather some of my clothes. 

——————————————————

My room was smaller than I remembered. Though it still seemed spacious compared to the sleeping conditions about the boat. The bed was neatly made, and was untouched. Everything was exactly as I had left it—untouched tools on the wall, the half drawn sketches of blade hilts still pinned above the desk. My old boots rested in the corner, scuffed and well-worn, I would have to be sure to bring those, so that I could at least have a spare pair of boots. 

It was like I had stepped back into a sealed memory, one that hadn’t aged with me. Though I had aged rather quickly thanks to the event of recent past. I sat on the edge of my bed and let out a long, slow breath. Colavaere Saighan. That name carried weight. Influence, ambition sharpened like a blade. And now… it carried blood. My blood. 

I stared down at my hands, calloused from work and war, from the forge yet also forged in fighting. Not the hands of a noble. But maybe not just a blacksmith’s son, either. Light, what would she do if she found out? Would she even care? Or would she try to use me—claim me. 

There was a soft knock at the door. Egwene peeked inside, her eyes searching. “May I?” 

I nodded. She stepped inside, Elayne just behind her, and shut the door gently.

“She said nothing,” Elayne murmured, clearly still trying to make sense of it all. “Not once. I’ve been in court and in delegations with Cairhien for years, and Colavaere never so much as hinted at having a child.”

“She wouldn’t have,” I said. “As much as emotionally it may still shock me, politically it makes sense. She wouldn’t risk her standing over a bastard son born in a forge. It’s not something that earns respect in Cairhien.”

“And yet,” Egwene said gently, walking over to me, “you are so much more than that now. And whatever name she gave you—or didn’t give you— you’ve made your own.” 

I looked up at them, the two women who had stood beside me through so much pain already, through collar, war, and now homecoming. I gave a nod. “Let’s get what we need,” I said, “and leave here. Before Cairhien can decide that I am another tool to be used in its game.” 

I moved to stand up before Elayne pushed me gently back to the bed. “Now just you wait right there Lord Flameforged.” Elayne said that with a tone of teasing, though in this case it occurred to me that Lord may actually be my proper title at this point. “Your two newly bound loves are both here with you, in your bedroom, and your bed is right here, and certainly larger than anything we would find on the ship. I for one will not be denied a chance to curl up next to you, and I doubt that Egwene would either.” Elayne looked to Egwene then, seeking confirmation which Egwene quickly gave by jumping onto my bed and crawling to the side closer to the wall. 

Elayne gave me a wicked little smile as she gracefully pulled off her outer cloak and folded it over the chair in front of my desk. “And besides,” she added, her voice softening, “you look like you’re carrying the whole Pattern on your shoulders. Let us share the weight. At least for a little while.” And with that she laid down on the opposite side of the bed from Egwene.

Egwene patted the space between the two of them, already half-curled into the blankets like she belonged there—and, Light help me, she did. “We don’t have to speak,” she said gently. “Not about your mother. Not about saidin. Not about Cairhien. Just let us be here. With you.”

My mouth was dry, and my heart thudded in a rhythm I hadn’t known it could hold. “You’re sure?” I asked, barely above a whisper.

Elayne pulled me in tightly under the blanket. “We’ve been sure for days. You just need to catch up.”

I lay back down slowly, caught between two hearts that had somehow found mine. Their warmth surrounded me, their quiet breathing grounding me in the now. No masks, no nobles, no flames burning in the sky. Just us. Just this. I allowed myself to rest and relax, and Elayne played tenderly with my hair, and Egwene placed her hand on my chest, as if to steady my breathing and calm my heart. We stayed like this for a while, and I drifted off to sleep a few times while laying there, only to awake to Elayne and Egwene both looking at my face and smiling, perhaps happy by how relaxed and calm they could make me feel with just a simple gesture such as this.

It was a happy moment that I would have sat in for longer, had it not been for my growing hunger and the threat of Lan coming to fetch us if we were not to The Nine Rings in time. A warder entering my father’s forge would be even harder to explain away, and would inevitably send word to the very woman I was hoping to avoid, after finding out that she was my mother. Not to mention how hard that would already be if anyone had recognized the Daughter-Heir of Andor walking in Cairhien. 

With a reluctant sigh, I sat up. “We should go,” I murmured. “Before the Wheel decides we’ve had too much peace for one day.” Both women gave me a look of mock disappointment, but they each acknowledged that I was correct. I grabbed some of my clothes, my boots, and the two swords which I now realized I had made using the one power within a neat stack and bundled them up before slinging it over my back. “That is everything I need from here—“ I said before realizing that I had not taken my note book. I moved to my desk to grab it, and realized that it had been moved from its usual spot. Perhaps my father had decided to look at it before I came back, to see if I had planned to leave him or had any indication of where I had gone to. I decided not to think of it more, picking it up and stowing it in the bag I had slung over my back.

With a quiet heart, I went down the stairs. My farewell to my father was brief but sincere, knowing that this would at least be better than him thinking me dead. I promised him I would write when I could, and that even if I had to message in secret, he would know it was from me, though I did not provide the reasoning, not trusting a building with so many openings and cracks. And with that, I, and the two beautiful women who accompanied me left my childhood home and made for The Nine Rings inn, where I suspected we would find more of our companions ready to hear of how it had gone with my dad. 

Chapter Text

As we made our way through the narrow Cairhienin streets toward The Nine Rings, the stone beneath my boots felt heavier with every step. A thought that had started as a whisper now gnawed at me like a rat in the grain. If what my father said was true—if Colavaere Saighan was truly my mother— then I wasn’t just a blacksmith’s son anymore. Not that the thought was new, but it rather redefined me as never having been only a blacksmith’s son, but rather a lord. And not just any lord, a son of one of the High Houses of Cairhien. That alone would draw attention in this city of secrets and masks. 

But it was worse than that. 

I glanced at Elayne walking beside me, her golden hair catching what little light the grey sky allowed. The Daughter-Heir of Andor. A princess. And Egwene, strong and radiant in her own right, training to become an Aes Sedai who would tackle the White Tower with ferocity to reshape it to what she saw as right. I wasn’t just courting one woman who would shape the world—I was bound tightly to two of them.

A bastard lord of Cairhien, bound to a princess and a woman who might one day wear the Amyrilin’s stole. Light, what did that make me? I didn’t say anything aloud. Not yet. But the weight of names and titles sat heavy on my shoulders, heavier even than the pack slung across my back. Even more than this, I knew I would have to tell Moiraine about this, and if anything Egwene had said about the Aes Sedai was true, she would almost instantly work that into a new advantage to pursue her agenda and further her goals. 

“Your dad seemed a kind man,” Elayne interjected, almost like she could hear the wheels turning in my head and wanted to break me free of the thoughts. “I regret being so nervous now… it seems like he completely accepted our arrival, and was almost grateful that you had the both of us.” She swung the arm that held my hand between us, a happy gesture that made me laugh.

I gave her hand a light squeeze in return, grateful for the lifeline. “He’s a hard man,” I said. “But a good one. He tends to say little, I think that was actually some of the most I’ve heard him speak in my life, but he sees more than most. The fact he accepted you both, means that he knows what you mean to me—and he trusts you to keep me on the right track.”

Egwene bumped her shoulder gently against mine. “We’re not going anywhere, Flameforged.” Her eyes sparkled with quiet reassurance. “No matter what your birth or your titles say about you. They aren’t who you are, and they do not change what we think of you.”

But the thought still gnawed at the back of my mind like a loose nail in a boat. Moiraine would need to know. And when she did… there would be no pretending I was just the smith’s son anymore. We arrived at The Nine Rings, the sign above the door swayed in the wind, its painted rings hanging and clinking in the breeze like distant chimes. I knew what I would need to do immediately upon arrival. It was best to get it all out of the way before I lost my nerve about the matter. 

“I’ll join you both before the end of the night, so please, find a table—maybe the others are also here and you can all talk about the day. I just—I need to speak with Moiraine first.” Both women fixed me with a knowing look, one filled with sympathy for what they knew I would have to go through. Elayne gave me a kiss on the cheek and a squeeze of my hand, while Egwene wrapped me in a tight hug that made it just a little harder to let go.

I lingered in the common room for a moment, scanning the crowd, hoping—perhaps foolishly—that Moiraine or Lan might be seated and within easy reach. But neither of them were anywhere to be seen. With a quiet breath, I stepped to the innkeeper and asked, “Have you seen Moiraine Sedai or her warder this evening?”

The innkeeper nodded knowingly. “She’s already upstairs, lad. Took a room for herself, and asked that the rest of you be seen to as well. I have a key here for you—room just down the hall from hers, second door on the left.” He passed me the key with practiced fingers, like this sort of t hing happened every day. For him, maybe it did, though for me this was the first time I had ever actually stayed the night in an inn. It felt strange to do so within a city where I already knew I had a bed waiting for me. 

“Thank you,” I said, then adjusted the strap of my bag and made for the stairs, boots sounding faintly against the worn wood as I ascended. From the top of the stairs, I could already see Lan standing outside of the room I had concluded was Moiraine’s, so I quickly opened the door to my room and placed my bag down, before making my way down the hall.

“Welcome back, Smith.” Lan said the words like he was surprised to see me so soon. He studied me for a moment with the same expressionless face he wore in battle, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—perhaps curiosity, or concern. “Is Moiraine in? I need to speak with her… alone.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, but did not challenge me. Instead, he turned and knocked once, softly, then opened the door without a word and motioned for me to enter. I didn’t know how he’d known she would receive me at that moment—but I thought better than to waste time by asking, it was more than likely some Aes Sedai magic, or the warder bond which the two held. With a short nod to the warder, I stepped inside and heard him close the door behind me.

The room was lit by a single lamp, its glow reflecting softly off dark wood and deep blue hangings. Moiraine stood by the window, her back to me, as if she had sensed my arrival before the door had even opened. “You’ve come sooner than I expected,” she said, not turning to see me. Her voice was calm, but there was a slight challenge behind it— like river stones pressing against the weight of the water above it. “I suspect you have a reason for seeking me out? Perhaps fear of our travel to Tar Valon?” 

I swallowed hard, I hadn’t even thought of that, but the moment she said it, it lodged like a burr behind my thoughts. Still, I pushed those thoughts aside, one problem at a time. 

“Actually, Moraine Sedai, I learned something today— something that I would rather like to discuss with you. If that is… permitted?” 

That got her attention. She turned slowly, and for barely even a heartbeat her expression cracked—surprise flaring like lightning behind the clouds—before vanishing beneath that cool, unreadable serenity she wore like armour.

“You’ve never given me the Sedai title before, Alex. I had thought you had been schooled by your friends not to,” she said softly. “Does what you have to say have you that frightened that you would worry about formality now?”

“I don’t know how you will react to the news I need to share. It is about my mother… my father decided that since I had brought Egwene and Elayne, and that Elayne was the daughter-heir of Andor, it might be pertinent to share information of her identity with me. While it shocked me to learn, given the information network you seem to have, I would not be surprised if you already had some suspicion, however, I would like to tell you plainly about the whole ordeal.” My voice quaked as I said the words, that steely determination I had felt when first entering the inn wavering, wondering if it was truly a good idea. After all, Moiraine was a descendant of the Damodred’s, and House Saighan was a rival to them.

Moiraine’s eyes narrowed just slightly—barely a shift, but enough to signal that her mind had already begun spinning through possibilities, analyzing all the gossip and intrigue that she had heard to try and piece together who my secret mother might be and where she may fit into the grand scheme that was The Game of Houses. 

“You have my attention,” she said at last, stepping away from the window and offering me a seat on a comfortable looking couch, while she moved to the adjacent chair and folded her hands neatly in her lap. “Speak plainly then, and know that I will do the same. As you know, as an Aes Sedai I cannot lie, and out of respect to your coming forward, I will tell no half-truths.”

Her admittance of this took me by shock at first, but I appreciated that she was so open about the matter. I took a slow breath, but it did little to steady the hammering in my chest. “Well, as I told you, today my father decided to tell me who my mother is. He said he thought it was time—that I could handle the information now, and that I would likely need to use the information to help defend myself if she should discover… what exactly I am.” I hesitated, watching her for any flicker of reaction. “He told me… my mother is Colavaere Saighan.”

The name fell like a stone into the room. Not loud, but heavy. Measured and deliberate. 

Moiraine blinked once. That was all. No gasp, no shocked expression. Just a small break in her composure—a heartbeat of silence, sharp and cold.

“I see,” she said, and though her voice was still calm, it had something more determined behind it, a sense that she was already scheming at something. “And you believe him?”

“I do.” My voice was firmer now, some of the steel that my father had warned the two flames of my heart about. “He had no reason to lie. And the timing… it made sense, much as I did not necessarily want to hear the news. I’ve avoided daes dae’mar my whole life, and yet apparently I was born into it. He only told me because of Elayne. Because of what she is. Because of what I might now become, by association.”

Moiraine’s gaze sharpened. “More than association, perhaps. You are flame-touched, Alex. Wreathed in prophecy, ones that do not define you, but that your very existence helps to either enforce or shatter. You are a strong man, and a strong force of the Pattern in your own right, with or without Elayne or Egwene, you must start to realize that about yourself. All that, and now… you are the unacknowledged bastard of a noble House in Cairhien. A lord, by all accounts. You understand what this means?”

“I do,” I said again, quieter now. “It means I’ve just become another piece on the board. Or maybe I’ve always been one. And now someone’s finally flipped me over to show what I am.”

Moiraine tilted her head slightly, seeming to look at me with sympathy. “You’ve been more than just a piece on the board for some time now. The Pattern moves around you, not just through you. That you are of House Saighan—illegitimate or not—will not matter to those who play the Game. Blood is blood in Cairhien. And with you tied inexorably to the Dragon Reborn, as well as the Daughter-Heir of Andor? You are possibly the strongest player in the Game without ever having wanted to make a single move.”

She trailed off there, standing and pacing a few slow steps toward the window again where she paused, hands clasped behind her back, her silhouette etched against the pale starlight bleeding in through gauzy curtains. The silence between us stretched taut as a bowstring.

“Colavere, your mother, will learn,” she said at last, her voice low and clear. “If not today, then certainly tomorrow. And when she. Does, she will move swiftly, I doubt she would be happy to see that you had left the city after she learns who you were with. There are eyes and ears everywhere in Cairhien, so do not delude yourself that she will not find out. She has long hungered for the Sun Throne. With your name—your power— your… proximity to Elayne, and even Egwene— she will see opportunity. And you can be certain she will not waste it.”

I felt the weight of those words settle onto my shoulders like new mail, heavy and cold. “You’re saying she’ll try to use me.”

Moiraine turned to face me fully. “Or claim you. Or destroy you if you try to resist. She may whisper promises of family, of noble duty. But do not mistake her words for affection. Colavaere Saighan plays to win. And now, so must you.” She paused, as if taking me in a new light. “But, with this knowledge we hold immense power. You’ve been honest with me, and that is more rare than you know. Because of that, you will have me— my counsel, my aid—as you navigate what lies ahead. If you choose to rise, to take hold of what this blood and this fate offer you, I will help you to do it wisely.”

“I didn’t exactly ask for all this… but I can’t exactly turn it down now that I know it. One way or another, it will come for me.” I looked out the window, toward the city that had shaped me without my knowing. “At least if I do something, somehow end up on the Sun Throne… Rand will have Cairhien’s support when it matters most. And the Dragon Reborn will need every ally he can get.”

“You think more strategically than I gave you credit for, Alex.” There was a faint smile on her lips—rare, yet not unkind. “Perhaps the Wheel knew exactly what it was doing, binding you to others that are such powerful threads, and making you perhaps one of the most powerful among them. You were never just a bystander. And now, the Pattern begins to show just how deeply woven you are.” She stepped forward then, placing a hand briefly on my shoulder—another rare gesture, but one that carried surprising weight. “You aren to alone in this, though I suspect your two flames have already told you as much.” She paused again, before continuing, “Thank you for sharing this with me. You have allowed me more time to plan, rather than having to react after he Pattern unfolds and the Wheel turns. That is no small gift.” 

Moiraine withdrew her hand, her expression already shifting back to the unreadable calm that marked her every move. The moment of connection passed, but not forgotten. I did truly feel like I had gotten closer to Moiraine, and that she had opened up to trusting me a bit more than she had before. 

“You may go,” she said softly. “Enjoy what peace this evening offers, we still leave for Tar Valon in the morning, back aboard the ship for another stretch.” 

I nodded once, grateful not just for her words, but for her presence. I had thought to question why we would not stay in Cairhien now and execute plans on getting me into a more powerful seat, but I answered that question before it had even needed to be asked. Colavere… my mother, was a powerful noble, and this was her playing field. We had not had a chance to prepare for her, and as such staying here would put us at a disadvantage, where going to Tar Valon gave us a chance to even the field, if not gain some headway where she could not stop it. “Good night, Moiraine Sedai.” 

Moiraine chuckled at that, evidently still not used to me using her formal title. With that, I turned and stepped out into the hallway, closing the door behind me. Lan was still there, arms folded, his unreadable gaze falling on me like the weight of a hammer on steel.

“She didn’t kill me,” I offered, trying for a smile. 

“She rarely does,” Lan replied evenly. “But if you’re walking away under your own strength, it means you handled it better than most.”

I chuckled, tension bleeding out of me by degrees, as though I could finally relax now that I had gotten through that conversation with Moiraine. Then, before I could stop myself, I gestured toward the key in my hand.

“I doo have one question, though,” I said. “Why did I end up with a room that has a single bed? There can’t be many of those here. And you don’t strike me as someone who leaves that sort of thing to chance.”

Lan’s lips twitched—almost a smile, but not quite. “There aren’t many. But there are a few. And you’re not just anyone anymore. Enjoy the night with your women while you can.” He then turned slightly, clearly finished with the conversation. “Sleep well, Smith.” 

And with that, he resumed his silent watch, leaving me standing there with a few answers—and far more questions than I’d brought up the stairs. I made my way back down the stairs, boots echoing a little more confidently now than they had on the way up. The common room was buzzing with the usual life of the evening crowd—mugs clinking, the low hum of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter. But amid all of that, I spotted them—Egwene and Elayne, seated at a large round table near the hearth, with Mat, Perrin, Rand, and Nynaeve already gathered. A platter of food and a pitcher of ale stood at the centre, half drained. 

“There he is!” Mat declared with theatrical relief, lifting his mug, and almost spilling some of his drink. “We were just about to send a search party.”

“Or a rescue mission,” Perrin added, his golden eyes twinkling. “Lan looked like he expected you to come back missing an arm.”

Elayne slid a bit to the side, making space beside her for me to settle in. “Did it go alright?” She asked gently.

I nodded, taking the seat, and was surprised to find Elayne placed a hand on my back as if to comfort me. “She didn’t kill me, or even try to rip my head off.”

Egwene raised an eyebrow at this. “Then we’re calling that a victory.”

“It was… better than I expected,” I admitted, reaching for a piece of bread and some cheese. “She’s at least agreed to help me navigate whatever comes next. And she appreciated me seeking her out, to tell her everything rather than having it come as a surprise later.”

Rand tilted his head, and the rest of the group looked equally confused. “Would you mind filling us in on what exactly is coming next? And why you needed to have such a lengthy conversation with Moiraine?” 

I hesitated, but Elayne answered for me, her lips curled with amusement. “You friend here is apparently already nobility. And to think, I had thought he would have to wait to marry me to be seen in a crown.”

There was a beat of stunned silence, as if they all were questioning if they had heard the words correctly. Even I looked over at Elayne, a gaze she met with a wicked grin, telling me that the last part of her proclamation had been to see how I would react to her saying something so forward, as she laughed at what look must have been on my face.

“A what?” Mat blurted, nearly choking on his drink.

Perrin blinked in disbelief. “You?”

Even Nynaeve, who had seen me shirtless and fighting a Forsaken not even a week ago, looked me over as though reevaluating everything she thought she knew. “You’re serious?”

“I wish I wasn’t,” I muttered, trying to ignore the way Elayne was still clearly enjoying herself. “Turns out my mother is Colavaere Saighan.” 

Mat let out a sharp whistle. “Light. That Colavaere? The one who tried to marry herself into the Sun Throne five different ways?”

“Six,” Elayne corrected lightly, “if you count her failed overture to my uncle.”

Rand leaned forward, his eyes narrowing just slightly. “And your father just told you this now?”

“He said that since I was with Elayne—her just being there and being who she is— made him realize I deserved, or rather needed, to know,” I said, grabbing another piece of bread. “Figured it might be relevant, given… everything that we are.”

Perrin gave me a look that was half sympathy, half curiosity, and a slight hint of teasing. “So you’ve gone from a smith to a noble overnight.”

“Technically I was always a noble,” I grumbled. “I just didn’t know it. Which, frankly, was better. Now Mat will have a field day, knowing his title of Lord Flameforged is more accurate, and that he can use it to tease me even more.” That earned a rather loud laugh from him, causing his drink to slosh onto the table. 

Elayne hummed, clearly unrepentant. “Well, now you know. And it is better, even if it doesn’t feel it right now. Knowledge is power, Alex. And besides, I would have made you a lord someday anyways.” At that she leaned over and kissed my cheek, clearly trying to make light of the situation. 

“Too much power all in one place,” Egwene teased, though there was fondness in her voice. “Between your newfound claim, the powers you hold against the taint and the shadow, your connection to me, and Elayne being… well Elayne, we’re going to need a wall chart to keep it all straight.”

Mat was still chuckling as he wiped his sleeve across the spill, making even more of a mess in the process. “Light, give it a week and I’ll be calling you Lord Alex Flameforged, Warden of the Weird, Breaker of Chains and Hearts, just to watch you twitch.”

“I’m not twitching,” I lied flatly, grabbing a napkin and wiping up Mat’s mess diligently, not wanting to create more trouble for the kindly innkeeper or his staff. “And I swear, if that title sticks—“

“Oh it’s already stuck,” Perrin said with a grin. “You may as well start signing it on letters. Maybe even take on a royal retainer to announce it as you enter a room.”

Rand, who had been quiet up to now, finally spoke. “You know, it makes a kind of sense.” His tone was thoughtful, not teasing. “The Pattern’s been winding tighter around all of us. Maybe it was always going to reveal who you were eventually.”

“And if it hadn’t,” Elayne added, smoothing a hand down my arm, “someone else would have. That sort of secret doesn’t stay buried forever. Not in Cairhien. And it certainly would have come out that the Prince Consort of Andor, husband of Queen Elayne also had a claim to be the King of Cairhien, Ruler of the Sun Throne.” 

I gave a long exhale, tension easing again—not gone but quieter. But Light, if Elayne was even half serious when she spoke of marrying me… a thought for another time. “Still feels strange. I’ve spent most of my life swinging a hammer, not sitting on any bloody thrones.”

“And you are not on one yet,” Egwene said, her eyes glinting mischievously, “But if you do end up there, promise you’ll let us design the royal banners.”

“Absolutely not,” I said immediately. “Last thing I need is a golden forge surrounded by hearts and flames.”

Mat snapped his fingers. “That’s exactly what I was thinking! With a motto underneath: He burns, but kindly.” 

That sent the table into another round of raucous laughter—Egwene actually snorted, and Nynaeve, who had been pretending not to listen muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, “Light help us all.” 

Elayne was laughing so hard he had to set down. Her wine, wiping at her eyes with the heel of her hand. “Mat, if I ever do get around to ordering a royal banner, I’m commissioning you purely for the entertainment value.”

“Finally, someone here sees my artistic genius,” Mat declared, raising his mug again in triumph. “You lot don’t appreciate me nearly enough.”

“I appreciate you,” Perrin said with a straight face, “but only as a cautionary tale.”

Mat clutched his chest. “Wounded. Mortally.”

“Not mortally enough,” Nynaeve muttered again, though there was the barest hint of a smile behind her braid-tugging.

I leaned back, feeling the warmth of the fire, the buzz of low voices and clinking glasses, the comfortable press of Elayne’s side against mine and Egwene’s teasing smirk form across the table. For a moment, the weight of bloodlines and the prophecies I was destined to break, thrones and the Shadow, all fell away. I was simply Alex—bastard, blacksmith, maybe a lord, but most importantly… a part of this mad, mismatched, extraordinary group. 

I caught Rand’s eye across the table. He didn’t say anything, though by this point he didn’t need to. The two of us had built a connection like that between family. He gave me a nod, just once, a quiet knowing gesture. Not from Dragon to Flameforged, or from a man in need of allies to a noble. Just from friend to friend. We all stayed together at the table for a while longer, happy to bask in the glow of our chosen family. 

Eventually the fire burned lower, the plates were cleared, and one by one our group began to drift off. Perrin left first, mumbling something about getting to sleep before Mat came to take the other bed and cause the room to be chaos. Nynaeve made a show of rolling her eyes at Mat, but still hauled him to his feet by the ear when he made one joke too many. Rand lingered just a little longer, but even he eventually stood with a quiet goodnight, clapping me once on the shoulder before heading upstairs.

That left just the three of us. Me, and the women who had bonded themselves to my heart.

Egwene nudged my foot under the table. “Well, Lord Flameforged, I believe we were promised a room with an actual bed for once.” 

Elayne arched an eyebrow. “A single bed, I recall you saying, dear. Curious how that happened.”

I groaned softly and stood, grabbing what remained of the bread on the table. “I don’t suppose either of you will let me live that down?”

“Not a chance,” they said in unison. Light, it wasn’t even my choice to have a single bed, it was Lan’s fault! But… I couldn’t truthfully be mad at him for it.

The climb up the stairs felt lighter with them at my sides—Egwene brushing my hand with hers, Elayne humming softly to herself. At the door, I unlocked it and stepped aside, gesturing with exaggerated politeness. “Ladies.”

“Oh how noble,” Egwene teased as she stepped through the opened door. The room was cozy, firelight flickering in the hearth. The bed really was too small for three people… and yet, somehow, it felt exactly the right size.

We went through the quiet rituals of preparing for sleep. Elayne set her brush down after combing out her hair, and Egwene tugged loose her braid. I lifted off my shirt, and kicked off my boots, and soon, we were all standing by. The bed, that same strange shyness from before in my room returning.

“I can sleep on the floor,” I offered, awkwardly rubbing the back of my neck.

Egwene rolled her eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Elayne took my hand. “We’re past that, aren’t we? Just sleep, Alex. That’s all tonight needs to be. You’ve fallen asleep with each of us before, and we have all already shared a bed for comfort while we were in your old room.”

There was a moment’s pause before I nodded and gave in. Together the three of us climbed into the narrow bed and arranged ourselves under the covers. I lay in the middle, Elayne curled against one side, gently placing her head near my shoulder and brushing my cheek with a kiss. Egwene on the other, placing her head against my chest. Their arms slipped around me, and mine them in turn. No words were needed. Not now, and certainly not tonight. 

I could feel the steady rhythm of their breathing, the warmth of their bodies, the subtle weight of peace settling in my chest like it had earlier in the day when they had tried to comfort me in my childhood home. We didn’t need to speak to know what this meant. To simply be held, to hold them in return, it was enough for me. I closed my eyes to the sound of their breath and the crackling hearth, and for the first time since Falme, I was confident that I would sleep without nightmares of what had happened dashing through my mind. 

Chapter Text

I opened my eyes and was standing on the prow of a ship—the same one that had carried us to Cairhien. The wind tugged at my cloak, salt spray misting my face, but my gaze was fixed on the jagged shoreline ahead. Something stirred beneath the waves, a ripple of unease threading through the air.

I searched the shadowed beaches for a sign, a flicker of movement—-or perhaps a warning—but all I found was silence. The sky above was a heavy grey, the clouds thick with storm, and the horizon seems to press closer with each breath. A whisper rose on the wind, a voice I could almost recognize but not quite—calling me forward, deeper into the unknown. It was then that a snapping branch made me aware of where whatever it was I was seeking had stepped. I filled myself with saidin, feeling the somewhat familiar, satisfying surge as power flowed through me. The distant scream of the taint burned off before it could reach me, leaving only clarity and strength. 

From the edge of the forest, a figure stepped forward—shimmering like a mirage caught between shadow and light. Her hair flowed like liquid night, and she had eyes that held both promise and peril, they fixed on me with a knowing intensity. “Alex,” she whispered, though it sounded in my ear as if she were right next to me. Her voice was both silk and steel, carrying the weight of centuries. “You have grown strong, and the Pattern has woven you tightly.  Yet there is more to claim… more power waiting to be grasped.” 

She somehow stepped onto the deck, despite having been on the banks not long before. She had travelled as if the space between us had never existed. The storm paused—just for her. Her presence bent the dream around her like wind curling a flame. 

“You have done me a great kindness, whether you meant to or not.” She smiled after she said this, though I was not sure who she was, or what she had meant. “You’ve freed the Dragon,” she murmured, circling slowly, “from his childhood oaths. From soft, stubborn things like guilt… or Egwene al’Vere. The two of you are cute together you know? You’ve given the Dragon Reborn back to the Pattern.” Her hand lifted—not quite touching my chest. “And to those who were always meant to have him.”

A smile touched her lips, cold and satisfied. “You opened the door, Flameforged, and I am so very grateful.” She looked at me then, studying me more closely. “You already channel a fair amount of the one power, even here where I should be able to dull your connection. Since you’ve done me a kindness, I will do you one in turn. First, I will protect your dreams from my fellow Forsaken.” So she was a Forsaken obsessed with the Dragon? I blinked, struggling to place a name to her, her face and her traits… and then it hit me. Lanfear. One of the Forsaken, and a name spoken only in whispers and warnings.

“Forsaken,” I said slowly, weighing the word. “So you’re the one who’s… obsessed.”

Her smile seeped, shadows flickering in her eyes like dancing flames. “Obsessed? Perhaps. But who could resist the Dragon Reborn? I do not seek to destroy you, Alex, Flameforged Lord. You serve a purpose, you’ve shifted the threads of fate in ways even the Pattern did not expect, and with you by his side, Lews—or rather, Rand—will have the ability to free those sworn to the Dark One from their bindings.” 

She stepped closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “That would allow me to take a place at his side, rather than serving the one who would seek to strike him down or force him to serve. You see, I long since realized that I had made a mistake all those years ago.” She looked down then, and all the darkness seemed to drop from her, if only for a moment. “I was a girl who had fallen in love… and watched the man turn away, falling for another. I let the pain consume me, driving me toward the Shadow, and in doing so I ruined any chance of salvation. But with you? There is new hope for me, and the years have changed me, and Rand is a different kind of Dragon now. While I do not love the idea… I could share his heart with other women, if need be.”

I was stunned for a moment, a Forsaken, openly admitting that she did not wish to be one anymore? I couldn’t be sure that she was telling the truth, but she certainly had a genuine note in her voice that made me hesitate. “Why tell me this? Why now?” I asked cautiously.  “And you said you would do me multiple kindnesses, with the first being defence of my dreams—but what is your other gift?”

Lanfear’s eyes gleamed with something unreadable, a flicker between hope and calculation. “The second… is a gift of insight and knowledge. Things are coming—threads tangled and hidden—that you cannot yet see. I can show you glimpses of them, secrets whispered only in shadows. It will not be without risk, but it may give you the edge you need. As well, in this dream world, I will teach you what I can of weaves for the male half of the power. I may not be the best at them, and we will need to be in a circle for me to use them at all, but I am better than having no one to teach you at all.” 

She paused, letting the weight of her words settle between us. “Consider it a bargain, Flameforged. Your loyalty, your choices, have already set you on a path unlike any other, and unlike what any could have predicted. I offer you knowledge, and with that knowledge, power. Will you accept it?” 

“How can I be sure this isn’t a trick of some sort? It’s not exactly like you are sworn not to lie. You could simply say all of this and then turn around and sell me to the Shadow.”

Lanfear’s smile deepened, enigmatic and unsettling. “Ah, but that is the rub, isn’t it? Truth is a currency I have spent all to freely in the past and found it lacking in returns.” She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a softer, almost intimate tone. “This is no simple bargain born of deceit. You have already proven yourself a wildcard in the Pattern—someone the Pattern itself twists and weaves differently. I gain little by betraying you now, especially when your success serves my own desired, allowing me hope for a future where I might actually be happy.” She paused another moment, looking at me as if measuring me with her eyes. “As well, based on the power you already exhibit, I don’t think you would find it difficult to strike me down, even here.”

Her gaze locked onto mine, unwavering and sharp. “But I do not expect blind faith, Flameforged. Watch, listen, learn. Let the truth of my gifts reveal themselves over time. If I betray you, you will surely know it soon enough.”

A long moment passed, the sea wind whispering through the dreamscape, carrying the salt and storm. “So, will you accept?” She asked, her voice barely more than a breath. 

I contemplated it for a few moments, though the silence seemed to bother the Forsaken, as she did not know what it would hold. “I suppose,” I began, knowing full well the power that a converted Forsaken could have, “that I will say yes to your bargain. But we start with my lessons now. I’ll need to know as much as I can of how to use the one power if I am to help anyone, let alone the Dragon Reborn, to survive what is coming.” 

Her eyes gleamed with approval, shadows flickering like dark flames. “Very well, Flameforged. We begin now.” The air thickened, charged with unseen power, as the dreamscape shifted around us, the ship seeming to melt into a wide open area, with targets to practice weaves on. The water and forest on the banks were all gone now. Lanfear raised her hands, weaving threads of light and shadow that twisted and danced in patterns I barely understood—patterns that felt both ancient and alive. “Focus,” she instructed, her voice low and steady. “The One Power is not merely force; it is intention and balance. Let me show you the weave of preservation, the weave that binds, and the subtle art of shielding the mind and soul.” 

As the lessons unfolded, I felt the strange hum of the Power within me respond, strengthening, growing clearer—like a forge heating to a bright, steady glow. The knowledge was foreign, complex, but somehow not impossible. Lanfear watched me closely, a rare softness in her gaze. “You are a quick study, Flameforged. But this is only the beginning. These weaves will help keep you alive, as well as protect those you care about, and even create an actual bond between yourself and the two women you share your bed with, similar to that of a warder and his Aes Sedai.” 

I looked up at her then, acutely aware of the growing power within me. “You say you wish not to be a Forsaken anymore, but doesn’t that also mean creating a new name for yourself? One that isn’t what the Dark One chose for you?” 

She looked at me with careful consideration. “I suppose, you are right about that, Alex. Before I took to the Shadow, my name was Mierin Eronaile, you may refer to me as that, from now on.” 

I nodded slowly, the weight of her words settling in the charged air between us. “Mierin Eronaile,” I repeated, tasting the name. It sounded distant and familiar all at once, a fragment of a past she seemed eager to reclaim. “It suits you better than Lanfear.”

Her smile was faint, but genuine, a glimmer of light in the shadow that still clung to her. “Perhaps it does. I am weary of the darkness that name brings me. If I am to walk a different path, I must begin with a new identity.” The wind whispered around us, carrying with it the faint cry of the taint as it burned away. Here, in this dream world, alliances could be reforged, old wounds tentatively healed, and new destinies woven—threads tangled but not yet broken.

“You know,” I began, thinking through a puzzle that was still unfolding ahead of me, “you had mentioned that my powers would allow Rand to free you. But with my power to burn away the Shadow, as well as the taint, would I not be able to directly free you of your bindings?”

Mierin’s gaze darkened for a moment, the flicker of hope mingling with something sharper—caution, perhaps, or the weight of centuries spent in servitude to the Shadow. “It’s not so simple, Flameforged. The bindings on the Forsaken are ancient, woven deeply into the fabric of the Dark One’s prison and his power. Your gift—your ability to burn away the Tain—is unique and powerful, yes, but untested on those shackled like I am… at least those that you do not intend to kill.”

She took a slow step closer, voice lowered with urgency. “Rand’s role is different. As the Dragon Reborn, he carries the authority of the Pattern itself. His bond to the One Power is part of the balance that sustains this world. When freed, I believe I would owe my allegiance to him—not the Shadow—but that freedom comes with risks, for both of us.” Her eyes met mine, steady and searching. “You may have the power to help now, Alex, but the cost might be more than you realize. We must tread carefully.”

I gave her a determined nod, before continuing to work the weaves she had shown me, determined to learn them and utilize them where I could, the idea crossing my mind to use the binding weave upon my two chosen loves when I woke up, should they give me permission to try it. I sat cross-legged in the training space that Mierin had created, weaving threads of saidin as she guided me, her voice steady but soft, as if teaching a child how to tie a knot.

“You must feel the flow, not force it,” she said, watching my hands closely. “Saidin is more than just raw strength—it is intention and balance.” The strands of the weave shimmered in my mind, tighter and more intricate with each attempt. With every breath, the hum inside me grew louder and clearer. Each attempt at the weaves moved faster and my hands worked them in finer detail. 

“I want to try to use the binding weave,” I said, eyes still closed, fingers moving through the motions. “But I don’t want it to control the person, I want it to connect us. Like a warder bond, but for us—me, Elayne, and Egwene.” 

Mierin’s lips curved in a rare, approving smile. “That is ambitious, Flameforged. I’ve only just taught you this weave and you already seek to change it to your will?” She laughed slightly at that, not in a humoured way, but rather light hearted, admiring my force of will. “The Pattern has twisted fate to suit you. I know that it can be done, and if anyone can discover the way to do so, it would be you.” 

And so I tried to alter the weave, pulling on different threads to alter the effects it would have, taking out any control or coercion and trying to fill it only with connection. I channeled more spirit into the weave, though it was fickle to grasp, while binding it to threads of air rather than the threads of fire the weave had required before. Mierin looked over my progress, occasionally chiding me when I lost a thread, or missed part of the weave. But by the time the dream began to shimmer, marking that it was time for me to wake, I had formed a weave that I somehow knew would do as I wished. 

The dream began to blur at the edges, the training grounds fading into mist as the first rays of dawn filtered through the real world. I felt Mierin’s gaze on me—part approval, part challenge.

“Remember these weaves well, Flameforged. It may change the fate of more than just yourself. I will see you again when next you sleep, and we will continue your training.” With that, the training ground dissolved into nothingness, and I jolted awake. The morning light was soft against the walls of my room at the inn. My heart still thrummed with the power of the weave I had crafted, a tether, not of control, but of shared strength and trust. I glanced over at Egwene and Elayne, both still sleeping peacefully. If I was to ask them to share this bond, I would need their full trust—and their consent. 

But first, I needed to be certain I understood the weave’s depths myself, and that I could still channel it in the waking world. I gently rose from the bed, doing my best not to wake either of the women sleeping next to me, gently moving their heads and arms so they rested on pillows or softly on the empty space between them. I stood in the room, doing my best not to make the floor creak under my weight, and pulled on saidin. I moved through the weave, flexing my fingers delicately as I wove together strands of spirit and air, carefully replicating what I had come up with in the dreamworld. And as I finished, I saw the delicate pattern shimmer in the air, I had done it. 

Relief and a quiet thrill coursed through me. It worked. The weave held steady, delicate but unmistakable—a thread of connection waiting to be shared. I traced the shimmering patter with my fingertips, feeling the hum of the Power pulsing in response. This was more than magic; it was a promise, a bond that could unite us beyond words. 

Turning back to the bed, I found Egwene stirring, her eyes opening slowly to meet mine. Elayne followed suit, a curious smile touching her lips as she noticed how happy I had been and seeing the faint glow of the weave I had made, though she likely wasn’t able to discern what it was, or how I had done it.

“Alex?” Egwene’s voice was soft, still heavy with sleep but threaded with concern. “What are you doing?”

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. “I’ve been working on something… a weave. It’s meant to connect us—to bind us not in control, but in trust. Like a warder bond, but where each of you are connected to me.

Their eyes widened at that, and I could see the wheels already turning in the two of their heads. 

“While I cannot be sure it will work flawlessly… I would like to try it, on one of you, if you are agreeable to it.” I said softly, not quite sure what their reaction would be. “I know it won’t hurt you in any way, but I can’t be certain it won’t have any unintended effects.”

Elayne exchanged a glance with Egwene, their expressions each a mixture of curiosity and caution. Egwene was the first to speak, her voice steady despite the sleep in her eyes.

“If it’s a bond built on trust and choice… I want to understand it. But we should be careful, Alex. Magic like this isn’t something to rush into.”

Elayne nodded, her fingers nervously tracing the edge of the blanket. “I agree. But if you believe this can help us… to bring us closer… then I’m willing to try it. Just promise you’ll be patient with us.”

I smiled, the weight of their tentative acceptance settling in my chest like a warm ember. “I promise. We’ll take it slow. Only when you feel ready will we try the weave.” The morning light seemed to brighten, casting long shadows across the room — but in that quiet space, I felt comfortable and confident. I looked at the two women I had woken up next to and couldn’t help but smile. Then, grinning wide, I leapt back onto the bed and pulled them both into my arms, holding them close in a moment of joyful acceptance. I kissed them each, soft and tender, and we all laughed together—tangled in warmth, in promise, and in something that might yet become love.

The loving moment was cut short by a knocking at the door—followed immediately by Lan pushing it open, not waiting to hear if any of us were decent. Elayne and Egwene each squeaked and dove under the blankets in a rush, caught in their nightwear: Elayne in a delicate, lace-accented sleeping shift that whispered of luxury, and Egwene in a simple but soft cream-coloured cotton one. I, for my part, wore only a pair of linen sleep trousers—modest enough by now, after Falme, though Lan’s abrupt entrance still startled me. 

Lan raised an eyebrow, unflinching. “If you’re quite finished pretending this is a honeymoon,” he said dryly, “Moiraine has had our things moved to a different ship. We leave in an hour. You’d best be there or I’ll make you swim to catch up.” Then, with the faintest twitch at the corner of his mouth, he added, “Upside for you, Smith—this one has proper cabins for everyone to sleep in.” And with that he closed the door, leaving us all alone. I couldn’t help but laugh at the awkward moment, Elayne and Egwene following suit before we all began to get ready for the day ahead of us.

Chapter Text

Down in the common area of the inn, I waited for the two women I had spent the night with to come down to depart for the ship. While I stood there waiting, Thom Merrilin found me and fixed me with a look, before breaking into a smile and clapping me on the shoulder. Clearly he had found out about the news of who I really was, which led me to wonder who else could have heard by now. 

“So,” Thom said, his voice laced with that familiar dry amusement, “you’re not just a smith with a sharp tongue and a knack for finding trouble, then? Cairhien’s noble lines are complicated, but I’d wager any amount of coin that your existence has just made them more so.”

I rubbed the back of my neck, chuckling. “I didn’t ask for it, Thom. I’m still me, no matter what blood might run in my veins.”

He nodded, more serious now. “That’s the right way to see it, lad. But others might not. Tread carefully, Alex. There are those who’ll want to use your name—and those who’ll want to see you fall because of it. But as I protect Elayne, I do now protect you. You’ve got me in your corner, and I’ll make sure you come out alright—if not on top.” 

I didn’t get a chance to respond before the creak of the stairs announced Egwene and Elayne. They descended together, dressed for travel, the sunlight catching in their hair. Egwene wore a simple riding dress in blue and grey, while Elayne, ever the noble daughter, had chosen a crimson cloak fastened with the lion sigil of Andor. Both smiled when they saw me, though Elayne’s cheeks were still tinged with a faint, lingering blush.

Thom gave me a parting nod and turned away just as the two women reached me. 

“Are we ready?” Egwene’s voice was soft but steady, her eyes flickering between me and the inn’s door.

“As ready as we’ll ever be,” I replied, offering each other a hand. Together we stepped out into the bustling streets of Cairhien. 

The city was already alive with motion—the clatter of hooves on cobblestones, merchants calling out their wares, and the crisp breeze rolling n from the river carrying the scent of salt and timber. The sunlight was clear and bright, casting long shadows from the tall buildings and banners fluttering above the marketplace. One day, my banner will hang there, chief among them. As much as I was reluctant to enter the world of lords and nobility, if I was to be forced to play a role, I would come out on top—and I would shatter the system that has plagued this city for years.

We made our way through the crowded streets, the chatter of merchants and townsfolk swirling around us like a tide. I kept a steady pace, feeling the weight of what was to come settle deeper in my chest. The journey toward the docks was like a walk towards an unknown destiny—I had only just begun to understand these things.

Lan walked beside us, his presence steady and unyielding, the very image of a warder. Behind him, Moiraine moved with purpose, her eyes sharp and watchful as she scanned the crowds and the ships moored at the river’s edge. Was she here to make sure I was safe in making it to the ship, or was her timing merely coincidental? Surely she knew I did not need protection by now. I wore Ingtar’s twin blades at my sides, still not choosing to wear the blades that I had made, not quite ready to accept that I had somehow made twin power wrought blades, an art that had thought to be lost to the ages, but that I had somehow managed to do by accident

I looked ahead of us, and noticed the coat of the gleeman Thom Merrilin, he seemed to be just as alert, and a faint glint of light was cast off of a small piece of metal close to his hand. Was he holding a knife? I started to question if we were in some kind of danger that I had not clocked, putting my head on a swivel, ready to defend myself and those around me. 

Thom turned, meeting my eyes for the briefest moment, and though his expression remained carefully neutral, there was a sharpness there—an edge I hadn’t seen since Rand and I were battling a Forsaken in Falme. The flash of steel had vanished just as quickly as it appeared, tucked away into one of the many folds of his patched cloak, but it was enough to set my pulse quickening. 

I turned slightly, scanning the crowd more intently now. Nothing obvious stood out—no one trailing us, no sudden movement in the press of townsfolk and dockhands. But there was something… off. A tension in the air that I hadn’t felt in Cairhien before. Maybe it was just the shift in my own standing—now a noble bastard with a claim to a House. Or maybe it was more. 

Lan seemed to sense my change in posture and gave a nearly imperceptible nod, approving. Ever the sentinel, he was likely already ten steps ahead of me, his hand resting just beside the hilt of his sword without ever quite touching it. I followed suit, letting go of the two women’s hands, much to their disappointment, though when they saw where my hands went, they did not protest, instead electing to both move to walk between Lan and I with a quiet determination. They did not try and fight me on my caution, or try and argue with me about being placed in the position of one to be defended.

The gesture was not just trust—it was understanding. They didn’t shrink from the shifting mood, nor did they try to lighten it with idle talk. Egwene’s chin lifted ever so slightly, and Elayne’s gaze swept the street ahead with the poise of someone born to courts and shadows. They had seen danger before. Falme had seen to that. And they both understood that even at my current level of strength and knowledge, I would not allow anything to happen to them. I could be healed from anything near death with nothing but a few scars, but I would not allow them to face the same, knowing the pain it can still cause, and knowing I wanted none of it for them.

It wasn’t fear that drove my vigilance—it was purpose. Not just to survive, but to ensure they did too. Egwene and Elayne had each suffered in ways I could hardly speak of, and still they carried themselves with strength that humbled me. Even if I had been through terrible things in Falme, I would go through it all again to guarantee their safety. But strength did Noto mean invincible. I knew what it meant to be broken and stitched together again, body and soul. I would not let them face that fate again if I had the power to stop it.

I saw a flicker of movement, it drew my eye, and my hand gripped around the sword on my left hip. But it was only a child darting out into the street, nearly upsetting a fruit vendor’s cart. My body had tensed, half-expecting something more, but it passed. Just life, still happening, despite everything. We rounded a bend in the road, and there, framed between two stone warehouses was the ship, our final goal. If I could get them safely there, then I had succeeded. 

The ship we were to board was unlike the one we had arrived on—sleek, sturdy, and larger, its dark wooden hull gleaming in the morning sun. The sails hung slack, waiting for the wind to carry us onward to Tar Valon. The air was thick with the smell of salt, and tar, mingling with the faint cries of gulls. The last stretch to the gangplank felt like it took an eternity, and I saw that the two women I had moved to defend made it aboard the ship before me.

 Lan’s voice broke through my thoughts, now that Egwene and Elayne were safely aboard, “Smith,” the warder said, low and steady. “Moiraine wishes to speak with you and Rand alone before we board.” I looked the man in the eyes, trying to read any inclination I might gain from them, before nodding and moving to go and see Moiraine. Rand arrived a few moments after, having only just made it to the boat and seeing that Lan had pointed him to Moiraine and I. 

The Aes Sedai moved us to a farther part of the dock, away from where any ears may accidentally hear what was to be said. Moiraine then stopped and faced us, her gaze sharp and unreadable. “The reason for the change of ship was not security,” she said, “though that was the story I gave the others. It was for privacy. Here, I can begin instructing you both in what you must learn—history, politics, and the art of ruling kingdoms.”

Rand blinked, clearly caught off guard by this. I felt a knot tighten in my stomach. This was no longer just about the One Power. It was about the weight of legacy and leadership, and what we might leave in our wake. 

Moiraine’s gaze settled on me. “Especially you, Alex. Your bloodline ties you to more than just a name. You must understand what that means. It was a fool thing you did moving Egwene and Elayne in between you and Lan, our formation was to keep you safe from those currently looking for you, some sent by your mother no doubt.”

I swallowed hard, then spoke. “There’s something else you should know… about Mierin.”

Moiraine’s eyes narrowed, waiting for me to continue.

“She came to me in the World of Dreams, or at least that’s what she called it. She said she no longer wants to serve the Shadow—that she never truly did. She believes redemption is possible… but that it may see her bound to Rand.”

The silence stretched for between us like a thread pulled taut. 

Rand blinked again, more slowly this time, the muscles in his jaw tightening and setting. “Bound to me?” He echoed, voice low, but some anger evident. “What does that even mean?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know. Not fully. Only that she believe some tether between you two may be the price of her redemption—or the path to it. She didn’t speak in certainties. Only hopes.”

Moiraine remained silent for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she turned and began pacing the narrow width of the dock, the waves gently lapping at the supporting posts, but the sound did nothing to soften the sharpness in her bearing. 

“Mierin Eronaile,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Lanfear. She has manipulated truths and twisted hearts since the Age of Legends. If she comes to you bearing dreams of redemption, it is either the greatest risk we’ve yet taken… or the first thread of a miracle.”

“She taught me weaves,” I said quietly. “Weaves I hadn’t ever seen, though in fairness, any weaves I had done before this were done purely on instinct and accident. She’s helping me understand things about saidin that no one else alive seems to know. And she hasn’t asked for anything in return, other than the help to get away from the Shadow.”

Rand let out a breath, his voice rough. “And what if she’s leading you into a trap? Into trusting her just enough that she can use you?

I looked Moiraine briefly, then to him. “Then I’ll spring the trap, if it furthers the goals of defeating the Shadow, and keeping others safe, I would sacrifice myself into that trap every time. I had to tell you, regardless. Because if there is even a chance that one of the Forsaken can be redeemed, then it changes everything that we have thought we knew.”

Moiraine’s face was carved from stone, unreadable, but her silence spoke volumes. Rand, meanwhile, stared at me as though seeing something else entirely. Not with doubt, but with something close to…worry. Or awe. I wasn’t sure which unnerved me more.

“You sound just like him,” Rand said softly.

I blinked. “Like who?”

“Lews Therin,” he replied, voice distant. “Always ready to bear the weight of the world, to throw himself into fire for the chance it might save someone else.” He look away, jaw tight. “That didn’t end well for him.”

I stepped closer, lowering my voice. “Then maybe this time it can. Maybe if we do things differently—if we trust where trust hasn’t been given before—it changes how the Wheel turns. Or maybe, Lews Therin didn’t have me, didn’t have someone with my abilities to burn the taint on saidin, to keep others from going mad from the touch of the Dark One. I believe we can do this, together.”

Rand’s breath caught, just slightly. He stared at me like he wasn’t seeing me anymore—like he was peering through me into something far older, far deeper.

“I can feel it, you know,” he said after a moment. :When I touch the Source. Like wading into a lake of oil slicked with fire. It stains everything it touches… and then I met you. When I tried to channel near you, and all that oil suddenly went away, eaten by the flame, and all the build up burned away. It was like a fresh start, and like I had gotten back parts of myself that had begun to slip.”

Rand’s voice broke a little at the edges, raw with something too vast for words. “I didn’t even realize how much I’d lost until I felt it again. Peace. Clarity. Myself.” He let out a shuddering breath, as if trying to anchor himself in the moment. “I’ve been fighting so hard to keep from unravelling, to not become the monster I see in my dreams… and then you walked into the Pattern, and somehow, you made the madness quiet. You burned away all the dark pieces pulling me apart, you put them to ash, and allowed the real me to be fixed.”

I felt my throat tighten. I hadn’t known the effect was that strong—not truly. But hearing it from him, the Dragon Reborn himself… it made my knees want to buckle, and it took all my will power to stop them from doing just that.

“I don’t know why I can do it,” I said softly. “Or how. But if I can be that flame for you—if I can give you that peace--then it isn’t just worth it, it’s necessary. Maybe that’s why I survived in Falme. Why I can channel without the taint. Why I’m here.”

Rand gave a bitter, wry smile. “You think the Pattern needed to fix what Lews Therin broke?”

“Not fix,” I replied. “Balance.”

A silence settled over us again, but it wasn’t empty. It was heavy with understanding, with the kind of trust that only came when the veil between souls was thin. Our bond as chosen brothers bearing strong as tempered steel.

“I need you to keep being that flame, Alex,” Rand said finally. “Because I don’t know how long I could keep doing this if I start going mad again. If I did, I’d end up burning everything to ash before I was able to defeat the Shadow. You can’t go springing traps at will and possibly sacrificing yourself in the process.” He smiled then. “And Light only knows how I would manage to console Elayne and Egwene if you were to die.” 

I chuckled softly, the sound catching in my throat. “Well then, brother, I will try not to die. For their sake. And maybe yours, too.”

Rand’s grin widened just enough to show the ghost of the boy he once was, buried beneath the weight of prophecy and power. “Good. Because you’re more than just my brother in battle now. You’re one of the few things keeping me tethered to who I am. Not just the Dragon Reborn… but Rand al’Thor. The shepherd’s son. The friend.”

I nodded, the words meaning more than I could say. “Then let’s keep each other tethered. No madness. No martyrdom. Just two very stubborn men, a shepherd and a blacksmith, trying to change the turning of the Wheel.”

“Light,” he muttered with dry humour, “that sounds like a terrible plan.”

“Probably is,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder. “But it’s ours.”

He huffed a laugh, and for a moment, the burned seemed lighter between us. Not gone. Never gone. But shared. And in the sharing, it was more bearable. Moiraine cleared her throat then, as if to remind us that she was still there.

“While it is very touching to see the Dragon Reborn and the Flameforged getting along, there is still the topic of whether to trust Mierin, Lanfear.” Moiraine added the last part, almost out of instinct. “You say she has shown you weaves, Alex?” 

I nodded at that. “Yes, she has shown me three so far. One to protect my body and soul in the World of Dreams, weaves to bond people to my cause—though the default version of the weave causes coercion of the subject to my side, I have discovered a modification of the weave which would see me binding the person similar to your bond with Lan. And finally she gave me a weave of preservation which would seem to stop things from degrading or aging, I think this weave was how channellers would keep food for long journeys, as well as perhaps one of the weaves used on power wrought blades to stop them from degrading.” 

Moiraine perked up at hearing the three weaves I had mentioned. “If I am correct, then she has shown you three weaves that the Tower had all but thought lost to time. You will show me these weaves, and any she may try to teach you in the future before you use them on anyone or anything. Am I understood?” 

I met Moiraine’s gaze. Her voice was calm, but there was steel in it—no room for negotiation. The Aes Sedai way. Still, I did not flinch under her gaze.

“Yes,” I said after a moment. “You have my word. I’ll show you every weave she teaches me. I don’t want to fall into some trap either, and I know you’ll see dangers that I might miss.”

Moiraine gave a single nod, satisfied, but her eyes lingered on me a heartbeat longer, searching for something more. “You may be the Flameforged, a force never before seen, but you are also young. Even if your soul were to be older than your years, you do not yet understand the full consequences of trust.”

“Maybe not,” I admitted, “but I do know the consequences of betrayal. If Mierin turns, if this is all a ploy—I’l be the one to end it. She already fears the amount of the One Power I can channel now, and if need be, I will turn the full force of my fury against her.” 

Moiraine’s eyes narrowed at the last part, but not in disapproval, rather in calculation. Measuring, and weighing my words. “You speak with conviction,” she said, “and that may serve you well. But power on that level left unchecked, no matter how righteous the cause, can burn the world as easily as it saves it. Do not let fury guide your hand, Alex. That was Lews Therin’s mistake. Let it not be yours.”

I inclined my head, not quite agreeing, but acknowledging her point. I could feel Rand watching us both, caught somewhere between the man he was, and the legend he was becoming. There was a kinship between us now, silent but undeniable, built not just on what we’d done, but what we might yet do.

Moiraine turned slightly toward the dock. “Come. The ship is nearly ready. I would prefer we not linger any longer in Cairhien than necessary. Your mother’s agents are not the only eyes that may be watching.” Her words brought a flicker of annoyance to the surface—but I held it back. Colavaere’s shadow loomed over me still, even as I took steps to shape a future she had never imagined for her bastard son.

I took a breath, squared my shoulders, and followed Moiraine down the dock. Rand fell in beside me after a beat, jogging slightly to catch up. “You really think you could take her?” He asked, voice low. “Lanfear?”

I glanced at him. “If I couldn’t… I’d make sure she never forgot the pain of trying.”

He gave a low, almost grudging chuckle. “Light, you sound like Mat when you say things like that.” 

“And yet you’re smiling.” 

He didn’t deny it. As we walked to the gangplank I considered his question more. “You know, Rand,” I started. “Lews Therin was said to be one of the most powerful channellers the Wheel had ever seen, and you are him reincarnated, it stands to reason that with training, your power alone would be far more than enough to strike down someone like Lanfear.” 

He looked at me and smiled at that. “Who knows, Lord Flameforged, you could be on the same level, or even more powerful, for all we know.” I laughed, he seemed as enthusiastic as a child reading a story in that moment. 

As we climbed the gangplank onto the ship, Egwene and Elayne were waiting impatiently. Elayne had her hands on her hips, tapping one foot with mock impatience. Egwene, arms crossed, raised an eyebrow in a way that said, You kept us waiting on purpose, didn’t you? 

“Are you two done comparing how bright your fires burn?” Egwene asked, her voice teasing but laced with something warmer underneath. “Some of us would like to get moving before the tide turns.” 

“Just discussing how to save the world,” I replied, grinning. “You know, little things.”

Elayne gave an exasperated sigh, though she was clearly fighting a smile. “Honestly, boys. We let you talk for ten minutes with Moiraine and suddenly you’re ready to write yourselves into legend.”

“We were already written into legend,” Rand said with a wink. “Now we’re just… editing the ending.” 

Lan passed by, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like Light, save us from wool-headed heroes, and started speaking quietly to the ship’s captain. Moiraine moved with the same silent efficiency, her cloak billowing as she vanished below decks, already planning whatever came next. Thom followed behind her, more casually, but his eyes never stopped scanning the dock.

I stepped beside the girls as the deck shifted beneath our feat, the gangplank starting to be drawn back before Mat came running, having just sprang out of the nearest tavern. “Wait!! For Light’s sake, wait for me!” The gangplank thudded back down and he ran up, trying to look every bit as cool as always, but the effect was hindered by him needing to huff and puff to catch his breath. 

Lan turned at the sight. “Smith, Sheepherder, looks like we have a new addition to morning training. That run should’ve been nothing to you Cauthon.” And then he turned back to talking to the captain, leaving the group of us standing on the deck to laugh at his misfortune. 

Mat shot Lan a look that could’ve curdled milk, hands on his knees as he wheezed. “You try outrunning a barmaid’s brother after you ‘accidentally’ compliment her eyes in front of her fiancé.” He straightened with a wince. “Light, I think my ribs are still rattling.”

Rand clapped him on the back, grinning. “That’s what you get for flirting before breakfast.”

“It was breakfast,” Mat muttered. “Sort of.” Then, seeing Egwene and Elayne eyeing him with thinly veiled amusement, he gave a dramatic bow—only slightly ruined by him nearly tipping over in the process. “Ladies. Gentlemen. Lord Flameforged. Dragon Reborn. I see uyou’ve all decided to leave me behind in this cruel world.” 

“You were supposed to be back an hour ago,” Egwene said, half-laughing, half-scolding.

“Yes, well,” Mat said, straightening his grin, “time is slippery when dice are involved, and we can’t all have the luck with the ladies that our Lord over here has.” He said while gesturing to me.

I raised an eyebrow, crossing my arms. “Luck? I don’t recall luck involving quite so many bruises and near-death experiences.”

“That’s because you’re dong it wrong,” Mat replied with a wink. “There’s an art to danger. You don’t run from it, you dance with it.” He spun theatrically, almost slipping on the damp deckboards. “See? Grace.”

“You look like aa goat on ice,” Elayne said dryly, though she was clearly trying not to laugh.

“THat’s no way to speak to a hero,” Mat shot back, clutching at his chest in mock injury. “Have non of you heard of my valiant efforts in Falme? I distracted an entire squad of Seanchan just by being too annoying to chase… before blowing the Horn of Valere to take them out when I couldn’t fight.”

“See, now that I believe,” Rand said, his voice warm with affection. “You’ve always had a gift for talking yourself into trouble.”

“And occasionally, finding my way out of it,” Mat said, clearly proud. “Anyways, you all just remember this moment when we’re ate the Tower. Because when Aes Sedai start asking questions, it’s not me they’re going to be interested in.” He gave a look between Rand and me. “You two glow like bloody bonfires in the Pattern.”

I felt Egwene shift beside me, a flicker of tension in her stance. Elayne folded her arms, eyeing Mat with the same precision one might reserve for a complicated chessboard.

“Let them look,” I said with a tone of finality. “We have nothing to hide.”

“Speak for yourself,” Mat muttered, tugging his coat tighter around him. “I’m planning to survive this mess, not become some flaming legend.”

“You already are,”” Rand said quietly, voice almost lost in the wind. “Or do you not remember having blown the Horn of Valere? I could’ve sworn you had just mentioned that.” 

Mat rolled his eyes and walked off, but didn’t argue further. 

I turned to Rand and gave him a look that I needed a moment alone with the Elayne and Egwene. He nodded and made an excuse for why he needed to go below deck and settle into his cabin. I turned and looked at the two women. “Are you two sure you’re okay with heading back to the Tower? You know you will both go back to being novices, and you won’t be allowed to leave and move with us should we need to leave Tar Valon.”

Egwene and Elayne exchanged a glance, one of those silent, wordless conversations that women seem to excel at. Egwene was the first to speak, her eyes steady on mine. 

“We were always going to go back,” she said. “No matter how hard the Tower might be, or how much freedom we’ve tasted since Falme, it’s still the place where we can learn. Where we can become more than just survivors.” 

Elayne nodded, her voice softer but no less resolute. “And they need us there. After what happened in Falme—after what we did—I think the Tower needs to change. And maybe we can help make that happen. But we can’t do that by running from our place in it. Even if we may want to.”

Egwene’s expression gentled, and she reached out to touch my hand. “And we’re not leaving you, Alex. You might be going places we can’t follow—for now—but that doesn’t mean we’re gone. The Wheel turns, and it always brings threads back together.”

Elayne smile faintly. “Beside, you’re not exactly easy to forget.”

I looked between them, feeling that now-familiar knot of emotion twist in my chest—equal parts gratitude, pride, and a fear I didn’t dare give voice to. Not yet. “I just… don’t want to lose you. Either of you.”

“You won’t,” Egwene said, stepping closer.

“We won’t let you,” Elayne added, taking my other hand.

I pulled them both in, wrapping my arms around them. For a long moment, we simply stood there on the deck, the ship rocking beneath us, the wind tugging at our cloaks. And for that moment, there was nothing else—no Tower, no Prophecies, no war. Just the three of us, bound by something deeper than oaths or Power.

Then Elayne pulled back just slightly, her voice playful. “But if you get yourself killed trying to be a hero again, I will haunt you.”

Egwene nodded solemnly. “We’ll both haunt you.”

I laughed, despite myself. “Light, you both terrify me sometimes. Though if I die, wouldn’t I be the one haunting you.”

They both fixed me with a stare that could have melted ice. I raised my hands in surrender, prepared for much worse, knowing that my two women wouldn’t let me win that fight by any means. Then a thought passed through my head, the bonding weave.

“You know… Moiraine said I have to pass any weaves by her before I can use them. However, if I get her approval that it is safe, we could use my modified weave to create a bond between us… I don’t fully know what it will do, but it could allow you to tell how I am doing, and what general direction I am in… though I also don’t know the maximum distance.” I laughed at that. “In truth, there is quite a lot that I don’t know about how the weave will work… just that it will hopefully keep some part of me close to you—and more importantly than that—keep a piece of the two of you closer to me.”

Elayne’s expression softened immediately, wonder flickering across her features like sunlight through leaves. “A bond… like Lan’s with Moiraine?” She asked quietly, almost reverently. “But changed, without the… coercion?”

Egwene’s eyes narrowed, not in suspicion but in deep thought. “That sort of of connection—it could be dangerous, If something happens to you, would we feel it? Would it…hurt us too?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, and it came out more vulnerable than I meant it to. “That’s why I need to test it carefully—under Moiraine’s guidance, with her watching every thread of it. But the version Mierin gave me… it would force obedience. I changed it. My version doesn’t compel anything. It links, connects, it shares.”

Elayne stepped closer, reaching up to touch my chest, just over my heart. “I think I would like that. Not just to know where you are—but to know you’re alive, truly alive, when I can’t see you.” Her voice caught for a second. “After what happened in Falme, even before I knew you, I don’t think I could stand not knowing that you’re okay.”

Egwene exhaled slowly, her posture still guarded. “I want to say yes. But I want to see it first. I want to understand what it does—and what it might cost.” She looked at me with a raw honesty that made my throat tighten. “Not because I don’t trust you. But because I need to trust it, too. I need to know it won’t twist us into something we don’t mean to become.”

“That’s fair,” I said. “That’s more than fair. If Moiraine approves it, we’ll go through it, every thread of the weave, together, and I’ll never use it unless you both say yes. Not just once, but always.”

Elayne gave me a proud smile. “You’re getting better at this whole not-making-decisions-for-everyone-for-their-own-good thing.”

“Barely,” Egwene muttered, but she smirked as she said it.

I laughed again and pulled them close one more time, giving them each a soft kiss on the forehead. The wind caught our cloaks as the ship cut through the rivers current, drawing us forward—toward Tar Valon, toward uncertain futures, and toward a bond that already existed in truth, even if not yet in the Power. Nevertheless, I knew I would need to go and see Moiraine sooner rather than later. 

Chapter Text

I  didn’t want to wait to start testing the weaves I had learned from Mierin in front of Moiraine. I needed to know if they were safe—if they could be trusted. If nothing else, it would help guide me the next time I saw her in the World of Dreams. Either she truly meant to change and was truly helping me… or she hadn’t turned from her old ways at all—and was trying to use me to endanger the very people I sword to protect.

The anxiety of waiting gnawed at me to the point that I had told Egwene and Elayne I needed to see Moiraine to test the weaves, if only to ease my mind about their use. Not long after we pulled away from port, I moved to below decks, walking with purpose to the room Moiraine had claimed for herself. It was easy to find—Lan was never far from her door unless he was training us, or speaking with the crew about something. This was true on the last ship, and it seemed to hold true here as well. 

I gave Lan a look, hoping he would know what I was there for without me having to speak it aloud. Lan met my gaze with the faintest narrowing of his eyes. That was all—no nod, no word—but I could feel the measure being taken in that silence. Then, without looking away, he stepped aside and rapped once against the door with the back of his knuckles.

“Enter,” came Moiraine’s voice from within—calm and unhurried, as if she had already known I’d be coming. Lan gave me one last look, then resumed his post as I stepped through the door.

The room was sparse, as always. A small writing desk tucked into the corner, a cot barely wide enough for comfort, and a lantern swaying gently with the motion of the ship. Moiraine stood near the desk, her hands clasped behind her back, blue-grey eyes already fixed on me.

“You couldn’t wait,” she said, not accusingly, just a simple observation. 

I closed the door behind me and shook my head. “No. I can’t risk using a weave I don’t understand, and even more so one that could be dangerous. Don’t get me wrong, I learned how to make these weaves as quickly as I could draw on the source when Mierin had me practicing in the Dream World, but I don’t want to risk endangering the people I care about.”

Her gaze didn’t waver, though there was a sense of pride that came into the room. “Good. Then we begin. Please, be seated.”

She gestured to the open floor in the centre of the cabin, where the lantern light pooled in golden ripples. I stepped into the space, breathing deeply, and reached for the Source. Saidin came to me like a flood—fierce, blazing, and barely leashed. It was clean when I touched it, though that was what I had come to expect, and it roared with power. I shaped it carefully, reaching for the first weave Mierin had shown me.

“This one,” I said, letting the threads of spirit and air slip into place, “is meant to protect the soul in Tel’aran’rhiod. She said it anchors you, lets you remain aware, even if the world around you turns against you.”

Moiraine stepped closer, eyes narrowing slightly as she studied the shape of the weave, looking at each strand that I threaded together. She did not interfere, but I could feel her channeling beside me—tracing, measuring, matching what I did thread for thread in the air. We both knew that what I weaved in saidin and what she weaved in saidar were not compatible, but she wanted a copy of the weave she could see more clearly, to study each intricate piece. 

When I completed the weave, she raised a hand. “Hold it, do not move it, and certainly do not allow it to touch you yet.”

I froze it in place, focusing on holding the weave closely to keep it from fading or moving tighter towards me. For a long moment she said nothing, simply studying, walking once in a slow arc around it. 

Then she spoke. “It is not a Tower-taught weave. Not precisely. But I see no sign of corruption. No trap, no residue of Compulsion. The structure is elegant, deliberate… and old.”

I let the weave dissipate, feeling it shimmer in the air before finally wavering. “So it is safe?”

“For now,” she said. “It would be safer still if you continued to practice it, and you may use it on yourself, but don’t try to extend its effects to another yet… unless it is me, I will allow you to test it on me when you are ready.” She took me in, considering her next words. “You made that weave quite adeptly, I can see you are learning well, and quickly at that.”

I nodded. “Thank you, though in the Dream World it seems like time moves slower, it gave me more time to practice each weave… and I believe it will continue to let me learn more weaves in a shorter span.” I stopped for a moment. “I know it can be dangerous to channel too much too quickly… is that a danger to me?”

Moiraine studied me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she stepped back, folding her hands in front of her as if weighing the balance of her answer. “Yes,” she said at last. “It can be. The Power is not only vast—it is seductive. For men especially, that edge between control and madness is thin, even without the taint to drive it. You have already shown remarkable restraint, Alex, but strength alone is not what determines safety. Skill, experience, and a strong sense of self matter just as much, if not more.”

She titled her head, her gaze piercing. “You are learning faster than you should be able to. That could be a gift… or it could be a sign of something deeper. Perhaps the Dream shapes more than time. Or perhaps it is the nature of you—of what you are becoming.” Her words hung in the air like a drawn bowstring. “I don’t say this to frighten you,” she added, more gently. “But even though the taint does not touch you, the Power itself is vast and wild. It will stretch you, and test you. And if you push too far, too fast, even without madness, you could burn yourself out—or worse. I think we will add that control to your lessons, as I am fairly certain that Mierin will not teach it to you.”

“That’s probably wise, Moiraine Sedai,” I said, exhaling slowly. “Mierin doesn’t seem much interested in restraint. If anything, she encourages me to see how far I can go—how much I can shape.” I paused. “She calls it potential. But you’re right. Power without control is just another kind of danger.”

Moiraine nodded once, approving. “Good. You see the line. Now you must learn to walk it, now show me the next weave.”  She moved to the desk, unrolling a piece of parchment and grabbing a quill with some ink. 

I nodded, then turned my focus inward, drawing on the Source once more. The second weave I would show—my modified version of the bonding weave—was etched in my mind, each thread memorized and reworked a dozen times in the Dream, but this was only the second time I would attempt to weave these threads together in the waking world. My hands moved instinctively, guiding the threads of Spirit first, the core of the weave, forming the bridge—not the leash it once had been. 

“This is the one I told you about,” I said, my voice quiet with focus. “Originally, it created a one-way link… a kind of forced loyalty. I took it apart, reworked it, and I think I removed the compulsion. Now it’s meant to connect both ways—or not at all… but I’m not entirely certain.”

I layered in threads of Air and Water next, shaping the lattice that allowed mutual awareness—open-ended and light, without pressure.. Fire came last, only the thinnest thread I could must, moving carefully—just enough to stabilize, to give warmth and endurance, not domination. As the weave took shape, glowing faintly in the space between us, I glanced to Moiraine. She was scribbling down lines and symbols with deft precision, capturing the structure in shorthand I couldn’t cipher. But her eyes flicked up, once, to study the contours of what I was forming.

“Continue,” she said.

I added the final threads—an open flow of Spirit, designed not to pull, but to listen. Like the quiet presence of someone you cared for across a crowded room. No pressure. Just connection.

“I built this so it wouldn’t take anything unless it was given freely,” I said, holding the weave steady. “No command. No instinctive bond forcing one to protect. Just shared awareness, if both sides agree. The power to know ones feelings, how they are, and communicate across distances.”

Moiraine set the quill down, rising silently. She walked toward the weave, then reached out again—not to disrupt it, but to test it, threading her own Spirit lightly against the structure. Her brow furrowed, then lifted, a hint of surprise flashing in her eyes. “This is… different,” she murmured. “Truly different. Not Aes Sedai. Not daemane. Not anything I’ve ever seen before. You weren’t exaggerating.”

She stood still for a long moment, then withdrew her hand and looked directly at me. “You’ve taken something made for domination,” she said, “and turned it into something that honours choice. That is a rare instinct, Alex. Rarer still in one so new to wielding the Power.”

I let the weave dissolve again, the threads drifting away like mist. “So… it’s safe?” I asked, voice tight with quiet hope.

Moiraine tilted her head. “Safe enough to test. If the other party is willing. I will approve it—for now. But will not pretend to understand all its implications yet. This is something… new. And magnificent, if I might add. I can see the basis of the weave, it is similar to weaving a warder bond, but you’ve modified it so entirely such that it won’t control anyone involved,,, at least if I understand it correctly.” 

I nodded, feeling a strange mix of pride and dread curling in my chest. “Thank you,” I said.

She gave a small nod, but then returned to her desk to scribble on her parchment again. “There is one last weave you mentioned that Mierin had shown you?” 

“Yes,” I said, steadying my breath. “It’s the one she called a weave of preservation. It’s not really to heal—not exactly. It’s made to slow the decay of what is covered by it, it halts rot or decay. It can keep food good, I think, and I think if it is put on a weapon, it can stop it from wearing down, it’s like pressing pause.”

Moiraine’s pen stilled again. She looked up, more sharply this time. “Preservation.” She said the word as if it carried a weight older than language. “That is not a weave known to most Aes Sedai. The Brown Ajah speaks of it in theory only. The White Tower does not teach it—not because it is dangerous, but because it was believed lost.”

“It may have been to the Tower,” I said softly. “But it certainly wasn’t to one who was there when it was widely used, not to Mierin.”

She stepped away from the desk again, her features drawn and contemplative. “Show me. Slowly.”

I did. The weave required Spirit and Water in equal measure, a lacing of Air to suspend and still, a thread of Earth to anchor. It used all but Fire—it was not about life or motion, but stillness and stasis. It was a kind of protection, but not the kind one could throw over a battlefield. It was quiet. Patient. A way to preserve a dying breath, a fading memory, a wound that would otherwise fester. I let the weave settle over the bandage that Moiraine placed on the desk, the kind used for healing wounds on the road. I whispered it into being like a prayer, then let go. The bandage shimmered faintly for a heartbeat. Then, nothing.

But Moiraine stepped forward and touched it. She ran her fingers across the fabric, then gave a slight nod. “Stasis,” she murmured. “This would preserve a wound long enough to reach a healer. Or delay the spread of poison. You understand what you’ve made?”

“I think so,” I said. Though I was slightly unsure. “It doesn’t exactly fix anything. But it buys time. It gives the healer a chance against something that they otherwise would no have one.”

Her lips pursed, thoughtful. “This… this could change battlefield healing entirely. If you can refine it, if you can teach it without risking corruption of intent, it may become one of the most important contributions to the Power since the Breaking.”

I blinked. “I just thought it would help… keep someone from dying too fast.”

Moiraine looked at me then, truly looked. “That instinct—to preserve instead of destroy—is rare in one so new to the Power. Hold onto that.” She moved back to her desk, her voice turning again toward purpose. “You’ve given me much to think on, Alex. But now it is my turn.” 

She spread out a different parchment—this one older, marked with angular script and faded lines that crisscrossed like fractures. A map, though not of any land I recognized. “It is time you and Rand both understood the stakes. Power alone will not save this world. Knowledge, wisdom, context—these may serve you more than fire or steel. Go fetch him. It’s time I began your true education.”

———————————————————

I left Moiraine’s cabin with my thoughts turning like leaves in a storm. The door clicked shut behind me, and for a moment I just stood there---quiet, breathing in the scent of salt and tar that hung heavy in the air below decks. The lanterns swayed with the ship’s gentle rocking, casting shadows that danced like memories on the wood panelled walls. It was nice to know now that the weaves I had learned—and created— were at least seemingly safe for the moment.

Lan, still stationed a few paced from the door, raised an eyebrow at me. He said nothing, just gave me a slow, assessing nod—like he’d seen enough to guess what had just passed between Moiraine and me. I thought for a moment about his bond with Moiraine, and how he could feel what her feelings were.

“She didn’t seem disappointed…” I said, quietly.

“She wouldn’t have told you if she were,” he replied, voice low and even. “Just remember—power’s only one side of the sword. Knowing when not to draw it is the other.” He stopped and assessed me for a minute. “And for what it’s worth, I’m impressed with your progress.” 

I gave him a grateful nod, not wanting to ruin the moment he had created between us. He stiffened at that, and then returned to his watch, as if none of what we had said had actually happened. With that, I headed down the narrow corridor.

Rand was supposed to be settling into his cabin. That probably meant pacing it like a trapped wolf, or standing out on the stern of the ship with that brooding hero stare he was getting better at by the day. Either way, he wouldn’t be hard to find. As I climbed the steps back above deck, the midday sun hit me full in the face—sharp, clean, and cold. The wind tugged at my jacket. The others were scattered now: Mat taking to the ship’s cook, probably trying to scam extra rations or trade a knife for a meat pie; Elayne reading something from her satchel near the bow; Egwene with her eyes closed, feeling the wind as if she could read the pattern of it, and Nynaeve staring her down while she did so.

But Rand—Rand was easy. He stood near the aft rail, his back to me, hands clasped behind him. His sword was bolted at his side, and his coat caught the wind like a banner. He looked like a statue—something carved from hope and pressure. “You planning to mope the whole way to Tar Valon?” I said as I stepped up beside him. “That would make for a rather long nine days, don’t you think?”

He didn’t look over right away. “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous habit.”

“Only when Mat does it.”

I grinned. “Moiraine wants to see us, both of us. She’s ready to start our ‘true education,’ as she put it.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning she’s done evaluating the weaves I learned—for now. She wants us to learn something less… explosive. History, politics, tradition and the like.” I gave him a sidelong glance. “You know, the kind of thing that’ll get us killed if we ignore it, given what we have to become.”

Rand groaned softly. “Light. I’d rather go back to sword drills.”

“So would I. But she says power isn’t enough. Not without context. Plus, Lan will still und up training us again in the morning.”

He sighed and finally turned to look at me. “You’re serious about this.”

“I am.”

Rand nodded slowly, eyes narrowing with something that wasn’t quite reluctance anymore. Maybe weariness, maybe understanding. “Alright, let’s get it over with. Lead the way, Lord Flameforged.” 

I snorted. “If you keep calling me that, I’m going to start insisting everyone bow.”

“Only if I also get a throne.”

“Deal.”

We walked together toward the stairwell, towards whatever lesson Moiraine was preparing to deliver. And though the day was still young, I felt the weight of it settling on my shoulder like the memory of battle. Because power might shape the world, but knowledge would decide whether we survived it.

We were halfway down the stairs when I heard footsteps behind us—light, quick, and purposeful. I turned just as Elayne reached the top of the stairwell, the book I had seen her reading still clutched in one hand, her hair catching the sun like a crown spun from gold. 

“Alex—wait,” she called, slightly breathless. “Just a moment.”

Rand gave me a knowing look and kept walking down without comment, leaving us alone at the landing. Elayne didn’t speak at first. She just stood there, the soft rise and fall of the ship making her sway ever so slightly. The book was still open in her hand, her finger marking her place, but her eyes were on me.

“I know you’re going to meet with Moiraine again,” she said softly, glancing toward the corridor below. “For history or politics or whatever she think you’re ready for next… and we’ll talk tonight about how your talk about the weaves went, and I know it all is very important. But I didn’t want you to go without this.”

She held out the book, not quite offering it, more like showing it. The spine was worn, the pages yellowed at the edges. “It’s a volume on the history of the Hundred Years War,” she explained. “My mother made me study it cover to cover when I was twelve. I hated it then. But there’s a chapter in here—about how alliances are formed in the midst of chaos. It’s not just about treaties or lines on maps. It’s about people choosing to trust one another, despite everything. Choosing to believe they can make something better than what was broken.”

I took the book from her gently, careful not to lose her place. “Elayne…”

She stepped closer, voice. Lowering. “You don’t have to read it now. Just… remember that you’re not in this alone. You have people who believe in you. Who choose you. Not because of your power, or your titles, or even your potential. But because of who you are.”

My throat tightened. I wasn’t sure I could speak, so I just nodded.  That was enough for her. She smiled faintly, then leaned in and kissed my cheek—light as a whisper. “Now go,” she said. “Before Rand tries to give Moiraine a lecture on how he’s not actually the Dragon Reborn… or before I decide that I won’t let you go.”

I laughed quietly and tucked the book under my arm. “I’ll see you after.”

“You’d better.”

As I turned and made my way down the stairs. The words she left behind echoed louder than any lecture I was about to face. The fact she accepted me for who I am, even if I was not to become anything more than what I currently am. All that mattered was what we chose to build with it, and with each other. 

Rand was already seated by the time I reached Moiraine’s cabin, slouched just enough to look relaxed—though his eyes betrayed how alert her truly was. Moiraine stood at the far end of the room, arranging maps and old texts across her desk with the meticulous precision of someone about to perform surgery. A chair had been placed for me beside Rand, I suppose we are not to sit on the floor for these lessons. 

“Elayne intercepted me,” I said with a small smile, holding up the worn book. “She insisted I bring some supplemental reading. And I think it is likely she will decide to lecture me on it when I have free time, as well.”

Moiraine barely glanced up. “Good. You’ll need it. Sit”

I obeyed, and the moment I was settled, matching Rand to some extent, her voice shifted into that calm, clipped cadence she used when teaching—each word sharp as a blade and chosen with care. “Tell me,” she began, “what do you know of the Compact of Ten Nations?”

Rand blinked. “It was… an alliance? Formed after the Breaking, I think. A way to maintain order.”

Moiraine arched an eyebrow, unimpressed. “An alliance, yes. But not just a political one. It was a pact of survival, rooted in mutual need. Trade, military aid, cultural preservation—yes—but also the shared memory of what the world had lost. The Breaking shattered more than land. It shattered trust. The Compact was the first attempt to piece it back together.”

She paced slowly as she spoke, hands folding behind her back.

“It lasted over eight hundred year. And when it fell apart, it was not because of armies or Trollocs. It was because of pride, misunderstanding, and fear. The same poisons that run through most every kingdom even now. That same pride,” she said, turning to fix her eyes on Rand, “could destroy the White Tower’s fragile balance.” Then her gaze turned to me. “Or it could tear apart the tentative trust between you and the Dreamwalker who teaches you.”

I swallowed. “You’re saying this isn’t just about history.”

“No, Alex,” she said. “It never is.”

She moved to the map now, gesturing toward a line between Cairhien and Tar Valon.

“You two represent not only power, but potential convergence. Two threads that were never meant to be in the same pattern—perhaps now needed more than ever. But if you do not understand the reasons behind the alliances, behind the wars, behind every whispered betrayal and compromise, then you will walk blindly into them yourselves.”

Rand leaned forward. “So you’re teaching us how to lead.”

“I’m teaching you how not to repeat the mistakes of those who came before,” she corrected. “Leadership is earned in hardship, shaped by who you are. But wisdom? Wisdom must be taught—and remembered.”

She closed the map slowly, the parchment curling beneath her fingers.

“We will continue this each day until we reach Tar Valon,” she said, voice quieter now. “And then, if the Pattern wills it, you will both walk into the storm with eyes open.”

I exchanged a glance with Rand. He didn’t smile, but he didn’t look afraid either. I, on the other hand, felt determined. I was to rule Cairhien, and I would go into it with as much knowledge as I could amass.

Chapter Text

It was starting to get late in the day. The cabin was quiet—just the creak of the wood and the soft rush of the river outside. I was almost sure that Moiraine had used some amount of the one power to speed our trip. After the lesson with Moiraine, my mind felt full to the brim, and not just with the knowledge she had imparted. With weight. With questions. With the quiet terror of what it meant to learn so much so quickly.

I closed the door behind me and sank onto the edge of the bunk. My thoughts drifted—not to the weave of preservation, or the histories Moiraine had just laid bare—but to the two women who had somehow become the gravity I moved around. I thought of Egwene’s sharp clarity, and Elayne’s steadfast heart. How would I learn to navigate all that these two would become—all that I would become alongside them? It all seemed like it was so real, so quickly coming to pass.

A gentle knock at the door broke the silence and pulled me from my thoughts.

“Come in,” I called, and I saw the gentle hand of Elayne opening the door as she passed through. “Elayne?” I asked, surprised as she slipped in, a book still clutched in one hand, the door shutting softly behind her. Her eyes were wide—not with curiosity, but something rawer. Fear, a look which I had not often seen on the face of my beloved daughter of Andor. She lingered just inside the threshold for a moment, as though unsure whether to speak. Then, setting the book aside on a crate near the door, she crossed the room to me in two swift steps, crouching down so she could look me in the eye from my seated position on the bunk.

“I know what I said,” she began, voice barely above a whisper. “Egwene and I agreed. We’d wait, and study the weave with you, and only move forward when we both felt ready.”

I nodded slowly, heart already tightening with the unspoken weight in her tone. I moved to hold her hand, trying to provide some sort of comfort from the turmoil I could already tell she was feeling inside.

“But I can’t pretend anymore.” He hands clenched slightly within my grasp, as if she was trying to hold onto something more concrete. “I saw what happened to you in Falme, Alex. I saw the marks it left. You could have died. You did, almost. And I—“ Her voice broke, just for a moment, and she forced a breath as a tear had welled up in her eye. “I don’t want to wait and find out that I waited too long.” I stood then, instinctively pulling her up with me, but she had already taken a step towards me, placing her hand gently over my chest. “If Moiraine thinks it’s safe—if you’re sure it won’t harm us—I want to do it. I want the bond. Tonight.”

Her eyes locked with mine, vulnerable but firm. “I don’t care that I will go back to being a novice in Tar Valon when we make land fall. I don’t care what the Tower says. I just what to know that if something happens again… if I can’t be there to help you, that I’ll at least feel it. I’ll know. And I’ll be able to find you, to come to you with all the armies I can muster. I’ll bring Andor. I’ll bring the Borderlands. I’ll raise every kingdom that will answer the call. I’ll tear down mountains if I have to, just to find you.”

I couldn’t breathe, I was too stunned by what all she had said. 

I’d stared down the One Power, I’d faced shadows in the sky, the endless cold of a Seanchan collar, and the gaze of a man who claimed to be the Dark One reborn, only to truly discover he was just a Forsaken, nothing more than a man who had sworn himself to the shadow. But none of it had prepared me for this. I hadn’t thought of how much turmoil this could cause for someone who cared for me. 

Nothing could possibly prepare for the way her voice broke. Or the way her hand pressed to my chest, like she was trying to anchor me in place, as if holding me there in that moment to know that I was safe. And especially not the quiet ferocity in her eyes, the kind that didn’t beg—it promised, even though they were filled with tears that were now gently falling and being soaked up into my shirt. I wanted to reach for her, to say yes right away, to give her what she needed. But I froze.

Because Egwene’s face filled my mind too—her laughter, her fire, her quiet strength, and how she had pulled me through the time that I was at my weakest. We’d all agreed to wait. To test the weave. To be sure. But now Elayne was here, heart laid bare, asking me not just to break that promise, but to understand why she needed me to. Because this wasn’t just about magic, or duty, or even love. It was about fear. Her fear.

Of losing me.

Of not knowing. 

Of being helpless while I bled in the dark, like I had before.

And Light hep me… I understood that fear. I’d lived it, too. It was that same fear that saw me break the a’dam to go after Egwene, that made me move to shield Ishamael so he could not hurt anyone on that rooftop. But still, doubt gnawed at me. Would this bond change things? Would it change us? Would it change the fragile balance we’d begun to build between the three of us?

Then her fingers curled against my shirt, just slightly. Her voice returned, barely above a whisper—but no less powerful for it. Her hand didn’t move, but her voice did, quiet as breath.

“I know we agreed,” she said, her tone gentler now, but no less firm. “And I meant it. I meant it when I told Egwene we’d wait, that we’d study it first, that we’d do this the right way.” She swallowed, eyes flicking down to where her fingers still gripped my chest, then up to my eyes. “But I know myself, Alex. And I know that if I let fear make me wait, and something were to happen to you, I’d regret it every single day. Every moment that you’re in danger. Every time you stand in the storm and I’m not there.” 

Her lips trembled but she didn’t step back. “This… this is my way of saying it, even if I’m too much of an Andorran fool to just come out and say it.” A breath of laugh escaped her, soft and pained. “But I love you. Light, I love you.” A silence stretched between us—charged, aching, full of everything we hadn’t said until now. 

Then with all the grace of a queen, and none of the distance, she whispered, “Please. Please my Flameforged hero. Bond me.”

I was stunned, she had just admitted she loved me. The future Queen of Andor—daughter-heir to a throne I had no business even looking at, even if I would some day sit on the Sun Throne—-had just said she loved me. Part of me wanted to believe I had misheard. That the candlelight and the hush of the river had played tricks on my ears. But no—she stood there, trembling and radiant and impossibly fierce, her heartiness her voice, and he hand still resting over mine. 

My thoughts spun. I thought of Falme. Of the cell. Of the a’dam. Of waking up with the taste of blood in my mouth, and of feeling deeply alone. I remembered how when she entered my life, she instantly started to make me feel like I wasn’t alone anymore, and that she would make sure I never was again. The way she had stood at my side before we even knew what we were to one another.

And now she stood here, offering me her trust. Offering me a piece of herself. A bond that would tie us together in a way even the Tower might not understand. She knew what it meant, and yet she still asked. Light, I didn’t deserve her. I didn’t deserve either of them in truth. And yet… I’d be a fool to refuse her.

“Elayne,” I whispered, her name fragile in my throat. “You don’t know what this will mean. Not fully. Not yet. But I promise you—I will never use it to bind you, never to control. Only to protect. Only to hold on if everything else is lost. I swear to you as a warder does to their Aes Sedai, to protect you against all odds.” I brought my hand to hers, threading our fingers together, grounding myself in the warmth of her skin.

“If this is what you want… if this is truly what you choose—then I will. Because I love you too, Elayne.”

She nodded once, breath catching. “I do. I want this.”

I stepped back slightly, giving her a solemn nod as I steadied myself for what was to come. Then I reached for the Source.

Saidin flooded through me like a river set aflame, wild and immense, and I could feel the taint burning away distantly as it always did, leaving only the clarity of Power behind. I held it gently, reverently, and began to weave. Each thread mattered. Each strand bore the weight of more than just the Power—it carried intent, trust, love. I shaped Spirit, the soul of the bond in thick and thin weavings, laying the base like one might craft a ward with their heart instead of hands. Air and Water formed the frame—gentle, alive, flowing without force. I deftly avoided anything that even hinted at compulsion, taking the long way through the knot work rather than risk tying her to me by anything but choice. 

Then came Fire—drawn out in a single, taut line that passed through the centre of the weave. Strength, passion, resolve. And at the very heart, the final thread, a glowing thread of open Spirit: the soul-thread, open, offered, not demanded. I shaped it as Mierin had shown me, but with the changes of my own like I had shown to Moiraine. My heart was in the work. 

The weave hung between us, glowing softly, waiting. I looked up at her—really looked—and held her gaze

“Are you sure you want this?” I asked, voice low, nearly lost to the sound of the river and the creaking of the ship. “Once I connect this thread to your heart, and release the weave, the bond is real.”

Elayne didn’t speak at first. She stood there, still and radiant in the dim lantern-light of my cabin, her chest rising and falling as she watched the weave shimmer between us. The air felt thick, like the world itself was holding its breath, waiting on her word. My heart pounded loud in my ears, not from the strain of channeling, but from the weight of what we were about to share—what we were about to become. 

Then she stepped closer. Just a single step.

Her hand reached for mine, fingers curling around my outstretched palm as she looked up into my eyes. “I’m sure,” she whispered. “More than I’ve ever been about anything. I want this. I want you.”

I nodded once, solemn and slow.

Then I moved.

With the softest thread of Spirit, the one that I had left open, I reached forward—-not with my hand, but with the weave—and placed that final strand, the soul-thread, against the place over her heart. Not her physical heart alone, but the core of her being, where soul met flesh, and where trust made its home. 

The weave settled. 

And then I let it go.

It didn’t snap into place—it sank, like roots finding soil. A pulse of warmth passed through me, a bloom of light within my chest that echoed in hers. I felt her presence—not like seeing, not even like hearing, but knowing. A soft awareness that wrapped around the edges of my mind, like the warmth of her cloak across my shoulder or the scent of her hair on the wind. She was there. Her emotions shimmered faintly in that bond—uncertainty giving way to relief, fear melting into fierce love, and a quiet steady joy beneath it all. It all felt like a bundle at the back of my mind, like a knot with a string that pulled directly to her.

She gasped, blinking back sudden tears, and I felt them—felt them, not as pain, but as something shared. Not taken. Never taken. The bond didn’t bind her—it connected us, bridge and thread, two souls brushing and recognizing each other more fully than any words ever could. It struck me at that moment, I would never need to be alone again, and that I would always have this feeling, this bundle in my mind, that would guide me back to her.

Elayne hadn’t let go of my hand. We stood there like the for another heartbeat—or ten— while the last echoes of the weave faded into us. I could feel her still, not just her hand in mine, but her. Soft impressions flitted through my awareness: a pulse of satisfaction, the golden flicker of hope, a sudden and vivd awareness of me. It made me feel a little dizzy.

She smiled faintly, clearly feeling the same strangeness. 

“Well,” she said at last, her voice a whisper meant for just the two of us. “That’s going to take some getting used to.”

I laughed under my breath. “You’re telling me.”

She squeezed my fingers gently. “We should go join the others for dinner before they start sending Lan after us. Besides, I can feel that you’re hungry.”

“Right,” I said, still trying to gather my thoughts. “Wouldn’t want the others to think we were doing anything scandalous.”

She arched a brow. “Not yet.” 

Her grin was wicked and innocent all at once, and it was only made worse by the flicker of pride I felt through the bond when she said it. My face went hot, and hers did too.

——————————————————

The gentle rock of the ship and the clatter of cutlery were oddly grounding. Everyone had gathered together at a long table below decks—Rand, Egwene, Nynaeve, Lan, Mat, Perrin, Thom, even Moraine seated near the end, quietly picking at her food. Talk was light, mostly about the river route ahead and whether the rains would hit before Tar Valon. But I could feel Elayne beside me, not just near, but there in the edge of my mind, calm but alert.

I tried not to look at her. I really did.

But then she looked up at me from over a bite of honeyed bread, and the thought came unbidden: Light, she’s beautiful. How did I ever deserve her?

Her breath caught slightly, and she turned pink to the roots of her golden hair. 

I blinked. Then realization hit me. “Oh,” I muttered softly, face burning.

She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. She just nudged her foot against mine under the table and gave me a sidelong look—one part amused, one part exasperated, but warm all the same. Her eyes softened and through the bond I felt it: reassurance, not irritation. She wasn’t forgiving me for thinking she was beautiful. That much was welcome. No—she was forgiving me for questioning how I could deserve her in the first place.

I cleared my throat and tried to focus on my plate, but it was too late.

Mat leaned across the table, raising one brow. “You two alright? Or did I miss a whole conversation happening with your eyeballs?”

Perrin gave a low chuckle, chewing through a bite of roast fish. “You missed something, alright.”

“Wasn’t a conversation so much as a… declaration,” Thom said, barely glancing up as he poured himself a measure of something sharp and amber. “Or perhaps a revelation, One with very little subtlety.”

I stared down at my food, not wanting to give away more than I already clearly had. Elayne, to her credit, sat up straighter and fixed her attention on a perfectly innocent piece of cheese, though I could feel her worry in the bond. 

Nynaeve narrowed her eyes. “I don’t suppose either of you want to explain why you,” she gestured with a fork, “suddenly blushed like a girl caught with him,” she then pointed at me with the same fork, “behind the stables?”

That earned a chorus of snickers. Egwene arched an eyebrow, her gaze slipping between Elayne and me. She didn’t look angry, honestly if she looked anything it was amused—and far too knowing. Her lips curved upward in a sly smile, and she set down her cup.

“Well,” she said lightly, “I suppose we do have cabins on this ship.” 

Elayne choked slightly on her water. I coughed into my hand. But Mat leaned back with a grin too wide to be innocent, draping one arm across the back of Perrin’s chair. “Oh Light,” Mat said. “Don’t tell me Egwene’s already claiming the next shift with Lord Flameforged and his royal hammer.”

Elayne turned positively scarlet. “Mat Cauthon!” She hissed, scandalized, slapping his shoulder with her napkin. “You’re the one who ought to be hammered!”

Mat just laughed, completely unrepentant. “What, I’m only saying what everyone else is thinking.” He winked in my direction. “Didn’t figure you for a man with the endurance to keep up with two women, Flameforged. Let alone one with royal expectations.” 

Elayne made a strangled noise somewhere between a gasp and a groan and buried her face in her hands. I could feel her mortification pulsing down the bond like a struck bell. It was almost enough to make me feel bad for her—almost, but then, I was right there in it with her.

Egwene on the other hand, merely raised her cupid mock salute. “Royal expectations, indeed,” she said, her voice syrupy sweet. “I suppose I should look forward to finding out if our Alex lives up to the name of Flameforged.”

That earned a choked sound from Rand, who very nearly inhaled his wine. “Light, Egwene!”

“What?” She said innocently, but her eyes sparkled like mischief bottled in brown. “He’s my bonded shade of my heart. I’m allowed to flirt with him.”

Perrin looked helplessly between us, clearly unsure whether to laugh or crawl under the table. “I miss when things were simpler,” he muttered, cutting into his fish with unnecessary force.

“Like when Trollocs were trying to kill us?” Thom said dryly, sipping from his glass. “At least they didn’t talk so much.”

Nynaeve rolled her eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn’t stick. “You’re all impossible,” she grumbled, but she didn’t get up, and the twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her amusement. “Mat, if I hear one more innuendo about Alex’s… hammer, I swear I will braid your tongue.”

“I’m just saying—“ Mat began but Lan reached across the table and casually set a hand on Mat’s shoulder.

“No,” the Warder said, flat as a drawn blade.

Mat blinked. “Right. Shutting up now.”

For a moment, blessed quiet returned to the table—just long enough for Elayne to peek out from behind her hands. She gave me a sidelong glance, cheeks still pink, but the look in her eyes was warm. She didn’t need to say anything. I felt it all through the bond: embarrassment, yes, but also a kind of giddy joy, like she didn’t regret a second of it. I met her gaze and smiled, feeling it all wash through me in return. For all the awkwardness, the teasing, the chaos… this moment felt real with us.

The teasing settled just enough for Thom to lean forward, fingers drumming lightly on the table. “Alright, Alex, since you’re so good at keeping secrets, and it’s clear, to me at least, that the two of you didn’t do what Mat seems to think you did. So what really happened back there? You two look like you just walked out of a scandalous storybook. Elayne rarely blushed, and I’ve never seen you look so… caught, Alex.”

I cleared my throat, the heat creeping up my neck again. “Nothing scandalous,” I said quickly. “Just a conversation. That’s all.”

Mat gave a disbelieving scoff. “Light, if that’s how you talk, remind me never to get caught in a ‘conversation’ with you. You looked like you were about to burst into flames.”

Elayne straightened her back and lifted her chin in that stubbornly regal way of hers. “It was private.”

“Which,” Nynaeve said, eyes narrowed, “only makes it more suspicious.” She waved her for between us. “You’re both flushed, fidgeting, and you haven’t looked each other in the eyes more than once since sitting down.”

Lan glanced between us but said nothing. His gaze lingered a moment on Elayne, then on me, and I had the distinct impression he already knew—or at least suspected—more than he was letting on. Light, odds are he already knew about the whole bond. He was a sharp man, and he was experienced in something similar. 

Rand offered a small smile from across the table. “Whatever it was, I think we can trust it’s personal. And that it matters.”

“Spoken like a man who knows something,” Mat said, squinting at him. “And when Rand starts being cryptic, you know we’ve entered dangerous territory.”

“I’m not being cryptic,” Rand said quickly, raising his hands. “I’m just saying it not our business unless they want to share it.”

Egwene gave Elayne a sidelong glance, her expression unreadable for a breath. Then her lips curved into a smile. “If Elayne wants to speak for herself, she will.”

There was a pause. I felt Elayne’s hesitation through the bond, like a faint quiver in my chest. She inhaled slowly and said, “It was… a promise. One I wanted made before it was too late. Before I risked losing him… seeing him trapped like he was in Falme.” I looked at her then—really looked—and the table went quiet. She didn’t look away. “That’s all I’m saying. The rest is between us.”

Mat opened his mouth, clearly ready to fire off something else, but Perrin elbowed him just enough to cut him off.

Thom nodded, smiling his drink again. “Well. Sometimes the private moments are the most powerful.”

Lan offered a faint approving nod. “As long as it was a choice freely made.”

“It was,” Elayne said firmly. “All of it.” She then reached across the table and took my hand, giving it a squeeze as I heard it echo through the bond; I love you.

No one spoke for a moment. Then Mat, unable to resist, raised his cup. “To choices. And to being mysterious enough to drive the rest of us mad with curiosity.”

Laughter bubbled up around the table again, and I finally let myself smile. The tension began to dissolve, replaced my warmth, and even a sense of something settled. We’d made it through the worst of the teasing—for now. But Light knew I would need to explain to Egwene what this all meant, and why exactly I had agreed to use the weave on Elayne when we had all agreed that we would only ever use the weave after we all studied its every last aspect. But for now, I allowed myself to enjoy the moment of camaraderie, and the feeling of being surrounded by friends.

Chapter Text

After we finished the, rather awkward dinner, it was time to start moving to handle the aftershocks of those who knew about the bond, and those who had likely suspicions. I decided it best to start with Lan, his cool demeanour and knowledge of what the bond—or at least a version of the bond— feels like may come in handy when trying to explain it to others.

I inclined my head to him as I left the dinner, hoping he would understand the meaning that I wished to speak with him. I waited for him to move to somewhere secluded, and then followed suit when I thought it unlikely anyone would follow. He had chosen to wait just outside the lantern-lit stern deck, near the railing, where he gazed out across the moonlit water. The breeze stirred his cloak, the colours still somewhat nauseating if they were to be focused on for an extended period of time, yet his presence was as steady as stone. He didn’t turn when I approached, but I could tell he’d already marked my footsteps.

“You bonded her,” Lan said flatly, before I could even get any words out.

I blinked hard, stopping beside him, though I chose to lean against the railing he had been looking over, facing opposite to him such that I could see anyone coming, where I knew he would simply hear it. “Is it that obvious?”

“To me?” He turned to face me, opening his posture, though his eyes narrowed slightly. “Yes. And likely to Moiraine, of course. But the others… those who have some knowledge of it will suspect things, especially the women. Nynaeve most of all, she probably could even have felt you channeling the weave, though she may not know what it was.”

That added another layer of complication, Nynaeve was attentive at the best of times, and out right aggressively defensive at the worst.

I rubbed the back of my next, feeling the weight of it again—not the bond itself, which shimmered at the edge of my awareness like a golden thread tied gently to my soul—but the implications of it. “She asked me. Tonight. She didn’t want to wait anymore. She was so worried about losing me, about me getting hurt again… Light, with that look in her eyes I couldn’t say no.”

“She’s young,” Lan said, not unkindly. “It makes her rash, but that doesn’t mean she’s wrong.”

I stood beside Lan for a few quiet moments, listening to the water lap gently against the hull, feeling the night settle around us like a cool shroud. The bond still shimmered at the edge of my mind—Elayne wasn’t focused on me, but I could feel her in the distance, steady, curious, alive and healthy. It was… strange. Comforting, yes. But strange none the less.

“Lan,” I said quietly, does it ever… fade? The presence?”

He was silent for a moment, then gave a small shake of his head. “It changes. The intensity shifts. But it doesn’t fade. You will always feel her, even if she’s far from you. Sometimes it will feel like hearing a whisper through fog. Other times, like she’s standing inside your skin.”

That sent a small shiver through me. “I didn’t think it would feel like this. It’s not overwhelming, but it’s… intimate in a way nothing else is. Like the feeling of pure vulnerability… yet also a sureness I have never felt.”

“That’s the bond,” Lan said. “It’s not just a tether. It’s a window. You may find yourself seeing more than you mean to. And feeling more than you want to.”

I exhaled. “And yet, she asked me for it. Tonight. That is why we looked so… odd at dinner.” I considered adding how we had professed that we loved each other… but that could wait for another time.

Lan turned to glance at me, waiting, knowing I would say more.

“I did it myself, and I know, I likely should have waited but… I just couldn’t let her go through any more of it, any more worrying.”

Lan gave a quiet grunt then, not in surprise this time, but in confirmation. “So you did it with saidin alone.”

I nodded. “Elayne never touched the Source. I made the weave myself. Modified the old one Mierin showed me. I was sure to  show the modifications to Moiraine earlier today, to make sure it was safe. Though I hadn’t intended to use it so soon.”

“Modified,” Lan echoed, his gaze returning to the water. “That would explain the difference I felt. It doesn’t carry the same pull I’ve sensed in other bonds. There’s no hierarchy in it. No command.”

“That was the point,” I said. “I wasn’t going to bind her to obey me, or to lay her life down to protect mine. I love her, Lan. I want her at my side, not beneath my will.”

Lan inclined his head at that, the faintest nod of approval, and a slight grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Then you chose well, Smith. And wisely. Not all men in your position would have made the distinction.”

We stood in silence for a moment. The bond hummed faintly at the edge of my awareness, like a warm thread spun from light and breath. Elayne was calm, but not asleep—her mind a touch restless, though not troubled. I could tell she was roughly in my cabin, likely waiting for me to come back before she deemed it time to go to sleep.

“I wasn’t sure it would work,” I admitted. “I could feel the corruption around the old weave. Even the memory of it—it made me sick. But when I shaped the threads myself, when I kept it close, the taint burned away like it always does. As if it had no right to linger near me.”

“It doesn’t,” Lan said quietly. “Whatever it is that’s inside you—Flameforged by the Pattern or something else. It burns clean. You seem to be the key to sparing others the madness. Rand believes it. Moiraine believes it. Elayne and Egwene both stake their hearts on you staying sane. And I believe in you too.”

That landed heavier than I expected. “It’s not just that she believed in me… Elayne, that is. It’s that… she wanted to share it. The bond. Everything it means. Even if it frightened her.”

“She’s strong,” Lan said simply. “And she chose you with open eyes. Now it’s your responsibility not to blind her to what she’s stepped into.”

I exhaled, then glanced at him. “Is it possible to shield her from parts of the bond? Not to shut her out—Light, never that—but… sometimes I don’t want her to feel it all. Fear. Pain. And I know there will be more of that in the days ahead.”

Lan was quiet for a moment, then nodded once. “It’s possible. With training. You can learn to mask your end of the bond—dull it, even make yourself vanish from her senses entirely. But be warned: she’ll notice. Especially early on. If you don’t explain why… she’ll think she did something wrong. Or worse, that you regret having formed the bond to begin with.”

“I don’t. Not for a second.”

“Then tell her that. Every time you mask it, tell her why. Because one day, the fight might be too hard, too fast—and you won’t have time to explain.”

“I’ll practice it. Quietly. I’ll let her know when I’m ready.”

Land placed a hand briefly on my shoulder. “Good. You have the strength for it. Just don’t forget—strength means very little without understanding. Nd understanding, without honesty, can turn into fear.”

I looked out across the river, the moonlight catching on the ripples like silver fire. “Then I’ll be honest. With her, and the others. Nynaeve will be the hardest, though I don’t look forward to explaining to Egwene why I bonded Elayne early when the three of us had agreed to wait.”

“Nynaeve usually is,” Lan said with a faint, almost fond sigh. “But she’ll respect the truth. Eventually.”

“Eventually,” I muttered. “Here’s hoping it’s before she throws me overboard.” I stopped for a moment. “Thank you, Lan. For everything. I know I need to go and talk to the others. But this certainly went more easily than I expected it to. Do you have any tips on who I should talk to next? How I should approach them?”

Lan stood there, considering for a moment. “I’d start with Nynaeve,” he said. “If you keep dancing around talking to people and avoiding her, she’ll think it is some conspiracy. Make her reaction worse. Then I’d have the conversation with the other woman who you’ve already given your heart to. She deserves an explanation. From there, Moiraine and Rand are likely to be easy discussions, Moiraine will be more interested in the mechanics of your weave and what you’re feeling than why you did it, and Rand already looks at you like a brother he’d follow through any battlefield.”

“I guess I’m off to find Nynaeve then.” I tried not to sound too reluctant at that.

Lan gave me a short nod and turned back toward the dark water, clearly sensing I needed no more words. He was like that—sharp as a blade in a fight, but patient when it mattered most. I left him at the rail and made my way belowdecks, my boots whispering against the worn wood. The gentle creak of the ship and the distant hum of conversation did little to settle the nervous flutter building in my chest. I wasn’t afraid of Nynaeve exactly… but then again, anyone with a brain knew to tread lightly around her. 

I found her in the corner of the common cabin, seated at a small table with a flickering lantern and a half-filled cup of tea. Her braid twitched once she saw me, like a cat’s tail flicking in warning. She didn’t say anything at first—just narrowed her eyes and motioned to the empty seat across from her.

I sat.

“Well?” She said, not even bothering with a greeting. “Are you going to tel me what happened with Elayne, or should I start guessing aloud in front of everyone like Mat so beautifully did at dinner?”

Straight to it then.

I took a breath and steeled my nerves, taking advantage of the bond to seek comfort in the warm glow I could feel coming from Elayne. “We bonded. Tonight. She asked, and I agreed.”

Nynaeve’s nostrils flared slightly. She set her teacup down with deliberate care. “You bonded her. Using saidin.”

“Yes,” I said carefully, though she already looked to be steaming already. “It wasn’t the same weave that Moiraine used on Lan, or any sister in the Tower uses on their warder for that matter. I—modified it. There’s no hierarchy, no command structure, no instinct to lay down her life for mine. It’s equal.”

“And she agreed?” Her eyes searched mine like she was hunting for the smallest crack. 

“She did. Fully and freely. She asked me for it, and I made sure multiple times before connecting the weave to her. It’s not… a domination. I wouldn’t have done it otherwise.”

Nynaeve leaned back, crossing her arms. “Light, you’re both fools,” she muttered. “But at least you’re honest fools.” A pause, then: “I felt the moment you channeled it. I didn’t know what it was, not exactly, but it made the hair on my neck stand up. I thought maybe Moiraine was weaving something dangerous.”

“She knows, well, she knew that I would be using the weave eventually. So does Lan, I just finished my conversation with him before coming to see you. Egwene… Egwene is the next conversation I need to have.” I hesitated. “We agreed to wait, all three of us, but Elayne—she was afraid. Afraid of losing me… afraid I might be trapped again, like I was in Falme.”

Nynaeve’s expression softened, just a touch. “I was there, remember? I saw the results of what they had done to you.” Her voice dipped, anger threading through it. “I understand the fear.”

“I didn’t want to break my word to Egwene,” I said. “But in that moment… I couldn’t say no. I didn’t want to. I love her, Nynaeve. Elayne and I… we both admitted it to each other, before the weave was ever put on.”

Silence stretched between us for a breath. Then she huffed and stood abruptly, pointing a finger in my face. “You’d better tell Egwene yourself before I do,” she said. “And you’d better have a damn good apology ready. Because Light help you, Alex Dorevain, if either of them gets hurt because of you…”

“I won’t let them,” I said, rising to meet her gaze, though I was quite a bit taller than she was. “Not now. Not ever.”

She studied me for a long moment, then gave a small nod. “Good. Because if you do, I’ll toss you overboard myself, even if you are some lord.” And with that, she turned and walked away, braid swinging like a battle flag.

That went better than I had expected. I thought, even though it couldn’t be said that it had gone perfectly, but I had expected her to be throwing me overboard before I could even get the words fully out of my mouth. Now, was time for the hardest of the conversations, to talk to the other woman I had bound to my heart, but was yet to bind with the weave… Egwene al’Vere. 

I waited until Nynaeve’s footsteps had faded down the corridor before turning toward the cabins. The ship creaked gently beneath my boots, and for a long moment I just stood there, hand on the latch, trying to summon words that didn’t feel like betrayal. I had broken no oath. I had lied to no one. And yet… my heart felt as if it hung suspended between two stars, both blinding and impossible to hold at once. 

I knocked once. The sound echoed lightly through the wooden door.

“Come in,” Egwene’s voice called.

She was seated by the narrow window, moonlight painting her in silver. A book rested open in her lap, unread, and she closed it gently as I stepped inside. Her eyes met mine at once—clear, calm, unreadable. That alone unsettled me more than anything else might have.

“I take it you’ve spoken with Lan,” she said, not unkindly.

“I have. And Nyynaeve,” I added, watching for her reaction.

One brow rose. “And I’m the last?” Her tone was cool, not cold. Controlled.

“No, not by far. But you are the most important.”

That softened something around her mouth, just barely. She stood, closing the distance between us, folding her arms in front of her chest, and in that moment I felt ever so small under her gaze. “You bonded her.”

I nodded. “Yes.”

Silence. Then: “We agreed that we would wait. That all three of us would talk, together. That we would analyze and understand the weave before you would use it.”

“I know.” My voice was hoarse. “And I meant it. But… she asked. Tonight. Before dinner. She was afraid—of losing me, of not being able to protect me the next time I am in danger. That I would not be able to be found. And after everything we’ve all been through, I couldn’t—Light, Egwene, I didn’t want to say no. I love her.”

She looked down, away, breathing slowly through her nose. “Do you love me, Alex?”

I reached out, not to touch, just to be closer. “Yes. I have never lied to you about that, and I will never. I love you both. And I do, truly, love you Egwene.”

That brought her eyes back to mine, fierce and bright and hating all at once. “Then why not come to me first? Why not ask if I was read too?”

“Because I promised I wouldn’t rush you,” I said quietly. “And I meant that, Egwene. Elayne needed something now. You didn’t. Or… not in the same way. I wasn’t going to push you just to soothe my guilt.”

She was quiet again, but this time her posture softened. “And you haven’t made the same weave for me that you used on her?”

I blinked. “No. I haven’t… we haven’t bonded yet, Egwene. Not like that, at least.”

A long breath. “Good. Because when we do, I want to be awake and certain. I want to be present. And I want to know it was never just about fear.”

“It never was,” I said, stepping closer. “It’s about love. And trust. And choosing each other. If you still want that… If you can still love me.”

Egwene studied me for a moment, then smiled—faint and tired, but real. “You’re still a fool,” she said, “but you’re my fool. And a fool that I love, at that. Now come sit down before Nynaeve bursts in here and starts swinging.”

I exhaled a breath I hadn’t known I was holding and moved to sit next to her on the bunk, pulling me closer and kissing me gently—like a promise not yet made, but waiting. Her lips lingered against mine, soft and searching, and for a breath we just stayed there—suspended between heartbeats. When she pulled back, her forehead rested against mine, her fingers curling loosely into the front of my shirt.

“I hate that you make me feel so much,” she murmured, eyes still closed. “It’s maddening.”

I smiled gently, brushing a thumb across her cheek. “Then we’re both mad. Because you undo me every time you look at me like that.”

She opened her eyes, and I saw the storm in them—not anger anymore, but something deeper. Longing. Vulnerability, and most of all, Love. Her hand slid up, cupping the side of my face, thumb brushing the line of my jaw. “If we do this… there’s no turning away later. You understand that, right?”

“I don’t want to turn away,” I said, voice barely above a whisper. “I want to walk forward with you. Always.” That was all the answer she seemed to need. Her kiss came harder this time, fiercer—not desperate, but deliberate. Like she’d been holding back too long and decided not to anymore. I returned it with equal fire, one hand at her back, the other tangling in the fall of her hair.

We sank together onto the narrow cot, lips never parting, breath coming fast. Her finger found their way beneath my shirt, warm against my skin, and I shivered—not from the temperature, but from the way she touched me. Like she knew I was hers… like she was claiming me as hers.

“I still want to wait,” she said, breaking the kiss just long enough to whisper it. “Not for the bond… but for everything else. Just a little longer.”

My hand came to rest gently over hers. “Then we wait,” I said, my voice thick with restraint and promise. “As long as you need.”

Her smile was small but sure. “Good.”

We lay there, wrapped around each other, breathing in the quiet. For now, this was enough—her warmth beside me, her fingers threaded with mine, and the steady rhythm of our hearts beginning to beat as one. She rested her head lightly against my shoulder, the silence between us soft and full, not strained like before. I felt her breath rise and fall, measured, calm. But there was something in her stillness—an anticipation that hadn’t quite settled.

Her voice came quiet. “You said it was different, the weave you made for Elayne.”

“It is,” I replied. “Gentler, the bonder and the bonded are equal. It is built for love, not control.”

She lifted her head and looked at me then, eyes searching mine with a quiet purpose. “Will you show me?”

I blinked, startled. “Now?”

Egwene nodded once. “I want to see what you made. I want to feel it take shape. Not because I’m afraid, or rushing… but because I’m choosing it. Choosing you.”

The words struck deeper than anything else had that night. My throat tightened. “I can show you,” I said softly. “We can enter a circle. That way you’ll see every thread as I lay it.”

She reached out and took my hands, threading her fingers through mine. “Then let’s do it. I want to feel everything.”

We sat cross-legged on the bunk, facing each other, knees brushing. I opened myself to saidin—sweet and cold and fierce as ever— but always within reach, never threatening. She opened to saidar, more smoothly than I could have imagined, her light a radiant counterbalance to my fire. The circle formed easily between us, not bound by rank or control, just trust. I took the lead as we had agreed, weaving slowly so she could follow.

Deliberately, I began spinning threads of Spirit first, alternating between thick and thin weaves, before adding Air and Water to surround them, binding them closely. Then A trickle of Fire with delicate precision, weaving it together into a framework that mirrored the traditional Warder bond—but gentled it. There was no compulsion or command. Each thread laid gently over the next, a lattice of connection built not to dominate but to cradle.

Egwene mirrored me, matching each motion, her weaves trailing just a breath behind mine. I could feel her focus, the intensity of her concentration, and the way her emotions bled into the circle—curiosity, courage, affection. I slowed further to let her fully absorb it all.

When the weave was nearly finished, the lick of Fire pulled taught, and the last open strand of Spirit woven, ready to reach out, I paused. “This is the moment,” I whispered. “When I connected it to Elayne, I laid it gently over her heart. I didn’t force it. Just… offered it.”

Her eyes shimmered in the low light. “Then do the same for me.”

And so I reached forward—not with my hands, but with the last thread of Spirit. Carefully, reverently, I extended that final thread toward her core, her spirit, her being. And I felt her reach back—not physically, not even with saidar, but with her soul. The bond caught like the first light of dawn breaking over still water. Clean, quiet, and whole.

Suddenly I could feel her—not her thoughts, but her essence. Steady. Burning bright. It was not a copy of Elayne’s bond, it was unique. Warm where Elayne’s had felt crystalline, and rooted where hers soared. Egwene. The bundle formed at the back of my mind, feeling as though it sat next to the one belonging to Elayne. Tears began to prickle my eyes, and I saw them in hers too.

She smiled through them. “Now I understand.”

I nodded, voice too full to speak. The weave settled between us, and with it, a deeper silence. Not the absence of words, but a shared knowing. We sat there, hands still linked, though the circle had dissolved. The bond hummed between us like a golden string, strung tight with promise. Egwene leaned in and kissed me once more. “I love you, Alex Dorevain.” She said it as if it were a vow to me, strengthening the bond that we had now formed between us.

“I love you too, Egwene al’Vere.” 

We sat there for awhile longer, savouring the warm silence between us before deciding it was time to part for the night. Egwene and Elayne had apparently agreed to alternate sharing a bunk with me, and tonight, Egwene intended to honour that arrangement. So I rose, brushing a final kiss to her knuckles before quietly slipping back to my cabin.

Elayne was already half asleep, curled beneath the blanket, golden hair spread across the pillow, I settled beside her and kissed her gently on the cheek, not wanting to disturb her. She hummed in soft satisfaction at my presence, the bond between us flickering with drowsy warmth. I smiled, my heart full. 

Sleep took me easily, knowing that tomorrow would bring more training with Lan, lessons with Moiraine, and that even in closing my eyes now I was destined for another night of training with Mierin in the Dream World. But even that would be different now—tempered by the presence of the two women I loved, their light bound into mine.

Chapter Text

Sleep took me gently, like a boat slipping into still waters, and when I opened my eyes, I stood once more within the training space Mierin had shaped for us in the Dream World. Awareness bloomed slowly, like a sunrise—colours sharpening, edges becoming more defined. The stone under my feet was warm, the air crisp and perfectly still. Though I was dreaming, I could still feel the bonds—two points of warmth at the back of my mind, like stars caught in an orbit. Egwene and Elayne. Their presence was quieter here, more distant, like voices heard from behind a veil. Elayne, I knew, was sleeping beside me in the waking world. But here, in this realm of dream and thought, even closeness felt far away.

A shimmer rippled across the space, and Mierin appeared as if stepping from a sheet of still water. As always, her presence was striking. She wore white again—soft, flowing robes that caught the imagined sunlight, her long dark hair gleaming like ink. She needed no ornament or herald. She simply was, radiating a calm power that made the air feel charged.

“I can feel that congratulations are in order,” she said, her voice smooth and amused. “Your weave—it worked. That is no small feat, Alex, even for a channeller with decades of practice, let alone one still learning to shape fire and thought with his fingers.”

I dipped my head, more out of instinct than courtesy. “Thank you, Mierin. I wasn’t sure if it would work, not until it touched her heart.”

“And yet it did.” Her dark eyes scanned me, not unkindly, but with that same razor-edged curiosity she always carried. “Tell me what you felt. Not just the power, I know the power. The bond.”

I hesitated for only a moment before speaking. “Both of them were… different. Elayne’s and Egwene’s, I mean. Elayne’s bond was crystalline—sharp, clear, soaring. Where Egwene’s… it’s like sunlight through soil. Deep, and steady.”

Mierin smiled faintly, almost wistfully. “So it is true, then. As I had suspected, the weave you’ve made isn’t a singular shape applied to different people. It is fluid, it changes, it reflects the person who it is bound to.”

I blinked. “You sound almost surprised.”

“I am,” she admitted, turning away to study the distant horizon she had imagined for this place. “Warder bonds have been… utilitarian for centuries. Functional, efficient, cold in their way. Yours, though—yours are alive. Responsive. They adapt to the one receiving them, not only the one casting them. It sounds almost… nice.”

She turned back to me, something sharper entering her voice. “Do you realize what that means?”

I nodded slowly. “That it’s not about control. Or dominance. It’s… connection. Equal and willing.”

Mierin tilted her head. “And if someone unwilling were forced into such a bond?”

That question chilled me to the bone, but it was one that I had asked myself before Elayne had asked me to place the bond on her. “I’d never do that.”

“I believe you,” she said softly. “But not everyone would show such restraint. Already I can see how a Forsaken might look at your work and wonder how to twist it.”

I straightened, unsettled. “Is that why you brought me here tonight? To warn me?”

“In part.” She stepped closer, expression unreadable. “And in part to tell you I won’t be visiting again for quite a few nights.”

That caught me off guard. “Why not?”

“There are some things that I cannot share now, even to you.” Mierin straightened slightly, I could see that she was tense in that moment. “There are things unseen by those who think themselves clever, and dangerous if left to fester. I trust you to practice what I’ve taught you in the meantime. Strengthen what you’ve built. Experiment, and understand what you’ve changed. Most importantly, protect yourself here, in the World of Dreams. I taught you a weave to do so, and you should use it.”

I nodded. “And if something happens? If you need me, or I need you?”

Her lips curved into a knowing smiles. “You’ll feel it. Though, it’s nice to know that you are already so protective of me, Alex. The Dream World has its own current. You’re learning to swim with it.”

She stepped toward me again, her expression shifting—more serious now, something tightly coiled behind her eyes. “There’s another reason I came tonight.”

I stilled. “What is it?”

Her gaze flicked toward the false horizon, the dream painting of serenity beyond the training ground’s edge. “Not all of the Forsaken are idle. One of them has taken an interest in your group’s movements. They haven’t narrowed your location yet, but the ship you’re on is… distinct. If they find it, you had best believe they will strike in some form before you reach Tar Valon.”

A shiver crept up my spine. “Who?”

“I don’t know yet,” she said, and for the first time, there was frustration ringing in her voice, a crack in her graceful demeanour. “But I suspect Moghedien, or perhaps Graendal. Either would see you as a threat if they learned what you can do. You’re something they don’t understand. And that makes you dangerous to them, and tempting. They would want to turn you, or if they can’t, to destroy you.”

I swallowed. “Then what should I do?”

“You will defend yourself,” she said, stepping back into the centre of the dreamscape. “And your bonded. And Rand, carrying Lews’ echo. Come.”

With a sweep of her hand, the world shifted. The tiled stone beneath our feet became dark and rippling, like onyx veined with silver. Around us, small structures rose—pillars, walls, a moving target dummy formed of threadbare robes and dream-wrought metal.

“Show me what you can do with the power at current to defend yourself.”

I obeyed, weaving a barrier of Air, then layering it with Fire to create a heat-blur shield, then reshaped the weaves to form spikes on the outside, pressing in on the target. I tried a slicing weave of Spirit for offence, though it was clumsier than I liked. 

Mierin watched, unimpressed. “Crude. Predictable. You think too much in lines and shapes. Defend with feeling.”

She didn’t wait—she struck with a whip of Fire and Earth, lashing it toward me without warning. I threw up a wall of Air and felt it shudder under the blow, heat searing across my arm even in the Dream. “Again.”

She began to teach and I listened. Defensive nets made of woven Spirit and Water, like soft spider-silk that dissolved weaves before they struck. Reflective shields that not only blocked but redirected weaves back at their caster. One technique even disguised the channeling itself, muffling the resonance of saidin so it wouldn’t be easily tracked by another channeller. That one she made me repeat until I could shape it without thought. 

“These will not make you untouchable,” she said eventually, circling me as I wove. “But they will give you a chance. If the strike comes, you must protect not only yourself, but the others. You are Flameforged—your strength is your gift. But your mind must be your shield. You burn the taint, but you must not let the Forsaken get close enough to see it. If they get close to you, you stop channeling, you use your swords, and you allow Moiraine to defend you from the True Source that they will throw at you.”

I nodded, breathless from the effort of weaving so much, so quickly.

She slowed, her voice softening again. “I won’t return for a few nights. Use that time to master what I’ve shown you. Practice in the waking world. You’ll find you can remember the threads, even without me guiding your hands.”

I nodded once more. “And if the attack comes before then?”

“Then you do what you must,” she said, stepping back. “And remember what I’ve taught you.”

Her form began to blur, like smoke in sunlight. But before she faded entirely, her voice reached me one last time: “Light guide you, Alex Dorevain. And may the Dream shelter you, should the waking world fail.” Then she was gone, leaving only silence and the faint echo of burning threads in the air. 

I stood there for a long moment, listening to the stillness. Yet the training space did not dissolve. The pillars, the strange onyx-veined floor, the shapes of the world Mierin had shaped—it all remained, as though it had rooted itself to me rather than her. Whether it was a gift or a side effect of her presence, I didn’t know. But I welcomed it. 

I returned to the centre of the space, steadied myself, and began to practice. First the defensive weaves she had shown me—again and again until they came fluid and fast. Then I began to experiment, turning saidin through the forms she’d left me, twisting them into offensive patterns of my own: thread of Fire shaped like whips or spears; Air compressed and sharpened like blades; Spirit spun fine as a needle to pierce rather than burn. Each attempt took effort. Each success felt like a step toward something sharper. Stronger. I didn’t know if I would be ready in time. But I would be ready enough.

———————————————————

I woke sharply, the feel of the Dream still clinging faintly to my skin, like mist before dawn. Lan stood over the cot where I lay curled beside Elayne, his face calm, his finger raised to his lips in silent instruction. I didn’t need the reminder, I knew the drill from when were on the ship from Falme to Cairhien. 

Carefully, I disentangled myself from Elayne’s embrace, gently lowering her arm and adjusting the blanket to keep her warm. She murmured something soft and unintelligible but didn’t wake. For a moment, I allowed myself the quiet comfort of watching her sleep—her golden hair fanned across the pillow, her bond humming steady with dreaming peace. Then I rose, dressed swiftly in my training clothes, and left the cabin to follow Lan toward the top deck. The air was cool and still, the faintest touch of pre-dawn silver on the horizon. It was time for swords and physical training, while the dream I had awoken from had been training in the One Power, sharpening myself into as fine a weapon as I could be in both senses. 

“Smith,” Lan said, his voice clipped with command, the way it always was in these morning drills. “I want you to embrace the source. Let it fill you—but do not use it against me. Not yet. I want to see if you can hold saidin while you fight. One day soon, you may have no choice.” 

The was something in his tone—subtle, but unmistakable. A warning wrapped in certainty. It felt like he knew more than he should. As if he had glimpsed something of the Dream. As if he, too, had seen the shadow moving toward us. I nodded once, letting saidin surge into me. Cold fire and endless light, and then I drew my blades. With that full charge, the shock to my muscles and body, and the weight of my sword, I stepped forward into the dance. 

At first it was chaos.

Saiding flooded me like a river set loose from a dam—cold, bright, terrible in its vastness. Every sense sharpened. I could feel the grain of the deck beneath my boots, the faint salty tang in the morning air, the subtle shift of the ship beneath the sky. Even the heartbeat of the world felt clearer. But the moment I moved, everything twisted. 

Lan came at me like a falling axe.

I barely brought my swords up in time, steel ringing against steel. The impact jolted through my arms, and the flow of saidin bucked in my grip. Not losing it—never losing it—but it surged, wild and unwieldy, almost begging to be set free, and I stumbled. 

“Too much,” Lan said calmly, already circling. “You’re holding it like a hammer. You need to make it like a thread through a needle. Try again.”

I adjusted my stance. Centred myself. Drew in another breath and tried to ride the Power, not control it. This time, I moved more fluidly—but still, every strike I made was a fraction too slow, or a hair too wide. Lan didn’t need to say anything; his blade spoke for him, tapping me on the ribs, the shoulder, the back of the thigh. He could have gutted me a dozen times. 

Again and again we circled. I let go of the need to be perfect. I listened—not to him, but to the balance between my breath and the weave of the Power in me. Slowly, the fire inside me began to flow in time with the movement of my body, like heat folded into steel. 

This time, when Lan struck, I met him clean, his movements seeming slower, easier to anticipate. The blades clashed and held. 

“Better,” he said, the faintest flicker of approval in his eyes. “Now you’re fighting with saidin, not against it.” We moved again—faster now. The dance resumed, but this time I was able to keep up with his pace, and even began to push it. It felt like the flow I’d touched once before, during that last sparring match when I had managed to slip through his guard, however unclean the blow was. But this time, it wasn’t instinct or luck carrying me. It was control, intention.

Every clash of steel rang like a heartbeat, sharp and sure. Lan’s footwork stayed crisp, his blade precise—but there was something new in his stance. Strain, focus, as though he was having to work to keep up. Or hadn’t expected me to rise this high, this fast.

Then it happened.

I found the opening—just a fraction of space, just a moment where his balance shifted. I stepped in, twisted my wrist, and one of my blades slid past his guard, tapping cleanly against his ribs. 

A breath passed. Then another.

We both stepped back, lowering our weapons. It was the first time I’d ever landed a clean strike on Lan Mandragoran, King of Malkier, and veteran Warder. My chest swelled—not with arrogance, but pride. Pride I had earned. Lan looked at me as we caught our breath, both of us rising and falling with exertion. That alone told me everything—it was the first time he’d ever had to stop to recover after a bout with me. Then I saw it: a look in his eyes I had only ever seen once before—from my father, the day I forged a sword he deemed worthy.

It was pride. Silent and deep, but unmistakable. Not just the pride of a Warder, but of a teacher who had seen his student reach the blades edge of something greater. 

Lan let out a slow breath, lowering his sword fully now. “That was not luck, Smith,” he said. “That was earned, and you can take pride in that.”

I nodded, still catching my own breath. The sliding within me remained steady this time, not longer bucking or surging—just… present. Another part of me.

“You’re learning to channel like a Warder fights,” Lan said, voice low. “Not with brute force. With precision. With balance.” He studied me a moment longer, then added, “You may yet be ready before the storm breaks.”

I started to ask what he meant by that, but something shifted at the edge of my senses. A quiet warmth—familiar and watching. 

I turned. Elayne stood near the rail of the upper deck, her arms loosely crossed over her chest, hair tousled from sleep and she had come out in a dressing gown. Her expression was unreadable from here, but her eyes were bright. She must have just climbed up the stairs. Somehow, I had missed her arrival entirely.

She came down from the upper deck and crossed over to me. “I felt something in the bond,” she said softly, clearly still shaking off the last remnants of sleep. “Something sharp. Alive.” She stepped closer. “I didn’t want to interrupt, but I had to see.”

Her gaze flicked between Lan and me, then settled on me with a slow smile, proud and affectionate. “You struck him,” she said. “I felt it before I saw it.”

Lan turned toward her, and offered a short bow. “He’s come far,” he said simply. “Far enough that I would not bet against him in a real fight. Not lightly.”

Elayne came to my side then, placing a hand against my shoulder, fingers warm through the fabric. “You shine like the sun when you fight,” she said. “And now… you’re learning to do it without burning.” I didn’t know what to say to that, so I took her hand in mine, but she moved to say something else before any silence could truly settle. “Perhaps I’ll have to make you my Warder, as well as my husband.” She said it lightly, but her eyes glinted with something deeper. “At least we already have the bond, so it would be much easier than needing to take on some Tower-trained fool who thought they deserved to protect a Queen.”

I couldn’t help but laugh, breathless and warm all at once. “You say that as if I’d ever let anyone else near you with a sword,” I said. “Or that I haven’t already pledged myself—heart, soul, and steel.”

Her expression softened, the teasing in her gaze dimming into something more intimate. “I know,” she said. “I felt it the moment the bond took root. But hearing you say it… it still matters.”

Lan had turned away by now, giving us privacy in the way only a Warder could, his presence receding toward the far end of the deck.

Elayne leaned in slightly, resting her head against my shoulder. “Come back to bed soon,” she murmured. “We’ll need whatever sleep we can steal before Moiraine starts making you wish for Lan’s sparring again.”

“I’ll be there,” I promised, kissing her brow.

She gave my hand one final squeeze before slipping away into the ship’s stairwell, leaving me alone on the deck with a sword in each hand, and the echo of her words wrapped tightly around my heart. 

Chapter Text

I returned to my cabin not long after Elayne had gone below, my limbs heavy with the pleasant ache of hard-earned bruises and shallow cuts. Lan had not gone easy on me this morning. The training had been fierce, and I carried the marks to prove it—dark smudges already blooming along my ribs and shoulders, the sting of a shallow cut tracing the inside of my forearm. I peeled off my sweat-damp shirt, intending to slip into the bunk beside Elayne and simply hold her close.

But as soon as she saw me—really saw me—any notion of getting a little quiet rest disappeared.

Her eyes flared, all softness gone in an instant as she surged from beneath the blanket. “Light, Alex!” She hissed, reaching for me. Her hands hovered over the worst of the bruises, her face a mix of concern and frustration as she gently ran her fingers over the growing marks on my body. “He did this to you?” 

“Elayne, it’s fine—“

“It is most certainly not fine,” she said sharply, her hands finally settling on my shoulders with fierce tenderness. “You’re not a bloody training dummy, and I will not see you used as such.” I could feel her growing anger resonating in the bond like a sword unsheathed.

I turned to face her fully, taking both her hands in mine and grounding her with a quiet squeeze.

“Elayne, it’s not just Lan. I trained in the Dream World last night too, defensive weaves, as well as training my own offensive ones. Some of the hits I took there… well… they can bleed through if they’re strong enough.”

Her scowl didn’t ease, but a flicker of understanding tempered the storm behind her eyes. At least some of the fury might now divert from Lan. Multiple opponents I could handle, but if all her fury was directed at him, I fear not even shielding her from the source would stop her rampage.

“They’re not using me, love. They’re teaching me. Yes, it leaves marks and scars, but it’s keeping me alive. That’s what matters, isn’t it?” I searched her face, my voice low, coaxing—not pleading, but real. “So that I can come back to you from real battles. So I do come back to you.” I knew it was a long shot, but I had to appeal to her love for me to try and calm her about my training.

For a moment, she didn’t speak. Just looked at me—eyes searching, the bond between us trembling with unshed emotion. Then her hands moved again, sliding from my hands up to my shoulders, before tracing a path down to my chest, her fingertips brushing gently over bruised skin. 

“You idiot,” she whispered. Not angry now, not really. Her voice broke with feeling, not fury. “You beautiful, stubborn, blazing idiot.” Her hands were delicate against my skin, and I could tell she was debating whether to add more bruises to my skin, or kiss them delicately and try to take them away. “Of course, I want you to return to me, you Light blazing fool. I love you, with all my heart… I just don’t want you to need to be hurt just so you can learn to be able to return to me without being hurt.”

Her fingers lingered at my chest, splayed gently over a mottled bruise above my heart. I could feel the heat of her touch as surely as the warmth in the bond, the intensity of her emotion flaring between us—love and worry braided tightly together.

“I know,” I said softly, looking down at the floor, almost ashamed for the pain and worry I had caused. “I know. But I need this. I need to be ready. For them. For you. For us.” 

Elayne gave a small, frustrated sound in her throat, like she wanted to argue—but couldn’t find the words. Instead, she leaned forward, pressing her lips to the edge of one bruise. Just a kiss, tender and reverent. “I hate seeing you like this,” she murmured against my skin. “But I love that you’re fighting to stay. For me. For Egwene. For all of us… we all need you, Alex.” Another kiss, lower this time. Then her hands slid back up, slow and unhurried, as if reacquainting themselves with every inch of me they could claim. Her eyes found mine again, shimmering in the low light.

“I’m going to make damned sure you remember what you’re fighting for,” she said, voice husky now, with an edge that send a ripple through both body and bond. She was pushing me back towards the bunk, and I fell back into it as my knees hit it. “So that next time you get yourself thrown into a wall, you’ll want to crawl back to me.” She was straddling my hips before I could speak a word, lips capturing mine in a kiss that was far more than tenderness—it was possession, promise, fire. I kissed her back with everything I had, bruises forgotten beneath the heat of her, the warmth in her hands, and the burning pressure in the bond that answered every breath. 

I let my hands search her body, exploring every curve as she ground into me, eliciting soft squeaks as I found sensitive spots, her thighs, her waist, I longed to let them crawl under the nightgown she wore. 

And then—

A knock on the cabin door. Elayne froze, letting one last passionate kiss be planted upon my lips. I groaned.

“Light burn whoever that is.”

She didn’t move for a moment, her forehead resting against mine. “If that’s Nynaeve, I swear I will shield her and have her thrown into a cell in Andor.” I laughed at her reaction, evidently the daughter-heir who I had come to see as a warm piece of my heart, was just as hungry for this moment as I was. 

A second knock followed sharper this time. Not a bang, but certainly not timid.

Elayne sighed dramatically and rolled off me, collapsing onto her back with an arm flung over her eyes. “If I have to wait much longer, I might set the door on fire,” she muttered.

“I don’t think the crew would appreciate that,” I said with a groan, dragging myself upright. My body still ached, and my blood still sand with need, but duty had a habit of barging in like an unwelcome relative. I pulled my shirt back on, wincing as the fabric brushed against bruises already turning a mottled purple, then moved to open the door.

Moiraine stood there, serene as a still pond, though she had a slight smile on her lips, as if she knew perfectly well what she was interrupting. Of course it would be her. Her gaze flicked from my mussed hair to the faint flush in my cheeks, then past me to where Elayne was sitting on the bunk, straightening her nightgown, lips kiss swollen, and glaring like she was ready to challenge the Blue Sister to a duel.

Moiraine said nothing of it—only raised an elegant brow. “When you’re finished, Alex, I would like you to come and demonstrate what Mierin taught you last night, Lan mentioned something about them having to do with defence. Now, preferable. Before the day truly begins.”

And with that, she turned and walked away. I stood in the doorway for a moment, blinking. 

Elayne groaned behind me. “Of course it’s her.”

I turned to her, offering a hand and an apologetic smile. “Rain check?”

Her eyes glittered. “Flameforged or not, Alex Dorevain, you will burn for leaving me like this. Especially since we can’t even do anything about it till tomorrow night. Light burn me, why did I make that deal with Egwene to alternate nights with you.”

I laughed slightly and planted a kiss on her forehead. “Love, I already am burning,” I muttered, before leaving the room to follow Moiraine to her cabin where she would assess the weaves I had learned. 

——————————————————————

Moiraine’s cabin was spartan, but elegant in its restraint. She had clearly done some editing of the room since yesterday. She had cleared a space in the centre with a wide circle of warding carved faintly into the floorboard—old, carefully maintained, likely inscribed when the ship was first taken into Aes Sedai service. I hadn’t thought of that, what arrangements had been made for this ship, why it was suddenly free to take us to Tar Valon on such short notice. Lan stood near the door, arms crossed, his face unreadable. And beside him, sitting on a small bench with his sword across his knees, was Rand.

His eyebrows lifted slightly at the sight of me, hair still tousled, shirt wrinkled and clinging where it brushed against bruises. He smirked, but said nothing—yet. Much as Rand could be stubborn, he knew better than to try and poke fun at me while Lan and Moiraine were present and clearly in a mood of seriousness.

Moiraine gestured toward the circle. “Channel for me, Alex. Show me the weaves you practiced last night. Be sure to weave every detail carefully.” Moiraine motioned to Rand. “I would like Rand to see the weaves, that he might recreate them and use them, with practice of course.” 

I stepped into the warded space and exhaled slowly, reaching for saidin. The Power came as it always did: fierce, wild, endless. I seized it and let it flood me, holding tight as I refined it into something thin, threading it like thread through a needle, pushing it to the status I had achieved this morning that had let me both hold the source, and duel with Lan at the same time. “You’re sure these wards will prevent damage from anything I do?” 

Moiraine nodded once, calm and assured. “They were designed by a Brown Sister two generations ago for this very purpose. Tested. Strengthened. You should be able to channel freely within them—as long as you remain within the circle.” I gave a short nod and breathed out once more, letting myself fall into the rhythm of the weave. While in the Dream World I had practiced these until I could form them almost without thought, but I intentionally slowed myself down, knowing that I was to be demonstrating how they wove together for Rand. 

I guided each delicate thread together, forming a net of Water and Spirit, so fine and intricate it shimmered like gossamer in the air. The threads crossed and folded in on themselves, each know precise, holding the whole in balance. A shield of silk that would unravel other weaves that touched it. Moiraine watched with narrowed eyes, and beside her, Rand leaned forward slightly, his sword forgotten as he studied the construct with a quiet kind of awe.

“This is the one that dissolves incoming weaves.” I said. “Though it is mostly useful for elemental ones. Fire, Earth, Air, Water. Spirit, however, can tangle it. If the next is woven poorly, though, the whole things falls apart.”

Moiraine looked at me, with a tiny considering hum. “A failure in the structure would be… catastrophic.”

“Exactly,” I said, holding the weave too look at it and make sure I had weaved it fully correctly. As I looked, a ball of fire suddenly hit the weave, dissipating across it. I looked up then, startled by the fact it had come in to hit my weave. 

Moiraine simply hummed with satisfaction. “Very well done, you wove it correctly, and it handled a fair amount of fire being thrown at it.”

I looked at her shocked for a second before responding. “Wait… what would you have done if I had woven it incorrectly and the fireball had hit me?”

“Don’t worry about that for now,” she replied breezily. “You wove it correctly, and the fireball did no damage to you. Now, move on to the next weave please.”

My jaw clenched, and I was frustrated with her though I forced it down. It showed only as the barest flickering across my face. “Right, this next weave is meant to reflect attacks back at people… I would not advise throwing a fireball at it, especially not within this room.” The second weave came easier. Its lattice was simpler but sharper, carrying an edge like glass. Air and Spirit woven together, shaped like a pane of polished glass. The edges laced with small anchor threads. Where the first had been defensive, this one pulsed with a faint edge of danger—like it was waiting for something to strike.

“If it catches a weave,” I said, “it throws it back. Same direction, same strength. If you misjudge the anchor threads, though… it could rebound too early, or amplify the strength or speed of the projectile.”

“Which makes it doubly dangerous,” Moiraine said. “Especially to allies standing nearby.”

“I wouldn’t use it in close quarters,” I admitted. “Not unless I had no choice. And certainly not until I have a more fine control over it. Much as I can it in almost an instant, the anchor threads are delicate. Too delicate to trust without testing against actual projecticles.”

“Noted,” she said.

I let the reflection weave fade gently, making sure to untie the anchor threads so that no rebound would occur as I let it go. The third weave I wove slower—Spirit dominant, with layers of Air curled tightly inward. It didn’t shine or shimmer. It was… subtle. Like mist sinking into a shadow. “This one hides saidin,” I explained. “Or rather, it hides the act of channeling. Makes it difficult to tell that anyone is using the Power.”

Moiraine’s expression only changed slightly, showing a slight approval of the work. “A weave designed for evasion. Or for ambush.”

“It can also be used to avoid detection while healing. Or while shielding others, or even cutting someone else off from the source.” I countered. “Mierin didn’t teach me this weave as a weapon. She taught it because she said I needed to survive long enough to fight in the Light’s name. And that I might have need of it sooner than later.”

That earned a raised eyebrow from Lan, and a flicker of something—disbelief? Curiosity?—in Moiraine’s eyes.

“You’ve learned these in a single night,” she murmured, almost to herself. “Tel’aran’rhiod or not, that’s… concerning.”

“It was a rather long night. And that was not all that I learned.” At that, I flashed a bubble of Air and Spirit, woven differently around myself to form a hardened bubble. “This weave will absorb impacts from weaves as well as physical projectiles, while still allowing me to throw elements of the power out of it.” 

As if summoned by some silent agreement, Lan stepped forward and struck the shield with the flat of his blade. The sound rang out like steel striking stone, and the jolt made him grunt—his wrists likely feeling the shock through the hilt. I did not envy him that. He stepped back with narrowed eyes, but said nothing. I couldn’t help but smirk inwardly; if Elayne had seen that, she might have gone after him on my behalf. Moiraine, though, was starting now. Not with serenity, but with something more guarded.

“Amazing… simply amazing. You were able to learn so much, and so quickly,” she said. Her voice held wonder—but beneath it, I heard it. A thread of fear. “The Pattern moves in mysterious ways,” she whispered, almost as if I wasn’t meant to hear. “Placing someone powerful enough to master weaves like this and learn them all in a single night…” She fell silent. 

I said nothing of the offensive weaves. No mention of the burning threads, the conjured blades of Air, or the arrows of Spirit I had shaped and cast against the training targets in the World of Dreams. She didn’t need to know that. Not yet.

There was a long pause, filled only by the faint creak of the ship’s timbers and the distant rush of the river outside. Moiraine remained still, studying me with the intensity of someone watching the wind shift before a storm. Lan was unreadable as ever. But Rand—-Rand was staring at me. Gawking as if I was a woman he had eyed from across the room and was trying to garner the courage to ask to dance. 

He hadn’t moved from his seat on the bench, sword still resting across his knees, but his eyes were wide now, fixed on me like he was seeing me for the first time. Not as a friend, or even as a fellow channeller, or even the brother that we had chosen each other to be. There was something else, something more.

“You learned all that last night?” He said finally, voice low, disbelieving. “Light, Alex.”

I gave a sheepish shrug, letting the shield around me dissolve. The air felt colder without it, as though the air finally stirred around me again. “Mierin said I needed to learn fast. That I didn’t have time to wait. So I… did.”

Rand let out a breath that was half a laugh, half something closer to awe. “You think I’ve been struggling with one weave at a time for months, and you’re here weaving things I can barely see, let alone copy.” He shook his head. “How did you even keep it all straight.” 

That was the perfect time for a yawn to cross my lips, accentuating my next point. “I didn’t sleep much,” I said dryly. “Not that I would have rested easy in Tel’aran’rhiod, not with her watching. The sleep I get in the physical world is enough to keep my body running, but with the mental strain I am taking in the Dream World, Light help me I could use a night of actual sleep.”

That earned a twice of a smile, but it didn’t quite touch his eyes. He glanced toward Moraine and Lan, then back at me, brows knitting. “Is this why you’ve been pushing so hard lately? The bruises, the sparring with Lan, the way you’ve been running yourself ragged? Always learning, always practicing, never just resting.”

I hesitated, then I gave a slow nod. “It’s part of it. But there’s more.”

Rand straightened, and I saw Moiraine notably gain a gleam in her eyes as if she was intrigued by what I was about to say, though suspected what it could be. “More?” Rand broke the silence, asking.

I took a breath. The moment had come.

“I bonded Elayne, using the weave I had shown Moiraine yesterday morning.” I said, voice steady. “For those who don’t know, the weave I used was a modified version, one of my making. A bond without hierarchy, without command, simply one designed to hold us close… a bond made of trust and love, but solidified in saidin.”

I paused there, letting the words hang in the air like the silence after lightning. Even Moiraine’s face froze—not alarmed but unreadable. Lan was not surprised, having already been informed of this part last night, as well as having deduced it himself. Rand looked like he’d been hit in the chest.

“You—“ he started, then stopped. “You bonded her? What does Egwene think of all this?”

I rubbed the back of my neck, this part being new to everyone here. “Well—“ the words caught in my throat, not wanting to move. “She kind of wanted to be bonded too… so we formed the bond between one another after the… rather awkward dinner where Elayne and I were still discovering the extent of the bond.” 

Rand blinked. “You… bonded Egwene too? After dinner?”

There was a pause. I could feel the pulse of saidin thrumming inside me, as if it tried to provide some form of comfort, but it did little to calm the awkward knot in my stomach. “Yes. She asked me to. She entered a circle with me, traced the weave as I made it, similar to the one used on Elayne. And then—she chose to have me connect it to her heart, her soul. Just like Elayne did.”

He stared at me, mouth slightly open. Then he leaned back again on the bench and let out a breath that was somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Light,” Rand muttered, dragging a hand down his face. “You’re lucky you’re my brother. If I had to deal with this as a normal man, I’d probably throw you in the river and call it a day. I mean, Light, you’ve bonded two of the most stubborn, head strong, powerful, and dangerous women I have ever known. I mean, I knew they both fancied you, and that the three of you had some sort of agreement, but burn me, I didn’t think it would get to the point you actually bound them in more ways that romantically.”

That actually made Lan snort faintly behind him, though he immediately returned to his mask of stoicism. Moiraine, however, was still watching me with that piercing Aes Sedai calm. But there was something else in her gaze now. Thoughtfulness. Calculation.

“You came up with the modification to the weave?” She asked softly.

“Yes, Moiraine Sedai, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that they were my personal modifications when I showed you it yesterday.” I paused. “As you saw, it is based on a weave similar to the Warder bond, but the connection is balanced. There’s no compulsion, no hierarchy—just a resonance of what we feel. The connection is emotional, spiritual, and it had to be chosen to be accepted. I can feel them even now, the bond is like two knots in the back of my mind, telling me where they are, their feelings, and whether they are healthy—alive and safe.”

Moiraine inclined her head, slowly. “And they both accepted it freely.”

“Without hesitation. I would never have connected the weave to them otherwise. I don’t know that it would work for anyone else… but it works for us.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Then it is a bond not just of power, but of choice. That makes it rare, and dangerous in its own right.”

“I didn’t make it to be dangerous.”

“No.” Her gaze sharpened slightly. “But choice is power. And you’ve offered them both a kind of choice few Warders—and fewer Aes Sedai—ever experience.”

Rand looked between us. “What happens now?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to figure out, it is certainly taking some getting used to,” I admitted. “But whatever it is… I’m not going to lie about it. Not to anyone. I love them. And they chose to share that bond with me. All I can do now is be worthy of it.” I stopped then, considering. “Just… don’t let either of them hear that I ever doubted that I deserve them, they’d box my ears in for certain.”

He gave a long, slow nod. “Then I hope the Pattern knows what it’s doing, because Light help anyone who gets between the three of you now.”

Moiraine’s lips twitched faintly. “That, I suspect, would be unwise… if my getting between Elayne and him this morning was anything to go by.”

Rand and I both laughed, covering up any uncertainty I had been feeling about the whole situation. Moiraine interjected with a question though, one that worked to surprise even Lan. 

“What did you mean, when you said you may need these defensive weaves sooner than later? Did Mierin warn you of something, child?” 

I froze, I had been trying to cover that part up, hoping no one would ask me about it, despite the fact that I was certain something would be coming. I had hoped that if I denied it, it would not come. But here I was, and I had to own up to what had been said.

“Yes, Moiraine Sedai.” It felt like in this moment, she had earned the Sedai title, if only for the fact I knew I would have to rely on her for help in defending the others if something were to happen. “Mierin had a feeling, or rather, knew, that one of the Forsaken are after us, and that they intend to attempt to ambush us before reaching Tar Valon. She did not know it what fashion though, nor did she know if the Forsaken would attack us themselves, or even which one of them it is. She has said that she will not be able to train me for the next few nights, as she needs to see to some things, things that may possibly help us to avoid or be better prepared for the Forsaken.”

Moiraine’s expression did not change at first—but the silence that followed was louder than any outburst. Rand’s knuckles whitened around the scabbard resting on his lap. Even Lan, still as a carving, shifted ever so slightly, weight coming to the balls of his feet.

“Which one?” Moiraine asked, her voice razor-thin and cool. “Which of the Forsaken? She must have at least had a theory about it.”

“She said it was most likely to be Moghedien or Graendal, but she could not be sure. She was only certain that something came for us—a movement in the Pattern. It wasn’t just guessing, mind you. It was more like… something pulling threads into place. She said it felt deliberate.” 

Rand muttered under his breath. I caught only fragments—“Ishamael is gone… thought that would buy us time…”

Moiraine stepped forward, closer to the warded circle. “The Forsaken have always moved in shadows, waited for opportune moments to strike. But a direct ambush? That is bold, even for them. Unless—“ She stopped, considering. “Unless they fear something. Or someone.”

Her eyes locked on mine, and for a heartbeat I saw something that chilled me more than any bruise or wound: the weight of calculation, of knowledge spinning behind her gaze, ancient and piercing.

“Flameforged,” she murmured, not for the first time. “A living purifier of saidin. You burn the taint simply by being near, and repel the shadow simply by existing. That is not something they will ignore for long.”

“Then we have to be ready,” I said, forcing steadiness into my tone. “I don’t know when, and I don’t know who—but I do know I won’t let them hurt anyone on this boat. Not Egwene. Not Elayne. Not Rand. Not anyone… even if it means I have to leave to insure their safety. I can ride to Tar Valon by horseback if we can get me and Kojima to shore. It will delay me, but if whatever it is is truly after me, then at least I could keep everyone else safe.”

Moiraine’s face sharpened at once, her composure like ice beneath a rising current. “No.”

Just that—one word, clipped and absolute. No hesitation.

“You would not make it to Tar Valon alone,” she said. “Not with a Forsaken hunting you. If they are tracking your presence in the Pattern, then splitting off would not confuse them. It would only make you easier to isolate. And far easier to kill.”

“I’d take Kojima,” I argued. “He’s fast, and I can move Light. The rest of you wouldn’t have to keep looking over your shoulder—“

“You are thinking like a soldier,” Lan interrupted, stepping beside Moiraine now. “Not a commander. You’re part of something larger than yourself. The Pattern has already tied you to the rest of us. Breaking that thread now might weaken more than just your own defences.”

Rand stood then, setting his sword aside as he crossed to the edge of the warded circle. “Light, Alex. You think Egwene or Elayne would just let you leave with them still here? Off on a bloody death march while trying to keep them safe. You’d hurt them more that way than any Forsaken ever could, especially if you didn’t return and meet them in Tar Valon.” 

I opened my mouth—then closed it. He wasn’t wrong.

“You’re not just protecting them,” he added, voice softer now. “You’re with them. That bond you made… they carry it too. You run off alone, you break more than a battle line—you break trust, and they would feel worry, every second, questioning if the bond would suddenly change, that you would die or get hurt out there.”

I exhaled slowly, the tension crackling along my spine like drawn wire. 

“I just want them safe,” I said, quieter now. “I want all of you safe, I don’t want to endanger you with my presence.”

Moiraine stepped closer, placing a hand on the warded floor just outside the circle. “Then stand with them. Fight with them. But do not pretend you can protect anyone by running from the Pattern’s design.” She gave a faint, grim smile. “We’ll take precautions. I will lay every ward I know across this ship, and I’ll teach you how to strengthen them. Lan and Rand will drill you, and we will prepare as best we can. But if the Shadow comes for you… we will face it.”

Lan’s voice was low and certain. “And we won’t face it alone.”

Rand gave me a crooked grin. “Besides, if we’re all doomed, I’d rather go down with someone who can reflect fireballs back at their senders.”

That earned a reluctant laugh from me. “Well in that case…”

Moiraine nodded. “Then we begin immediately.”

I nodded, filled with a new determination. “I will begin with teaching Rand the defensive weaves I learned for Mierin last night, as well as anything else I can teach. Moiraine, if you can start placing your wards?”

The Aes Sedai gave me a nod, the hair on my arm stood on end as I could already feel her drawing on saidar. Threads of Spirit and Air shimmered faintly around her fingers. “Begin your lesson, Alex. I will keep the wards tight to the bones of the ship. They won’t be visible unless someone attempts to break them.” She turned to place her wards but stopped herself. “And Alex, put Rand in the circle… I trust you to teach him the weaves without destroying anything more than I trust him not to destroy anything while learning.” That elicited a laugh from me, cutting the tension of the moment. I quickly realized that was her intention, wanting to put me in a more calm state of mind before I attempted to teach someone else how to do what I do. 

She turned away, murmuring under her breath as she stepped to the far corner of the cabin. Lan followed silently, likely to assist in setting perimeter signs and physical markers, even though he would not touch the weave itself. 

I turned to Rand, offering him my hand. “Come on. You’re going to want to watch this more up close if you are to learn how to do it yourself.”

He hesitated a heartbeat longer, then stepped into the warded circle with me. “You’re sure I can do this?” He asked, quieter now, glancing at the air where I had woven the counter-active weave earlier.

“No,” I said honestly. “But that’s why I’m going to show you how. Just, bear with me, I haven’t really had to teach anyone how to do this before.”

He gave me a dry look. “That’s supposed to make me feel better?”

:It’s supposed to make you try,” I replied with a grin. “Now—first one’s Water and Spirit. A defensive net. Think of it like a spiders web, delicate but strong. You don’t need to catch the whole weave coming at you—just dissolve enough of it to take the teeth out.”

I wove it slowly in front of him, letting the strands build and twist until the net shimmered between us like dew-strung silk. He watched, his eyes narrowing as he reached for saidin.

For a long moment, nothing happened. Then—flickers. Threads forming in the air, shaky and uneven, like a harp played by uncertain fingers.

“Good,” I said. “Now, keep the threads taut—don’t let them sag, but don’t pull them too tight either. You’re trying to interfere, not smother.”

Rand gritted his teeth, sweat beading on his brow. “You make it look easy.”

“It’s not,” I admitted,. “It just looks that way because I’m cheating. Channelling comes as naturally as breathing to me. Flameforged, remember?”

His net collapsed with a snap, the Power slipping from his grasp. He exhaled hard, then looked at me—really looked at me.

“You don’t talk about it much,” he said. “What it feels like. That… burn in your blood when you hold the Power. That weight.”

I met his gaze. “Because I know how close it can take you to the edge.”

Rand didn’t flinch, but he nodded. “I do too.”

There was a long moment between us, just shared breath and understanding. No rivalry. No competition. Just two men who were shouldering burdens neither had asked for.

Then I smiled faintly. “Try again. And this time, don’t think about catching everything. Just interfere, like river rocks piled in the water, the water still flows through the cracks, but the river rocks force the water through the channels.”

He grinned back, jaw set. “Right. Let’s do it.”

Behind us, the faint hum of Moiraine’s wards thickened in the air, like a fine net descending across the hull of the ship.

Rand and I continued practicing until he could finally create the weave, then I made him practice a half dozen times more until he was drenched in sweat from the concentration. 

Rand lowered his hands. “That’s probably enough for now… right?”

I nodded. “Agreed. There’s more weaves to teach, but… they can wait. You shouldn’t try and channel too much through yourself until your body is used to it.”

He followed me to the bench near the wall and slumped down beside me, his sword now resting against the wall, forgotten. For a time, we sat in silence. The ship creaked beneath us, swaying gently with the current. Outside, the faint splash of water against the hull marked our steady drift towards Tar Valon.

Rand finally spoke. “You know… I used to think people from Cairhien were always playing some game. That everyone in that city was a schemer, born to play Daes Dae’mar.”

I snorted softly. “If only. I was born in Cairhien, sure, but I spent most of my life in a forge, not a salon. My father raised me swinging a hammer, not whispering secrets.”

Rand titled his head, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “And yet somehow, here you are—teaching Aes Sedai-level weaves, bonded to two of the most powerful women I know, and making Moiraine blink by how stunned she is by your power. That’s impressive.”

“I’m still just a blacksmith, even if I never can be just that again,” I said. “All I’ve ever tried to do is protect the people I care about.”

“You say that like it’s simple.” Rand looked down, his voice quieting. “But it’s not. You are protecting us, all of us. And you’re doing more than that now. People are looking to you. Lan. Moiraine. Even me.”

I looked away, uncertain. “I didn’t ask for that, Rand.”

“Neither did I.” Rand’s voice was soft but steady. “But I see it all the same. You’re not simply jumping in to shield us anymore. You’re thinking ahead. You’re leading. You may not want the title, but… you carry the weight all the same.”

I shook my head slowly, trying to find words for the knot in my chest. “I never wanted power. Not like this. I just wanted to keep them safe. Egwene. Elayne… you.”

Rand nudged my shoulder with his own. “Then you’re already doing it right. Just… don’t forget who you are, alright? Blacksmith or not, Cairhienin noble or not—whatever noble blood you’ve got in you now—you’re still Alex. That’s what matters. Remember that when you’re on the Sun Throne someday.” 

 I gave a tired smile. “Light, I hope you’re right about me being who I am, that it’s all that matters.”

Rand grinned faintly. “Light help us both if I’m not.”

The two of us laughed gently, before the silence took back over. The scent of oiled wood and river mist drifted through the narrow window, mingling with the fading warmth of saidin still coursing gently through my veins. I hadn’t released it, almost on instinct. Outside, I could hear distant footfalls—Lan, perhaps, making another round. I didn’t know what lay ahead. Only that something was coming.

A soft knock broke the stillness. The door cracked open just enough to admit Moiraine’s silhouette, her face touched with candlelight and shadow. Her expression was unreadable, as always—but her eyes were alert, sharp.

“Alex,” she said quietly. “I could use your help. The wards around the ship should be reinforced before nightfall.”

I nodded and stood, smoothing my shirt and brushing my fingers across my belt where my blades rested. Rand gave me a look—not quite a smile, but something close. “Go be Flameforged,” he said. “I’ll hold out down here a little while longer.”

“Light help me,” I murmured, and stepped past Moiraine into the dim corridor, my thoughts already turning to threads of Spirit and Air, and the shadow that might soon test them. Moiraine deftly guided me with quiet precision, her instructions enough for me to pick out the delicate strands of her wards and strengthen them with improvised weaves of my own. Together we cast a reinforced net across the ship, woven thick with warning threads—designed to tremble at the approach of danger, or worse, the presence of the Shadow.

It was a real threat, close enough to taste. But I forced the thought aside. The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills. All I could do was prepare, give us the best chance to weather what was coming. And it was coming.

Chapter Text

I finally returned to my cabin, having grabbed a small bowl of dinner. Perrin had decided to cook tonight, making a kind of stew that smelled delicious, but I was not in a mood to be surrounded by people right now, exhausted from the day I had. I hoped no one would be bothered by my deciding to take dinner in my cabin, knowing that I may drift off soon after finishing the warm liquid of the stew. 

I settled onto the edge of the bunk, the wooden bowl cradled in my hands as I took the first bite. The stew was simple—hearty, full of roots and thick stock—but something about it spoke comfort. From what I had been told, that was always how Perrin cooked. Quiet and thoughtful food. The kind that didn’t demand attention, but stayed with you long after the bowl was empty. 

The cabin creaked gently around me, the soft rocking of the riverboat a constant lull. Outside, night was creeping in, cloaking the water in shadow. I’d helped Moiraine finish the last of the wards s the sun dipped below the horizon—Spirit and Air woven into lines so fine they thrummed beneath my skin. Even now, I could feel them tingling at the edge of my awareness, a spiderweb stretched tau around the ship. I set the empty bowl aside and leaned back against the wall, eyes slipping closed for a breath, then two. 

Too much had happened today.

I’d shown Moiraine weaves no one should have learned in a single night. I’d revealed the bonds with Egwene and Elayne—truth that I could not hold to myself. I’d sparred with Lan and won while holding saidin. I’d almost made love to Elayne, Light burn Moiraine for interrupting us. I’d admitted to the possibility of a Forsaken attack, and offered to throw myself into the fire if it meant keeping the others safe—I was still sure I could survive if I had needed to separate from the group. I’d taught Rand what. I could with his current levels of power, and he’d told me—me—that I was becoming a leader.

Light.

I rubbed a hand over my face, trying to slow the churn of thoughts. The moment I stopped moving, it all caught up to me: the exhaustion, the weight of choices, the fear I hadn’t spoke aloud. Not to Rand, not to Moiraine or Lan, not even to the two women I loved. Something was coming.

The Flameforged. That was what they’d called me. The name chosen by the people of Falme that had spread to my group, and throughout half of the realm by now. As if having that title made me anything more than a blacksmith who’d happened to be born with a strange gift and a stubborn heart. I didn’t feel like fire. I felt like ash. Still. I’d said I’d protect them. That meant something. Whatever I was, I knew I was made of a level of steel, and that would hold me strong through this.

A quiet knock stirred me, but not the sharp kind Moiraine used when things were urgent. This was softer. Hesitant. I could feel who it was in the bond, Egwene, though I couldn’t tell why, or at least, any more than the fact tonight was her night to spend with me according to her deal with Elayne. 

“Come in, Egwene,” I said.

The door opened just enough to admit her, her face was lit by a small lamp that she carried. She looked tired, but not surprised to find me here alone, if only surprised that I had known it was her at the door. “I saved you a bit of honey bread,” she said, lifting a napkin-wrapped bundle. “Thought you might be hiding from everyone after today.”

I let out a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Was I that obvious?”

“Even without the bond I could’ve seen that you were drowning in your thoughts, but with it, I can feel just how loud they truly are.” She said this all while smiling slightly as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. “To everyone else, you’re worse than Nynaeve, at least she growls first.”

I took the bundle and patted the spot beside me. “Then I’m lucky you came instead of her.”

Egwene sat beside me, her shoulder brushing mine, and for a moment we said nothing. Just sat, listening to the reverend the faint echo of footsteps above. The silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was the kind that settled between two people when they didn’t need to speak to be heard. Her presence alone softened the knot in my chest.

She glanced at me sidelong. “You thought about running away again, didn’t you?”

I didn’t answer right away. The bond pulsed faintly between us—warm, rooted. I wasn’t sure if she’d pulled that feeling from me or if I’d given it freely.

“I thought about it,” I admitted. “Just for a moment. If it meant keeping you safe.”

“You promised you wouldn’t do that anymore.” Her voice was still gentle, but there was a thread of steel in it. “We’re in this together. You, me, Elayne. Even Rand and the others. You don’t get to decide that we’re safer without you.”

“I know.” I turned the honey bread in my hands without really seeing it. “It’s just… a habit I’ve had to unlearn. For a long time, it was easier to believe I had to protect everyone by standing alone.”

She rested her head against my shoulder. “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

I let that settle, breathing it in like something rare and fragile. I didn’t realize how badly I needed to hear until she said it. My shoulders slumped just a little. Just enough.

“I don’t feel ready,” I whispered. “For any of this. The weaves, the bond, the danger coming down on us like a falling star. I keep feeling like the Wheel made a mistake.”

“It didn’t.” Egwene pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. “You were never just a blacksmith, Alex. Even back when we first met in the cell, I knew there was something different about you. Not the power. You. The way you look at people. Like you’d throw yourself into the fire for them without hesitation. That hasn’t changed. And that’s why it has to be you.”

I didn’t trust myself to speak. Instead, I just pulled her gently into a full embrace, resting my chin lightly atop her hair. She let herself be held, the bond between us quieting to a gentle hum—less a tether, more a heartbeat.

After a while, she murmured, “You can sleep. I am with you tonight, and I will stay here with you.”

And so I stripped off the shirt I had been wearing, kicking off my boots and lying down on the bed as she pulled my head into her chest, allowing me to feel her warmth and hear her heartbeat gently thrum in her chest. Finally, after I placed the protective weave Mierin had taught me in order to guard my dreams, I could drift off to sleep. The war against the Shadow could spark at any time, but for now, if only for right now, I could rest in the embrace of one of the women I loved. I faintly felt her kiss the top of my head as I fell asleep, feeling safe in her embrace.

——————————————————————

The Dream: A Warm Embrace

I opened my eyes in a meadow, with the laughter of Egwene and Elayne coming from the near distance, and then came the sound of children playing, like a lovely song playing on the wind. I had a smile on my face before I knew it, and I walked to sit next to the women I now recognized as my two wives. When had I married them? How were we all allowed outside the walls of a castle to play… no… best not to ruin this beautiful moment. 

The grass was soft beneath my hands as I moved to sit beside them, Egwene leaning her head against me should, Elayne threading a crown of wildflowers with a careful smile on her lips. They both looked radiant—peaceful in a way none of us ever truly were while we were awake. Egwene laughed again, bright and light, and Elayne leaned over to press a kiss to my temple.

One of the children—a dark-haired boy with Elayne’s eyes—ran past, chasing a younger girl who squealed with delight. My chest ached with something too big to name. This was joy, I realized. The quiet kind that sneaks up on you, that lives in the space between heartbeats.

“I think it’s your turn to chase them,” Elayne said, her voice laced with mischief.

I smiled. “I think I could watch them run forever.” And I truly meant it, there was such simple joy in watching the two children run. Though I knew it would be more difficult when the next ones came along.

A breeze stirred the grass. It carried the smell of lilacs and woodsmoke… and something else. Faint. Wrong. I turned toward the tree line without thinking. The laughter dimmed for a heartbeat. No—no, the meadow was safe. It was always safe here.

“Alex?” Egwene’s voice wavered just slightly.

I blinked and turned back. The light had changed—just a little. A few clouds now rolled across the sky where it had been clear. The sound of children’s feet pattering through the grass slowed. Muffled. Like a distant echo rather than something in front of me.

The women beside me faded slightly at the edges. Not visibly—but I could feel it. Like a memory unraveling.

“Elayne? Egwene?” I asked, standing slowly.

They didn’t answer. 

I took a step toward where the children had gone, but the trees beyond the field suddenly seemed closer. Too close. A shadow passed between two trunks—tall, thin, wrong in the bones. I turned—and the meadow was no longer bathed in sunlight. The warmth was bleeding from the scene, and a whisper, like silk over stone, reached my ears:

“Even in dreams, you cannot hide, Flameforged.”

The whisper didn’t belong. That much I knew even before I remembered the protective weave I’d layered into my sleep—Spirit and Air, woven ihgtly with a thread of Fire at its heart, designed to guard my dreams against outside influence. So how was I hearing that voice?

I spun toward the sound, instincts honed by weeks of battle and days of fear. The dream stuttered around me like glass catching the light from a wrong angle. The sky above rippled—not with clouds, but with the faint suggestion of something looking back.

“No,” I whispered, and closed my eyes, reaching for the weave. It was still there—still intact.

Which meant… whoever was here had slipped through before I laid the ward. Or worse, they hadn’t needed to bypass it. They’d been invited. The breeze shifted again, and the shadow at the edge of the woods took on more form. Not the jagged monstrosity of a Myrddraal. Not the howling, misshapen bulk of a Trolloc. No, this shape was leaner. Human-shaped. Too human, and yet wrong in the way all Forsaken were wrong—like they remembered the world from a time before it had language.

“I wondered when I would find the shape of you,” the voice said, not aloud but within the dream itself, like thought carved in obsidian. “So much fire… trapped in mortal flesh.” 

I reached for saidin instinctively, but here—in the dream—it didn’t respond the same way. Threads fluttered in my hands, the weave tangled, refused to form. My ward flared, pushing back against the presence, but it wasn’t enough to eject it.

Not yet.

“You burn the taint,” the voice continued, cold and curious. “But you do not know what that means, do you? Burn the dark, and you also burn the balance.” 

I tried to speak, to shout—but my voice felt caught in molasses. My hands surged with light, finally—finally forming a shield in front of me, born of instinct more than clarity. It held just long enough for the shadow to smile.

“I will see you soon, Flameforged. Awake.”

The world shattered like glass.

————————————————————————

I bolted upright, drenched in sweat, my ward seared around the edges and the feeling of something foul still sat throughout my body. Like something had tried to take me over. Saidin surged to my fingers without conscious thought, raw and trembling. I cast the same weave again—Spirit, Air, Fire—tightening it, reinforcing every thread. I didn’t even need to open myself to the bond to know Egwene was awake, I felt her already rising, alarm sharpening in her like a blade drawn in the dark.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, heart thudding like a hammer against steel. Outside, the ship creaked unnaturally. Not from the river. No wind stirred The creak came again—heavier, like something massive was brushing against the hull.

No, not brushing—climbing.

I was moving before the thought finished, opening the door with a sharp twist and stepping into the corridor, weaving light behind me to wake the others all up gently without disorientation. I didn’t shout, didn’t need to. The moment I reached the top of the steps, the world exploded in sound. 

A scream form the bow. The ship shuddered beneath my feet. And then the scent—iron, rot, fur. 

Trollocs. The shadow wasn’t coming. It was already here. I was ready for this, I had to be. 

Saidin blazed through me—brighter, fiercer than ever before. I didn’t try to shape fire or ice for destruction. I reached for what I knew, what I could trust: Spirit. Pure, precise, and unshakable. Hundreds of arrows formed in the air around me, each one a sliver of deadly intention. They shimmered violet-silver, woven with purpose—designed not to kill, but to banish what should not be. 

The moment the first Trolloc crashed into view over the railing, all tusks and bloodlust, I let the arrows fly. They sang. Spirit rained down in volleys, each bolt punching through shadow-wrought flesh with a hiss of unraveling. The first beast fell backward, twisted, disintegrating before it even struck the deck.

Screams rose across the ship—some human,, some not.

From behind, I felt the flare of Egwene’s power—cool, controlled, and furious. Water and Air twisted together in a crushing weave that sent a Trolloc flailing overboard, its claws gouging splinters in the deck as it went. Elayne followed—Light itself erupting from her hands, blinding the next wave before roots of Earth and vines of razor sharp air sliced through the mass.

And then—

A Myrddraal stepped through the smoke. The arrows I had loosed would not touch it. It walked like something that remembered being human and had long since given it up. Blade drawn, eyeless face turned toward me as if it could see me better than any creature with vision. My Spirit weaves shimmered, ready—but this was different.

It grinned. Somewhere, close—so close I could taste it in my teeth—something deeper stirred. Something that watched through the Myrddraal’s eyes. A Forsaken. Here. Watching me. 

Well, if they were going to watch me— I might as well give them a show. 

I didn’t hesitate.

Saidin surged in me knew, roaring like a forge set ablaze.

I infused the arrows—each thread of Spirit now laced with Fire, heat and purity bound together in impossible precision. Hundreds of them shimmered around me, then streaked toward the Myrddraal like comets falling from the heavens. The creature turned its head, sensing danger—too late.

The first wave struck.

It screamed—not in pain, but rage, a sound like tearing silk and splintering bone. Its sword whipped upward, but it couldn’t catch them all. It was fast, Light burn it, but I was faster. The second volley crashed into its chest. Not piercing—burning. The Fire-threaded Spirit did not cut like steel—it seared through the Shadow, unmaking it. The creature convulsed, twisting unnaturally, its eyeless face locking onto mine as its flesh began to crack and peel, black smoke billowing from within. 

And yet…it didn’t fall.

It stood there, unravelling, trembling—sustained by something else. A teacher. A watching presence. A voice slithered through the air, too real to be imagined. 

“Flameforged indeed.” 

No direction. No echo. Just the voice, brushing against the inside of my skull. Not the Myddraal, no, the one behind it. But I didn’t falter.

“I burn brighter than you can ever imagine,” I hissed, my voice hoarse from power and fury, the power that usually burned away the taint around me growing in a sharp bubble around me, pushing hard around the Myrddraal. “So watch all you want. When next we meet, you won’t be able to hide behind your toys.”

Then the wave of the power within me, the power to burn the taint finally closed around the Myrddraal, and with a final twist of Spirit and Fire, I ripped the weave apart—taking the Myrddraal with it.

It fell into itself, screaming soundlessly, folding like a thing made of paper and pain until there was nothing left but scorched deck and the smell of sulphur. And silence—just a heartbeat. Then from above, Egwene shouted, “They’re trying to board on the starboard side!” 

The battle wasn’t over. But the Shadow now knew who I was, and Light help them for it. 

Boots struck the deck behind me—Lan. I didn’t turn to look, but I felt him stop short as he took in the charred remains of the Myrddraal and the corpses of Trollocs already littering the Portside deck. 

“Light,” he muttered, low and impressed despite himself. “You killed a Fade alone?”

“I wasn’t alone,” I said, eyes scanning ahead. “Something else was watching. But we’ll have to worry about that later.”

A guttural howl tore through the night. Egwene’s should had come from the starboard side. I surged forward, already preparing another weave---a wide arc of Fire and Air, threads of Spirit threaded through it like sharpened glass. I heard Lan’s blade sing free behind me as he followed. The moment I rounded the central and cleared the deck furniture, I saw them. A swarm of Trollocs, brute-formed and snarling, clawing their way up ropes and over railings in a mass of fur, steel, and bloodlust. At least two dozen already on deck, more climbing. Egwene was further back with Elayne and Nynaeve, holding their ground while weaves crackled through the air, but it was too much. Too many. 

I didn’t hesitate.

I raised both hands, wove as fest as I could, and slammed a volley of fire-laced Spirit into the front rank of Trollocs. The weaves weren’t spears this time—they were waves. Waves of searing light and fury that crashed through the monsters with explosive force. Several screamed. Not from pain—these weren’t ordinary wounds—but from confusion. Panic. They felt it. Whatever unnatural command had been placed over their minds was starting to fray. I saw it in their eyes. Their charge faltered. They look at me—not with rage, but fear. 

The next volley came faster. I no longer needed to think— I was the Flameforged. Each strand of the One Power that I summoned came smoother than breath, more natural than heartbeat. Trollocs stumbled, tried to turn. Some disobeyed the orders that had been barked from behind them—somehow, form something unseen—and instead of pushing forward, they tried to retreat, slipping back over the rail or shoving at their fellows. It didn’t matter. I incinerated the next wave before they even reached the edge of the deck.

Lan joined the fray beside me, carving a precise path into a group that had managed to reach the mid-deck. His sword moved like liquid steel, and together we formed an unspoken wall—steel and flame. I pulled my swords from my sides and joined Lan in slashing through the hoards of Trollocs, pushing through them with the fury of a flame. We were eliminating them in droves. 

“They fear you,” Lan said between strikes. “Even the beasts bred for war and darkness. They know what you are.”

“Good,” I growled. “Let them remember. Let it give them pause before they think to try and strike at the people I care for again.”

Above us, Egwene unleashed a whip of Fire that lashed across the rail, knocking two more Trollocs back into the river with a splash. Elayne followed with a lancing bolt of Air that shattered another group’s formation. I pushed forward again, weaving a ring of Fire at my feet and slamming it outward in a pulse that caught the remaining boarders in a crescent of light. The rest—the ones still trying to follow—began scrambling back down the ropes.

 They were retreating. Lan cut down the last Trolloc on the deck with a clean arc of steel. Blood steamed on the boards. Then, for a moment, there was quiet. My breath came in hard gasps. Sweat rolled down my temples, power still thrumming in still watching. Not just a raid, a messaage. One that was a cemented by an arrow, impossibly carried on the wind that struck me in the shoulder

The shaft buried itself deep—too deep for a normal shot, even with One Power reinforcement. The pain was immediate, white-hot and flaring through my body, but it was the feel of the arrow that chilled me more than the wound itself. The thing pulsed. Not poisoned. Woven. I staggered back a step, one knee hitting the deck with a thud. Lan turned instantly, his sword flashing up to guard even as his other hand reached to steady me.

“Alex!”

I tore the arrow free with a hiss. The wound bled freely, dark and fast, but it wasn’t the physical damage that mattered—it was the taint embedded in the weave. It crawled over my skin like oil, trying to seep in. I recognized the file. Not from saidin. This wasn’t the Dark One’s stain. It was something new. Or perhaps older. 

“Something’s still here,” I said through gritted teeth. “Watching, channeling.”

“Where?” Lan’s eyes scanned the river, the banks, the treelike in the distance, but even he couldn’t see what I felt. Because it wasn’t there. Not physically.

“In the between,” I rasped. “Close to the dream. Close enough to see.” The words weren’t mine. Not entirely. They echoed with a layer beneath them,, like I was speaking someone else’s truth. The voice from before. That feminine laugh.

A shadow passed through the air—not visible, but felt. Cold. Ancient.

I pressed my hand to the wound, already weaving threads of Spirit and Fire to cauterize and cleanse. The Flameforged power surged outward, pushing against the clinging rot. It screamed—I screamed—but the taint burned away in an instant, leaving only raw pain.

Lan knelt beside me, watching the skin burn itself, closing the wound, though not elegantly, not the way Elayne would probably end up healing it later when she got her hands on me. “That arrow… no archer alive could have loosed it like that.”

“They didn’t,” I said, still pushing the words through gritted teeth. “It was placed. Carried by the wind. One Power, or something more. Something…” I looked to the sky, to the mist that had begun to thicken again along the waterline. “Something Forsaken.”

Behind us, boots rushed across the deck—Egwene and Elayne, eyes wide, hands already lifted with power coiled around them.

“Alex!” Elayne skidded to her knees beside me, reaching to check the wound, He hands brushed mine, and I felt the bond pulse in her chest. She moved to the now cauterized wounds, her healing able to do far more than the burns that had formed from mine. She regenerated the skin, closing the wound cleanly.

“Thank you, love, but I’m fine,” I murmured. “I got lucky. Or maybe they weren’t trying to kill me. Just to mark me. A signature,”

Egwene’s face tightened. “I felt it, the moment you were hit. It was like… like the bond flared with shadow. Just for a second.”

“I burned it out,” I said. “But someone wanted me to know they could reach me. Even here.” 

A wind blew across the deck. No direction. No source.

Elayne shivered. “This wasn’t just a strike. This was a claim. They want us to know who we’re fighting.” 

“And that they’re not afraid anymore,” Egwene added quietly.

I looked down at the blackened point of the arrow now lying on the deck. It had turned to ash the moment I burned the wound clean. “I hope they are,” I said softly. “Because I am not. Let them come, let them see just what it is I can do.”

Lan said nothing, but I saw it in his eyes—respect, and maybe something more grim. He’d seen wars. This was more than that. This was a declaration. And the night wasn’t over yet. But perhaps, it was an end to the fighting. At least for now. 

The quiet that followed was brittle, sharp-edged. Not peace—never that. Just the thin, fragile silence that came after fire had passed. I stood, slowly, and Elayne helped me the rest of the way. I could feel her strength through the bond, and Egwene’s, too— a shared steadiness that wrapped around me like a shield. I wasn’t alone. I never had been.

Around us, crew members moved cautiously among the wreckage. Some of the Trollocs had fallen half into the river, others littered the deck, already being dragged away by sailors with pale faces and shaking hands. The smell of burnt flesh and sulphur still clung to the air. But we were alive.

For now that was enough.

Lan turned to me, his voice low. “Go rest. I’ll see to the rest of the cleanup. The crew needs leadership that doesn’t look like it was just struck by the Shadow itself.”

I gave him a tired nod, too drained to argue. My hand brushed the spot where the arrow had struck—no wound remained, but the memory throbbed deep. “Thank you, Lan Dai Shan.” 

He just grunted at that, “I’ll let that slide for now, Alex, but you better not use that title on me again.”

As we walked below deck, Egwene slipped her hand into mine Elayne at my other side, close enough to feel her warmth. The bond pulsed between us, the two women steadying me like spokes on a wheel. 

“It’s not over,” I said quiet as we reached my cabin door.

“No,” Egwene agreed. “But we survived tonight.”

“That’s more than they expected,” Elayne added, her chin lifting defiantly.

I turned the handle and stepped inside. The room was still lit by the lamp Egwene had left behind. The honey bread still sat on the table, forgotten in the rush I looked at it and let out a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding. I was tired… so Light-blinded tired. And I would keep standing. For as long as they needed me to. 

Eugene moved to the bunk with practiced ease, and Elayne gently guided me down beside her, placing a soft kiss against my temple. “Rest, my Flame,” she whispered, and then she turned, exchanged a quiet word with Egwene, and slipped out of the room.

Egwene’s fingers threaded through my hair, slow and tender, her voice a whisper of warmth I couldn’t quite catch but didn’t need to understand. It was her, and that was enough.

My breath slowed, the exhaustion finally catching me in full. I let it take me. Safe, held, and loved. I drifted into sleep in the comfort of her arms, with the scent of honey bread in the air, and the quiet promise of peace—however fleeting—wrapped around my heart.

Chapter Text

I woke up in my cabin, though I had no idea how much time had passed since I had fallen asleep. The first thing I noticed was that Egwene was no longer behind me. I looked around the cabin and found she was no where to be seen, but there were some new items on my desk. I stood up and walked across the room, only then realizing I had been stripped down to only a close-fitted pair of shorts. There was a note on top of a stack of cleanly folded clothes, and a full wash basin set on the desk. I lifted the note to see who had done all this for me.

My Dearest Alex, 

I’m sorry that I could not be there for you to wake up, but Moiraine Sedai decided that after

the events of last night all three of us women who could channel should undergo further

training. So that we can help more the next time… if there is to be a next time. I had

tried to insist that I should be allowed to stay with you, making sure you were well

during your rest, but she was quite persistent. If I am not back by the time you wake

I have set out a wash basin for you, you were drenched in sweat last night from the fight

but I didn’t dare try and move you enough to get you cleaned up while you were sleeping 

so peacefully. I have also set out a set of clean clothes, the ones you fell asleep in are in 

my cabin, I will clean them and get them back to you. Please… wash up, get dressed, and 

grab something to eat. We will be training on the main deck when you are ready.

Yours Always, 

Egwene

I read the letter twice. Maybe three times. Her handwriting was unmistakable—neat and deliberate, but with the occasional flourish, like a breeze caught in a flag. I traced the edge of the parchment with a finger, letting the words settle deep into my chest. Yours Always. Light. 

With a breath I hadn’t meant to hold, I set the note aside and dipped my hands into the basin. The water had gone cool, but I welcomed it. The touch helped to ground me to the moment I was in, pulling me to the present rather than dwelling on the thoughts of last night. I splashed my face, then took the cloth and soap Egwene had left and wiped down the sweat that had dried onto my chest and arms. The aches of battle had surfaced beneath the skin like bruises just now blooming. Whatever adrenaline had kept me standing last night was now gone. My muscled felt like molten lead, every breath tight across my ribs. Still, I moved, slowly but methodically. I slid into the clean shirt and dark trousers Egwene had picked. They smelled faintly of lavender and smoke, a combination that made me smile despite everything. The Flameforged, dressing like a man again. It felt oddly vulnerable, this quiet moment. But I didn’t rush it. The world could wait a few minutes longer.

Once dressed, I gently opened the door to my cabin, walking out to get some food like Egwene had told me to in her note. I had to walk past common areas where some of the crew lay injured, the cost of last night showing clear. While I had been quick enough to protect most of the crew, those who were on the deck when the Trollocs first boarded had still taken injuries, and some were hurt merely while cleaning up what remained. I walked quietly, the soft thud of my boots dulled against the boards. The scent of blood still lingered beneath the strong smells off woodsmoke and river air, and I passed two sailors with bandaged limbs—one sitting upright with a pale face, the other asleep, or unconscious, beneath a light blanket.

The didn’t look at me, but I didn’t expect them to. I wasn’t sure what I would say if they did. I’m sorry? Thank you? I should’ve done more? None of it would be enough. My hands could weave destruction and protection in equal measure, but they couldn’t undo wounds already taken, I wasn’t really a good healer, not yet.

A girl who couldn’t be older than fifteen limped past carrying a bucket and gave me a nervous glance. I managed a small nod. She blinked in recognition, eyes wide, and then hurried on. By the time I reached the galley, the smell of lunch had hit my nose—salted meats, fried bread, and something sweet, maybe berries—hit me like a blow. My stomach growled loudly enough that a crewmen nearby chuckled. He didn’t seem wounded, only tired, and he waves me toward the food line with a worn but sincere, “You earned more than your share, Flameforged.” 

That name again. I hated how it sat on me. Heavy. Not undeserved, but more than I knew how to carry. Still, I nodded my thanks and stepped forward. Food. Then the deck. Egwene, Elayne, and Moiraine would be waiting. There was work to do—training, preparation. I could not afford to take a day off. My plate was loaded with food that had smelled like the best I could ever eat, even if it was simple. I took it graciously, and moved with it to the deck, if nothing else, I should make an appearance as soon as I could, let them know I was alright.

The afternoon sun caught on the river, throwing light across the deck in shifting patterns that made the wet wood gleam. I stepped out into it, blinking against the brightness. My body still ached, not with pain exactly, but with the deep weariness that came from having burned through too much of myself in too short a time. I instantly noticed three distinct groups, though all were working on the same thing: training. 

The first group, closest to where I stood, was Mat and Thom. Thom was teaching Mat how to better work with a knife and small weapons. How to conceal them, and a sharp whip of his wrist told me it was also about how to throw them as effective ranged weaponry. Next, taking up a large portion of the deck, was Rand, Lan, and Perrin, training with the blade and Perrin with his axe. Their movements were rhythmic, and I could tell that they had been moving like this for a while, their muscles loose. Lan spotted me first, looked me in the eyes and gave me a nod which I returned. Finally, at the far end of the deck, near the bow, Moiraine stood flanked by Elayne, Egwene, and Nynaeve. Their group radiated intensity, even from a distance. Threads of saidar shimmered faintly in the air around them—a faint glow surrounding each of the women, light caught in invisible currents—as Moiraine spoke and demonstrated, her movements were sharp and deliberate. Even from here, I could see Nynaeve’s brow was furrowed in concentration, hand clenched at her sides as she tried to mimic the flow. Egwene and Elayne mirrored the Aes Sedai with more ease, though I could feel the effort it took through the bond—Elayne burned like sunlight, Egwene like the slow pulse of deep water.

I paused a moment, taking it in. Each group was moving forward in their own way, sharpening themselves against the threat that had nearly broken through the night before. The air still smelled faintly of smoke and oil from where the deck had been scorched, remainders of the fight. But they wren’t cowering. No one was. They were rebuilding. 

I leaned against a crate while I ate the food that would be my first meal of the day, watching as Mat flicked a blade through his fingers and caught it cleanly, his grin almost proud. Thom gave him a small approving nod. Then my eyes turned to see Lan ducking beneath Rand’s overcommitted swing and tapped him in the ribs with the flat of his blade. Rand groaned, while Perrin laughed, but the Warder took that to mean it was time for Perrin to take a turn, making him groan similar to Rand.

I couldn’t help the ghost of a smile that tugged at my lips. This—this was what we were fighting for. Not just survival, or the battle against the Shadow. But moments like these. Laughter after pain, growth after fear. Thom’s quiet mentorship, Lan’s demanding precision, Moiraine’s relentless drive. It all wove together into something stronger than the sum of its parts. A pattern, I supposed, though that word had grown heavier in my mind lately. 

I took the last bite of the food that I had gotten, then stood and wiped my hands on my trousers. No one had asked me to train, no one needed to. I wasn’t Flameforged just because of what I could do, I was Flameforged because of what I had chosen to do—again and again. And what I kept choosing to do even now, with sore muscles and drained stamina. 

I moved through to the central group, ducking an errant knife that Mat had lost his grip on, “Sorry about that mate.” He called out, though I waved him off, of course it was an accident.

Rand raised an eyebrow as I approached, his sword resting lightly against his shoulder. “Didn’t expect to see you on your feet and lively yet.”

“Neither did I,” I admitted, rolling my shoulders. “But I’m not one to waste the day, and I don’t plan on being left behind.”

Perrin offered me a tired grin. “Good. I was starting to think Lan might make me fight both him and Rand just to get me back into fighting shape.:

“Light forbid,” Rand muttered, flexing his fingers on his sword hand. “My ribs still remember the last time you got serious.”

I drew both of my blades, the metal still slightly tainted from where the Trolloc blood had touched it. I’m sure Ingtar would be proud of how they had been used. “How about you show me what you’ve got then, Perrin. Blacksmith on blacksmith.”

Perrin huffed a laugh and stepped forward, resting his axe on his shoulder before nodding once. “Alright then, but Light help me if you’re half as hard as Lan to face off against.”

We squared off, both of us circling lightly. His axe gleamed in the sun, solid and brutal, where my twin blades flashed with something closer to finesse. For a moment, neither of us moved, measuring the other—not as strangers, but as men who had seen each other at the edge and still kept going. Then he came at me—not reckless, not wild, but with a smith’s surety in every step. He swung low, testing my reflexes. I dipped to one side, steel scraping against the flat of his axe as I parried and twister. My second blade darted towards his ribs, but he turned his torso with surprising speed and forced me back with a broad, sweeping arc. 

We moved like hammer and flame—his strike heavy and patient, mine light and quick. Where he bore down with strength, I flowed like water around stone, slipping past, landing light touches, always moving. But Perrin wasn’t slow. Each time I struck, he adjusted, reading my rhythm and trying to match it, though I still landed multiple hits with the flat of my blade on him. His axe clipped my guard once—just enough to jolt my shoulder and make me reset.

“Not bad,” I called, circling once more. My breath came fast, but I kept my posture light. “You’ve been training more than you let on.”

Perrin grunted, eyes locked on mine, though he was more out of breath than I was. “Or maybe I’ve just been waiting for a reason to keep up.”

This time he advanced with more force, pushing the tempo. I blocked high, twisted low, pivoted on the balls of my feet and tried to slide past—but he caught me with a half-step and brought the haft of his axe down hard. I caught it on both blades, the impact rattling up my arms, but I held firm. Then I dropped low and kicked his ankle, not to hurt, just to disrupt. It worked. He stumbled back, and I was inside his guard in a blink, both blades poised at his chest.

He looked down at the twin points, then grunted out a breath. “Dirty.”

“You’re the one with the axe,” I said, stepping back with a grin. “I’m just levelling the playing field.” 

He gave a huffed laugh, rolled his shoulders, and lifted his weapon again. Though I was ready now, loosened up and able to dance through blows, increasing the tempo to that I would have with Lan, and Perrin struggled to keep up with me. Still, Perrin didn’t yield. He pressed forward again with that same grounded determination—sweat slicking his brow, breath coming heavier now, but his strikes didn’t slow. He caught one of my blades with the hat of his axe, shoving it wide, and nearly brought the edge down on my shoulder before I twisted away at the last moment, the wind of it brushing my cheek as I tapped his thigh and rib with my blades simultaneously.

“Light, you’re stubborn,” I muttered, resetting my stance.

“And you’re fast,” he replied, panting. “Like sparing a damn eel.”

I answered with a flurry—slashes meant to harass, not harm, forcing him to parry, to move, to think faster. He kept pace for a few beats, even knocked one blade aside with a satisfying clang, but his timing lagged just enough for me to step past his reach again and tap his ribs with the flat of my blade. 

“That’s three,” I said.

Perrin narrowed his eyes, but there was no anger, only focus. “Again.”

He lunged this time, going for a sudden shift in momentum. I spun away, pivoted off his reach, and struck behind his knee with my foot, facing him down to one leg before placing both blades crossed at his collarbone.

“Four,” I said, a little breathless now too.

Perrin held still, then sat back on his heels with a grunt. “Alright. You win. But next time, I’m bringing the forge hammer.”

I laughed and offered him a hand. He took it, and I hauled him to his feet. “Only if I get a bellows to even it out.”

He shook his head, chuckling. “Rand’s right. You fight like you’re made of wind and fire.”

“And you?” I said. “Like the mountain underneath it.”

He paused at that, and for a moment, we just stood there, warriors who’d bled on the same deck and still had more to learn. Then Lan’s voice cut through from across the training circle. “Switch off. Rand, you get to try and face the Smith now. Perrin, step out.” 

Perrin stepped back and I readied myself again. Changing my stance slightly, changing my footing and grip to face a sword rather than an axe. The weight of the moment settled over me—Rand was excellent with his sword, though still not better than Lan. With sound tactics and a level head, I knew I could beat him too. Rand stepped forward, his sword held loosely but ready. His dark eyes locked onto mine with that fierce determination I’d come to recognize—equal parts challenge and respect. We circled slowly at first, the tension between us thick enough to taste.

His style was raw, aggressive, and powerful, each strike carrying the weight of his training with Lan and his own growing skill. I met his attacks with a calm precision, deflecting and slipping through his swings, pushing him to adapt. It was a dance—a clash of flame and steel, each testing the other’s limits.

A quick feint from Rand nearly caught me off guard, but I twisted just in time, sliding in with a sharp jab that grazed his side. He grimaced, but the fire in his eyes only burned brighter.

“You’ve gotten better,” he admitted, breath coming faster. “Almost like you’ve been fighting Lan.”

I grinned, circling away. “Not quite. But I’m learning from him.”

Our blades sang as we clashed again, neither willing to yield. With every strike and parry, I felt my strength returning—my body waking from exhaustion into focus, and Rand realized it too. Each strike I made now forced him back by another half step, before I finally placed two strikes, one to each thigh with the flat edge of my blade. He groaned with frustration, I was too fast for him in this situation and he knew it. But that was when the unexpected happened.

“I didn’t take the man I chose to bond as a fool,” came the call of Elayne.

Both Rand and I paused mid-step, blades still raised as we had been about to go another round, and turned toward the bow. Elayne stood with her arms crossed, a knowing smile on her lips, golden hair catching the light. Egwene stood just behind her, shaking her head with mock exasperation, while Nynaeve simply rolled her eyes and muttered something that might’ve been “men.”

Elayne stepped forward a few paces, tilting her head. “But I didn’t realize I’d bonded a show-off. Was your demonstration for the Trollocs and the Myrddraal last night not enough? Now you need to show your abilities with the blade?”

“Oh, you know, I’m only showing off because I’ve finally got an audience worth showing off for,” I called back, lowering my swords with a chuckle. Elayne’s enjoyment echoed in the bond, though it was clear she did not think my choosing to join in the sparring was a good idea given what I had been through last night, and Egwene’s expression echoed that same idea.

Rand laughed too, sheathing his blade. “Light, I needed the break anyway. Your man is strong… even when he should still be exhausted.”

Moiraine raised a single brow from where she still stood at the bow, and Elayne gave a small, elegant curtsey. “Forgive me, Aes Sedai. I believe the men need a moment to cool their egos.”

“That,” Egwene said as she walked forward to stand beside Elayne, “or they’ll collapse from their own dramatics. Or worse, my Lord Flameforged may discover just how tired he really is.”

I winced in mock injury, placing a hand over my heart. “A cruel strike, my Lady. And here I thought I was making a noble effort.”

Elayne’s smile turned sly. “Nobility isn’t about effort. It’s about judgement.” But even as she said it, I felt the warmth of her pride in me—tinged with worry—buzzing softly through the bond.

Egwene snorted. “He wouldn’t recognize good judgment if it kissed him on the forehead.”

“I seem to recall that it has,” I said, glancing between the two of them with a grin.

That earned me a scoff from Egwene, though her eyes betrayed a glint of affection. “Don’t make me drag you off the deck myself.”

“That’s enough, all of you,” Lan called, stepping in with a voice that cut like a blade through linen. “Alex, you’re here. You’ve proved you’re still standing. Now be smart enough to rest while you still can.” 

I considered pushing back, just for pride’s sake, but the tie blooming again behind my ribs reminded me that I had nearly collapsed the night before. I nodded instead and stepped back, letting the edge fall from my stance. 

“Alright,” I said. “I’ll take a break for the rest of the day.” 

“Good, then you will come and sit here and watch as the girls practice their weaves, I need a word with you,” came Moiraine’s voice, cool and unbending as ever.

I turned and met her gaze across the deck. She didn’t look angry—not exactly—but there was something in her expression that brooked no refusal. Calm and composed, but alert. Watching me as though I were a thread she intended to follow to its end. I glanced toward Egwene and Elayne. Egwene raised a brow at me—curious but unsurprised. Elayne just gave the smallest nod of encouragement through the bond. They both knew Moiraine well enough by now to recognize the tone.

“I suppose refusing isn’t on the list of options,” I muttered, sheathing my blades as I crossed the deck toward her.

Moiraine tilted her head. “If it were, I would still expect you to make the correct choice.”

“I did just agree to rest, didn’t I?”

“You agreed to sit,” she corrected. “Rest may depend on how honest you are willing to be with me.”

I was cautious at that, her tone suggesting that there was something I had been hiding. 

I settled onto a crate near the bow, and Moiraine set the three girls in front of her, Nynaeve, Elayne, and Egwene back to channeling a weave that I had guessed was for some form of defence. The air was thick with threads of saidar, only visible if I truly focused and tried to see them. They circled each other like whispers in the wind—complex, elegant, and dangerous. Moiraine settled beside me, folding her hands in her lap as though she had all the time in the world. 

“You used fire and spirit last night,” she said. “Wove them into something I’ve never seen. Something precise, controlled.”

I didn’t answer immediately. The sounds of training continued around us—metal against wood, the faint whoosh of air displaced by spinning weaves—but her voice cut through all of it. She was quiet, but sharp as a knife to the heart.

“I don’t recall you showing me anything of the sort,” she continued. “And yet, you wove them plainly, putting them out in the hundreds to dispel the Trollocs, and striking the Myrddraal with them as if you knew fully what you were doing. So tell me, Alex—who taught you to kill like that?”

I exhaled slowly, feeling the tension settle in my shoulders again. There was no thread in her voice, but neither was there room to evade. This was not idle curiosity, it was the kind f question that demanded truth—or risked something worse. 

“It was Spirit and Fire, yes. It was my own variation of something Mierin had used against me in testing the defensive weaves she taught me. After she left, I found I was still able to use the Dream World to train, and so I took the time to form offensive weaves and threads of my own, basing them on what I had seen from her.”

Moiraine took distaste to that. “Mierin takes too many liberties, if she would seek to use weaves that could cause such destruction on you while you are still learning how to defend yourself. As much as you may be in Tel’aran’rhiod, you can still take serious injuries, especially if she is not careful.” I could see her seething slightly, the cool mask of Aes Sedai calm slipping slightly.

“She wasn’t trying to harm me,” I said quietly. “She wanted to test how quickly I could adapt—how well I could survive. And I did, survive I mean. I learned the weaves, I adapted, and only got hit a few times… that is what you interrupted yesterday morning. Elayne had discovered the wounds and bruises from the combination of Mierin and Lan’s training sessions, she cared for me, and that… built into a more passionate moment.”

Moiraine’s eyes narrowed slightly, the full weight of her attention settling on me. “You let Mierin wound you in the World of Dreams,” she said, not a question. “Then trained with Lan in the waking world while still recovering. And you didn’t tell anyone the extent of it until after you had finished.”

I didn’t flinch under her gaze, though it took effort. “No,” I admitted. “I didn’t. Not until Elayne found out.”

Moiraine’s silence was worse than any rebuke. She studied me, the way a master of the Game might study a misplayed move, calculating what it cost and how to recover. Finally, she spoke, and her voice was colder than before—not angry, but tired. 

“You think because you survived it, that justifies the risk,” she said. “You think because you meant well, it excuses keeping your injuries from the women you love. From your bandmates. From me.” 

“I didn’t want to worry them,” I said. “Or you.”

“Then you should not have bound them. Or taken on the responsibilities you now carry,” she said sharply. “Do not use the trust you’ve been given to shield others from the consequences of your choices, Alex. That is not kindness, it’s control. The very thing you swore you sought not to take while placing the bonding weave, and yet you exercised it without thought by not sharing what you had been through.”

The words landed harder than I expected. I wasn’t trying to control anything. I was trying to manage the chaos I’d been dropped into, to catch up with what it felt like everyone had expected me to be, what they needed me to be.But I couldn’t deny what she said—especially when it was spoken so plainly. 

Moiraine’s gaze didn’t waver, it was like she was able to read my thoughts. “You carry too much alone. That is the other danger of power—you believe you must always bear the burden. That you’re strong enough, clever enough, fast enough to outrun the weight of it.” She spoke as if she could see through me, and as if she had somehow been a part of the bond. Perhaps it would be easier if she was, an errant thought said.

She let out a slow breath, then looked toward the bow where Egwene and Elayne stood, golden and resolute, threads of saidar drifting between their fingers like strands of silk. “You’ve chosen not to walk alone anymore,” Moiraine said, her voice softer now, yet no less firm. “Then don’t act was if you still must.”

I followed her gaze to Egwene and Elayne. They moved in harmony—one fluid, the other fierce—light catching in the strands of saidar between their hands. Through the bond, I felt them both: Elayne’s steady focus, the strength of her belief in me even when I faltered; Egwene’s fierce will and sharp mind, her frustration tempered by her trust. Neither had let go, even when I hadn’t let them all the way in.

“I didn’t want them to worry,” I said, the words quiet and raw. “Not when there was already so much to carry.”

“Then you must learn the difference between sharing a burden and placing one,” Moiraine said. “Trust is not weightless. It costs. But it also strengthens.” Her eyes flicked back to mine. “You would not let them carry you, yet you expect them to fight at your side.”

The shame burned in my throat, not because she scolded me, but because she wasn’t wrong. “I’ll try to do better,” I said, the regret in my tone clear to be heard.

She inclined her head, just once. “See that you do.” Then she turned back to the girls, placing her hand on my leg and squeezing it, as if to provide comfort, or seal in the words we had spoken. “Now sit. Watch. Let them lead for once.”

And so I did. I leaned back, resting against the railing with the crate underneath me. The tension inside me loosened just a little, like the first breath after holding one too long. Moiraine’s hand lingered for a heartbeat before she withdrew it, leaving behind a quiet kind of strength I wasn’t sure I deserver, but deeply needed. Across the deck, Egwene and Elayne moved with a grace I’ d only ever seen when a weave was spoken true—each motion deliberate, yet fluid, the strands of saidar swirling between their fingers like living threads of light. Egwene’s weaving held the slow, steady pace of a deep river, calm but inexorable. Elayne’s was like the sun catching on morning dew—brilliant and bright, quick to flare.

Watching them, I felt the weight of everything I’d been carrying settle into something less like a burden and more like a shared flame. One that burned brighter when fed rather than smothered. I still had much to learn—not just about weaves or fighting, but about trusting others and knowing what that truly meant. About letting others stand beside me, not just behind or before. As Moiraine had said, trust was no simple gift, it was a cost and a power both. And I truly felt ready to pay the price. 

“You learn fast, Alex,” came Moiraine’s voice again, soft now. I glanced up, catching the hint of a rare smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“Faster than I deserve, perhaps,” I admitted, voice low.

Her gaze held mine steadily. “Deserve has little to do with it. You have the potential to change things—not just for yourself, but for all of us. That requires more than skill with a sword or a weave. It requires heart, and humility to bear what others could not.” She fixed me with an assessing look. “While you learn to channel quickly, and Lan raves about how well you have been doing with the sword, I’ve also noticed how you adapt to feedback, how you change to accommodate each new lesson, and how you alter to address the leadership role you have been given, whether by the Wheel or by your friends and companions.”

I gave her a nod, “Thank you, Moiraine. Though I sometimes still feel like I’m drowning with everything that is suddenly expected of me… I’ve had no choice but to learn, to change, to be something that seems so foreign to me and yet also like it has been what I am all along.”

Moiraine’s expression softened—not her usual icy composure, but something warmer beneath, flickering like firelight through crystal.

“That feeling,” she said, her voice low, almost intimate, “of being someone new and yet more yourself than ever before—that is the Wheel’s whisper. It doesn’t make the path easier, but it does mean you walk it rightly.” 

She reached out again—not with the commanding hand of a mentor, but with fingers that settled briefly over mine where they rested on my thigh. Her touch was light, deliberate. No longer just a gesture of comfort, but something that lingered. Her thumb grazed the back of my hand before pulling away.

“I see the way you carry them, Alex,” she said, nodding toward where Egwene and Elayne worked still. “Not just through the bond, but through every choice you make. You do not shield them from pain, but you try to bear what you can—more than you should.” She paused, her eyes flicking to my face again. “But who carries you?”

I swallowed. The question struck me deeper than I had expected. Not because it hurt, but because it revealed how little I had let myself consider the answer. 

“I suppose I haven’t thought about that,” I said, quieter now.

“Then start,” she replied. “Power can crush you just as easily as it can save you. Even you, Flameforged.” The way she said the name held no mockery. Only gravity—and something gentler threading through it, it came close to reverence as she said it. “There may come a time,” she said, as if speaking to the river instead of me, “when you will need a different kind of bond. One not born of passion or prophecy, but choice… and understanding.” Then she stood, all Aes Sedai composure once more. “Watch them. Learn from them. Let them lead.”

She stepped away, leaving the words behind her like a footprint pressed into soft earth—one I knew I’d keep coming back to. And I sat there in silence, watching the women I loved shape the world with threads of light, while another stood in shadow at the edge—dangers, sharp, and beautiful in a way I had not realized before… Light, what am I thinking. The Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills, they always said. But some threads, I thought, are pulled taut for a reason.

Chapter Text

The rest of the day went by blissfully, only channeling a few times to show Moiraine some of the offensive weaves I had learned, which she jotted down in a notebook dutifully, one would this she was fitted for a sister of the Brown with how she took notes whenever I showed her a weave I had learned, or one that I had made. Night fell and it was quiet once more. No shouts, no steel ringing against steel or sticking in wood, only the slow churn of the river and the soft rustle of sails overhead. The wards held, and the ship moved steadily north. 

I stood alone at the stern rail for a time, watching the reflection of starlight ripple on dark water. Then through the bond I could feel her—Elayne—approaching. It felt warm as ever, like a summer wind before dawn, as she approached, and I could tell she was fully content having stopped to watch me stare out at the water before coming closer. I allowed her that moment of peace, despite knowing she was there, continuing to stare out even if I wanted to turn around and see her rather than just feel her in the bond. 

I still did not turn. Not yet. The sound of her footsteps on the deck was soft, but I didn’t need it. Her presence in the bond was enough—a golden warmth that settled across my shoulders like sunlight after shadow. It carried affection, patience… and a quiet undercurrent of anticipation. She was giving me the moment to invite her in. 

I spoke without looking. “You always approach like you’re afraid you’ll scare me off.”

Elayne’s voice came soft and amused. “And you always act like you don’t want to be caught gazing at the stars like a lovesick poet.”

At that, I smiled and turned to look at her—really look. Her hair caught the moonlight, spun gold in the dim. Her eyes held me fast, more knowing than playful now. There was no teasing in her expression, only certainty, and something deeper. 

“You’ve been through a storm,” she said, her fingers finding mine at the rail. “But you don’t have to keep standing in the rain.”

I closed my eyes for a beat, letting her words settle. Then I nodded, just once, and turned fully to face her. Her hand was still in mine, warm and firm, though soft as velvet. She wanted me to be here in the moment, to be open—and so I would try.

“I’m not trying to be noble,” I said. “I just… wanted to make sure I had something left to give you. That I wasn’t coming to you broken.”

“You’re not broken,” she said fiercely, stepping closer. “You’re tempered. Like the blade you carry. And I love every inch of who you are. Even the part that tries to hold back.” She rose up on her toes and I met her halfway. The kiss was slow, no longer driven by desperation or chance. It was a promise this time—meant, mutual, and unshaken. Her other hand slipped behind my neck as mine found the curve of her back, drawing her in tightly to me. 

When we parted, breathless, her voice was sweet as honey. “Come below.”

I followed without hesitation, down into the quiet dark of the quarters we’d share for the night. The lantern flickered low, casting amber shadows across the bunk and walls. The moment the door closed behind us, the air changed—which with promise and the tension of everything we hadn’t yet said aloud. The cabin was small, but it felt vast with meaning, as if the world had shrunk to just the space between us. Elayne turned to face me, eyes shining—not just with desire, but with certainty. With love.

“Come here,” she whispered, reaching for me.

I went to her without a second thought, drawn as if by gravity. I cupped her face, brushing my thumbs over the high sweep of her cheekbones. “Are you sure?” I asked softly, even as my pulse thundered with longing. “We don’t have to—“

She kissed me before I could finish. A soft, silencing kiss that stole my breath away.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life,” she murmured against my lips. “I want this. I want you… please, Alex.”

Her pleas ignited something deep in me. With a low sound in my throat, I lived her easily and carried her to the bunk, laying her down upon the narrow mattress. I stretched out over her, our bodies fitting together like matching pieces of something whole. Cloth slid away with every touch, until there was nothing left between us but skin and heat, heart to heart. 

I worshipped her with my hands, with my eyes, mapping every inch of her with reverence, every curve and valley of her body. She was beautiful—glorious. Like a vision of the Light made flesh. Her breath caught as I trailed kisses down her body, slow and savouring, until I reached the place where she needed me most. I pressed a kiss there, and she cried out, fingers tangling in my hair as I tasted her. She was sweetness and spice and sunlight. Her pleasure rang through the bond like a bell struck true, resonating through my bones. I stayed there, drinking in every sound, every shiver, until her whole body trembled beneath me. I could feel her in levels of ecstasy through the bond, sparkling brighter than anything I had felt before. I pulled back and kissed her thighs, gently nipping at them as I let her ride out her feeling, holding her and comforting her through waves of pleasure. 

But she wasn’t satisfied with just that, she was ready for more. She needed more. I felt it in the quickening of her breath, the rising tide of our shared connection. I rose above her again, fitting myself between her thighs, the head of my length brushing against her heat. We both shuddered at the contact.

“Look at me,” I said, cupping her chin and tilting her face up to mine. “I want to see you—all of you—when I become yours.”

Her gaze locked on mine, blazing blue and filled with desire. “Then take me,” she whispered. “Make me yours.”

I eased into her, slowly, watching her face as she accepted me, inch by inch. There was a moment of tension, a catch of breath, and then…the bond flared, brilliant and undeniable, as she welcomed me completely. We groaned in unison at the exquisite joining of our bodies.

“Elayne,” I rasped, the sound of her name like a prayer. “Light, you feel… you feel like you were made for me.”

“I was,” she breathed, legs circling my waist. “Just as you were for me. Now—please—don’t stop, Alex. Don’t stop!”

I began to move, slow at first, savouring every moment, every sound she made. The pleasure built between us like a rising tide. Through the bond, I felt everything—her joy, her need, the way I filled her so perfectly. Her sensations bled into mine until there was no line between us. No difference between giving and receiving, between her body and mine. 

Our rhythm quickened, became frantic. Her nails dragged down my back, raking and marking me while her lips found my neck, and her teeth marked me in a claiming that sent my heart racing. I returned the favour, mouthing against her throat, her collarbone, desperate to taste her in every place she would offer me. The bond between us pulsed like a second heartbeat, echoing our shared ecstasy.

She cried out my name as she shattered, her body clenching around mine with blinding force. Her climax ripped through me as if it were my own, sending me spiralling into release with her name on my lips and the Light in my eyes.

We collapsed together in the warmth of it, our bodies slick with sweat, limbs entwined beneath the soft clicker of lantern light. I drew her close, tucked her head beneath my chin and held her as our breathing slowed, as the pulse of the bond gentled to something warm and whole.

“I love you,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to her hair. “I love you so much Elayne.”

“I love you too,” she replied, snuggling closer. “More than I can ever say, my Lord Flameforged.”

We lay there in the dim lantern light, basking in the afterglow of our lovemaking. Tomorrow would bring new challenges, new battles to fight against the Shadow. But tonight, we had this—this perfect moment of peace and passion and promise. And it was enough. 

“Light, Alex.” Elayne exclaimed, chuckling softly. “If I had known it would feel like that, I never would have let you leave with Moiraine yesterday.”

I laughed at that, the sound low and content, my fingers lazily tracing circles along her bare back. “You could try,” I teased. “But Moiraine might turn you into a frog for your trouble.”

“She wouldn’t dare,” Elayne said with mock severity, though the curve of her lips betrayed her amusement. “I’m the Queen of Andor. Or at least, I will be.”

“Someday,” I murmured, and kissed her forehead. “But tonight, you’re just mine. My Elayne.”

Her fingers curled against my chest, and through the bond I felt the echo of her joy, golden and soft, wrapped around her love for me like a ribbon. I held her tighter, and we both fell silent, the kind of silence that speaks without words. The candlelight flickered, casting slow-moving shadows along the walls, and I let my eyes fall half-shut. For once, the weight I carried din’t feel like a burden. It felt like something I bore not alone, but shared—by the two women who had chosen to love me, and the one woman who, in her own way, might be stepping toward something deeper than duty. 

Elayne’s breathing slowed, evening out. I stayed awake a little longer, listening to the river outside, the creak of the ship, and the beating of her heart against mine. Whatever came tomorrow, I would face it. We would. Together.

———————————————————————

I woke to the golden warmth of Elayne’s hair against my shoulder and the soft weight of her arm draped across my chest. The world was still dim, lanterns unlit, sunlight barely pressing through the round porthole. I might have slipped back into sleep, content with her curled against me, but then I felt the weight of her gaze and opened my eyes. She was already awake, watching me. A smile played on her lips—sleep-soft and luminous, but with a spark of mischief behind it.

“Good morning, my Flameforged,” she whispered, lifting a hand to brush away a few strands of hair from my face, leaving a tender kiss on my chest where her head lay. “You looked so peaceful, I didn’t want to wake you.”

I turned my head slightly and kissed her palm. “You’re allowed to wake me. Especially if it’s like that again.”

Elayne flushed, cheeks going a bright pink, but her smile only deepens. “Light, you’re going to make me shameless.”

“You already were, my love,” I teased her gently, and she swatted my shoulder, laughing softly. The bond hummed between us, golden and steady, full of the quiet joy we were both feeling, as well as a satisfied affection. I didn’t need to reach for it to feel her—it simply existed, pulsing in harmony with my own heart. We lingered in the warmth of the bunk a little longer before we dressed and made ourselves somewhat presentable. Elayne insisted on fixing her hair, though no amount of brushing would fully hide the glow she carried—or the faint red marks blooming across her neck. I was not without my own share of hers, either.

By the time we entered the common area where breakfast was being laid out, the others were already gathered. Perrin stood at the small stove, stirring something fragrant. Nynaeve sat at the small table, sipping tea with raised brows. Lan leaned against the wall beside her, expression unreadable but not unkind. Egwene stood at the window, arms folded as she watched the river slide past. 

And then there was Mat, who turned and spotted the two of us and promptly choked on a bite of flatbread.

“Oh Light,” he coughed, thumping his chest. “The two of you didn’t even try to be quiet last night, did you?”

Elayne arched an elegant brow but didn’t look the slightest bit sorry for it, her smile was the picture of innocent serenity. “Did we keep you up?”

“No,” Perrin muttered from the stove, deadpan. “But the entire river probably heard, and it is the talk of the crew this morning. Some are debating if it was pleasure or a duel to the death.”

“Rand elbowed me halfway through the night,” Mat added, grinning now despite himself. “Said if I didn’t stop making faces he’d make me swim the rest of the way to Tar Valon,” 

Rand, seated at the far end of the table, looked up slowly. “I’m still considering it.”

Nynaeve set her cup down with a sigh. “Honestly. The walls on this boat are paper thin. You might have tried to be discreet.”

“I did ward the door,” Elayne said, primly lifting a teacup that someone—likely Egwene—had set aside for her, though her cheeks had flushed a shade to match the Andorran rose. “I can’t help it if sound travels.”

 I chuckled at that. I hadn’t seen her ward the door, though I would not voice that thought.

“It wasn’t the door that needed the warding,” Mat muttered, and Perrin coughed in to his spoon to hide a laugh. “Some of us were trying to sleep,” Mat went on, grinning now as he leaned toward me. “What exactly were you doing to make her sing like that? And can you teach a fellow?”

Elayne didn’t even blink. “You’re not nearly charming enough, Matrim Cauthon.”

“I don’t know,” Mat said. “My charm has been known to work wonders.”

“I wouldn’t call tavern girls with no sense of self-preservation ‘wonders,’” Egwene said without turning from the window.

Mat scowled, but Elayne gave a sly smile that spoke volumes, and I was sure to let Egwene feel my satisfaction through the bond. She didn’t flinch at it—if anything, the sensation of her awareness curled back around me like a ribbon drawn taut. I caught the flick of emotion that passed between her and Elayne—something teasing and familiar, rooted in the odd, growing balance we were all learning to hold. Egwene still hadn’t looked at me, but I felt her steady warmth pulsing at the edge of my senses. Beneath it, the bond carried more: hunger, longing, and tightly held restraint.

Lan cleared his throat from where he leaned near the wall, arms crossed. “At least they didn’t try to bond in the middle of it.”

That earned a sharp look from Nynaeve, but Elayne only sipped her tea with a straight back and a tiny imperious smile, and Egwene squeaked by the window. 

“Oh, Light,” Mat groaned. “Bonding? Is that even allowed in bed? Isn’t that something Aes Sedai do in, I don’t know, a circle of candlelight with three oaths and a bunch of humming?”

“Actually,” Elayne said smoothly, setting her cup down with deliberate grace, “there are far more intimate ways to bond, including that which Alex used on both Egwene and I. But don’t worry, Mat—no one’s asking for volunteers.”

Mat blinked, and I was slightly worried he might suffer a stroke from how casually Elayne had delivered the news. “Wait, both of you—? You’re not serious.”

Egwene finally turned fro the window, arms still cross, but there was a certain satisfaction in the lift of her chin. “Oh, she’s serious.”

There was a long pause at that. Perrin stopped stirring, and Thom raised a brow from where he had been quietly seated on a stool, pulling at his mustaches. Mat’s jaw dropped so far I thought it might lock that way.

“I—What—Since when?”

Elayne tilted her head. “Well obviously since before breakfast. But we’ve been bonded for a few days now. Since the day Alex and I were late to dinner.”

“I need… I think I need a drink,” Mat muttered, reaching for his tea like it was brandy. “Is everyone just getting bonded and not telling me now? Rand, don’t you dare.”

Rand coughed and gave me a look that was part amusement, part warning. “You’d better explain before he jumps overboard.” Lan just hummed under his breath, the corners of his mouth twitching.

“I knew something was going on,” Nynaeve muttered, shoot me a dark glance. “You’re lucky you told me earlier than you’re telling these three, Alex, or I’d have drowned you myself.”

Elayne only smiled, serene as a sunrise.

Egwene, though—Egwene didn’t say another word. But her eyes met mine now, and I felt it again through the bond: a wave of warmth, of yearning held in check. A silent invitation. She turned and slipped out onto the deck. 

Elayne nudged me gently beneath the table, fingers brushing mine. “Go,” she whispered, voice soft and full of trust. “She needs to talk to you, I’ll handle explaining to Mat, Perrin, and Thom about the bond.” I nodded and stood, leaving the sounds of sputtering disbelief and laughter behind as I stepped into the morning light. 

The morning air was crisp, laced with the scent of the river and sun-warmed wood. I found her at the railing, fingers curled tight around the edge, eyes fixed on the flow roll of water as the boat glided forward. For a moment I just watched her. The wind caught her hair, lifting strands like silk around her face. She did turn, but I felt her awareness through the bond—quiet and restrained, but pulsing with something deeper.

I stepped up beside her. “Well hello there.”

“Hello to you too,” she echoed, softly. Her gaze stayed on the water. “I could feel you, you know.”

I swallowed. “Last night?”

She nodded. “Not the details. Not exactly. Just… the shape of it. The intensity.” Her voice caught slightly. “I felt your ecstasy, Alex. Like fire and stars bursting behind my eyes through the bond.” She finally turned to face me, and I saw it—her longing, bare and unguarded, mirrored in her eyes and in the way her shoulders drew back, trying to steady herself. “I didn’t expect it to feel like that,” she murmured. “I thought I understood the bond. I didn’t. Not really. Not until I felt you, giving yourself to her like that.”

I stepped closer, gently taking her hand in mine. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t.” Her fingers tightened around mine. “It wasn’t jealousy. Not really. It was…overwhelming. And beautiful. And a little terrifying. Because I want that too. With you. Light, it felt so amazing Alex… and all I had was one side of it… I can’t hardly imagine what it would feel like to participate.” 

My breath caught, and I felt her words settle in my chest like a promise waiting to bloom. “Egwene, we don’t have to rush anything.”

She looked up at me, eyes gleaming with the morning light and something older than either of us. “I know. I’m not ready. Not for everything. But I wanted to be near you. I needed to feel like I still have a place in your heart.”

I leaned in, pressing my forehead to hers. “You never left it Egwene. You and Elayne—you’re both in me. Always. And I’ll wait, as long as it takes.”

Her lips parted, and this time, she closed the distance. The kiss wasn’t hurried or hesitant. It was heat wrapped in restraint, her body pressing forward against mine with a fierce need that stopped just short of surrender. Her hand tangled in my shirt, drawing me closer, and I could feel the soft tremble in her through the bond—desire, yes, but also trust, and belonging. When we finally broke apart, both of us breathless, she rested her cheek against my chest.

“I love you, Alex,” she whispered. “Even when I’m not ready. Maybe especially then.”

I wrapped my arms around her and held her close, anchoring us both, holding her close and making sure she felt the love I held for her, as real and true as it always had been. “I love you too, Egwene. And when you are ready…it will be us. Fully.” She nodded against me. And for a while, we just stood there in the rising sun, the wind curling around us, the river steady beneath our feet, and we were together.

The wind off the river was fresh, carrying the scent of damp wood and wildflowers from the shore. Egwene stayed tucked against my chest for a while longer, her breathing calm and even, as if our closeness steadied her. I held her quietly, one hand stroking her back, the bond between us humming with warmth and something quieter—peace. 

A soft throat-clearing broke the silence.

Moiraine stood a few paces away, her presence unmistakable despite the way she’d clearly tried not to startle us. Her expression was unreadable as always, but I caught the faint flicker of apology in her eyes.

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she spoke gently, as if she did not hold all the command of an Aes Sedai in her words at that moment. “I wouldn’t, except… I need a moment of your time, Alex. If you can spare it.”

Egwene looked up at me, then at Moiraine. “Go,” she said softly. “I’ll be all right.” Then quieter, just for me to hear, “I love you, you absolutely crazy man.” And she kissed my neck on a spot unmarked by Elayne, making me shiver a little as I let her go. I gave her a look of want, but decided to just leave her with a kiss to her temple before allowing her to leave so I could speak with Moiraine. I saw Egwene brush at some wrinkles in her dress, as though she could ever look disheveled as she moved away, leaving Moiraine and I to speak. Moiraine waited until she was fully gone from view, then turned and gestured for me to follow. 

We walked in silence for a few moments, moving aft along the deck where the breeze was strongest and the sounds of breakfast among the crew faded behind us. I could feel Elayne and Egwene in the back of my mind—Elayne still perfectly content after last night, and Egwene was settling, feelings of love and affection growing more within the bond—but Moiraine’s attention was sharp and focused, her presence like the still centre of a storm.

She stopped near the railing, her hands folded in front of her. “Lsat night,” she began without preamble, “the wards held, but only just. I felt something brush against them—like a probing, deliberate and slow. Not the brute force of a Shadowspawn, but the finger of something far more dangerous. A Forsaken, perhaps.”

I swallowed. “You think they’re tracking us?”

“I think they already were. But now they’re far more interested in you.” She turns her eyes on me, cool and assessing. “That weave you used to destroy the Myddraal two nights ago—it left a mark, Alex. One even a Forsaken could feel.”

I looked down at my hand, flexing them unconsciously. “I didn’t know it would… echo like that.”

Moiraine’s voice softened, not with pity, but with understanding. “None of us did, and none of us could have predicted it. That’s why I need to see the weaves you used. All of them. I must understand what you are… and what you’re becoming.”

My stomach tightened. “It’s not a chain,” I said quietly. “It’s equal. Balanced. You saw the bonding weave I used, it is not strict, it does not control…”

“I believe you,” she replied. “I have seen the weave, and I know that the bonding is not the cause of it.” She let that settle in the air, her gaze drifting to the silver line of the river. For a moment, I could almost believe she was simply admiring the view—but no, this was Moiraine. Her stillness was a mask behind which her mind turned like the gears of a clock. “The power you used on that Myrddraal,” she said after a pause, “was not just saidin. There was something else in it—Spirit and Fire, yes, but twined with… purpose. A resonance. I’ve seen weaves woven with rage, woven with love, woven with desperation. Yours was something different.”

“I didn’t mean to kill it like that,” I said quietly. “It wasn’t going down—it just kept coming. The weaves of Spirit alone weren’t enough, so I added Fire. I thought I was weaving them together, just trying to burn the cursed thing away before it could reach the others… before it could get to anyone I care about.”

Moiraine didn’t speak at first. Her expression remained thoughtful, not judgmental.

“And that was right of you,” she said at last. “Don’t mistake my curiosity for condemnation. You did nothing wrong, Alex. But I believe what happened may not have been just about the Myrddraal—or the weave itself.”

She stepped closer, studying me with that Aes Sedai stillness that always felt a little too sharp. “There is something in you,” she went on. “This ability of yours—the power you carry. I don’t think it waits to be summoned. I think it may touch every thread of saidin you use, and everything around you. Even when you don’t mean for it to. Even when you are not away.”

I frowned, uncertain. “I didn’t feel anything… different. It all felt the same as I always do when I channel.”

Moiraine inclined her head slightly. “And that may be exactly the point. It’s not something apart from you, Alex. Not a tool you take up or put down. It is you. Woven into your being the way breathing is. The Myrddraal wasn’t just struck down by the One Power—it was cleansed. Burned from the inside, not merely destroyed. As if it’s very being of darknesswas erased.”

My hands tightened at my sides and a heat formed in my throat. “So what am I supposed to do? Pretend I’m not dangerous? That my simply being is a risk to others?”

Moiraine didn’t flinch. “You are dangers, yes. But so is Rand. So am I. So is the very One Power itself. Danger is not something to be ashamed of, Alex. It is simply the truth of power. But unlike so many who posses it, you care about how it touches the world, about how it affects it. That matters more than you know, and it is a part of what I admire about you.”

She stepped forward again, not quite invading my space, but closing the distance between us with intention. “This thing in you—this Flame—it does not seek to destroy. It heals, even when its fire is fierce. It shields you, cleanses saidin, and now we know it burns clean through the Shadow’s corruption as well. That is not something to fear. That is something to understand.”

I looked away, jaw tight. “Easy for you to say. You can’t feel it under your skin. You don’t have to worry what it might do to those around you if one day it no longer targets only the Shadow. I am in constant fear, of what this… Flame… will decide to burn away and what it decides is pure. And of the complete and utter lack of influence I seem to have on it.”

Moiraine was quiet for a long moment. Not with hesitation, but with a clear care for what she had to say.

“You think the Flame will judge unjustly,” she said, her voice low. “But everything we’ve seen tells us otherwise. It didn’t lash out at Egwene or Elayne when they embraced you. It didn’t rise in fury when you bonded them, or harm Rand when he found you, it burned out the taint from him and allowed him to be himself again. Even in the heat of battle, even when you were frightened or in pain—it responded not with violence, but with purpose.” She looked at me fully now, not as Aes Sedai to subject, but as something closer, something realer. “That tells me this isn’t a weapon waiting to be unleashed. It is something deeper. Older, perhaps. You called it a mercy once. I think you were right. It acts when the Shadow draws near, when corruption touches the world. Maybe it doesn’t listen to your commands… but it listens to your heart.”

I swallowed, throat thick. “And what if my heart falters?”

“Then those who love you will remind it who you are, a man deserving of great love, and capable of great things.”

She reached out then, not with the stiffness of formality but the steadiness of someone who chose this closeness. Her hand settled briefly over mine, warm and sure. “You are not alone in this, Alex. You never were.” A breath passed between us, followed by another. My pulse slowed, just slightly. Then she released me and stepped back, shoulders straightening again. The Aes Sedai mask returned, but not fully—it wasn’t cold as I had usually looked at it as being. Just ready. 

“I will gather the others,” she said quietly. “They need to see, and you need to see that they won’t turn from you.”

She turned to move away, but hesitated, she turned back to me. “And if one day that Flame truly does rage beyond your control, then I will stand beside you anyway. Until we both should meet our bitter end.” I was shocked at that, at the level of caring she clearly held. I reached out to her then and wrapped her in a tight hug. She was stunned at first, her arms hanging loosely at my back, as if she did not know how to react, before she settled into it and wrapped her arms around me in turn. 

For a long moment, we simply stood there. The world was quiet save for the lap of water against the hull and the wind rustling the sails above. Her grip wasn’t strong, not possessive or desperate—it was hesitant, yes, but honest. As if part of her had been waiting far too long to be held and didn’t quite know how to accept it.

“I don’t know how to be anything but alone,” she whispered, so soft I might have imagined it.

I leaned in slightly, just enough to speak near her ear. “Then you’ll just have to get used to the idea that you are not. You have chosen to support me, and I you in turn.”

She gave a quiet breath that might have been a laugh, or maybe a sob smothered behind centuries of composure. Then, with a final squeeze, she stepped back.

“I will bring them, to a common space below deck,” she said again, voice steady now. “Be ready.

She turned, and this time she didn’t stop herself from walking away. I watched her go, something tight and unspoken left behind in the space between us. The Flame inside me flickered—not a blaze, but a quiet warm. Not dangerous, or cruel. Just there, as I now realized it always had been. And maybe that was okay, maybe, it was just another part of me that still yet developed, one that I would need to learn to accept for what it was, rather than fearing what it was not. One that I would need to learn to live with—not as a curse or a threat, but as something that was mine. 

Chapter Text

The creak of the steps beneath my boots felt louder than it should have, each one marking the slow descent from thought to reality. Below, I could already sense them—the entire group gathered by Moiraine, those who could channel and those who could not all present in equal measure. I was uncertain of how they would react, or what I would even say. I was unsure of anything other than that this was the right thing to do. Moiraine was with them, no doubt explaining what little she understood, or perhaps what little I understood myself.

The air below deck was warmer than above, lit by a few hanging lamps that swayed gently with the motion of the river giving off a faint glow, and an even fainter heat. The space wasn’t large, but it was certainly enough for the truth that would be shared… and for the fear I felt growing inside me. As much as Moiraine had assured me that none of these allies would turn from me, that they would still support me, there was still a part of me that found it hard to believe, how could you support that which could not be known? Something that defied every rule of the Power, and that seems to break the very Pattern itself, Light, I knew it was a benevolent force within me, that it was part of me, and yet even I found myself still at least slightly afraid of it.

As I entered the room below decks, the common area that Moiraine had decided would be coopted for this purpose. Each person in the room turned to look at me then—Rand, Egwene, Elayne, Nynaeve, Mat, Perrin, Thom, Lan, and Moiraine. All of them waiting. All of them watching, and each with their own expectations of how this conversation might go. The first thing that hit me was the silence. Not cold or condemning, just…expectant. Rand stood with his arms crossed, his eyes steady on mine. Egwene and Elayne were sitting on a bench, the two of them feeling calm in the bond, though I didn’t fully trust that to be real. Nynaeve looked skeptical, but there was an ever present concern behind her narrowed eyes, as if she was worried what this would do to me, what it could mean. Thom seemed at peace with himself, but then, he almost always did. Mat’s face was guised with a slight smirk, as though he had expected this to be some kind of joke, while Perrin looked deathly serious, his face contemplating as it always did. Lan stood back slightly, his hands at ease but his posture alert, and Moiraine—Light, Moiraine just watched me, her expression unreadable except for a flicker of something almost like pride. That was what had worried me the most.

I cleared my throat, though no words followed. The Flame stirred softly within me, I could feel it now, as if it was trying to provide me some sort of comfort in this moment. It wasn’t surging, or flaring—just present, and warm inside me. “I… I don’t know what to show you,” I admitted, though I suspected that they would already have gathered that. “I don’t know what this is, not truly. Only that it’s always been with me, in some form. And that it protects. It doesn’t answer to my will, I don’t call on it the way I would saidin. It just… acts, when it’s needed.”

“You destroyed a Myrddraal with it,” Nynaeve said, though her tone was not imposing, simply pointing out a fact. “It burned to ash, and you never even touched it.”

“I was channelling,” I said quickly, instinctively. “I wove Fire and Spirit. It wasn’t the Flame, I mean… not directly… Moiraine thinks that it might be a part of every weave I use, but I certainly didn’t… I didn’t mean for it to be like that.”

“You didn’t mean for it to,” she echoed, not quite accusing, but not measured yet either.

“I believe him,” Elayne said softly. “I’ve felt Alex through the bond. There was no anger, no violence in him. In that moment, when he struck the Myddraal there was only fear… and resolve. I could feel him wanting to protect me, wanting to protect us.”

Egwene stepped forward next, her voice steady but her hands fidgeting slightly at her sides. “And I’ve seen it for myself. I… I hadn’t spoken on this but… after we bonded, I had a dream of it. And during the bond, I felt it—like…like roots, warm and old. Not power, not the way the One Power feels. Something deeper. It didn’t lash out. It welcomed me.”

I blinked, the knot in my chest loosening a fraction. The Flame within me didn’t shift or flare in response, but it pulsed with a kind of silent acknowledgement. As if it were present, listening to what had been said.

Rand stepped forward at this too. “I’ve felt the affects of the Flame first hand. When I came to find Alex, in the prison in Falme, he had this… this aura around him, and when I entered it, all the taint… all the built up madness from my channeling before meeting him… it burned away, and I felt like me again, the first time I’ve truly felt like me since I started channeling more, even if I don’t know all the weaves he does. It is not a thing of destruction, it healed me, and it may do the same for others.”

Mat gave pause at hearing this, but he spoke up all the same. “You know… since I used the horn things have been different… but that feeling I had, the left over from having touched the dagger… I don’t feel like I need to be near it so much anymore since meeting you. I haven’t felt like I need to touch it. Light, it’s sitting in my cabin right now rather than on my hip, and I don’t feel wrong that it is not on me.”

There was a silence after Mat’s words, longer than the last, and heavier somehow. He wasn’t one to offer confessions easily, not unless they were hidden behind a smirk or soaked in ale. But now there was only truth and a quiet kind of awe. It was nice to hear him being open, especially with him seeming to come to my defence.

Perrin was the next to speak, apparently having decided on some level of his thoughts that he now felt comfortable speaking on. “I don’t feel anything like what the rest of you do. I can’t channel. But can sense things, in a way it’s hard to explain.” His golden eyes met mine. “And right now, it feels like… standing near a fire on a cold night. Not too close to burn, but close enough that you’d be a fool to turn away.”

Even Nynaeve seemed to waver then, her arms no longer crossed. She was still watching me closely, but with a softer sort of skepticism. “I felt something when we were attacked. Not during, but after. Like… like the corruption had been wiped from the air. No weaves, no cleansing flows. It just wasn’t there anymore.”

Elayne glanced at her, then back at me. “And the bond—what I feel through it—it’s grown stronger. Not in the Power, but in clarity. Like there’s something at the heart of you that’s clearing the fog I didn’t know I’d been carrying.” She moved to my side as she said this, taking my hand with a warm consideration, as if she could feel that in this moment I needed some level of reassurance, and that she wanted to be that reassurance for me.

Egwene followed Elayne’s lead a moment later, her expression gentler than I’d seen in days. “It’s the same for me,” she said. “When you bonded me… I expected it to feel like surrendering something. Like giving part of myself up. But instead, it felt like opening a door. Like something already inside me had finally been seen.” She stood beside Elayne now, opposite me, her fingers brushing mine before grasping my other hand with a similar reassuring squeeze. “Before you bonded me… I was having nightmares about what they did in Falme… but ever since the bond, I’ve only dreamt of warm things… of a future in this world that I did not see before. You didn’t force this bond, Alex. You asked. And you gave something in return. You’ve brought peace, and made our lives better. That matters.”

I hadn’t realized I was shaking until I felt both their hands tighten around mine. A breath shuddered out of me, somewhere between relief and release. I wasn’t alone. I had never truly been alone, even when in this room and this discussion—but now, for the first time, I felt that truth soak into my bones 

Lan stepped forward then, arms crossed loosely, his voice low but sure. “You’ve given them peace. That matters more than control. Some men live lifetimes without knowing how to protect anyone but themselves. You protect by being you. Don’t forget that, Smith.”

I met his eyes, and he nodded once at me. No more needed to be said between us, I knew that it meant he had approved, and that he would support me in whatever was to come. 

Thom gave a quiet, thoughtful grunt. He sat leaning on a crate, legs crossed, one hand resting on the hilt of a knife he hadn’t needed to draw. “I’ve known men who could set cities alight with their tempers,” he said, voice rasping but steady. “And others who could speak a thousand noble words without ever once meaning them. What matters to me is what a man does when there’s no one left to impress, when he thinks he’s alone.” He looked at me, sharp blue eyes softer than usual. “You’re still standing, lad. Still choosing to care, even when it might cost you. That’s rare, and most certainly worth a damn.” He paused there, then added more weight to his words. “The fact we are even having this conversation is an insult to what you have done— but if it needs to be said, then I’ll say it: you have my support lad, no matter what it is that you are.” He shrugged then, as if uncomfortable with his own sincerity, and reached into his coat for his pipe. “Not that it means you’re done making mistakes. Light help us if that were true. But so far, I’d say your odds are better than most.”

Moiraine stepped forward at last, her hands folded before her, the ever-present calm in her features tempered now by something more intimate—perhaps it was respect, or maybe even price. When she spoke, her voice was clear, neither loud nor soft, but firm in its purpose.

“It would appear we have all witnessed some form of your power, Alex,” she said, her eyes sweeping across the room. “Perhaps, not the Flame itself, but certainly the truth it leaves behind. This is not a power of destruction, as I said to you earlier. It is not something you wield like a sword, or even the Source. It is something old, made new again, a force woven into the Pattern in ways we do not yet understand, and perhaps that we cannot understand. But it is not evil, and it does not need to be feared.” She looked at me as she said the last words, as if she could somehow tell that I still wasn’t fully at peace with what I was. 

She let her words settle over the group before she continued.

“I have studied the Power my entire life. I have walked in the ruins of nations and read prophecies carved into stone by hands long since turned to dust. And in all that time, I have never seen anything quite like what lives inside Alex. It does not conform to our knowledge of siding or saidar, nor does it obey the rules of the One Power as we understand them. And yet—“ her eyes returned to me, steady and sure “—it has never once shown itself to be cruel. Not even when it might have been justified.”

She turned back to the group. “What you saw in Falme, what you witnessed on the deck during the attack, and what you may feel even now—it all points to the same truth. This is a mercy, not a madness. And while we may not comprehend its full purpose, we can choose how we respond to it.” Moiraine took a breath, not out of uncertainty, but to ground what came next. “I choose to trust it. I choose to trust him. And I ask the same of all of you. Not because we understand, but because we have seen. Because he has earned that trust, again and again—not with power, but with his heart.”

The silence that followed was different now. Not tense or uncertain, but reflective—weighty with understanding. Faces that had been furrowed with doubt or wariness now carried something quieter. They looked of acceptance, or at the very least, a willingness to go on.

Perrin gave a small nod, as if something had clicked into place. Egwene’s hand was still wrapped in mine, her eyes soft with feeling but sharpened with resolve. Elayne leaned slightly closer, her shoulder brushing mine in quiet solidarity. Even Mat, who had begun digging through his pockets as if to find a lost die gave a small grunt of agreement.

“Well,” he said, finally seeming to get whatever it was he was searching for from his pocket, “if that’s the weirdest thing that happens this week, I’ll eat my boots.”

Nynaeve let out a sharp breath that could have either been a sigh or a snort depending on how one chose to interpret it. “You’re not off the hook,” she said to me, pointing a finger. “Whatever this is, I want to learn more. But I’m not about to throw stones at someone just for being a little strange. Light knows, we’ve all earned that title by now.”

Rand gave a soft chuckle at that, perhaps one of the strangest of us all, as the Dragon Reborn. His eyes were serious when they turned to Moiraine. “Why now?” He asked. “Why did this conversation have to happen today?”

All eyes shifted to her again.

Moiraine didn’t hesitate. “Because tomorrow, we arrive in Tar Valon.”

A ripple of tension moved through the group. Even those who had known the general route straightened, absorbing the weight of what that meant. Tar Valon. The White Tower.

“There will be eyes on all of you the moment we disembark,” she continued. “Some curious, some cautious—and some dangerous. The White Tower is not a place for secrets. We must be prepared for what comes next.” She turned to me, and though her voice remained composed, there was a distinct note of warning beneath it. “Alex will be coming with me to the Tower. But not as a prisoner, and not as a curiosity. He will be treated as a Warder in training, and Lan will accompany him on the grounds, That much, at least, will be true— he has trained with Lan, and his bonds with Elayne and Egwene gives us some precedent.”

“But,” Elane said, brows furrowed slightly, “The Tower will want more than that. They’ll sense something different about him, they’re bound to.” 

Moiraine inclined her head slightly. “They will,” she said. “There are sisters in the Tower who can sense saidin, and others who are… too curious for their own good. Alex’s strength in the Power alone will raise questions, never mind the Flame.”

“The Flame?” Nynaeve asked, voice sharp with surprise. “You gave it a name?”

“It is what it is,” Moiraine answered. “Neither of the One Power, nor wholly outside it. Something that seems woven from the Pattern itself, but resists being study or unraveled. It burns the taint of saidin, comforts those it touches, and protects without being commanded. That is not something I would keep hidden for the Amyrlin Seat. And if I am to explain it to her, it would help to have a name for it.” Nynaeve huffed at that, but Moiraine continued. “Many will be assuaged merely with the fact that he is the Hero of Falme come back with an Aes Sedai, two Novices, and an Accepted, after having been there to help protect a Novice from harm.”

“Some might be,” Thom said, tapping ash from his pipe into a small dish. “Others will ask why the Tower didn’t know about him sooner. Why someone with this kind of power—this Flame—wasn’t brought before the Hall the moment he was discovered.”

Moiraine gave a slight nod. “Which is why I must speak to the Amyrlin alone first. If the Tower is to accept Alex, they must do so with open eyes and willing hearts—not feat. He cannot simply appear in their midst, unexplained and unprepared.”

Mat shifted, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. “And you really think that’s going to work?”

“I think,” Moiraine replied, “that the Amyrlin has seen stranger things than a young man who cleanses the taint by standing still.” She turned her gaze to me then, steady and unreadable. “But I won’t lie to you. This path will be dangerous. There will be those who see you as a threat… or a tool. And some who may try to force you into a Warder bond, or who may try to see you gentled. While you are with Lan, it is best to draw the eye towards something other than what you truly are—distract them with something dazzling, something that steals attention and leaves the truth comfortably overlooked.”

Elayne’s eyes lit with mischief, her voice lilting with mock innocence. “Oh, I suppose I can manage to drape myself over your arm like some lovesick daughter of Andor,” she said, looping her hand dramatically through mine and fluttering her lashes. “Bat my eyes, sigh wistfully, pretend you’ve stolen my heart… thought the pretending might be the hardest part. You can’t steal what has been given willingly.”

That earned a dry snort from Mat. “Light,” he muttered, “and here I thought I was the theatrical one.”

Lan replied with a grunt that said Mat most certainly was. “Alex will walk the halls with purpose.”

Perrin eyed me then, eyebrows furrowed and his golden eyes were laced with concern. “Are you sure about all this, Alex?”

“In truth, no,” I replied. “I’m not really sure of anything, other than that Moiraine is right. Hiding what I am from the world isn’t an option, and it is better to at least have the reveal be somewhat on our terms. While we may not have the luxury of waiting for the exact right moment, we can at least create some small advantages for ourselves.”

Elayne leaned in slightly, her voice lilting with mock seriousness. “Well, if we’re creating small advantages, then surely a lovesick Daughter-Heir on your arm qualifies. I can bat my eyelashes, speak in soft sighs, and make every Aes Sedai in the Tower wonder how you managed to charm royalty and survive.”

That earned a snort from Mat. “Light, if you start fluttering your lashes at him, I’m going to choke on my own tongue.”

Egwene rolled her eyes, but her smile was warm. “You’re forgetting she already does that. You just haven’t noticed because you’re too busy watching your boots.”

Elayne replied with a hand to her chest in mock offence. “Don’t pretend you don’t do the same thing, Egwene, Or who is it that is going to be sleeping in his bed tonight?”

Egwene’s cheeks flushed a faint pink, but her chin lifted with playful defiance. “At least I’m not the one who moaned loud enough last night to wake the cabin next door.”

A collective groan rippled through the room.

“Light,” Mat muttered, covering his face with his hands. “You lot are going to be the death of me.”

Thom chuckled from his perch, pipe now lit and curling smoke into the cabin’s low ceiling. “If this is your version of hiding in plain sight, lad, you may want to ask Moiraine to revise the plan. Subtlety seems to have abandoned ship.”

Lan, who had remained most quiet during the exchange, raised an eyebrow ever so slightly. “Distraction through chaos,” he said dryly. “It’s not the worst plan I’ve seen.”

I found myself chuckling despite the lingering weight of what was to come. There was something deeply reassuring in the laughter, the banter, even the embarrassment. It reminded me that despite everything—the Flame, saidin, the Tower—I had made a found family worth fighting for, and one worth being a part of.

Moiraine let the moment settle before speaking again, her tone returning to calm purpose. “You will all need to be prepared when we arrive. Roles to play, stories to uphold. I will see to my meeting with the Amyrlin as soon as we dock. Until then, stay close, keep your wits about you, and do not underestimate how closely we will all be watched.”

The room quieted again, though we had all become sure of ourselves in the moment. Everyone understood what was being asked of them, and what would be required. Elayne would have to play the loving girlfriend, a role that luckily came naturally to her given what we were. Egwene, on the other hand… Light, if she acts as her true self, then the word of our love triangle will spread through the Tower before we ever even make it through the gates. 

Perhaps Lan and I would even have to spar in the warder training grounds, give the people a show that would distract them even further from what I truly was by feeding them something that they would expect, yet that would also impress them. Anything to keep eyes away from what I truly was… but thinking too heavily on this would not help me now. For now, I needed to rest, and ready myself for what was to come once we docked in Tar Valon.

“That will be all for today,” Moiraine said, clearly having said all that she deemed necessary. “We dock in Tar Valon tomorrow, shortly before midday. Prepare yourselves—for questions, for scrutiny, and for subtle eyes that see too much. Rest if you can.”

There was a shuffle of movement, chairs shifting and boots scuffing, murmurs as people left the room to take up their own activities to bide the time. Lan clapped a hand to my shoulder in passing, and Thom gave me a wink before vanishing with a swirl of his cloak. Mat and Perrin lingered a moment longer before heading to the stairs, exchanging glances that held a thousand unsaid words of brotherhood and worry. A worry that they held for me. 

Elayne pulled my head down to her level and gave me a passionate kiss. “Consider that a preview of what to expect tomorrow, my Flameforged. Don’t stay up too late tonight. You’ll need your wits and your charm tomorrow.” She squeezed my hand once before letting go and drifting off with the others. 

Egwene lingered infant of me for a moment, as though she did not currently know what to say. Her gaze was layered—concern, pride, longing, and something deeper that I could not name. But she nodded once, and gave me a gentle squeeze before she moved to exit, and I knew we’d talk before sleep claimed us tonight, while we were in the privacy of the cabin we would share. Then she was gone too.

Only Moiraine remained. She stepped closer, and something in her expression shifted. The edge in her voice faded, replaced by something quieter, and almost affectionate. The steel of the Aes Sedai was still there—but behind it, I saw the woman who had risked more than most would ever know to bring us this far. I saw the soft look in her eyes from earlier return to her, as though it was reserved only for me. 

She examined me in silence a moment longer, then reached out and adjusted the collar of my shirt with careful fingers, like she was preparing me for a noble’s supper rather than a trial in the lion’s den that we sailed inexorably closer to. 

“You did well,” she said at last, her voice low. “Better than I expected—and perhaps better than you did yourself. They needed to hear the truth yes, but they also needed to feel it, to say it aloud themselves and voice their experience with what you are, with how you’ve affected them. You gave them the space to do that, even while carrying your fear that they might not.”

I didn’t speak. I wasn’t sure I trusted my voice, not yet.

Moiraine’s hand lingered on my shoulder a moment longer, then fell away. “You have quickly grown into something… rare, Alex. Something dangerous, yes, but also necessary. And you still look at the world like it can be better. That… that may be one of your greatest strengths, especially in the Tower.”

I looked at her then, unsure how to voice the knot of gratitude, worry, and determination that had taken root in me. But she seemed to understand it even if I could not find the words.

She stepped back, straightening again into the full poise of the Aes Sedai she was known to be. “Rest now,” she said. “Tomorrow, you begin a dance with the Tower. And the steps will only grow more difficult from here.” She paused in the doorway, her profile framed by the warm light of the hanging lamps, and looked back once more. “Remember who you are. Not just what you can do. You are a good leader, Alex… and an even better man.”

And then she was gone, leaving me alone in the common room to contemplate for a moment what I would go through tomorrow. The quiet that followed her departure was complete, broken only by the gentle creak of the boat’s timbers and the distant rush of the river outside. I let out a breath I hadn’t known I was holding, then slowly eased down on to one of the low benches, elbows resting on my knees.

Good man. Good leader.

They were word I didn’t feel I had earned—not yet—but the way she had said them lingered in the air like a promise. Or a challenge. My fingers flexed unconsciously, and I could still feel the warmth from Elayne’s hand, Egwene’s grip, the silent support from Perrin, the wry loyalty in Mat’s voice. Even Thom’s gruff honesty still echoed in the corner of my thoughts. And Rand… Light, Rand had stood for me when I least expected it. I knew that I was never alone in this, but it was nice to know that even with the limited knowledge we had of my power—the Flame—my friends would still be there for me.

I leaned back, tilting my head to stare at the low wooden ceiling, and let myself feel the weight of it all—not just the burden, though that did feel like a lot—but the meaning of it all. The Flame stirred in my chest, soft and slow. Not guiding or flaring, just… present. Like it was listening to my thoughts, and was there to comfort me in this moment. Tomorrow would bring more tests. More eyes. More lies wrapped in polite smiles and questions that were really commands. But today, I had survived the truth.

Eventually, all the stillness in that space became too heavy for me. I stood, letting my hand trail along the edge of the bench as I moved toward the hall. The narrow corridor creaked beneath my steps, and I passed a few closed doors where the others had already gone to their cabins. I paused outside mine, then pushed the door open quietly.

The scent of oiled wood and river damp greeted me, familiar by now. Kojima’s saddle gear was stacked neatly in the corner, and the faint flicker of lamplight danced over the spine of a book resting on my cot. Elayne’s gift that she had wanted me to read, to learn about the history of the Hundred Years War. The sight of the book brought a small smile to my lips. Elayne had pressed it into my hands days ago, claiming I needed “a nobles understanding of war, not just a blacksmith’s.” I hadn’t told her, but I had started reading it—slowly, carefully—and not just for her sake. The way she lit up when she spoke of the intricacies of treaties and battle formations made me want to understand it, to meet her in that world of hers.

I sat on the edge of the cot, the Flame within me quiet, like the banked coals of a forge at rest. Not gone, never gone, never even fully resting. Just calm. It was the first time all day that I had truly been able to rest alone, and the weight of it settled over me gently. There had been no explosion of fear or rejection, no frantic scramble to hide. They had listened, even Nynaeve, and Thom. Most of all, Elayne and Egwene, the ones I had feared losing most had simply… stayed. 

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, and let out a long steadying breath. Tomorrow would bring Tar Valon. The Tower, Light, the Amyrlin Seat herself. A thousand eyes all sharper than the last… I should read… dwelling on this will do nothing but fray my nerves. 

I grabbed the worn leather-bound book Elayne had given to me, dry as old bread, but it gave my hands something other than hold, my eyes something to scan besides the shadows on the walls. The words blurred a little before settling into focus, not because I was tired, but because my mind kept drifting. To Egwene’s hand in mine. To Elayne’s soft laugh nd the defiance in her voice when she’d claimed me with a smile in front of everyone. To Rand’s quiet trust. Even Mat’s half-mocking, half-sincere solidarity.

I wasn’t used to being seen—not like that. Not understood and accepted anyway. I could hear Kojima shifting below, and feel his presence even from here. Not through any magic, just familiarity. As if he, too, sensed the hush before the storm. As if he, too, was preparing.

I closed the book gently, rubbing at my temples as I set it aside. I had been reading for some time now, but I could feel Egwene at the door now, her closeness coming through the bond. I knew her presence meant I must have been reading for a few hours and that she was coming to see me for the night.

Egwene’s soft knock came before the door opened fully. She stepped inside quietly, her eyes gentle but searching. “You look tired,” she said, voice low and warm. She came over to me on the bunk, setting down a tray as she came in. She had brought me supper, I suppose I had missed the meal as a whole. “You should eat, love.”

I looked up, meeting her eyes and smiled tiredly. “I lost track of time again. Thank you.” I shifted to make space, and she sat beside me, close enough to feel the warmth through the bond and in the room itself. The quiet was comforting, a balm to the tension that still lingered from the earlier meeting. 

Egwene’s fingers brushed my hand as she reached for a piece of bread on the tray. “It’s not easy, all of this,” she said softly. “But you don’t have to carry it alone. Not now, not ever.”

Her words settled around me like a gentle cloak. I felt the Flame’s warmth steady in response, a silent promise that whatever came next, I wouldn’t face it without those who stood around me. I took a bite of the food that Egwene brought me, simple salted meat with a stone bread, but it was nice all the same. I looked to her with gratitude. “I’m glad you’re here.” Then with some thought. “And I know, I don’t need to carry it alone, but there is always something that cannot be said in the moment, something that cannot be put into words, or that words simply cannot be found for.” 

Egwene looked at me with that gaze that told me she both understood my words, and didn’t want to believe that I would ever struggle to speak with her. She didn’t interrupt, though. Instead, she reached across with her free hand and brushed her thumb over my cheek, her touch lingering on my skin. “Then don’t speak it,” she said softly. “Not yet. Just let me be here with you.”

Her words sank into me like warmth after cold, a kind of acceptance deeper than any I’d known. There was nothing more I could offer in that moment—no clever phrase, nor grand declaration—so I didn’t try. I simply leaned into her touch, letting the silence stretch between us, not as something empty, but full. Full of what hadn’t been said. Full of what didn’t need to be said at all. Egwene stayed close, her hand still resting lightly against my cheek as her thumb drifted once more across my skin. Her eyes searched mine, not urgently, but with a quiet patience that made my chest ache. She could feel it too—the weight of the day, and the weight of what tomorrow meant.

After a moment, she leaned in and rested her head on my shoulder. I wrapped an around around her instinctively, grateful for the warmth and the stillness she brought with her. The riverboat creaked faintly around us, the sound of the water like a lullaby just beyond the hull.

“I’m proud of you,” she said finally, her voice muffled slightly by the fabric of my shirt. “And I don’t say that just because I love you, though I do. I always do. I say it because you stood in front of all of us and didn’t flinch. You could’ve downplayed it—what you are. You could have let Moiraine explain it all while you hid somewhere safe, somewhere farther away from it all. But you didn’t. You were honest, and vulnerable, and brave.”

Her hand slipped down around my waist, and she gave me a small squeeze as we sat there on the bed.

“But it also scared me,” she admitted softer now. “Because tomorrow, Elayne gets to stand beside you in the light. She gets to show her pride, her love, in front of everyone in the White Tower. Don’t get me wrong, I know that you and her love each other, and I know that we, the three of us, are in this together, both her and I agreed to share in loving you and share in your love… but it hurts, Alex. To not be able to show that I love you in the way she gets to... and Light, the two of you did fully consummate your relationship last night.” 

I didn’t look away. I couldn’t. The pain in her voice deserved more than silence or shame. It deserved to be held.

“I know,” I said, the words low but steady. “I know it does.”

Egwene’s gaze drifted down between us, to where he hand rested against my side and her voice dropped to a whisper, almost too soft for me to hear. “It’s hard, Alex. Watching her love you so openly. Being so sure that tomorrow, all eyes will be on you two—while I have to hold my tongue. To smile and pretend everything is as it should be.”

She moved her hand, settling onto the back of my hand where she traced a light pattern wit her fingers. She pulled back her hand then, putting it to her chest. “I want to be proud, like Elayne is. But sometimes, I just want to cry instead.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and squeezed her by the shoulder, bringing her tighter into me. “I know. I see you. I feel you, everything, all of it there in the bond.”

She gave a small, humourless laugh, eyes glimmering with unshed tears. “I’m jealous, Alex, and I know you see it. I am jealous of her freedom, her joy. And maybe a little scared—-scared that someday you might forget what we have, or that it might not be enough.”

I shook my head softly. “Never.”

She leaned in then, turning towards me and resting her forehead against mine. “It’s not your fault. It’s not Elayne’s either, at least not fully. It’s just the way things are.”

Her breath hitched as I tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “But I want you to know — no matter what tomorrow brings, or how public it gets — my heart is with you. Always. I will always hold you dear to me, Egwene. We agreed to this, to being in the bond together, to being open about all of this. I will love you, always, Egwene, and I long for the day we will be able to show that in public.”

Egwene’s eyes softened, a mixture of gratitude and lingering sorrow swimming in their depths. She didn’t say anything for a long moment, just let her breath settle against my skin. “I want that too,” she whispered. “More than anything. To walk beside you without shadows between us. To love you without fear or whispers. For people to be ready for a Lord of Cairhien to be loved and married to a Queen of Andor and an Aes Sedai both together.” Her hand curled around mine, fingers tightening just slightly—a silent plea and a steady promise all at once.

I smiled gently, feeling the weight of her words settle between us like a fragile hope. “They will be ready,” I said firmly. “They have to be. And we’ll help them get there—together. Though… I’m not quite accustomed to being called a Lord of Cairhien yet… but I suppose I will have to get used to that just as much as others will have to get used to our relationships.”

Her breath caught again, a small laugh slipping out, bittersweet but real. “I’d like to see the faces of the Tower when they realize just how complicated things have become.”

I let out a raucous laugh at the, squeezing her hand gently. “Oh, they’ll have plenty to say. Light, odds are Moiraine will spill it all to the Amyrlin tomorrow, and I’ll be left to deal with her looks when I am introduced. But none of it will change what’s true.”

Egwene leaned in closer, her forehead resting against mine once more. “Then for tonight, let’s forget all the whispers and the expectations. Just you and me. No titles, no bonds, just… us.” 

“I quite like that Idea,” I said while setting aside the now empty plate, clearing the bed for Egwene and I, which she hungrily pulled me down into. Her fingers tangled in my hair as she pressed closer, a quiet need shimmering in her eyes that mirrored my own. The world beyond the cabin walls—the politics, the stares, the whispered judgments—faded to nothing in the heat of that moment.

“No titles,” she breathed against my lips. “No masks. Just… us.”

I held her there, feeling the steady beat of her heart against mine, the familiar rhythm that had become my anchor in a world that spun too fast. “Just us,” I agreed again. I leaned down and pressed a firm and passionate kiss against her lips. While she may not have been ready to go all the way, her hands had still decided to roam my body. She broke our kiss for only a moment to take my shirt off, pulling it over my head. She was already in her night shift, though this was one I had not seen before, a green shift with lace accents, soft as silk. Her skin warmed under my fingertips as my hands traced the curve of her back, fingers lingering where the fabric of the shift met bare skin. The room seemed to shrink around us, the quiet interrupted only by our breaths and the soft rustle of clothing sliding away. 

Egwene’s eyes held a mixture of vulnerability and fierce desire, her lips parted slightly as she leaned back just enough for me to meet her gaze. “I’m not ready,” she whispered, voice thick with feeling, “but I want to be with you. Like this. Close. No walls.”

I nodded, my heart pounding not just from desire but from the trust she placed in me. “We’ll take all the time you need,” I promised, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “Tonight is ours—no expectations, just presence.” Her fingers found my face, cupping my jaw as she drew me back down for another kiss, slower this time, full of tenderness and unspoken promises. In that quiet, dimly lit cabin, we found something that neither power nor politics could touch—a simple, sacred closeness, filled with love for one another. 

She pulled me down, to hold her closely, kissing me once more, gently, before pulling back and smiling. “I love you, Alex.” I felt her joy in the bond at our closeness, her comfort in us being together. 

“I love you too, Egwene.” And with that, we both settled in, comfortably fitting together to sleep for the night. And in that comfort, sleep found me quickly, my mind freed of the weight of tomorrow, and help in the sacred comfort of closeness to one who I loved. 

Chapter Text

The riverboat I had become so accustomed to moored in the early day light, the mist still clung to the waters around Tar Valon like a veil. Even after everything, the White Tower rising in the distance still stole my breath, much to Elayne’s entertainment. I had allowed her to dress me today, given that I was to play the role of her true love who she had found and was fawning over. It was a role I knew well, as it was not entirely untrue. She did love me, and I her, but it would be interesting to see her playing it up to try and distract the people of the Tower from figuring out any of what I really was. The Tower itself was a pillar of impossible grace, it had been untouched by war or weather, gleaming like a promise to those who sought it—or a warning to those that it sought.

Egwene had given me one last passionate kiss that morning before we had started moving for the day, a fierce moment in which she was still staking her claim on me. As much as she may not be able to display it publicly yet, at least for our plans in the Tower to work, she wanted it to be known privately, her love for me would never be forsaken.

The others disembarked ahead, Moiraine already shifting into the woman of influence and secrets she became within the Tower’s reach. She had schooled me in certain matters of etiquette to be observed within the Tower, but said that it would help my role as the Hero of Falme and lovestruck fancy of a princess if I was still somewhat unlearned in these ways. Nynaeve grumbled about dampness in her boots, she was clearly happy to be getting off the ship and back to solid land. Perrin and Mat on the other hand stayed close to Rand, who was keeping his own thoughts well-guarded behind a calm exterior. The three would be going with Thom to an inn, rather than moving towards the Tower with us, but in a city such as this, keeping secrets close to ones chest was not a bad idea. 

I walked beside Elayne, her hand tucked into the crook of my arm. She played her part well, laughing softly at things I hadn’t said and leaning into me as though we were caught in the throes of a whirlwind courtship. And truthfully, if I let myself forget the weight of what we were walking into, it almost felt real. Not the love—we had that much. But the ease of it, the way she smiled with calculated brightness, turning herself into the perfect princess in love. It was a mask she wore with practiced grace, but I could still feel the fire of her through the bond. She didn’t like returning to the Tower. Not like this.

“Try not to look so much like a soldier,” she whispered under her breath as we passed the first of the Tower guards at the inner gate. “You’re supposed to be a lovesick lord, not Moiraine’s second Warder, or a blade-for-hire.”

I arched a brow at her, smirking slightly. “Would a lovesick lord be wearing two swords?”

“He’d be wearing them wrong,” she teased and squeezed my arm before dropping into a more regal posture.

We passed through the gates of the Tower itself soon after, the White Tower rising around us like a spine of polished bone—so bright it seemed to reject the shadows that trailed behind us from the world beyond. Initiates paused in their paths to bow or curtsy to Elayne, their eyes flicking to me with curiosity, speculation, occasional wariness, and some blushed at the very sight. The bond between Elayne and me pulsed with her tightly held composure, but also a quiet thread of satisfaction—she enjoyed the whispers, the subtle power of returning triumphant with the man she loved in toe. 

I felt bad for Egwene, she was trailing slightly behind me, though I could feel her occasionally through the bond, wanting to reach for my hand, longing to show that Elayne was not the only one who had won my heart. I wanted to reassure her, but I knew that would complicate the plan of distraction. We just needed to make it to the warder training yards where Lan and I would spar, and that would be distraction enough for others, seeing the veteran warder spar with the Hero of Falme that they had already been whispering about. 

Moiraine separated off, as was expected to move to her meeting with the Amyrlin Seat. Meanwhile, Lan stayed with Elayne and I, Elayne playing up the lovestruck princess while Lan did his best to not turn from his determined stare. Egwene had moved slightly away from the group, trying to appear uninterested in me or any of our actions or moves. Nynaeve had already left as well, trying to make sure that our group did not seem too suspicious, she moved to her duties about the Tower. 

The moment we passed not the main courtyard, a few novices slowed their sweeping or water-hauling to gawk. Warders moving through the arches gave nods to Lan, though several pairs of eyes lingered on me—some recognizing the swords, others perhaps remembering stories of the battle at Falme. The courtyard was alive with motion, but it was the sort of motion that changed subtly around us, like a stream diverting around a stone. Even when you were welcome in the White Tower, you were never not being observed. 

We had just started toward the eastern wing, where the sparring grounds lay, when two figures stepped through an arched walkway ahead of us—one relaxed and smiling, the other already radiating judgment.

“Light,” the smiling one said with a roguish grin, “I thought I’d misread when they said someone was strutting through the Tower on Elayne’s arm.”

“Elayne does not strut,” the serious one said, stepping forward with the crisp confidence of someone who always assumed he was in the right. His eyes landed on me like a sword point. “And I would ask what business a blade-bearing outside has walking unescorted within Tower grounds—if he weren’t being escorted by my half-sister.” Ah, so this was Galad. Elayne had told me of him, and had warned me that he might be a problem. That must make the smiling blonde Gawyn, I could tell already why Elayne liked him more than her half-brother.

“Galad,” Elayne said flatly. “He’s not an outside. He’s my betrothed. And you’ll remember your manners around him.”

Galad’s jaw tightened at that. “We’ve heard many tales of this ‘Hero of Falme.’ Some call him ta’veren. Some whisper worse. But no one speaks of his training. Or his loyalty.”

“I’m training with Lan Mandragoran,” I said, stepping forward calmly to match Galad’s gaze. In truth, I did not find him intimidating, and I knew I did not need to impress him to make Elayne happy, it was Gawyn I was more worried about. “And my loyalty is to those I love, and to the Light.”

Gawyn let out a low whistle. “Training with Lan? That explains why you don’t walk like a puffed-up noble. Though I had heard you were born to a blacksmith in Cairhien, is that right?”

Galad jumped in before I could even think to reply to Gawyn. “Elayne,” Galad said, his voice tight, “you should be cautious where you place your trust. The Tower is no place for political games. Especially not now.”

“I’m not playing games,” Elayne replied, her voice smooth as polished steel, though I could feel her anger boiling in the bond. “And if I were, I wouldn’t need, or want, your advice.” She pulled me down to meet her face and pulled me into a deep kiss at this, clearly trying to display that she had made up her mind, though it seemed to play more into the allegation that she was in fact playing games. 

Galad’s face barely changed, but I could see the twitch in his jaw, the way his knuckles tightened around the hilt of his sword. Elayne had told me he thought himself the Light made flesh, and clearly her choices did not sit well with that image. “If appearances are to be believed,” he said coldly, “then the Hall may have much to reconsider.”

Elayne pulled away from the kiss with a slow, deliberate smirk. “Let them reconsider. I know what I’m doing, and I will always, be the next Queen of Andor.” 

Gawyn laughed under his breath. “Well, I don’t know what exactly you’re doing, but from the glow on your mans cheeks, I’d have to say you’re doing it very well.”

That earned him a sharp glance from Galad, who turned his attention fully to me again. “If you stand beside her, then prove your worth. Spar with me. A simple demonstration that you are worthy to stand next to her, and that you could defend her if need be.”

I blinked slowly, plainly unimpressed. “You want a duel.”

“A spar,” Galad corrected, though his tone made it sound anything but friendly, “or perhaps as a blacksmith’s son you never learned the difference. We go to first blood. Let the Tower judge if your reputation is earned.”

“Elayne?” I looked to her, as if seeking her approval, though really, it was more to gauge if the man was serious, given I had not known him nearly as long as she had.

Elayne’s eyes flicked between Galad and me, cool and unreadable for a moment, though I felt the flicker of sharp amusement pulse through the bond. She arched one golden brow, then gave a regal nod. “If he wants to embarrass himself, who am I to stop him?” That earned a faint smirk from Gawyn, but Galad didn’t flinch. His stance was already shifting, straight-backed and proud, hand on his sword hilt like he thought himself the embodiment of justice, and a fully trained Warder. In reality he was neither. 

Lan, who had remained silent through the exchange, finally stepped forward. “You’ll have your spar,” he said, voice gravelly, calm. “The yard is just ahead. If it’s to first blood, you’ll follow Warder rules. No weaves from any Aes Sedai. No tricks. No stepping outside the ring. I’ll call it.”

Galad gave a stiff nod. “That’s acceptable.”

Lan stepped closer to me then, having a word only for me to hear. “If anything, this will help our distraction, and will help warm you up for a spar with me.” 

I gave Lan a nod, the corners of my mouth twitching upward. That he was amused—Lan, of all people—meant Galad had no idea what he was walking into. A warm-up, indeed.

We moved to the training yard, which opened up before us as we emerged from the arches of the Tower proper. Smooth stone underfoot, the training grounds were lined by granite benches and shaded alcoves. Warders-in-training had been drilling already, but word must have spread like wildfire—eyes turned our way as we entered, curious at first, then wide with recognition.

The Hero of Falme.

The son of a blacksmith with twin swords.

The man who had captured the heart of Elayne Trakand

And now, apparently, about to spar with the White Tower’s golden boy. 

Galad had taken the other side of the ring as his, already using the space to strip himself of his shirt, which I gathered I would be expected to do as well. Elayne caught my wrist with a sharp but silent tug, her eyes glittering with mischief and something fiercer—pride, maybe, or possessiveness. I turned slightly, and she rose onto her toes, brushing her lips against my ear with the pretence of whispering some lover’s encouragement.

“If you’re going to take your shirt off, do it slowly,” she murmured, just for me. “Half the Tower’s watching already. Might as well give them something worth whispering about.”

I raised an eyebrow at her, amused, but the bond between us shimmered with her intent. This wasn’t just about spectacle—it was part of the game. Distraction. Control the conversation. Let them talk about the wrong things. 

“I wouldn’t want to disappoint,” I said dryly, then stepped toward the ring.

Galad was already posing like a statue of justice, chest bare, gleaming in the soft midmorning light. He was handsome, I’d grant him that, but he was trying to be seen. And I had decided, much like Elayne had told me, that I should play along with it. I turned my back to the crowd, and pulled off my tunic in a single smooth motion. Not necessarily for flair—just efficiency. Still, I could hear the hush ripple over the onlooker, followed by murmurs and a few whistles, evidently, people liked what they saw from this blacksmiths son. I turned and tossed the shirt to Elayne, a trophy, some would call it, though really it was simply because I had moved away from the side of the ring too soon, not overly thinking of where I would put the shirt. The marks of my training with Lan showed—broad shoulders earned from a forge, lean muscle, scars. Nothing exaggerated, but everything earned. 

Elayne caught the shirt with one hand and a dazzling smile, holding it like a banner for all to see. “Mine,” she said lightly, just loud enough for the nearby spectators to hear. That earned a ripple of quiet laughter and a few gasps among the novices lining the outer benches, as well as a twitch of Gawyn’s mouth and a visible tightening of Galad’s jaw. It would appear that anything which gained me points with Gawyn would also lose me some standing with Galad.

Lan stood at the edge f the ring now, arms crossed, his gaze sharp. “You’ve both been warned,” he said, his voice carrying across the stone. “You spar until first blood. No one will channel to aid you. No stepping out of the circle. You fight as Warders do.”

Galad gave a practiced, elegant bow, feet placed perfectly, hand over heart. I gave him a simple nod, then slid into my stance— drawing my twin blades, one foot angled, knees loose, forward posture that Lan had drilled into me until it felt like breathing. From the look on Galad’s face, he expected me to give him some sort of flash. Drama. Something theatrical, but he did not get it..

Lan gave the signal. “Begin.”

Galad struck first, fast and clean. His blade cut thorough the air toward my left shoulder, a textbook attack meant to test my reaction time. 

I didn’t move. I redirected. One sword met his in a quiet clang, nudging the blow just wide, while the other circled in close—so close that had I been trying to I could have cut him already. But I used the flat of my blade and tapped his side, letting him know that I could have won even this early, but my goal was not to embarrass him with a quick defeat.

Galad pulled back sharply, his face tightening as he reset his stance. He had clearly felt the mark my blade would leave, but knew that it would be only a bruise, nothing more. A ripple of surprise swept through the audience—subtle, but unmistakable. Warders in training began to lean forward, and even a few full Warders watching form the shadows of the courtyard now showed open interest.

Gawyn gave a low whistle that echoed faintly across the yard. Elayne felt of satisfaction in the bond, and I could tell she was happy to see that Galad would be getting a thrashing. 

Galad came again, more aggressive this time. His blade moved like lightning—controlled and practiced, yet deadly. He was good. There was no denying that. He had trained for this, bled for it even. But I had trained under Lan. Every time Galad would strike, I heard the feedback that Lan would have given me had I tried a similar move. His strikes were wide when they should have been tight, showy where they should have been still. I countered his second sequence with a fluid series of defensive arcs, letting him feel like he had some modicum of control until I stepped inside again, pivoting and slightly slapping the back of his thigh with the flat of one sword before sliding back out of range in the same motion. 

Second contact. No blood.

I didn’t smile, nor did I gloat. I let my breath come steady and quiet. Let them see how he was not a challenge for me, just a warm up for something more, something that would actually test me.

Galad’s face was tight with strain now, his pride unraveling in the open air of the training yard. He adjusted his stance, trying to reassert control—his posture textbook-perfect, his focus intense—but I could feel it. The frustration. The disbelief. He wasn’t used to being the lesser swordsman. Not here. Not in the White Tower. He circled me slower this time, testing. I mirrored him with measured steps, blades low but ready, not a single twitch wasted.

“You mock me,” he said under his breath, loud enough for only me to hear.

“No,” I replied quietly, showing him the courtesy of not airing this to the entire yard. “You just expected a duel. I’ve been trained for war.” 

He lunged. I sidestepped. He turned the lunge into a twist, blade whipping toward my midsection. I caught it with the flat of one sword and let it slide by. With my second blade, I flicked a shallow line across his forearm. 

First blood.

A hiss of surprise swept over the crowd, though Elayne felt sure of the result in the bond, and I could tell she was pleased with me at a glance in her direction.

Lan’s voice cut clean through it all: “Match. Over, Alex wins.”

Galad stood frozen for a moment, staring at the thin line of red on his arm as if unsure whether it was real. It hadn’t been a deep cut—barely more than a scratch—but it was enough. The rule had been first blood, and it had come from my blade. He sheathed his sword with a sharp, controlled motion, every muscle in his body tight with restrained frustration. To his credit, he didn’t argue the result, nor did he lash out, or try to reclaim the moment. Instead, he simply gave a stiff nod, the kind one might give to a rival they didn’t want to respect but had no choice but to. 

“You fight well,” he said, voice clipped. “Better than anyone had let on as of yet.”

I inclined my head, giving him that much. “You’re fast, if you stopped thinking of yourself as the one who should always win, you’d be faster.” That earned a flicker of something in his eyes that he didn’t quite let reach his face. Whether it was anger, or what I hoped was the first edge of humility, one could not know. He turned and walked off the field without another word.

Gawyn stepped forward next, grinning as he clapped his hands slowly, theatrically. “Light, if I knew you were that good, I wouldn’t have let Galad run his mouth so long. That was beautifully done.” 

“Wasn’t meant to be a show,” I said, retrieving my shirt from Elayne, who looked positively giddy.

“No,” Gawyn said, eyes still dancing. “But it certainly was anyways. If I didn’t think my sister here would skin me alive for the notion of taking her man away, I’d have half the mind to say you should be teaching here rather than handling her political intrigue.” 

Elayne gave Gawyn a sidelong glare that was all Andorran queen-to-be, though the amusement pulsing through the bond belied her stern expression. “Keep talking like that and I will skin you, brother. And then make you polish every bit of armour back in Caemlyn, since I don’t hold the authority to do it here. I did mention that Alex here is my betrothed did I not? I intend to keep him that way.” 

Gawyn held up his hands in mock surrender, grinning. “Just saying what everyone else is thinking. You made quite the entrance, sister—and he,” he nodded at me, “made sure no ones going to forget it.”

“Good,” Elayne said coolly, then turned to me, softer now and giving me a tender kiss of affection. “Let them whisper, my love. It keeps them form asking the wrong questions.”

I met her gaze and gave a small nod. “And from noticing Egwene,” I added, low enough that only she could hear me. She dipped her chin once, acknowledging the deeper layer beneath all the spectacle. 

Lan’s voice cut through the charged moment like a blade. “If you’re done preening, Smith, you still owe me a dance.”

There was a ripple of quiet laughter among the watchers — warriors and novices alike who understood exactly what that meant. Lan was not one for gentle sparring. 

I stepped forward, the weight of the moment settling as I gripped my twin blades. “Are we sparring for blood?” I asked, a half-smile tugging at my lips.

Lan’s mouth twitched, the hint of a rare smile. “No. Blood would be unfair. You’re not ready to land that strike on me. But you’re ready to try for it.”

I took my stance in the ring, breath steadying. Through the bond, I felt Egwene’s presence, silent but unwavering, she was watching from the sidelines — her emotions a quiet mix of concern and trust. I glanced once more at Elayne who gave a small encouraging nod. This was only the beginning. 

I turned to Lan, raising both blades as I set my stance. “Ready when you are, Dai Shan.”

Lan huffed at the title, still not accustomed to me calling him anything other than Lan, yet he gave me titles of Smith, Flameforged, and only rarely my actual name. I caught the flicker of amusement in his eyes but said nothing, knowing better than to push the moment. Lan was a man of few words, but his approval carried weight deeper than any title I could offer.

The gathered crowd grew still as Lan stepped into the ring opposite me, his movements precise, every muscle coiled like a spring. The air between us tightened with anticipation.

 Lan’s voice was low but clear. “Show me what you’ve learned.”

With that, the dual began—not just a contest of blades, but a test of everything I’d become: a son of a blacksmith, the Flameforged, a warder-in-training though a wilder at that, and the man standing beside Elayne. Light if people only knew what my true titles were, and what I could truly do. But none of that mattered for now, we had to put on a good show, and make sure the people were distracted by the blades rather than seeing anything more serious about me, or the powers that stirred beneath the surface.

Lan moved first—fluid, silent, his blade tracing an arc like a hawk diving for prey, I met his strike with a sword, crossing blades in a ringing clash that echoed off the stone walls. His skill was undeniable—every moment was precise, economical, like a predator calculating the kill. I responded quickly by turning my other bad to slice low towards his thigh, using the fact he had to move to block to attempt to push him out of position. But Lan was far too graceful for that, he deflected the strike to his thigh with barely a flick, and moved his sword elegantly to block my follow up with my now freed sword. The crowd’s breath hitched at every sharp clang of steel, every step measured and deliberate.

He pressed forward, his attack a relentless storm—strikes aimed to test my defences, to find any weakness.  But I stood my ground, weaving the lessons he’d hammered into me, parrying and countering with the same fluid grace he came at me with. My blades moved like extensions of my own arms, swift and sure, guided by the fire inside me. 

There was a sudden pause—a breath that held in the space between a strike and a block—then I pushed forward, driving Lan back a step with a series of precise cuts, each one just shy of breaking his guard. I could feel the bond with Egwene and Elayne pulse faintly—encouragement, support, a quiet promise that I was ready.

Lan’s eyes flicked up to meet mine, a glint of respect beneath the calm storm of his expression. “You’ve learned well,” he murmured. He didn’t linger on the compliment. Without warning, he shifted, his stance dropping lower, his blade angled like a lightning strike ready to unleash. His next assault was a blur—quick, sharp, and precise. He seemed to move to try and block my blade with his shoulder, while darting his blade in a sweeping arc toward my ribs.

I twisted, narrowly avoiding the strike, feeling the rush of air as the blade passed too close. I countered with a rapid strike of my own, slashing at his forearm, but Lan was already retreating, light on his feet, evading with effortless grace. The dance continued, our rhythm unbroken—strike, parry, feint, sidestep— each moment charged with tension, each move a conversation between steel and will. Sweat traced down my temples, my breath stead, my senses sharp, every finer of my being focused.

From the sidelines, Egwene’s presence pulsed warmly in the bond, steadying me, while Elayne’s quiet confidence gave me strength. I wasn’t just fighting to show my skill—I was fighting to prove my place beside them, to show that I belonged in this world of warriors and politics, despite the fact I would be thrown into it anyways as the truth of my parentage came to light. 

Lan’s eyes narrowed, a faint crease appearing between his brows as he studied my stance, my breathing, the way I held my blades. “You ready,” he said, voice low and only for me to hear. “But readiness isn’t enough. Precision. Patience. Control.” He stepped forward again, slower this time, his sword moving with a deliberate economy that belied its deadly potential. I met him, each time I would parry with one blade before moving to strike at him with the other. The same pattern, blades clashing, sparks flying, but I kept my own movements measure—no wild swings, no wasted energy.

He pressed in, aiming a quick jab at my side. I twisted, deflecting with one blade while the other sliced a narrow arc toward his wrist. Lan blocked smoothly, countering with a light tap to my ribs that made me grunt soft but didn’t break my guard. The fight became a delicate dance of feints and counters, the crowd’s murmurs fading into nothingness. Every strike and parry was a test—not just of skill, but of the will to keep going. I could feel the fire in me burning brighter, feeding my focus and sharpening my reflexes. 

Then Lan shifted his stance again, dropping low, his blade flicking up in a swift upward slash. I barely managed to cross my swords in time, the clash rising through the air like a bell. He pushed, forcing me back a step. But I held. A grin tugged at the corer of my mouth as I took a breath and answered with a flurry— a quick series of strikes designed to unsettle him, each one precise, none wasted. He parried, but the rhythm had changed, and I could see a flicker of surprise in his eyes. 

The dance went on—master and student locked in a deadly conversation. And as the bond thrummed steady with both calm and fierce pride in equal measure, I knew this was more than just training. This was the moment I began to truly claim my place. I took one final swing, knowing I had made it past Lan’s guard, and placed a firm tap with the flat of my blade across his ribs, followed by another to his thigh.

Lan stepped back at last, lowering his sword, a faint smile breaking through his stoic mask. “Well done, Alex. You’ve come far. It is clear, this duel is yours,”

I bowed my head respectfully, chest heaving and sweat glistening on my skin. “Thank you, Lan Dai Shan.” 

The gathered crowd exhaled as one, the tension in the air breaking like a snapped cord. I sheathed my blades slowly, every movement deliberate, mindful of the respect this moment demanded—not just for Lan, but for what it symbolized.

Lan’s eyes met mine, steady and unwavering. “You’ve learned more than just swordsmanship,” he said quietly. “Discipline, temperance, the very heart of a Warder.” His words settled deep inside me, heavier and more meaningful than any praise. I wasn’t just a fighter or a student to Lan anymore. I was becoming something more—a protector, a symbol, a man who stood between those he loved and the darkness that threatened all. 

From the sidelines, Egwene’s presence flowed warmly through the bond, a steady current of reassurance. Elayne stepped forward, her smile brighter than ever, eyes shining with pride. The weight of their faith in me was both a comfort and a challenge—a promise that I wouldn’t let them down, though I was sure they had already known that.

Lan turned to the crowd, his voice carrying authority. “Let this be a lesson to all here: strength is more than muscle and speed. It is balance, patience, and knowing when to strike—and when to hold back.” I nodded, knowing the truth of his words. The path ahead would be long and perilous, but for the first time, I felt truly like the man others seemed to think me to be.

Elayne moved next to me then, taking my hand in hers despite how sweaty I must currently be. Lan’s gaze cut across the crowd, a silent command for respect that settled the whispers and shifting feet. The weight of his presence pressed into the air, quiet but undeniable. I could feel the eyes of those watching—not just seeing a duel ended, but witnessing the passing of a mantle. Lan truly did hold the command of a King, something I had only recently learned he truly was. The King of Malkier, a nation fallen to the Blight, but one still remembered by all Borderlanders. 

Elayne snapped me back to the moment we were in. “You did well, my love,” she said it softly, her voice a balm to the fire still burning in my veins. Egwene’s presence through the bond was steady, a calm anchor in the sea of adrenaline coursing through me and I could feel her quiet pride wrapping around me like a shield.

Lan’s voice softened, directed solely at me now. “Remember, Alex: the greatest strength lies not in the blade, but in the heart that wields it. Protect those you love, and hold true to who you are.” I swallowed, the enormity of the moment settling in. This was not longer just about skill or survival, though I suspect it hadn’t been for a long time. It was about purpose. About standing firm when the world threatened to fall apart.  

Elayne gave my hand a gentle squeeze, as if to say she understood even the thoughts I hadn’t voiced. Around us the murmurs were returning—soft and awed, threads of speculation weaving among the gathered. Some still watched with open curiosity, others with veiled wariness, but the tone had shifted. I was no longer just the man bonded to the Daughter-Heir or the Hero of Falme. I had proven something here, not just with steel, but with resolve. 

Egwene approached through the crowd, her steps unhurried, her gaze locked on mine. She didn’t speak at first, only placed her fingers lightly on my forearm—nothing romantic in the gesture, not in public, especially not here, but there was weight behind it all the same. We see you, it said. We’re with you.

Lan gave me one final nod before turning away, signalling the duel had truly ended. He walked with the same silent strength he always carried, but I could tell—he was proud. And that meant more to me than I had expected. I stood in the ring a moment longer, letting the silence between heartbeats hold. The sun had climbed higher while we fought, casting long shadows behind me, and ahead—toward the White Tower. Toward whatever came next. 

“I hope,” I said under my breath, just loud enough for Elayne and Egwene to hear, “that Galad doesn’t start sulking too loudly. I can already feel Gawyn planning a rematch for him to get humbled again.”

Elayne snorted softly, her eyes alight with laughter, “Let them plan,” she whispered. “We’re already two steps ahead.” 

Gawyn stepped out through the crowd now. Speak of him and he shall appear. He wore his grin like armour, easy and disarming, though I didn’t miss the keen look in his eyes—he’d watched the entire duel, not just as a brother or a friend, but as a commander assessing a potential equal. Or perhaps he was finally acknowledging one. 

“Well,” he said, spreading his hands, “if I had to guess who would give Lan Mandragoran a run for his coin, I’d have bet on the one who looks an Aiel. But here you are, making us all look slow.” His gaze slid to Elayne, then Egwene holding my arm, then back to me. “If you keep this up, I suspect I’ll end up reporting to you one day.”

“You already do,” Elayne said sweetly, folding her arms, the Crown of Andor already in her breaking if not yet on her head.

I laughed to break the tension. “I’d be honoured to have you under my command, Gawyn, but perhaps, we should discuss things further in private?” 

Gawyn arched an eyebrow, the barest twitch of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Of course. Wouldn’t want to rattle too many sabres in front of the Tower.” He stepped back with a graceful half-bow, though his eyes lingered on mine—curious, measuring, still not sure what to make of me. “I don’t fully understand you, Alex, but my sister trusts you, so yes, a conversation sounds nice.” Gawyn’s words hung in the air like a thread pulled taut—not a challenge, but certainly not a surrender. Just truth, plain and tentative. He gave one last glance to Elayne, then Egwene, and I saw the flicker of realization cross his face: this wasn’t just about me. I stood at the centre of something larger something that tied the threads of many lives together. 

“I’ll be sure to find you later,” Gawyn said, and turned without waiting for an answer, vanishing into the sea of grey cloaks and steel.

For a moment, none of us spoke. Then Egwene said, her voice dry, “That went better than it could have.”

“Give him time,” Elayne added, looping her arm around mine again. “He’s proud, but not blind. He’ll see you clearly, sooner or later.”

“I just hope it’s sooner,” I murmured. “There’s not much later left.” Neither of them argued with me. Behind us, the ring had emptied, the Yard slowly returning to the rhythm of training drills and shouted commands. But I knew t wouldn’t be the same. Not after today, perhaps I had pushed it too far in placing those hits on Lan. Now eyes would follow us, and whispers would gather. Somewhere within the Tower, someone else was surely paying attention. Elayne, though, pulled me through the courtyard, taking me into a garden that seemed rather secluded, at least, somewhere that we wouldn’t be surrounded by people watching. 

She didn’t speak at first, just walking beside me with purpose, her grip on my arm firm, grounding. The hush of the garden greeted us like a breath held too long finally released—stone paths winding through shaded groves, the air rich with the scent of rosebushes and late spring bloom. A fountain murmured nearby, its voice quiet beneath the rustle of leaves. For a moment, it felt like we had stepped outside time itself.

Elayne stopped beneath a tall willow, her eyes scanning the courtyard behind us before settling on me. “You did more than hold your own out there,” she said. “You proved you belong. To everyone.”

I looked away, uncertain. “Or I just made myself an even bigger target, I didn’t mean to humiliate Lan, or even necessarily to beat him in a duel… if I did that, well, having Doen it so publicly… I just needed to show I wasn’t a shadow behind someone else’s name.” 

Her expression softened, and she stepped closer. “Lan wasn’t humiliated. He knows exactly what he taught you, and he knew what it would mean for you to win in front of those who still held some form of doubt. He let that moment happen—because you’ve earned it.” I opened my mouth, but her hand came up, fingers brushing my cheek, silencing whatever doubt tried to escape. “We are going to walk through fire in the days ahead,” she said gently, “and you can’t afford to keep questioning your place in this. Not when you’ve already proven it a hundred times over.”

The bond hummed between us, radiant and steady, the moment charged even if there was no chance for a particular heavy romantic action. I placed my hand over hers, she still had it placed to attempt to comfort me in this moment. “I’m not afraid of the fire,” I said, quieter than I expected. “I’m just not sure who I’ll be once we’re through it.”

Elayne’s lips curled in a faint smile. “Who you’ll be is the man we already see. Flameforged or not, bonded or not—you’re ours, Alex. And you’re ready.” She pulled me into a quiet embrace beneath the willow’s sweeping branches, and for a breath, the weight of expectation lifted, and I allowed myself to simply be held. She planted a kiss on my lips that was soft, filled with wanting, but it was a desire that could not be met right now. 

From the other side of the courtyard I heard a loud tapping noise, the sound of metal tapping on the garden stones. “The Amyrlin wishes to speak to you, Alex Dorevain.” I turned at the sound, gently pulling back from Elayne, though her hand lingered in mine a moment longer before letting go. A tall woman walked down the path, her blue-and-gold stole marking her station, her face composed but watchful. She was deliberate in her motions, and she was powerful enough to be heard without ever having to raise her voice. 

“Does she wish to see him alone, Leane Sedai, or am I welcomed to come with him?” Elayne asked gently, as though she knew she shouldn’t have spoken to the woman, but that she wanted to provide me with safety and comfort all the same.

Leane came to a graceful halt before us, her gaze settling on Elayne for a breath longer than courtesy demanded. Not unkind, but weighing. Measuring. “The Amyrlin has asked me to bring Alex alone,” she said smoothly. “Though, I do not think she will begrudge your presence after—if he asks it.” Her eyes flicked to me, and though her expression remained calm, there was something sharp beneath it. It could be curiosity, or concern for something I had yet to learn.

“I’ll go alone,” I said after a moment, squeezing Elayne’s hand gently before letting it go. “If there is anything worth repeating, you will be the first to hear it.”

Elayne hesitated, but gave a small nod. “Then I’ll wait here. Not for long, mind you. I should reintroduce myself to the duties of a Novice.” She spoke this as if I wouldn’t be able to find her wherever she went thanks to the bond.

Leane turned without another word, and I followed her, the sound of our footsteps echoing softly across the stones. The path she led me on was straight, and steeped in the silence of the Tower’s deeper authority—every turn through its white halls a reminder that this place was as much a seat of power as it was a sanctuary. Whatever the Amyrlin wanted, I would face it head-on. 

Chapter Text

The doors to the Amyrlin’s chambers loomed ahead—polished wood carved with serpents and vines, framed in gold that caught the midday sun. Leane Sedai stopped before them, her expression unreadable.

“She is expecting you,” was all she said before moving to open the door and step aside.

This gave me pause. “Are you not coming in as well?”

The question seemed to shock Leane, as if she was not used to being asked such a question. “No, Alex. I will wait out here. Protecting the door. That is the usual role of the Keeper of the Chronicles in cases such as these.” Her answer was calm, but the slight crease between her brows gave her away. Not fear—she was Aes Sedai—but a flicker of concern, as though she was not entirely certain what I was walking into.

I nodded once, “Thank you then, Leane Sedai. May the Light guide your path.” She appeared shocked once again at my thanks, and my proclamation, but I did not stay long enough to see her full reaction. I walked through the door and saw the Amyrlin’s study for the first time. The study was large but sparsely adorned—tall windows framed in white lace, a broad oaken desk set beneath the Flame of Tar Valon carved in to the stone floor. Shelves lined the walls behind her, full of books and ledgers and scrolls sealed in red wax. But the room itself felt like it had been built for silence. I could still stand here for hours examining the different trinkets and pieces that lined the walls of the room, all left from past Amyrlin’s if I had heard correctly. But now was not the time for that.

Siuan Sanche, the Amyrlin Seat herself, sat at the centre of it all, robed in silks the colour of deep water, the seven-striped stole draped across her shoulders like judgement made cloth. Her piercing eyes met mine without flinching.

“Close the door behind you, Flameforged,” she said.

Not Alex. Not son of a blacksmith. Not the boy who bonded Elayne Trakand. Or any number of other names that would be publicly available across the Tower. She had chosen the one name that wasn’t supposed to exist in the Tower outside of whispers and shadows. I obeyed, the soft click of the door sealing us in, before I moved closer to her and got down on one knee, pressing one hand to the ground and the other to the hilt of one of my swords at my hip. “As you have called me, so have I come, Mother.” 

Lan had told me to say that, while instructing me to kneel the way I would in front of a noble, the way my father taught me to for when I would need to make deliveries of swords, largely ceremonial, to noble houses in Cairhien. I kept my head pointed to the ground, though I could hear Moiraine let out a barely stifled laugh, while Siaun had let out a sigh.

“Light help me Moiraine, you must stop letting your Warder at these boys before I meet them. He fills their heads with seaweed and tradition. Stand boy, stand, there is no need for such formality here right now.”  I obeyed, rising to my feet and standing with my feet hip width apart, clutching both my hands behind my back. “Now, you will sit, and we will talk. You’ve made quite the impression around here. And not only with your sword.” She motioned to the couch across from her, “sit.” 

I decided that it was best not to disobey her instructions, even if Lan had told me to decline sitting in her presence. She already seemed rather fed up with the tradition of it all, and this was a woman I would rather have on my side not exasperated by me. I moved across the room and sat where I was indicated to sit, the cushion barely gave out beneath me. The Amyrlin leaned back in her chair, studying me like a fisherman watching the line twitch—uncertain whether to pull or let it play out.

Moiraine remained silent by the fireplace, her arms folded in that way that made it impossible to tell whether she was amused, annoyed, or both. 

“I’ve had quiet words that have reached me from some of the Sheinarans who rode with you after Falme,” she said at last, tone measured. “They didn’t know your name, or at least they didn’t say it, but they remembered you as a young man of honour who was given the blades of an Ingtar Shinowa, a man who fell in battle in Falme, and who rode his horse—Kojima, wasn’t it? They said you moved like a man with fire at his heels.”

I didn’t answer. Not yet. 

Siuan’s gaze sharpened. “They weren’t reporting you, mind. Just talking. A few fond words passed in letters. Men like Uno and Ragan—rough tongues, those two—but they don’t speak lightly. Said you fought like a Borderlander, though you weren’t one. That you didn’t flinch when the skies opened in Falme, you pressed forward into it.” Her words were calm, but her eyes watched for every shift in my expression. I steeled myself in an attempt not to give away my hand. “I wasn’t certain who they were describing,” she continued, “until your name began showing up in whispers from Cairhien. A boy with two blades. A blacksmith’s son with a future Queen of Andor, and a novice of the White Tower on his arms. I had to put the threads together myself.”

I gave a slow nod. “I didn’t mean to make noise.” 

“No one ever does,” Siuan said, folding her hands. “But the Pattern doesn’t ask for permission when it starts weaving someone into the heart of things. You should know that from the flaming hammer that named you in Falme. Right alongside Rand al’Thor, the Dragon Reborn.” 

At that, she got a reaction from me, though I tried to keep it contained, the sound of the name landed like a bell struck deep underwater. Rand. She’d said it without flinching, and not just as a man—she’d named him the Dragon Reborn. She knew he was the Dragon Reborn and yet… she hadn’t summoned him, or sent to have him taken in, or anything… what was she playing at? I’d only known him since Falme, I could not pretend I knew his whole story, but from the way Siuan had spoken, it sounded as if they had already met, as though she already knew more about him than she should have any right to.

She saw it. Of course she did. Her lips twitched—something close to a smile, but not quite. More like satisfaction, as though she’d baited a hook and felt the line go taut. “I see that struck true. Good. At least you’re smart enough to be cautious.” She didn’t give me any time to respond. “I’ve known what he was since before even he did. I sent Moiraine into the world looking for him while I sat this chair and played the part of Keeper of secrets. You think the White Tower survives because of honesty? Light, boy, we survive because we choose what truths get told—and when.” 

She rose from her seat ten, not towering exactly, but the shift in posture carried weight. Her voice dropped, all the more dangerous for how quiet it became. “You’re not the only one walking around with power he didn’t ask for, Alex Dorevain. And you’re not the only one with eyes watching he didn’t invite.” She paused at that, then added: “You’re not the Dragon, Alex, and there is no prophecy detailing you. But you’re in his wake now, and if what Moiraine has told me is true, it will only make him stronger. But that means the wind will catch your name whether you want it or not. So let’s speak very plainly: can I trust you?”

The question wasn’t rhetorical. It wasn’t political or any kind of power move, it was purely personal. It came from a woman who had bet the fate of the world on a farmboy with a heron-mark blade and his friends. I couldn’t be sure of all her intentions, but I was sure of one thing. Siuan Sanche would make a better ally for my hopes for the future than she would an adversary. 

“While I cannot tell you how to feel, Mother—“ 

“Stop. We are well beyond using honorific titles in this room right now, Alex. I am Siuan, she is Moiraine, and you are Alex. Plain and simple.”

“Right… Siuan. I cannot tell you how to feel, but I can tell you that I stand on the side of Rand, and of the two women I have bonded. I will protect them until my last breath, though I hope that last breath comes a long time from now. If your views for the world and hopes for the future align with that goal, then yes, you can trust me. And if they do not, you can trust that I will do everything in my power to oppose any obstacle you would put in their way.”

Siuan’s expression didn’t shift immediately. She studied me, long and hard, as if weighing every word for cracks or deceit. But whatever she saw must have satisfied her, because she let out a breath that sounded more like a release of tension than disapproval. “Well,” she said finally, “if more men spoke like that when dragged before me, I might have fewer headaches. I can see why you like this one Moiraine.”

Moiraine didn’t smile—she rarely did—but her eyes held a quiet gleam, and her cheeks coloured red as though she were embarrassed, and perhaps she was, I wasn’t aware that Moiraine liked me, and from Siuan’s tone it sounded like she meant it romantically. Her gaze flicked sharply to Siuan, the gleam in her eyes cooling to something flatter—controlled. “Like is a word with many meanings,” she said calmly, folding her hands in her lap after taking a seat next to me on the couch. “I trust him. I respect him. And I believe he is what the Pattern needs.” Though she left the end of the sentence opened, never actually stating whether she held romantic interest in me. Light, that could complicate things, though she was beautiful… not the time.

Siuan lifted a brow, the ghost of a smirk tugging at one corner of her mouth. “That’s Aes Sedai for she cares, boy. Don’t let the calm voice and Cairhienin reserve fool you.”

Moiraine turned a sharp glance on her friend, but it lacked real heat. If anything, there was a quiet weariness behind it, the expression of someone caught between duty and something more personal. “You forget yourself,” she said softly—but not sharply.

“No, I remember you better than you do,” Siuan replied, voice gentle now. “And I’ve seen the way you speak of him when you didn’t realize you are. You think I don’t recognize the signs? Light, Moiraine, it’s not the first time you’ve chosen someone who burns brighter than you’re ready to admit.”

That caught me off guard. Me? Moiraine? I kept my face still, though Egwene’s bond hummed with a sudden alertness and Elayne’s flared just slightly—neither alarmed, but both… curious. It left me wondering what I must have felt like to them at that moment. I felt somewhat dumb founded. Moiraine’s gaze shifted back to me, and for the first time in all our talks and shared silences, there was something unguarded in her eyes. Not vulnerability, but… willingness.

“I do not move quickly,” she said to Siuan, and perhaps to me as well. “But I move with purpose. And I do not intend to to let what matters slip through my fingers.”

Siuan nodded slowly, more respectful now, the moment for teasing gone. “Good. Then we understand each other.” She turned her attention back to me, moving back to her chair, though she leaned forward on her knees with the full force of her presence. “Alex Dorevain, you’ve walked into this Tower half-shadowed. You carry strength, influence and the interest of people who don’t give it freely. The Pattern’s watching you—and so are the women you stand beside.” She gave a small glance toward Moraine. “You may not wear the shawl, but you’ve already begun to wield the weight of the Tower. So tell me plainly: will you carry it fully? Or will you keep pretending to cling to the lie that you are just a blacksmith’s son?”

Moiraine didn’t speak this time, and I could feel my bonds with Elayne and Egwene sparking growing interest, as though they could hear the full conversation and wanted to know how I would answer. 

“I do not intend to go back to the life of a blacksmith’s son, even though I may want to. I cannot pretend that I am not what I am. If I were to go back to Cairhien in my current state, my mother would find me and use me in her game to try and gain power, perhaps even trying to place me on the Sun Throne. I know that I may end up on that throne someday, but if I do, I intend to do so on my terms, not because I am forced there by a woman who forsook any claim she had to me the day that I was born.”

Siuan’s expression didn’t shift much—though I saw something in her shoulders ease just a little more than they already had. Moiraine, though silent, had gone very still beside me. Watching. Listening. Judging, perhaps. Or waiting for the last wall to come down. And so I kept going.

“I may be Flameforged. I may be bonded to two women who walk paths of power and carry nations in their bones. And I may wield the One Power in ways even I don’t fully understand. But I want no throne unless I can serve the people sitting beneath it. I want no title unless I’ve earned it through sweat and fire, and a trust of the people who would give me it.” I paused and met Siuan’s gaze evenly. “I will carry what comes next. Not because I have to or because lineage forces me to it, but because I choose to.” 

There was a moment of silence.

Then Siuan leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly. “Light,” she muttered, half to herself, “you sound more like a bloody ruler than most who grew up in palaces.” She shook her head, then flicked a look to Moiraine. “And you say you haven’t groomed him for this?”

Moiraine’s voice was quiet, but unwavering with a tone of pride in it. “Not groomed. Guided, perhaps. But he finds his own way. I simply keep the path form eating him alive.”

Siuan gave a short, sharp laugh. “Well, that sounds familiar.” Her eyes flicked back to me. “You’ll do. Burn me, you’ll do better than most.” There was something final in the way she said it. Like a verdict passed—but not in condemnation. And from the way Moiraine finally allowed herself a small, real smile, I could tell she agreed. Then Siuan continued, inquiring more, trying to learn me more. “I know you touch saidin, and I know that it is claimed you somehow burn away the taint before it can touch you, what I do not know is when you started channeling, especially when you started knowingly doing it.” 

She looked at me expectantly then, evidently that had been my cue to explain to her. “I only started knowingly channeling in Falme, never before then, though I had created a pair of power-wrought blades… it was an accident while working in my father’s forge one day, but I did make them.” I paused there, more because of the shock on Siuan’s face than because I needed to. “Once in Falme, I had been collared, and my cell was next to Egwene’s, that is where her and I met, through the walls of a cell. When they took her, when the assault on the city was under way, I broke the a’dam which I can only guess was because of me calling on a large amount of saidin. Then when I found the one who I recognized as holding Egwene’s leash, I used the Power, though more of it than I had actually intended, and she ended up dead from an explosion of air I had caused, which freed Egwene. And finally, that day, I channeled to help take down the Forsaken Ishamael, keeping him contained and pushing him so that Rand could strike the final blow against him without facing any real danger.” 

Siuan didn’t speak right away.

Her expression had hardened in calculation. She shifted in her chair, fingers stippling as her gaze bore into me with all the weight of her station. “You forged power-wrought blades by accident,” she said at last, voice flat with disbelief. “And then shattered an a’dam, killed a sul’dam with raw force, and helped strike down Ishamael himself—all within the day of first knowingly touching the Power?”

I nodded. “Yes.” I had said it as if it was the most normal and natural thing I could have said. And perhaps, by this point, it had truly felt like it. With how much had happened recently, it felt like that moment was years ago, rather than the mere month that it had been.

Siuan stared at me, unblinking. It looked as if she had suddenly aged very quickly from the weight the words had on her, even the wood creaked softly beneath her as if it needed to adjust to the weight of what had just been said. “A month,” she finally murmured, more to herself than to me. “It’s been a month since you did this, and now you’ve managed to best Lan Mandragoran in front of the entire Tower, taken out a Myrddraal on your own using only saidin, as well as taking out countless Trollocs… all after only a month…” Her words trailed off into silence, but the meaning remained, thick in the air.

Moiraine broke the silence first, her voice level but laced with quiet certainty. “You’re not wrong to be surprised, Siuan. But I warned you—he’s not like the others. Call it what you will. Flameforged, wilder, blacksmith’s son, heart winner… he learns fast because he has to, not because it is a want.”

Siuan’s stare didn’t waver. If anything, it sharpened. “Flameforged. That’s what they’re calling him, what he has been called by the people, isn’t it?” Her lips curled slightly, not quite a smile. “The kind of name that spreads like wildfire when people don’t know what else to call a thing. Light help them all. They see a flaming hammer in the sky and swim to it like fish to bait.”

I didn’t flinch. “It wasn’t my idea. It just started being whispered after Falme. I didn’t ask for it. Light, I didn’t even ask to channel. But what I’ve learned, from Lan in the sword, from Mierin in channelling—“ I caught the flicker in Siuan’s eyes at that name, but I pressed on, “—is that asking doesn’t matter. Wanting doesn’t matter. The Pattern weaves what it will, and either we learn to move with it or we drown in it.”

Siuan leaned back slightly, her fingers drumming once against her knee. “You say Mierin like a friend’s name,” she said carefully. “You know who she is?”

“I know,” I said. “I knew the night I met her, I pieced it together. Lanfear. I was the one who told her that if she truly wanted to be free of the Shadow then wearing the name it gave her would only chain her tighter. She didn’t deny it, she agreed with it, and gave me the name she had been called before being bound to the dark.”

I paused, letting the weight of the words settle before I went on.

“I didn’t trust her. Not at first. Certainly not fully, only a fool would. But she taught me in the World of Dreams. She showed me weaves to defend myself, weaves to keep me alive. She taught me how to survive what I am. How to protect the ones I love. She didn’t ask for my loyalty—and she never has—only that I listen. And I did.”

Siuan didn’t interrupt, though I could feel her watching like a hawk reads the wind. Moiraine was eyeing me carefully, as if debating when to tell me to stop.

“She was wrong, once,” I continued. “She knows it. She admits it. Her greatest mistake wasn’t her pride—it was who she gave it to. She wanted Lews Therin Telamon, the Dragon of the past. She still wants him—Rand, now. And I think…” I hesitated, then nodded. “I think she believes he could love her, that he already loved her even. And I think she knows that he might be capable of loving more than once woman, as the Pattern seems to demand of him. That this time, even if there is a reincarnation of the great love of Lews Therin, there could still be room in his heart for her. And more than that… I think she wants a chance. A chance at redemption, away from her mistakes of the past.”

Siuan’s expression didn’t soften, but the sharp edge dulled. She leaned back again, the light from the arched window casting shadows across her face. “Redemption,” she repeated, not quite a scoff, but not an endorsement either. “A fine word. Dangerous, too. The Forsaken have used sweeter words to justify darker deeds.”

Moiraine finally spoke, her voice quiet but steady. “But redemption is possible. Even for her, now more than ever. And if what Alex says is true—and I believe it is—then Mierin has already taken her first steps away from the Shadow.”

“She’s still a Forsaken, Moiraine,” Siuan said flatly. “A name change doesn’t wash away the blood on her hands. Not after what she helped unleash.”

“I didn’t say it did,” Moiraine replied. “But the Wheel weaves what it will. And sometimes, even a Forsaken may be threaded into the Pattern for the Light. Or at least toward it. And with the power Alex has… I believe it may actually be possible… that he may actually burn the connection to the Shadow, that he may destroy whatever it is that binds her… that he may actually be able to help her come to the Light, if it is truly what she chooses.”

Siuan’s brows drew together, the corners of her mouth tight with both thought and disbelief. “Light,” she whispered, more to herself than to either of us. “You think this Flameforged gift of his can do more than burn the taint from saidin? You think it can sever a Forsaken from the Shadow?”

Moiraine didn’t look away. “I think we don’t understand the full scope of what he is. What he can do. Not yet. But I know this: saidin is cleaner around him. I’ve felt it while in a circle with him. The madness recoils. The Dark recoils. If he is what the Pattern made to balance the Dragon Reborn, then perhaps his fire is not just a weapon—it’s a choice. A way for others to step out of the shadow, if they dare it. He burned away the madness from Rand already, he turned a Myrddraal to dust, because it was nothing but the influence of the Shadow, with no want for the Light in its heart. He is something special, Siuan. And to think he is anything short of a miracle, would be foolish.”

Siuan sat in silence for a long beat, her jaw tight, her sore flickering between Moiraine and me. Her fingers flexed once on her knees, then stilled. “A miracle,” she repeated softly, almost tasting the word as if it were unfamiliar. “I don’t much like relying on miracles, Moiraine. They burn bright, aye, but they burn out too. Or they burn everything around them down.”

“I won’t let that happen,” I said, quietly but with the weight of the full world behind my words. “I didn’t ask for any of this. But if I am what the Pattern shaped, then I’ll carry it forward. I’ll be more than a sword or fire. I’ll be the line between Light and Shadow—and I’ll hold.”

Siuan gave a slow, measured nod. “You say you hate prophecy, but burn me if you don’t already speak like one.”

Moiraine’s voice cut gently from next to me. “Then let him be part of it. We can’t use him as a weapon, and we can’t force him to be a ward to the Tower. He must be shaped by more than duty. He must be rooted.”

Siuan blinked, sensing the turn. “This is the part where you finally tell me what it is you’ve really brought him here for? I trust it wasn’t just to tell me of how amazing he is.”

Moiraine inclined her head. “It is.”

She turned slightly toward me, not with hesitation, but with an uncommon softness in her voice. “Alex, what you’ve done—what you are—already binds you to those who walk in the road of prophecy. But this next step is not prophecy, it is choice, and it is yours to make as I have already chosen my part.” Her hands folded over one another in her lap. “You have bonded Elayne. You have bonded Egwene. And you have proven you can forge something new out of a weave that should not exist.” 

I felt my breath catch—not out of fear, but the gravity of the situation.

Moiraine went on, her tone measured, but not cold. “I know we have not explored a relationship of that kind before this moment… and Siuan gave me away in the regard of my… feelings toward you. However, you have some claim to power in Cairhien, and I know you wish to help Rand in his quest to unify the world… by being found as having some ties to me, perhaps even appearing to have a form of romance with me, may help to cement a claim to the Sun Throne for you, should you wish it. To complete this goal, I would ask to be joined to you in the same way. Not as your commander, or your guide. But as your equal in the bond, and—if the Pattern allows—in the heart.”

The room was quiet enough to hear the faint rustle of fabric as Moiraine’s words settled over us like snow. I didn’t know what to say, I couldn’t know what to say. It wasn’t just the weight of what she’d said—it was the way she said it. The calm certainty, the quiet courage. It was not as an Aes Sedai, not was the unflinching daughter of House Damodred, but as Moiraine. A woman who had seen too much, borne too much, and still chose to risk this. To risk me.

While I could feel Egwene and Elayne through the bond, neither of them could possibly know exactly what had happened in this room. Both of them hummed with curiosity and the quiet spark of hope. I didn’t know how I would tell them of this… this was something I had not come into the Amyrlin’s Chambers expecting this—I had known to expect almost anything of the discussion, but certainly not this. But at the same time… it made sense.

I turned to face Moiraine fully.

“I don’t care about the Sun Throne,” I said softly. “Not really, not in truth. But I had accepted that claiming it meant protecting those I love and furthering the goals of those I care for, as well as being something I could not avoid, knowing what I am. If this bond—if being joined to you—helps hold that line, and helps to further that goal, then yes.” 

I slid off the couch at that, dropping to one knee—not out of formality but out of respect. For her strength, her choice, and her openness. I grabbed onto one of her hands to solidify the moment. 

“I would be honoured to share that bond with you, Moiraine. As your equal. As someone ho will stand beside you, not behind you.” Then, after a pause, I added with a faint, wry smile, “And if the Pattern allows, I think the heart might follow too.”

Moiraine’s fingers tightened just slightly in mine—not enough to seem desperate, but enough that I knew it meant something. The way her lips parted, the faint rise in her chest, and the way her eyes searched mine told me what her words didn’t, at least not yet. She didn’t pull her hand away though. 

Her other hand came to rest atop mine, layering the moment with quiet, deliberate acceptance. “Then we begin with truth,” she said, her voice soft but no less firm for it. “And with trust, the rest can follow.”

Siuan let out a breath that may have been amusement, or relief. “Light help me,” she muttered, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “You three women are going to break this poor boy in half before Tarmon Guidon even starts.”

That broke the tension, just a little. Moiraine’s lips quirked at the corners—not quite a smile, but not far form it either. I on the other hand had let out a stiff laugh before I could think to stop it. Moiraine looked in my eyes but spoke to Siuan. “He’s stronger than he look, Siuan. And more stubborn than any of the Two Rivers folks I have been travelling with.”

I rose then, not letting go of her hand. “I think you already knew that.”

Moiraine finally stood with me. Her posture was regal but grounded, not unlike Elayne’s when she dropped her masks and just was. She turned to Siuan with a kind of finality. “You’ve heard what you needed. You’ve seen what you needed to see.”

Siuan nodded, slowly. “I have heard what I needed to hear of your plans to put the boy on the Sun Throne, but I have most certainly not had my fill. The boy has already bonded the future Queen of Andor, and he needs to have some kind of formal training, even if he did beat your current Warder in a duel.” She clicked her tongue. “Light, Moiraine, you always did find the wild ones. But this one’s something else entirely.” She turned to me, eyes hard but not unkind. “You’re dangerous, boy. Like a shark in water. Not just because of what you’ve done—but because there’s no map for someone like you. No training path. No precedent. Your best hope in training so far has been a Forsaken, Mierin as you call her. You are, as of now, the only man in this Tower’s history to walk these halls not as a prisoner or a threat—but as a bonded equal. Or three times bonded, as it would seem.”

“I’m not trying to rewrite the Tower’s laws,” I said. “Only to help hold the line where it’s fraying.” 

Siuan gave a short, sharp laugh at that. “Burn me, child, you sound like Gareth Bryne already. Next thing you’ll be quoting the Novice’s Code.”

Moiraine raised a brow. “Then perhaps it’s time the Tower starts thinking less about precedent and more about survival.”

Siuan didn’t disagree. She paced a step, then stilled. “We can’t train you properly, we have no knowledge of male weaves. However, the threat of the Black Ajah looms large in the Tower, and if you can purify people of ties to the dark, you could free Sisters who choose it from their ties, bring them back into the fold as members of our team. We can’t help you with the One Power, though, not in any meaningful way. The only male channeller we have here is Logain… Light knows he’s not an option. He’s too busy playing prophecy and martyr with every whisper that brushes his cell.”

I looked at her at that. “What are you suggesting then?” I was genuinely intrigued at what she was offering.

Siuan folded her arms, her expression as serious as a stormcloud gathering on the horizon. “I’m suggesting we do something the Tower hasn’t done in more than a thousand years,” she said. “We improvise.”

She stepped closer, her voice lower now, less Amyrlin Seat and more sailor’s daughter. “You’re right that your path is off the map. But so is the world we’re heading into. The Last Battle looms, and we are woefully unprepared. If what Moiraine says is true—and I believe her—then you’re not just some strange twist of the Pattern. You’re a bloody fulcrum. And if we can’t teach you, we must protect what you represent.” She tapped her fingers on her sleeve. “Here’s what I propose: you stay in the Tower, train under Moiraine’s watch. Use the warded yards, use whatever time you have. Work with the Warders to keep your sword sharp, and let us study what we can of your weaves—even if we can’t replicate them. And if you really can sense or burn away ties to the Shadow, then we’ll need you nearby. Quietly and carefully.” Her eyes met mine again, sharper than before. “There are women in this Tower I no longer trust. I can’t name them—not yet—but they move like whispers and vanish like smoke. If you can do what Moiraine believes you can, we might have a tool the Shadow doesn’t expect. And Light knows we need every edge we can find.”

Moiraine finally spoke again, her voice like a ripple of water after a stone. “He will stay, for a time. But not caged. And certainly not under suspicion. He is not a weapon to wield. He is a man, and one with a choice in these matters.”

Siuan gave a reluctant nod. “So long as that man knows where his feet are set. I’ll not drag him through politics unless he volunteers. But the Tower must survive, Moiraine. And I’m not above asking the Pattern for help, however strange its answer.” She looked back to me. “So, Alex Dorevain. What say you? Will you stay a while longer in the White Tower, formalize your Warder training, practice your weaves in a controlled environment… and help us find out just how deep this darkness truly goes?”

I held her gaze for a long moment. It wasn’t a small thing she was asking—not just to stay, but to be studied, trusted, and wielded in a war that hadn’t yet crested the horizon. But in truth, I had already made my choice the moment I stepped into this room. Maybe even the moment I had shattered an a’dam in Falme.

“I’ll stay,” I said, voice steady. “Not because you ask it, Siuan. But because I believe it is the right thing to do. If I can help root out the Shadow here—if I can protect those that I love, and prepare for what’s coming—then that’s what I’ll do. As you said, I will not be leashed or used, and I will never be made into something I’m not. Im no miracle, or a weapon, I’m just Alex. And I’m trying to find the best way through the storm, just like everyone else.” A pause. Then, more quietly I added: “But I will walk beside you in this. So long as you walk beside me, and not ahead of me.”

Siuan studied me for a long breath, then nodded once. “Good answer,” she said. “Maybe you really are what the Pattern sent.”

She turned to Moiraine, the sharp edge in her voice softening just slightly. “Take him, then. Train him. Protect him. Light knows we’ll need him.”

Moiraine inclined her head. “We all walk the same path, Siuan. Even if we take different steps. Alex and I will remain in the Tower, Lan and Nynaeve should be sent with Rand and his company to claim Callandor, it will help to cement him as the Dragon Reborn.” 

Siuan’s brows rose at that, not in surprise, but in acknowledgement—like Moiraine had merely said aloud what she had already been thinking. “Lan will go willingly… if you hand over his bond to Nynaeve,” Siuan said, settling back into her chair behind her desk. “Nynaeve may need some convincing, but she’ll follow if it’s to protect Rand. And Light knows that boy will need protection where he’s going.” Her fingers drummed once against the desk, thoughtful. “Callandor in his hands will silence some of the doubters, and solidify his being named as the Dragon Reborn. It may even rally the Borderlands, or scare them into taking him seriously, at the very least.” 

Moiraine’s expression didn’t change, but the pause before she spoke was telling. “The bond will be his to give, when the time is right,” she said carefully. “I will not force Lan’s hand in this, nor Nynaeve’s. But yes—hew I’ll go. They both will. It is time.”

Siuan gave a curt nod, the agreement settling like a stone. “Then that’s one piece in motion.” She turned her gaze back to me. “And you? Are you ready to be another?”

“I’m already moving,” I said. “Whether I meant to or not.”

Siuan huffed out a dry laugh. “Light. Moiraine always did find the ones with fire under their skin. Burn me, I hope you hold steady when the wind shifts.”

Moiraine stepped forward then, her voice calm and composed. “He will. With the Tower’s support and time to prepare, he will be ready for what the Pattern demands of him.”

Siuan leaned back, watching the two of us like a captain gauging the tide. “Then we’ll begin quietly. Rand moves toward Tear. You stay and train. And the Pattern weaves as it will.” She stood again, gathering the weight of her office around her like a cloak. “Tell no one yet of your bond with Moiraine or Egwene, or of your talents beyond what’s already known. The hall is not ready for that fire. And we cannot afford to show our hand before the game has begun. And Light help me, Moiraine, you have the lad bond you formally soon, from what you have told me, it will only make him stronger.”

Moiraine nodded once. “We understand.”

Siuan glanced between us, then gave a rare, grim smile. “Light willing, we’ll live long enough to see if any of this worked.” 

And with that, the audience with the Amyrlin Seat was over. I stepped out of that chamber knowing more than I had going in—about power, about the game being played in the shadows—and with a stronger connection to a companion I already had, bound now to me not just by cause or strategy, but by choice.

Chapter Text

The door closed behind us with a muted click, the echo swallowed by the stillness of the Tower’s polished halls. Moiraine walked at my side in silence, her steps as measured as her thoughts, though I could feel the shift in her presence through the budding thread of intention between us—like the whisper of silk brushing across the edge of a bond that had not yet been tied. The Tower seemed quiet, especially this deep into the afternoon, as if the walls themselves knew that the weight of decisions had just been measured behind the Amyrlin’s door. My footsteps fell in rhythm with hers, and for a while, we said nothing. There wasn’t a need, and this was not the place.

Moiraine finally broke the quiet. “You’ll be staying in the guest quarters for bonded pairs—at least for tonight—though the room you’ve been given is slightly larger than usual.”

I felt through the bond that both Elayne and Egwene were in the direction we moved towards. I raised an eyebrow at Moiraine’s revealed truth, though I didn’t speak until we rounded another corner. “You mean the room where Egwene and Elayne already wait?”

Her lips didn’t twitch, but I felt her amusement all the same. “I thought it would be… efficient.”

I couldn’t help the dry laugh that slipped out. “Efficient. That’s certainly one word for it.”

“You’ll need each other,” Moiraine said more softly, slowing slightly as we neared a tall door set with Aes Sedai sigils. “All three of you. The world isn’t going to wait for anyone to sort out their hearts before it demands action. But… this isn’t just about strategy, Alex. Not for me. Not anymore. And I do not want to force myself into a bond that puts you into a bad position with those who are already in your heart… that would not help me to claim a place there.”

I turned and looked at her then, really looked—not the Aes Sedai who had led Rand to destiny, or the noblewoman with Cairhienin ice in her spine I knew from the portrait. It was just Moiraine. And she looked almost scared of what lay ahead, that she might misstep and crumble the image that she had built in her head.

 “You wouldn’t be forcing anything, Moiraine,” I said it quietly, only for her to hear. “Not with them. And not with me. If you are to join the bond, it will be willingly, with all parties informed.” She held my gaze for a moment longer, though her cheeks had come to glow a faint pink, before she gave a slight nod, then turned and pushed open the door.

Elayne was the first to move, crossing the room in two graceful steps. Her eyes flicked between us, noticing the closeness, the way I lingered at Moiraine’s side, and something subtle shifted in her posture. “So,” she said, and there was no edge to it—only anticipation. “What do you two have to say for all the shock he put out through the bond during that meeting?” Elayne’s question hung in the air, and though it was light in tone, there was nothing flippant in the way she stood—arms relaxed but eyes sharp, watchful. To the side of the room, Egwene hadn’t moved from her place by the window. She studied Moiraine with quiet intensity, but her focus flicked to me more than once, and the bond hummed with low, steady tension—concern, curiosity, a touch of worry. 

Moiraient glanced at me before stepping fully into the room and inclining her head. “There were many things said,” she admitted. “Some that will remain within the Amyrlin’s chambers—for now. But others… others that should be spoken here.” 

“I felt your shock,” Egwene said, arms crossed but not closed off. “Like a wave crashing over everything else. You seemed to mask it quickly, but not before I knew something serious had happened. What was it that you shut us both out of?”

“It was serious,” I said, moving closer to the centre of the room. “The meeting went as well as it could have, maybe better. Siuan knows about us—about the bonds—and she didn’t order me gentled or exiled. So… that’s something.”

“She also knows about Rand,” Moiraine added, voice low. “And what he means. She’s already moving the pieces for Tear. Lan and Nynaeve will be going with him, as well as Perrin and Mat, as I am sure they would follow no matter what.”

Egwene’s brows lifted slightly, but she nodded. “That makes sense. It’ll help him.”

Elayne’s gaze narrowed, thoughtful. “But that’s not what shocked you. You had already known Rand would have to go to Tear and get Callandor, and my love, I know you well enough by now to know that you would want to go with him. But as much as it surprises me that you are not, that isn’t something that would seem to surprise you.” 

“No,” I agreed with Elayne. “The news that shocked me… well it came after that.”

Egwene tilted her head slightly, the lines around her mouth tightening in thought. “Then what did?”

Moiraine glanced at me once, as if asking whether I wanted to say it or if she should. I gave her the smallest nod, and she stepped forward—not commanding the room, but not deferring either, she was simply present. Steady.

“The Amyrlin knows about the bonds,” Moiraine started. “She knows about the three of you, and she knows Alex is the one who wove them. She knows Alex channels, she knows he created the weave of the bond, and she knows of his powers.” There was no alarm in either Egwene or Elayne’s expressions—only curiosity and a quiet strength. They were ready to know more. “She did not punish him. In face, she commended his loyalty—to the both of you. Though she did acknowledge how stubborn he can be,” that earned a chuckle from Egwene, unable to hold it in. “And then we spoke of… the future. Of what comes next. Of what Alex must become to meet the weight of what lies ahead. And that led to what surprised him.” 

Elayne’s brows rose. “Go on.”

Moiraine folded her hands in front of her, and this time, there was no hiding the faint warmth in her voice. “I asked him if I might join the bond.”

Silence.

Not cold or shocked—just the kind of stillness that comes before a decision is made. Egwene’s lips parted slightly, but she said nothing right away. Her bond to me pulsed gently—neither alarmed nor afraid, but deeply focused.

Elayne was the first to speak. “You want to join it? You understand that Alex is the one who weaves the bond, that even if you wanted some kind of compulsion into the bond, you could not.” 

Moiraine gave a small, firm nod. “I do. I would accept that bond as it is—with no command, no dominance. Only trust. I want to stand beside him, not above him. The bond he has created is not like the ones we were taught. It is something new, and equal.” Her eyes flicked to each of them in turn. “And I would not diminish it by trying to make it something else.”

Egwene finally moved closer, her arms folded loosely in contemplation rather than any kind of defiance. “And what are you asking of us, exactly? Approval? Permission?” 

Moiraine’s gaze softened. “Not permission. I would never presume to treat your bond with him as something that could be overruled. But I am asking for acceptance. I know what it means to you both. I’ve seen the strength it gives him—how it roots him, steadies him.” She pause. “I do not want to take anything from that. I only wish to add to it.”

Elayne gave me a sideways look. “You’ve already said yes, haven’t you?”

“I said she would be welcome,”I replied, my voice quiet. “But only if both of you agreed. I wasn’t going to decide something such as this without you.”

Egwene looked between the three of us. I could her her turning the idea over, not out of jealousy, but out of care and seriousness. Out of love. “You already feel something for her,” she said to me, and it wasn’t a question.

I hesitated for half a heartbeat, then nodded. “I do. I respect her. I trust her. And… I care for her.” I met Moiraine’s eyes. “It may have started as admiration, but it has become more than that. You have done right by me… and I hope to do right by you as well.”

Egwene’s expression softened at that—not into a smile, but something deeper, more accepting. “Then you should have the chance to lover her fully. And she should have the same chance to love you in return.” She turned her gaze to Moiraine, steady and unwavering. “I won’t lie—this is still new for me. All of it. But I made a choice when I let Alex bond me. I trusted him with my heart, and I’ve never regretted it. If this is the next step for us… for all of us… then I’ll stand by that too.”

Moiraine didn’t blink. “Thank you, Egwene.” There was more behind those words than mere gratitude—there was a kind of reverence, the acknowledgement of something sacred being shared. 

Elayne stepped closer then, her hand brushing against mine for a breath before turning to Moiraine. “I meant what I said. You’re not just adding your name to a list. You’re joining something real. Something… rooted in love and strength, not just need.” She studied Moiraine for a beat longer, then gave a nod. “I accept it too. I can see that you love him already, even if you cannot admit it.” 

Moiraine’s breath caught—so subtly that it might have gone unnoticed, if not for the bond that we had begun to form, a bond that did not even need saidin to thread it together, it was a bond of companionship. A flicker of emotion passed across her face, barely there, but real. “Perhaps I do,” she said softly. “Or perhaps the Pattern knows more of my heart than I do.” She stepped forward then, until we stood only a breath apart. “Could you… could you shove me the weave,” she said it gently, like she was afraid it would offend me.

I smiled at her—gently, reassuringly. “Of course I will,” I said. “There’s no offence in asking to be part of something honest, and part of that is knowing the weave you would be accepting.” 

Moiraine held still as I stepped back and let saidin fill me. I accepted her into a circle that would allow her to see my weave, Egwene and Elayne electing to also join, though they already knew what the weave looked and felt like. Saidin rushed through me, bright and burning, fierce as a river in flood—but I rode it with ease now, shaping it with the confidence born of battles survived and love accepted. I wove the threads of Spirit first, then softened it with Waater and steadied it with Air. It was the same weave I had made for Elayne, then reshaped for Egwene: not one of command or submission, but of unity. A link shared freely, not forced. An equal bond.

The threads glowed softly in the air, like moonlight woven into silk, I pulled the heart string of Fire taut through the centre of the bond, and then made the last open weave of Spirit, the one that would reach out to Moiraine’s heart, to the core of her being. I held out that last strand to her.

“All you have to do,” I said, “is touch it. Let it reach to you. It will connect to your heart, and we will be bound.” 

Moiraine looked at me then—truly looked, with all the layered history behind her eyes. Not as an Aes Sedai, nor a noble of Cairhien, but as herself. As a woman who ahas chosen, for once, to trust the heart instead of the plan. Then without hesitation, she reached out and laid her fingers against the weave. The final thread connected to her heart, and the weave flared. It was not bright and burning like Elayne, or rooted and warm like Egwene—but steady. Deep. Like something old and quiet and still. A lake beneath the stars.

And it fit. It fit as if it had always been waiting for her to find it. The moment the bond snapped into place, I felt her: a quiet presence, calm and vast, touched with weariness and wonder. It was not cold, or guarded. But so much more than I had ever imagined. She was not simply poised or powerful. She was tired, yes—but still standing. Still choosing to hope.

Moiraine’s breath trembled slightly as it settled into her. “Light,” she whispered. “So this is what it feels like… without command. Without being diminished by anything… it’s so warm. I feel… comfortable, like I could curl up into it and rest at peace without worry.”

Egwene smiled. “You’re one of us now.”

“And not one step behind,” Elayne added softly. “This isn’t a chain. It’s a circle.”

I took Moiraine’s hand in mine. “And now, you are a part of it.”

She looked at our fingers, then up at me again. “Then let the Pattern weave what it will. I feel more sure than ever, of you, and that my place is to be with you, planted firm and filled with safety and comfort.” 

Egwene’s hand found mine on the other side, her fingers threading between mine with the same quiet surety Moiraine had just spoken of. “Then let it be planted,” she said, her voice like a soft wind through leaves. “We’ve been drifting long enough.”

Elayne stepped closer, looping her arm gently through Moiraine’s. “I think the Tower will feel a bit less cold, now. A bit more like home.”

Moiraine looked between the two women she had once only watched from afar—once her pupils, now her peers—and I felt it through the bond: not just comfort, but awe. She hadn’t expected this to feel like anything more than necessity. But now… she was rooted. And she felt it. Her next words came in a whisper meant for all of us. “I didn’t realize how alone I had been… until I wasn’t.” There was nothing I could say that would hold more meaning than what was already present. So I didn’t try. I simply pulled her gently into the circle formed by the four of us—no longer fractured, no longer questioning. 

For a long moment, none of us spoke. We just stood there, bound by something that none of us had been trained to expect, something deeper than power or prophecy. A bond not of roles, but of hearts. Finally, I exhaled. “Whatever may come, we’ll face it together.” 

Moiraine nodded against my shoulder, having placed her head there for comfort and support. “Together.” 

The moment was a nice one, however, we all knew there were certain expectations of us and where we would need to be. Without any further discussion, we all moved to our tasks, though it had been sworn we would meet back at dinner. Moiraine and I moved as one as we moved to find Lan, a crucial piece before we moved to find Rand, Mat, Perrin, and Thom to inform them of the plan. 

Lan was not hard to find.

Even before we reached the open practice yard, I could feel the ripples of presence through the air—intent, focused, quietly lethal, it was unmistakably the man I had grown used to as my teacher. He stood in the centre of the sand, bare of a coat, blade in hand, running forms as though they were breaths in his lungs. Light danced off his sweat-slicked shoulders, and every step of his practice was purposeful, as though the entire world might depend the edge of his sword.

Moiraine watched him for a moment before calling out. “Lan.”

He finished the form he was in—The Boar Rushes Down the Mountain, a striking form which demanded a fierce counter to deal with—and then he straightened, planting the tip of his blade in the ground. He looked up, gaze shifting from her to me, and then to the way we stood. Moiraine said nothing more, but I saw the moment he understood, the light changing in his eyes.

“You bonded him.” It wasn’t a question. He didn’t sound surprised. Would others notice this easily? I couldn’t worry about that, the bond was a fact of who I am, and what I would be in the future.

“I did,” she said simply. “With their blessing. And with my own heart.”

Lan looked at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, finally, he gave a single nod. “Then it is done. And the better for it.” There was no ceremony. No flourish, just the acknowledgment of a change he had perhaps seen coming before any of us had. 

“We need to speak,” Moiraine continued, stepping closer, voice low. “About what comes next.” 

“The boy.” Lan sheathed his sword. “Tear?”

“Yes. He’ll need you. And Nynaeve.” Moiraine met his eyes steadily. “If you’re willing, I would have you go to her. I would pass the bond to her.”

He didn’t flinch, but the silence that followed was heavy. “She will not accept it lightly,” he said finally.

“She already has,” I replied before I could think better of it. “Not formally, perhaps. But in her heart, she already fights for you. I’ve seen how she looks at you, how she holds the ring you gave her, how she seems to go out of her way to be near you. She would guard Rand because it protects you—and because she knows it’s right.” 

Lan’s jaw tightened slightly, then he gave a short nod. “Then I will go. I’ll speak with her. But if I do this—if I am no longer yours—“

“You were never mine, al’Lan Mandragoran,” Moiraine said gently. “Only entrusted to me. And now, I entrust you to her.”

Her took that in for a long breath. Then he looked to me again. “Take care of her, Smith.”

“With my life, until my dying breath,” I answered. 

Lan nodded once more. “Then we have our paths.”

Moiraine inclined her head. “Then it is settled. I suggest you go and find Nynaeve, old friend, there is someone I would like to introduce young Alex here to before we leave to meet the others and fill them in on what the plan is. The game board is nearly set, but there are still a few pieces to be brought to the table.”

Lan bowed his head once, then turned and walked away, the shifting sound of sand beneath his boots the only farewell he gave. 

Moiraine watched him go, something quiet and unspoken passing through her gaze. Then she turned back to me. “Come,” she said, already moving. “There is one more person you must meet before we go to find the others.” She didn’t offer more than that, and I knew better than to press. We passed through a series of halls I hadn’t yet walked in the White Tower—-smaller than the main corridors, but no less beautiful, with arched ceilings and carved motifs that felt older than memory. Finally, she stopped before a door carved with roses and stars. 

Moiraine knocked once, then opened it without waiting for a response.

Inside, sunlight spilled across a room that felt less like a chamber in the Tower and more like a sitting room in some noblewoman’s country retreat, though it seemed it had been shifted to be more comfortable. Books lay open on a table, and the scent of tea and something floral filled the air. And there, seated by the window, was a young woman in breeches and a loose cream blouse, her short dark hair tousled by the breeze from the open shutters. Her eyes lifted to mine—and widened almost at once.

She stood.

“You’re Alex,” she said, as if the words had been waiting for her mouth to catch up. “Light… your aura…”

Moiraine closed the door behind us and motioned me forward. “Alex Dorevain, this is Min Farshaw. She reads the Pattern.”

Min didn’t look away. “No, I don’t read the Pattern. I see what clings to people—what the Pattern has already decided for them. Auras. Symbols. Glimpses. I don’t get to choose what I see, and I don’t always understand it. But with you…” Her brow furrowed, almost in awe.

“What do you see?” I asked carefully, I was curious, but also slightly concerned. Moiraine must have sensed it through the bond, as she stepped closer and gently placed her hand over mine, grounding me with a quiet squeeze, as if she had been instructed by Elayne and Egwene how to calm me already.

Min shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. “A flame that never dies, even when drowned in shadow. Three crowns, bound by threads of gold and crimson and blue, circling your heart. A sword wreathed in light, held in your hands—but not for war. And children. Light… so many children. All with the three women who love you. Some of them will be leaders. One will be a healer of nations. One…” her voice faltered just slightly. “One will die too young. But the name they carry will burn through history like a torch in the night. Their death will spark something in you—a force the world has never seen. And with it, you will strike down someone great… and terrible.”

I swallowed, not knowing what to say. Min stepped closer, her eyes filled with something between reverence and solemnity. “You will be a deciding force at Tarmon Gai’don. Not because you seek it—but because the Pattern will give you no choice. You will stand strong. And you will do what is right.”

Moiraine exhaled softly beside me, as though the weight of those words—ominous and hopeful both—had settled something in her. Something that made the path ahead feel, if not clear, then at least survivable. “Min sees truth, even when it’s hard to bear… I am sorry for what it has shown for you, at least in part.” 

Min turned her attention to Moiraine now, and something passed between them—something known and long-standing. 

“There’s more,” Min said quietly. 

Moiraine nodded. “He’s ready.”

Min looked back at me, this time with a gentler expression. “There’s more threads tied to you, Alex. Not for you—but through you. I know that at least one is a bond yet to be made. I’ve seen myself at Rand’s side before, I always have. But I think now I understand how I’m meant to get there.”

I blinked. “You…and Rand? Is he… is he aware of this?”

Min gave a small, knowing smile—one laced with patience and something deeper, almost bittersweet. “Not yet… well not really. I mean… I told him in Berlin, but he didn’t respond to well. He pretended not to hear it then—or maybe he just wasn’t ready to believe it. Light, maybe he still isn’t. But it hasn’t changed what I saw. It never truly does.” 

Moiraine glanced at me briefly, then back to Min. “He needs guidance, not just prophecy. Someone he can lean on and not fear breaking. Someone who can see him for who he is, and still stand beside him. He may not go mad, thanks to Alex here, but that does not mean people will not fear what he is, and what it means.” 

Min’s eyes flicked to mine again. “That’s where you come in, I hope. He trusts you, Alex. And he needs to see that letting someone love him… that letting himself love in return… it isn’t a weakness. You’ve already accepted that part of your Pattern, he hasn’t. At least, not last time that I saw him.”

I let the weight of her words settle for a moment, then nodded, my mind made up. “Then walk with us. When we speak to the others, come in at my side. Let him see you not as something waiting in the wings, but as someone already stepping into the Pattern, already there for him, and to protect him. Already standing for him, beside me.”

Min drew a slow breath, then gave a firm nod. “I will.” 

I tilted my head. “Can you channel?”

She shook her head. “No. Not even a spark. The Pattern gave me this strange gift instead.” Her voice dipped slightly. “But I’ve never needed the Power to stand my ground. And I don’t intend to start now.”

Moiraine smiled faintly, pride and affection mingling in her eyes. “No. You never have.” 

I sat there considering things in my mind. “What is your weapon of choice, Min Farshaw?” 

Min gave a short laugh—quiet, but not without edge. “Words,” she said dryly. “And truth, when it hurts most.” Then, more seriously, she added, “I’ve never carried a sword, if that’s what you mean. I’ve spent more time in libraries and tavern than in training yards. But I have a sharp tongue, a quicker mind than most give me credit for, and I don’t scare easy.” She held my gaze as she said it, steady as any blade.

Then she shrugged, glancing at Moiraine. “That said… I know the world’s changing. If you’re asking whether I’d be willing to learn—something real, something that can help—I am. If I’m going to stand beside Rand, then I need to be able to stand for him too.”

I nodded slowly, considering. “In kitchens you say… how comfortable are you with a knife?” 

Min arched an eyebrow, a spark of amusement flaring behind her steady gaze. “Comfortable enough to slice a roast with one hand and fend off a grabby innkeeper with the other,” she said. “Knives I can manage. Never needed a longsword to make someone regret underestimating me.” 

Moiraine let out a soft breath, something close to a chuckle. “She once broke a man’s wrist with a soup ladle. He thought ‘pretty’ meant ‘pliable.’”

Min gave a small, unrepentant shrug. “He thought wrong.”

 I leaned back slightly, letting the weight of the moment settle as I carefully considered my next steps. “Moiraine,” I started, “there is a forge here in the Tower, is there not?” 

Moiraine tilted her head, watching me with that measuring gaze she so often wore when I was about to do something unexpected. “There is,” she said slowly. “The Warders keep it for blade maintenance and custom fittings. It’s modest, but serviceable. Why?”

Min blinked, caught off guard by the shift in subject. “You’re not thinking of handing me a sword, are you?”

“No, not a sword,” I said, shaking my head. “Not unless you ask for one. But if you’re going to stand with Rand—truly stand with him—then you should have something that suits you. Not just a borrowed knife or a broken ladle. Something yours. Something made with purpose.”

Min’s brow furrowed as she studied me, a cautious hope flickering behind her eyes. “You’re going to make me a weapon?”

“I’m going to forge something for you,” I said, my voice quiet but certain. “Not as a threat to wield, but as a symbol. A piece of the bond you’re stepping into, even if it hasn’t been sealed yet. And perhaps… this may help to seal it. You said you didn’t need the One Power to stand your ground—and I believe you. But that doesn’t mean you have to do it empty-handed.” 

Moiraine’s eyes gleamed with something soft—approval, perhaps even pride. “A gift made not from power, but from choice… somewhat like the gift you have given me today, my Flameforged Lord. That carries its own kind of strength.” 

Min was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice had lost all trace of irony. “I’ve never had anything made for me,” she said. “Not like that. Not on purpose. Not as a symbol of… of trust. And… Light, you just met me, yet you’re willing to do this for me?”

I stepped forward, meeting her eyes. “Then it’s past time someone made you something. I know enough to know the look in someone’s eyes when they are determined, and I trust Moiraine, who trusts you, at least from what I can feel through the bond. You don’t have to be a channeller to be woven into the Pattern’s centre. You’ve already seen that you’re tied to Rand’s thread. This is just one more way to show him you’re choosing that place—on your own terms.”

Min held my gaze for a long moment, searching my eyes, weighing her options. Then she nodded—just once, but with the kind of quiet certainty that didn’t need to be louder to be heard. “All right,” she said softly. “Make me something. Don’t make it just for show, and don’t make it for war. Make it because you believe in what’s coming—and because you believe in me.”

“I do,” I said. “And I will.”

She gave a short breath of laughter—half disbelieving, half relieved. “Light help me, I think I believe you.”

Moiraine stepped between us then, not to interrupt, but to guide. “The forge in the Tower is rarely used, but I am sure it will do. Come—before the day grows any older.” 

Min looked to her, then back to me. “I’ll follow.” 

And she did. As we moved through the halls, three pairs of footsteps echoing against the white stone and the murmurs of passing Sisters fading behind us, I couldn’t help but feel it again—that same sense I’d carried after bonding Moiraine, and Egwene, and Elayne before her. The Pattern was never asking e to change the world alone. It was giving me the people I would need to do it. 

—————————————————————

The forge was tucked into a quiet corner of the White Tower’s lower levels—stone walls, thick with age and soot, absorbing the heat rather than reflecting it. The air was heavy with iron and oil, familiar and grounding. Even though the layout was foreign to me, it felt of home. This place had not seen true use in years, not since the Tower had ceased forging its own blades. But it was here, still waiting, like the Pattern itself had known it would be needed again.

Min stood just behind me, watching as I shrugged out of my coat and pulled off my shirt, grabbing an apron that had been hung on the walls for a long time. It was stiff with age, but it would do. Moiraine had started moving through the space with easy familiarity, lighting the lanterns with a gesture and I took to checking the rack of tools. Most were dusty but serviceable. The only missing part was actual metal to forge… a problem I knew I would need Moiraine’s help to fix.

Moiraine caught the direction of my glance and, without needing to ask, moved to a shelf set deeper into the rear of the forge—past a thick iron-banded door half-concealed by shadow. With a flick of her fingers and a faint pulse of the Power, the door creaked open, revealing a narrow store room. Dust motes stirred like startled birds as she stepped inside. When she returned, her hands bore two bundles wrapped in dark cloth. She laid it on the anvil and drew the fabric back with the care of someone unveiling something sacred. Within lay two small ingot of metal—one silver-bright, the other a rich golden bronze veined with something darker, almost like smoke trapped in steel.

“This,” she said, placing her fingers lightly on the bronze-veined ingot, “was salvaged from the wreckage of a blade once intended for a Tower Guard who died before it could be finished. The smith who left it behind was one of the last to truly work this forge.”

“And the other?” I asked, eyes locked on the silver-bright one.

Moiraine’s voice lowered. “It is a remnant from my family’s stores in Cairhien. My father had a sword made from the same vein, and I brought it with my to the Tower when I was a girl… a piece of home that I could hold onto, but that I brought down here when I realized I likely would not have a use for it. It currently has no purpose… but I believe it’s waited long enough to find one.” 

I looked between them, then to Min, who stood at the edge of the glow cast by the lantern. Her arms were folded, her expression unreadable—but her eyes… her eyes held awe. 

“You’re going to make something of these?” She asked quietly.

I gave a nod, that being the only response she would get from me. I had adopted the powerful stance of my father, letting his gruff demeanour wash over me as I prepared to work something he would be proud of. I turned to the forge, letting saidin rise through me—not to shape the blade or work the metal, but to light the flame within, draw it higher, hotter, and cleaner. The Flame within me stirred, just enough to burn the soot from the hearthstones and clear the air. Moiraine stepped back, letting the moment be mine alone.

As the heat mounted and I took the hammer in hand, I looked once more to Min. “You don’t need to watch, it will get quite hot in here,” I offered.

Min didn’t flinch. She stepped forward instead, until she stood just within the circle of lantern light, her eyes steady on mine. “Let it get hot,” she said, voice low but firm. “I want to see it born. I’ve seen so many things I couldn’t touch—visions, glimpses, threads of futures I’ll never hold. But this? This is real. This is now. I’ll stay.”

The quiet in the forge shifted—not silent, but solemn. The kind of hush that falls over a place when something important is happening. Moiraine stood by the wall, hands folded, her presence calm and supportive but unobtrusive. She understood this moment too. Understood what it was to forge something more than steel. 

I turned back to the ingots android them side by side on the anvil, studying them like I would study a puzzle only half-solved. Then I closed my eyes, drew in a breath, and let the Flame settle behind my ribs. Not consuming, but steadying. Cleansing. And the idea of what I wanted to make came clear. I wasn’t just going to make a weapon. I was going to make something that belonged—to her, to the Pattern, to the moment we all stood inside, and something that would show Rand what Min saw in him. 

With tongs in hand, I placed the first ingot into the forge, coaxing the bellows with a practiced rhythm. The metal began to glow, and soon the silver-bright was shining like the edge of sunrise. When I set it on the anvil and brought the hammer down, sparks flared like fireflies—brilliant and fast, vanishing into the warm air. Every strike rang with something more than sound. This was to be forged into the blade, the first part of this knife born of purpose. 

Min stayed where she was, her expression unchanging, but the bond between Moiraine and me pulsed with quiet pride, and behind it, her awe. There was no magic in this part. Just fire, and metal, and me. But it was enough.

I quietly hammered away at the silver-bright metal, continually heating it, shaping it, taking pieces off. The metal took shape under the hammer’s will—straight, slender, and purposeful. I shaped it into a blade fit for close work, but not crude. This wasn’t a weapon made for war; it was made for conviction. A knife forged not to kill, but to stand. 

I quenched the blade in oil and let it rest as I turned back to the forge, I had taken enough of the silver-bright metal for my secret other purpose. Moiraine had brought the ingot to the Tower as a girl, it held meaning to her, and I wanted to make sure she got the chance to hold it close to her. I placed the remaining pieces of the ingot into the forge again, heating it together to forge it into its new purpose. I worked it gently, shaping it into a intricate band, which I laced with details of flame, attempting to make it look as a gentle weave, pieced together in purpose, as if it were the weaves of the bond I had created that paired Moiraine and I together now. As the band took form, I kept the Flame low behind my ribs, not letting it burn hot—just warm enough to guide me. This was no weapon, no call to arms. It was something gentler, and more precise. Certainly not something I had been trained to do but, when you follow the heart, you adapt your skills and learn more than you had before. This was a promise, forged in silver and memory.

The ring took its shape beneath my hammer and chisel: delicate, yes, but not fragile. The pattern along its surface wove like the threads of a lacework bond—fine arcs that looped and crossed, curling inward where the weaves joined. The pattern was not exact, not like the weaves I used in saidin, but it was close. Close enough to feel true. Close enough to mean something. When I quenched it in water—-cold and pure, no wine this time—it rang faintly against the tongs. A soft, bell-like sound. As if it were alive with something unseen.

Moiraine had not spoke while I worked, but I could feel her presence through the bond: calm, curious, quietly overwhelmed. I turned, holding the cooled ring in the centre of my palm and walked to her. She looked down at it as though it might vanish, her breath catching faintly in her throat. 

“I know it’s not wha you father had made from that metal,” I said quietly. “But it’s what I wanted you to have. A piece of him. A piece of you. And maybe… a little of me, too.”

Moiraine reached out, her fingers brushing the ring before curling around it gently. She turned it in her hand, eyes tracing the framework inlaid in silver, the way the weaves seemed to twist and curl inward like the threads of fate drawn toward a centre. 

Her voice, when it came, was softer than I’d ever heard it. “I never thought I would wear something like this again. Not after so many years of shedding what was mine to serve what was the Tower’s.”

I stepped closer, letting the warmth of the forge and the bond settle between us., “You haven’t shed anything. You’ve forged it into something more. Just like this.”

She looked up at me, and this time, her gaze didn’t carry any veils, though I noticed the sight of tears welling in her eyes. “Then I will wear it, Flameforged. It is not a symbol of my duty, but a mark of the choice I have made, the choice to be with you. Perhaps the single best choice I have made in my life.” 

I nodded, letting the words settle. There was no ceremony here. No binding weave, no spoken vow. Just a ring. A gift, and a truth shaped by fire and carried forward. Then I turned back to the anvil, where the bronze-veined metal waited, warming at the edge of the forge’s glow.

“Time to give the dragon its body,” I murmured.

Min, still silent, stepped forward slightly, eyes flicking between us. “You’re full of surprises, Alex Dorevain.”

“Only the good kind, I hope,” I replied, lifting the tongs again.

She smiled faintly. “The kind that matter.” 

The bronze-veined ingot was heavier in my hand than the silver-bright metal had been—denser, almost reluctant to yield. But that was fitting. A dragon wasn’t meant to be tamed easily. It was meant to be earned. I fed the metal into the heart of the flame, coaxing the forge hotter now. The veins running through it shimmered in the heat like embers caught beneath the skin of the alloy, and I watched it shift and glow as it began to soften. My hands moved with purpose, placing the warmed bronze on the anvil and raising the hammer again. 

As I turned to brace the piece and reposition the tools, I caught sight of Moiraine out of the corner of my eye. She stood near the wall, just at the edge of the forge’s light, the silver ring held delicately between her fingers. Her expression was unreadable——but her eyes… they shimmered with something quiet and powerful. Reverence, memory, and peace. Then, slowly, she slipped it onto her finger. Her hand lingered before her for a moment, admiring the weave-work glinting in the firelight. Her thumb brushed over the surface as though committing its shape to memory. 

And then she looked up. Met my gaze. No words passed between us, but the bond thrummed warm and steady, as if something long-unspoken had found its voice. I nodded to her, then turned back to my work.

The bronze was ready now. I began to shape it not as a tilt, but as a being. The head of the dragon came first, maw open in silent roar, eyes narrowed and fierce. The body flowed back in a spiralled, tapering curve, its spine ridged and plated like scales drawn in metal. Each strike of the chisel carved detail deeper—fins flaring back from its head, wings folded against its form, its tail curling around where the blade would eventually rest. 

This was not a hilt meant to be comfortable. It was meant to speak. To tell a story. To bear the weight of what it meant to stand beside someone like Rand al’Thor, and not flinch. When the form was shaped, I cooled the hilt slowly, brushing the surface clean with oil and cloth as it hardened, revealing the veins like smoke within golden flame. 

I brought the blade and the hilt together at last, measuring them with care, ensuring the fit was exact. Then, slowly, carefully, I fused them—no saidin, no magic, just the knowledge passed down through a hundred generations of smiths. Pin and socket. Heat and pressure. Bond and purpose. As a finishing touch, I used saidin to burn in a flourish on the blade, making it look like flame etched in black across the silver base of the blade, perhaps a symbol of who had made it more than just a symbol of the dragons breath. 

When it was finished, I stepped back and let the full weight of it rest across my palm. A knife, yes. But not merely that. 

A dragon’s heart in a woman’s hand.

I turned to Min and offered it out to her, handle first. “It doesn’t have a sheath,” I said, voice low. “That will take time we simply don’t have. But the blade is true, and the hilt… well, I think it’ll speak for itself.”

Min stepped forward slowly, reverently. The firelight caught the edges of the blade as she reached for it, and for a heartbeat, it looked as though the flame I’d etched into the steel had come alive—burning without heat, fierce without motion. She took the knife from my hand, cradling it with surprising delicacy for someone so sure of her footing in the world.

Her fingers curled around the dragon’s body, her thumb brushing the ridged scales I’d carved into the bronze-veined hilt. She didn’t speak at first. Just stood there, testing the weight, turning the blade slightly so the firelight played across it. The her gaze lifted, meeting mine.

“I’ve never held something that felt like it already knew me,” she said quietly. “Like it was made not just for my hand, but for my heart.”

Moiraine stepped forward then, her voice like water running over stone. “And so it was. The Pattern weave as it wills, Min Farshaw, but sometimes it lets us tie the threads by choice.”

Min glanced down again at the blade, then back up at me. Her eyes shimmered—not with tears, but with something fiercer: gratitude, and perhaps the first edges off something like belief in herself, in her resolve.

“I’ll carry it,” she said, voice steady now. “Not to threaten, not to fight unless I must—but as a promise. To stand. For Rand, and for what’s coming.”

I nodded. “That’s all it was meant for.”

She gave a single nod in return then slid the knife carefully into her belt, tucking the dragon hilt where it would be seen—and not mistaken. 

“Let’s go then,” she said, her voice lighter now. “You’ve given me a place. It’s time we helped Rand see his.”

Moiraine’s smile was quiet, but proud. She stepped to my side, brushing her hand against mine, then gestured toward the forge’s door. “The game board is nearly set,” she murmured.

“Then let’s take the last piece to the table,” I said, while allowing a thick strand of air mixed with water to cool the forge and put out the lanterns we had lit for my work.

 And together, we turned toward the next chapter.

Chapter Text

The inn’s common room was lit with the golden hush of evening, firelight flickering low against the polished wood beams and casting soft shadows across the gathered faces. The scent of roasted meat, onions, and fresh bread hung in the air—familiar comforts, made heavy by the knowledge that this would be one of the last peaceful meals we’d share together for some time. Thom sat in the corner, as usual, hunched over a bowl of stew and nursing a mug that steamed faintly. Mat and Perrin were deep in some quite conversation—cards tucked away, for once——and Rand stood by the fire, arms crossed, watching the flames as though they might offer answers to questions he hadn’t yet asked aloud.

They all looked up when we entered.

Moiraine stepped in first, quiet and composed. I followed with Min at my side, hopeful that Egwene and Elayne would already be there such that I could see the other two women I was bonded to. Min’s presence was different than when I had met her earlier today. It wasn’t louder or confident—but it was solid, grounded in a way that drew eyes without asking for them, though she seemed somewhat nervous. 

Elayne was already seated near Thom, her posture regal even in a worn inn chair, while Egwene leaned slightly forward, halfway through what seemed to be a quiet exchange with Nynaeve, who now more brazenly wore the ring Lan had given her. Their eyes found mine the moment I entered, and through the bon I felt the steady thrum of their presence—Egwene’s focus sharpening with anticipation, Elayne’s warmth rising like a hearth relit. Both stood as Min and I approached.

It was Rand who noticed the blade first.

His gaze caught the glint at Min’s hip—the silver gleam of the etched blade, dragon-hilted and gleaming faintly in the firelight—and his brows lifted. While he may not have intimately known Min, he seemed to spot the difference well enough. “That’s new,” he said, his voice was calm but edged with curiosity. 

Min’s fingers brushed the hilt as though surprised to be the subject of attention. “Alex made it,” she said. Her tone was quiet but firm, steady in a way that didn’t ask for validation. “Today. He forged it in the Tower forge, when he heard I wanted to go forward with you, with what’s to come and Moiraine staying here with him… I figured you could use someone who has studied Tower literature, and could help you navigate things…” She seemed almost sheepish at that.

Rand’s expression shifted—not softened, but struck. Not by the blade, though his eyes flicked back to it briefly, but by her. By Min. Her resolve wasn’t loud, but it rang clear, and something in him seemed to catch on that quiet strength. It was nice to know that the knife had its desired effect in that regard. 

“I could use that,” he said after a beat. “Light knows I’ve had enough surprises from the Tower to last a lifetime. Having someone who’s read the fine print… that might be the most dangerous weapon yet.”

Min gave a short, dry laugh, but the tension in her shoulders eased. She looked at him steadily, and the room felt a touch quieter for it. “I don’t just want to help,” she said. “I need to. I’ve seen too much to sit idle, Rand. Whether you believe in what I saw or not… I do, and I want to be there for you.”

Mat, ever the mood-breaker, leaned forward and peered at the knife with an exaggerated squint. “Well, if you’re joining the world of sharp things, at least you’ve got style. That hilt looks like it’s ready to bite someone. Light, and the blade? That’s some fine work.”

“It’s beautiful,” Elayne said from near the hearth, her voice softer, but sincere. “That’s not just a blade. It’s a symbol. A dragon and the flame, a dragons heart in her hand. It’s truly magnificent.”

Rand nodded once, more to himself than anyone else, and I noticed a look in his eyes, one of desire and attraction. Perhaps talking him into trying things with Min would be much easier than I had thought. “It suits you, Min.”

Min gave a small, appreciative smile, though there was a flicker of something softer behind it, she seemed almost surprised. She hadn’t expected the approval, and certainly not so quickly. Or perhaps she had never truly hope for it. “I’m glad it does,” she said quietly, her fingers brushing the hilt once more. “I may not know how to swing it properly yet, but… I’ll learn. I’m not here to be saved, Rand. I’m here to stand, with you.” 

That seemed to land with him, the tension in his jaw relaxing just a touch.

From behind us, Moiraine stepped forward, her hands folded at her waist. “And you won’t be standing alone,” she said, her tone measured. “Each of you has a role to play, but the Pattern calls some in different directions.” At that, everyone turned to her fully, the hearth’s warmth casting her features in sharp relief. It was a good thing we had gotten a private sitting area, likely Lan’s doing. “The time has come for us to divide,” she continued. “Rand, you and your party—Thom, Mat, Perrin, Nynaeve, Lan, and now Min—will begin your journey south. To Tear. To Callandor. It will cement you to almost all as the Dragon Reborn, and hopefully, secure you a kingdom.”

A hush fell, one born not of fear, but inevitability.

I stepped forward. “The rest of us—-myself and those bound to me, Moiraine, Egwene, and Elayne—will remain here in Tar Valon. There is more to learn, more to prepare. The Tower still has pieces to move, and e need to be ready for what comes after Tear… and to help secure another kingdom for the group.”

Mat raised an eyebrow at that, though it was Thom who spoke first, stroking his mustaches with idle thought. “Another kingdom, you say? Light, we’ve gone from fleeing inns to shaping thrones, haven’t we?”

Elayne met his glance with poise, a touch of Andoran steel flashing in her eyes. “You say that as though it wasn’t inevitable. Rand isn’t the only one with blood that runs toward crowns.”

Min let out a soft breath beside me, clearly catching the implication, though she said nothing. Her hand drifted back toward the knife at her hip, thumbing over the dragon scales for reassurance and comfort rather than readiness.

“I just hope we don’t lose each other along the way,” Perrin murmured. “Too many paths. Too many threads pulling in different directions.” 

Moiraine looked to him then, and her voice—so often flint and fire—turned soft. Perhaps the bond had already taken to working to gentle the steel that she was usually so full of. “The Wheel weaves us apart only to draw us together again. You must trust in that, as you trust each other.”

Rand looked at her, then at me. “You’re sure you’re not coming?” He asked, though there wasn’t accusation in his tone—only a thread of doubt, or maybe hope that I might somehow be swayed to join him on his way to secure his first kingdom. But I know that my thread calls to Cairhien, to secure the Sun Throne, and create another kingdom that would support the Dragon Reborn. 

“I’m needed here,” I said gently. “To train, to learn, and to prepare the way. And you won’t be without strength, Lord Dragon—look around you. You have more than you think, and I am confident you will gain yet more along the way.”

Rand exhaled slowly, as if letting go of something heavy he had been holding for slightly too long. “I’ll hold you to that, Lord Flameforged,” he said at last, voice quiet, though his final words were clearly said in jest. “When the storm comes… I’ll need every hand ready to hold the line.”

“You’ll have mine,” I said. “Even from afar, I work to secure more to further the cause. The Pattern doesn’t waste thread.” I stopped and considered my next words for a moment. “And perhaps, there will be opportunities for us to communicate all throughout the journey.”

Rand’s brow furrowed slightly at that, curiosity flickering behind the tired weight in his eyes. “You think it’s possible? To speak across the distance like that?”

I nodded shortly. “I’m not confident about it yet… but I think I have worked out a way to communicate. We can discuss it further later. For now, we are all together, and that is a special thing.” 

Min gave Rand a sidelong glance, her voice low and steady. “And you won’t be as alone as you think. Not anymore.” 

Rand looked at her, and this time didn’t look away. There was something new in his silence—not resistance, but recognition. He saw her. Not just the gift she carried or the visions she bore, but the person who had chosen him before he was ready to be chosen. Perhaps he was getting closer to being ready now. 

Moiraine stepped forward, drawing the conversation back to the centre. “Then the lines are drawn. The Tower and Cairhien will be the anchors of the north, where Alex and his bond mates will operate. Tear will be your proving ground, Rand. Go with care, with truth, and do not look away from what you are. Though I suspect the friends who surround you will help to do that for you.” 

Mat decided now was his time to break the tension. “Right, about that, are none of us going to bring up how Alex now has three powerful women bound to him? And that he bonded a bloody full fledged Aes Sedai this time? I mean, blood and ashes, for a Smith you have quite the charismatic reputation.” He spoke it all with a cheeky grin. 

Perrin let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Light, Mat. Subtle as ever.”

Elayne gave Mat a look, somewhere between regal amusement and indulgent scolding. “If you’re trying to provoke jealousy, you’ll have to do better than that, Matrim Cauthon.”

“I’m just saying,” Mat continued, hands up as though in defence. “A Queen-to-be, the Daughter-Heir of Andor, a future Amyrlin if I’ve ever seen one”—he tipped his head toward Egwene--“and now an actual Aes Sedai who has half the Tower looking sideways on a good day? I’ve seen kings with less pull.”

Egwene arched a brow, but her lips curved. “Is that envy I hear?”

“Absolutely not,” Mat said, straight-faced. “I prefer not to get stabbed in my sleep.”

That earned a round of laughter, even from Rand, who had been quiet until then. The tension eased, warmth curling between all of us like the fire in the hearth. The kind of warmth you only get on the edge of change. I glanced at Moiraine, then over to Egwene and Elayne. “It’s not about charisma. It’s about trust. About knowing that we’re stronger together—and making the bond reflect that truth everyday in which we choose one another.”

Mat gave a mock salute with his spoon. “Well, Lord Flameforged, you’ve got my respect. And my suspicion. Mostly the latter.” 

Min, still resting her hand lightly on the hilt of her blade, smirked. “If you ever forged a ring for Mat, you’d better make it out of rope. Might be the only way to keep him still.” 

“Oi!” Mat protested. “You’re all very cruel to a man who hasn’t even finished his stew!”

As the laughter faded into a more settled hush, Rand looked once more around the room, taking in the faces that had become his tether to the world he was meant to save. “Tomorrow, then,” he said.  “We ride for Tear. And whatever comes next.”

I nodded. “And we’ll be with you. Every step, even if we’re not at your side.”

Moiraine placed a hand over her heart, the ring I had forged for her glinting in the firelight. “The Pattern weaves us toward the same end, Rand al’Thor. Only the path differs.”

Rand looked at the ring, then at each of us in turn—Min beside him now, Egwene and Elayne across the fire, Perrin silent and solid, Mat feigning indifference but watching everything, and Thom quiet in the corner, his pipe forgotten for once.

“We’ve all changed,” he said softly. “Since Emond’s Field. Since Fal Dara. Since Falme.” His voice didn’t carry far, but it didn’t need to. “I don’t know if I’ll be the man the world expects me to be… but I’ll try. For all of you.”

Min’s hand shifted to rest lightly on Rand’s forearm, nothing more than a touch, but it was the sign of a beginning of something between the two of them. “Don’t be the man the world expects,” she said. “Be the one it needs. That’s who you already are.” No one answered right away. No one needed to. The fire crackled. Stew cooled in bowls. And for just a breath in time, there was quiet understanding—-of what had come before, and what was now in motion. 

Tomorrow the Wheel would turn farther, but tonight we sat together as friends, and a more. A chosen family pulled together by the threads of the Pattern.

——————————————————

As the warmth of the fire dimmed behind us and laughter ebbed into quieter exchanges, Rand stood and met my eyes with a small tilt of his head. It wasn’t a command or a request even—it was just a silent invitation. I nodded, rising beside him, and we slipped out of the inn together without ceremony. I knew that my bond mates would feel my departure, but trusted them not to follow. No one had tried to stop us. Perhaps they sensed that it was time for a different kind of conversation.

Outside, the streets of Tar Valon were cloaked in deep twilight, the towers glowing like starlight poured into stone. Lamps burned along the bridges and balconies, golden threads in the vast lace of the city. The air was crisp, touched with river mist and the distant echo of bells from the Tower’s heights. We walked without speaking at first, letting the hush of the world settle around us.

Finally, Rand broke the silence.

“It’s strange,” he said, his voice low, thoughtful. “I’ve been here before, but I’ve never really been here. I always felt like a shadow passing through—too many eyes on me, too many secrets waiting to collapse.” He glanced over at me. “But tonight, for a little while at least… it feels like I’m standing still.”

I gave a soft grunt of agreement, my hands having found their way to my coat. “Stillness doesn’t come often for us anymore. We take it where we can find it. Even if it’s just a walk through empty streets. Light, working the forge today felt like going home, if only for a moment.”

Rand’s mouth twisted into something halfway between a smile and a grimace. “Is that why you made Moiraine that ring?” It took me by surprise that he had noticed. “She hadn’t been wearing one when we arrived, and the metal looked almost like what Min’s blade was made of. The way she kept looking at it seems as though it’s already a treasured piece for her. You did well, it’s a beautiful ring.”

I glanced down briefly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “I wasn’t sure she’d wear it, honestly. But she brought the metal to the Tower when she was still a girl. It meant something to her, even if she thought she’d left it behind. It felt right to give some of it back. Not as a weapon, just… as something of her own that she could hold close. Something shaped with care, not duty.”

Read nodded slowly, thoughtful. “She’s different with you. Softer, but not weak. Like she’s been carrying her burdens alone too long, and now she’s willing to let someone else stand to carry it with her.”

I met his eyes. “You see it too, then?”

“I do,” he said. “And I think it helps me understand Min a little better. She doesn’t have a sword or the Power, but she’s sharp in all the ways that count. And today…with that blade at her side, it was like watching her claim her place without having to prove a thing.” He hesitated. “Light, she terrifies me a little, even back in Baerlon when we met and she seemed to insist I would have three women bound to me, and that she was one of them.”

I gave a low chuckle, the kind that rumbled more in the chest than the throat. “She’s got a habit of saying things that sound impossible until they aren’t, from what I’ve gathered. I don’t think Min’s ever truly lied a day in her life—but that doesn’t mean the truth always shows up in the way you want it to.”

Rand gave a dry, wry sound that might’ve been a laugh if it weren’t so weary. “Light, you’re not wrong. Back then, I thought she was mad—or worse, caught up in some Tower scheme led by Moiraine. But now… I don’t know. There’s something about her. The way she looks at me like she already knows how I’ll end up, and still stays close anyway.”

“That’s what love is,” I said, my voice softer now. “Not just being there for who you are now, but standing beside who you might become—even if the shape of that scares them. Or you. Especially when it scares you. If being bound to two women, and now three, has taught me anything… it is that being open is the most important part. Open to the future, open to what they have to say, and open to allowing yourself to be vulnerable.”

He looked away for a moment, toward the silvered curve of the White Tower’s peak beyond the rooftops. “Sometimes I wonder what Tam, my dad—or rather, the man who raised me, would think, if he could see me now. Would he be proud? Or would he think I’d lost myself trying to be what the world expects?”

“He’d be proud,” I said without hesitation. “Not because you’re the Dragon Reborn, but because you’ve never stopped trying to be decent. To protect people. To choose mercy when you can, and to stand strong in the moments when you cannot. That’s what he raised you to be.”

Rand was silent for a long moment, and I heard him sniffle, as though he had some emotion he did not want to erupt out of him. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely above a whisper. “It still scares me, you know. The Power. The prophecies. What if I become him—Lews Therin? What if I break the world instead of saving it?”

I took a minute to consider this. I couldn’t answer him right away, so instead, I reached out and rested a hand on his shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You’re not him, Rand. You carry the role, but not the madness. Not the taint. That’s why I’m here. Why I was forged into what I am. I may not have chosen the name Flameforged, but I have made it my own. It doesn’t just mean that I burn away the taint—-it means I stand at the edge of the fire so others don’t have to. And I’ll keep standing, keep fighting, so that you can keep being who you are.”

Rand stood still at that, his breath misting faintly in the cool Tar Valon air. His eyes remained forward, but I saw his jaw tighten, heard the breath catch again in his throat. He didn’t weep—he was past that, or maybe hadn’t let himself in too long—but I knew the weight had shifted, just a little. Finally, he gave a short nod. “Light, Alex. You make it sound so simple.”

“It’s not,” I said gently. “But simple and easy aren’t the same thing. You already know what you have to do. What scares you is whether or not you’ll survive doing it. But you will. Because you are not alone. And even if you falter, you’ve surrounded yourself with people who will hold you up. And lest we forget, the new flame that seems to have caught at least a spark in your heart.”

Rand looked at me then, truly looked. “And what about you?” He asked. “You carry just as much. Maybe more. The Flameforged, whatever that means, whatever it’s becoming—it’s something new in the world. Something the Forsaken are paying attention to. You’re bonded to three women, tied to Cairhien’s throne, seemingly tied to the throne of Andor as well, and shaping your own part of the Last Battle’s foundation. Aren’t you scared?”

I gave a soft breath, not quite a laugh. “Terrified,” I admitted. “Every day. But fear’s never been the enemy. It’s what keeps us sharp. It’s what reminds us we have something to lose. And something worth protecting.”

He seems to let that settle, eyes flicking to the Tower’s distant glow. “Do you think we’ll win?” He asked after a long silence. “Tarmon Gai’don. Do you think there’s a future after it?”

“I think the Pattern wants there to be,” I said. “And as long as that’s true—we fight for it. Even if we never get to live in it. That’s what heroes do, right?”

Rand gave a slow exhale and back to me, his expression softer, clearer. “We’re not heroes, Alex.”

“No,” I agreed. “We’re something better. We’re friends.”

He laughed at that, a real one this time. Quiet and tired, but honest. 

“Come on,” I said “Let’s get back before Mat eats the last of the bread and blames the Dark One for it.”

As we turned back toward the inn, starting a slow walk back, Rand seemed to have a question he needed to ask, something itching at him that he just couldn’t let go of. “About Min,” he started, trailing off before he could finish his thought.

“What about her?” 

Rand scratched the back of his neck, uncharacteristically hesitant. “It’s just… she said she saw herself at my side. That she’s always known it would be that way. Back in Berlin, I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want any of it. Not the Power, not the Dragon, not… fates tied in knots before I even understood what they meant.” He shook his head, brows drawn. “But today, when she walked in——gods, Alex, she looked like she chose it. Not because of a viewing but… because of me.”

I nodded, saying nothing yet. She wasn’t done.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with that. She’s brave, sharp, and she doesn’t flinch from what’s coming. I’m terrified I’ll let her down. That I’ll hurt her. Light, what if she gets hurt because of me?”

I let the silence stretch just a beat longer, letting his words land in the stillness between our footsteps. Then I said, “You’re not the only one scared, Rand. That’s the thing about love. It’s not safe. It never was. But Min didn’t walk into that inn with a sword and prophecy hanging over her—she walked in with a blade forged for her, a place she claimed, standing beside you. Not behind.” He was quiet again. I looked over. “You don’t have to have all the answers yet. Just… be honest with her. And don’t turn away when she reaches for you. And when you’re ready—if you’re ready—-I’ll teach you the weave for the bond, and you’ll be able to reach out to her with it.”

Rand gave a slow nod. “That’s what she did, didn’t she? Reached for me.”

“She’s not asking you to be perfect,” I said. “Just to be real, to be you.”

He looked ahead, the soft glow of the inn just starting to peek through the buildings as we neared it. “I can do that,” he said. “Or at least…I can try.”

I clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Good. Because she’s already betting on you.”

The inn’s warmth greeted us like a living thing—soft light spilling through the doorway, laughter murmuring under breath, the scent of woodsmoke and honeyed bread still lingering in the air. Rand and I stepped inside, the hush of the outside world falling away as we crossed back into the heart of our strange, mismatched fellowship. The others had drifted into looser clusters, having left the private space for something more fun. Thom was dabbing ink across a fresh page in his journal, spectacles perched low on his nose. Mat was half-stretched over the bench near the heart, picking at what might’ve once been the last hunk of bread. Elayne sat beside him, her expression patient, if amused. Perrin and Nynaeve were deep in conversation by the window, heads tilted toward one another with a seriousness that bent the world around them. And Moiraine—Light, Moiraine was smiling. Faint, reserved, but unmistakably smiling as she spoke quietly with Egwene. By the Creator, she is beautiful. 

Moiraine must have felt that thought intensely through the bond, as her cheeks coloured a bright red and she turned to smile at me, as if instinctively knowing where I stood. I had forgotten that if my thoughts or emotions pertained to a specific bond mate then it would occasionally tell them exactly what I was thinking. I did not regret it though. 

Then there was Min… Min had taken a seat near the fire, her newly forged knife rested carefully across her knees. She was tracing a finger along the dragon-carved hilt, not to admire it, but as if it were a memory she was trying to anchor in her hands. She looked up when we entered—at Rand first, then at me. She gave a nod, not a question or a greeting. Just a quiet I see you. Rand hesitated for just a breath, then crossed to her and took the seat beside her. He didn’t speak, he didn’t have to. She shifted slightly, letting their shoulder touch.

I watched the motion and exhaled through my nose. The Wheel was spinning its thread tighter. 

Moiraine stood slowly from her place near Egwene and made her way toward me, her movement as graceful as a ripple on still water. She stopped just in front of me, her expression unreadable—but the warmth through the bond said enough. “Careful with your thoughts,” she murmured, just for me. “I wasn’t prepared to hear that one while discussing the state of Tower politics with one who is preparing to pass through the arches.”

I smelled, sheepish. “Would you rather I’d thought something less flattering?”

Her lips curved in that quiet way of hers, the one that felt like a secret. “No,” she said, voice soft. “But next time, I would like you to say it aloud… and perhaps somewhere more private. A formal dinner date between the two of us, perhaps.”

Before I could answer, Egwene rose from her seat, where she had been speaking to Moiraine before my re-entrance to the inn. She crossed the space with the determined calm I’d come to know well. She reached for my hand—not possessive, just grounding—and her fingers laced with mine. “You’ve been gone a while,” she said gently.

“We just needed some air,” I said. “And a moment. He needed it.”

Egwene nodded, her thumb brushing over my knuckle. “So did I. I’m glad we are doing this away from the Tower’s eyes… it felt wrong not being able to do something as simple as hold your hand because of the guard we have to keep. Now come—sit. Elayne’s about to ask Mat why Cairhien wine tastes like burnt raisins, and I want you close when he starts ranting.”

I let Egwene tug me gently back toward the circle of warmth and firelight, though I made a note to come back to Moiraine about her idea of a proper date when I got the chance… it would be the first one I had been on in truth. From the circle laughter already stirred like embers in a breeze, and Elayne had yet to even take the final straw. Elayne arched a brow at us as we approached, then turned back to Mat with a look far too innocent to be harmless. 

“Well?” She said sweetly, “Is it true? That Cairhienin wine tastes like someone left the grapes in a chimney?”

Mat’s head jerked up like he’d been struck by a mallet. “Burnt raisins? Burnt? Elayne, I swear on every silver mark I’ve ever gambled that no Andoran palate could ever—“ He stopped mid-sentence, noticing I’d returned. “Ah, perfect! A man born of Cairhien who can talk some sense into his mate! Alex, back me up, would you? Cairhienin wine’s smoky, not scorched.” 

I gave a theatrical shrug. “As a man of Cairhien, it tastes like ambition in a bottle. Pairs well with schemes and uncomfortable dinners.”

That earned a snort from Perrin and a full laugh from Thom, who didn’t look up from his parchment. “That might be the most accurate wine pairing I’ve ever heard.” Even Moiraine felt of faint humour in the bond. 

Mat groans and collapsed backward against the bench. “You’re all monsters.”

Elayne just smiled, victorious, as she lifted her goblet in toast. “To monsters, then. May we always have our wine… and our wits.” The laughter that followed wasn’t loud, but it was real. And in that moment, as Egwene leaned her head lightly against my shoulder and Moiraine took her seat against with quiet elegance, I let myself believe that the Wheel could spin some threads gently, if only for a night. 

As the warmth of the evening settled into something softer, the hour get late enough that even good company could not delay duty. Egwene stood first, brushing her skirts with a practiced hand, and Elayne followed suit, her smile tinged with wistfulness.

“We should go,” Egwene said, glancing toward the others. “Novices or not, we’ll be scrubbing pots if we’re late to morning devotions.”

Perrin rose to offer them both a nod, his expression serious. “Take care, of each other, and of yourselves.:

Mat gave a mock bow from his slouch. “Try not to get caught sneaking books past the Accepted. And don’t you go bonding any more Cairhienin smiths while we’re away.”

Elayne smirked. “Only if they forge knives as finely as Min’s.”

That earned another ripple of laughter, and I placed a hand to my chest in mock offence at the one who had called me her betrothed earlier today suggesting she would bond to anyone other than me. Though, I did also feel a warm touch of pride stirring in my chest that my work was admired thusly. I stepped away from the firelight and moved to the door with them. “I’ll walk you back,” I said, already fastening the front of my coat. “You’re not walking through Tar Valon at this hour without someone at your side to protect you should anything happen.”

Moiraine rose as well, gliding to join us with her typical calm. “And I will join. A late-night stroll helps clear the mind… and keep an eye on wayward Novices who think curfew is negotiable.”

“I never said it wasn’t,” Egwene replied, though her smile took the edge off the retort.

We said our goodnights. Rand offered Elayne a small bow and Egwene a long look that said more than words could—she returned it with the barest nod, and I felt in the bond how she had steeled herself. As much as she was bound to me, and loved me, Rand was still one of her oldest friends and a man she had spent most of her life with. Lan didn’t rise, but his eyes flicked to Moiraine as we turned to go, and she gave him a subtle, familiar tilt of her head. There was no need for anything more. Not tonight. 

Outside, the air was crisp but still, the moon cutting silver liens across the cobbles. The city had quieted to its bones, and for the second time that night, I found myself walking through Tar Valon’s sleeping streets with people I loved—and people I was learning to love in new ways. We had hardly made it three steps away from the inn before Egwene stopped me and planted a smothering kiss against my lips, as though she had saved up enough for a full weeks worth in one go. I looked at her, shocked, and the only response I was given was a slight nod and a feeling of satisfaction sparked in the bond. I suppose she had decided now was her time to get her fill, since she wouldn’t be able to openly while we were in the Tower. 

Elayne let out a breathy laugh behind us, not mocking, but amused in that gentle way only she could manage. “Well,” she said dryly, “I suppose that’s one way to stay warm.” 

I blinked, still half-stunned, and glanced sidelong at Egwene, who was already walking again as if nothing had happened. She didn’t look back, but her chin was lifted a touch higher, and the bond hummed with a quiet, burning satisfaction.

Moiraine raised an eyebrow at me, her expression unreadable—but I felt the flicker of humour through the bond. “Remind me to study the weave she used to steal your breath,” she murmured as she fell into step beside me. “It may be more effective than Air and Fire combined.”

I shook my head faintly, still trying to catch up to the moment. “She’s going to kill me one of these days.”

“She’ll have to wait in line,” Moiraine said lightly. 

The four of us walked on in relative silence for a time, the kind of silence that didn’t feel empty. Tar Valon loomed and shimmered around us in moonlight—spires and white stone, bridges lit with lamps swaying softly in the breeze. It was a different city by night, softer, like even its bones knew the world was about to change and had decided to rest while it still could.

We passed a cluster of Tower guards patrolling across a distant bridge, their boots muffled against the stone, and Elayne instinctively straightened her spine as if summoned back to her role. Egwene’s hand found mine again, discreetly this time, a quiet thread of comfort running through our bond. “I hate that we have to hide it again tomorrow,” she said, her voice barely more than a breath.

“I know,” I replied, “But tonight you didn’t. And that’s enough.”

She didn’t answer—she didn’t need to. The warmth through the bond said it all. Moiraine and Elayne walked ahead now, just slightly, giving us space without acknowledging they were doing it. Their conversation was hushed, but not secretive. Just theirs.

I looked up at the Tower as it came into full view, white and cold against the sky. It didn’t feel quite as forbidding as it had when I had first walked into its walls this morning. Maybe because I no longer had to fully pretend, to hide as many things from as many people. Maybe it was because I was finally starting to believe I had a place here.

We stepped through the Tower gates without ceremony, the guards nodding us past with barely a glance. Whatever had happened at Falme, or Cairhien, or in the streets of Tar Valon even in this past day alone, it had left them used to the sight of me beside Moiraine, Egwene, and Elayne. Or maybe they’d simply learned not to ask questions where Aes Sedai were concerned. 

Inside, the Tower’s halls were hushed. Candlelight lined the walls in carefully spaced intervals, throwing golden pools onto the smooth white floor. The stillness was deeper here, wrapped in layers of discipline and tradition. Even the air felt tempered. “We’ll see you in the morning,” Egwene whispered, squeezing my hand discreetly, though she had had to let go before we entered the Tower walls. “Try not to stay out too late.”

Elayne leaned close with a knowing smirk. “Not too late, but not too early either. If you’re not back by breakfast, I’ll assume Moiraine has either conscripted you into politics and that you’ll be back in the Crown of Cairhien, or that she whisked you off to one of her secret hideaways.”

“I’ll take my chances,” I said lightly, earning a soft laugh from the both of them. They lipped away, their footsteps quiet against the polished stone as they ascended toward the novice quarters, leaving me standing alone in the wide hall. Or so I thought.

Moiraine’s voice came from just behind me, calm and quiet. “Come with me.” I turned to find her standing beneath a carved archway that led into one of the Tower’s small interior gardens, her expression unreadable in the flickering light. She didn’t explain, and she didn’t wait for me to respond—she simply turned and walked down the stone path into the shadowed green.

I followed.

The garden was simple and silent. Moonflowers curled along the trellis walls, and the night air carried the faint scent of crushed mint and something sweeter beneath it—lavender, perhaps. A fountain murmured softly at the centre, silver water catching glints of moonlight in perfect rhythm. It was the kind of place built for contemplation, or confession. Moiraine walked slowly, her hands folded before her, not saying anything at first. I let her lead the silence. When she stopped beside the fountain, she finally spoke, her voice just above the sound of water.

“I brought that metal to the Tower when I was a child,” she said. “A piece of my father, though I doubt he would have realized what it meant to me until it was too late. It was… a link. A reminder of where I came from, and of the promises I once made.” 

I said nothing, not yet. I knew she was not done her story.

“I kept it hidden, stored away where even I forgot it existed. Until today. And now…” she glanced at the ring on her hand, moonlight catching the weave of etched flames. “Now it’s part of something again.. Worn, not hidden. Chosen.” Her gaze lifted to meet mine. “You didn’t have to do that. Light, you didn’t even ask. But you saw it—you saw me. Not just the Aes Sedai, or the noble, Me. And I find myself wondering if the Pattern spun you into my path for more than saidin or creating something better than the prophecies I had been told.”

Her words hung in the air, delicate as spider silk and twice as sharp. 

“Whether the Pattern put me in your path for prophecy, for my power, or simply because it deemed it must be so, is not ours to know. Even though the Pattern put me here, it could not have forced me into something I did not want. I saw how you carried your burden, I recognized it as something similar to what I do… and I realized I didn’t want to see you have to carry it alone anymore.” I moved closer to her, but I didn’t initiate any physical contact. She clearly felt fragile in this moment, and I did not want to be the push that would shatter her.

Moiraine looked at me, and for a long moment, she didn’t speak. The garden stretched quiet around us, full of breathless stillness. No wind stirred the lavender or mint, or any number of the flowers. No sound but the soft trickle of the fountain behind her. Then she exhaled—slow, like a breath that weighed as much as the world—and her shoulders dropped into something almost relaxed, the barest sliver of the armour slipping away.

“No one has ever said that to me,” she said, her voice low. “Not without wanting something in return. Not without an edge to it.” She paused, glancing down at the ring again. “I have given everything to the Tower. To the cause. And I would do it again. But sometimes I wonder who I was before I began giving pieces of myself away.” 

I held her gaze gently, while giving her a sympathetic smile. “Moiraine, you’re still her. She’s just been hidden beneath layers of necessity.”

Her lips twitched in the ghost of a smile. “You speak as though you know what it means to give too much of yourself.”

“I do,” I said quietly. “But I’ve also begun learning what it means to give without losing myself entirely. Because of Egwene. Because of Elayne. And now, because of you.” I hesitated, then added, “And maybe that’s the difference between what the Pattern intends… and what we choose.”

Moiraine looked at me as if weighing something unseen. Then, with a grace that came as natural to her as breathing, she stepped close enough that I could feel the warmth of her presence. 

“I don’t shatter easily,” she said, as if reading my thoughts from before. “And even if I did, you are not the sort of man who breaks things he loves.”

She reached for my hand then—not a dramatic gesture, just fingers sliding into mine, the curve of her palm cool and steady. The moonlight caught in the deep lines of the ring on her hand, a silent symbol between us. “I don’t know where this path leads,” she whispered. “But I’m tired of walking it alone.”

My voice was low when I answered. “Then let’s walk it together, that we may never have to walk alone again.”

She didn’t reply in words. She simply leaned her forehead against mine, her breath mingling with mine in the quiet hush of the garden. Not a kiss, not yet. But a promise.

And it was enough.

Chapter Text

The Dream came quietly as I drifted off in bed within the Tower. There was no sudden shift, no jolt of awareness. Just the soft, seamless drift from sleep into knowing that I had become used to. I stood in the familiar clearing of polished black stone and endless horizon, the stars above twinkling like distant embers in an otherwise moonless sky. The air here was always still, unless it was stirred by unnatural means such as the Power, it was heavy with the sense that anything—everything—-might be possible.

And she was already there, waiting for me.

Mierin stood barefoot on the stone, her robes shimmering like woven moonlight, hair cascading around her like a river of onyx. Her arms were folded as she studied me, black eyes catching the starlight in a way that made them look like pools of the sky within her.

“You’ve changed,” she said without greeting, though not unkindly. “There’s more weight in your shoulders. More… gravity in your step.” She tilted her head. “Have you begun to believe you belong in the Pattern after all?”

I stayed where I was, the dream still forming around me in soft pulses of half-thought and emotion. “I don’t know if I belong,” I said. “But I’ve stopped pretending that I don’t.” 

She smiled at that—a slow, sharp thing, edged in pride and amusement. “Good. You’re learning, and denial is so dull. Beneath you really.” 

The space between us remained wide, deliberate, though the connection hummed faintly beneath the surface of this realm. The last time we met here, she taught me how to make defensive weaves. This time…something felt different. Less instructional. More deliberate. “You’ve come for a reason, and it doesn’t feel like the reason tonight is to train me in more weaves,” I said.

Mierin’s smile didn’t fade, but it did sharpen—like a knife being turned just slightly in the hand, gleaming in the starlight. She stepped forward, slow and sure, bare feet making no sound on the polished stone beneath them. When she spoke again, her voice was low, threaded with something heavier than amusement. 

“You’re right,” she said. “I didn’t come to teach you tonight, though clearly you have already learned more than you let on. I never taught you offensive weaves, and yet you destroyed a Trolloc horde and a Fade controlled directly by Graendal. You were supposed to avoid channeling in front of the attackers, but you did better than even I could have expected.” She had a sense of pride in her tone, as well as a bit of wonder. “But that is not why I am here… there is something that you must be told that others will not inform you of. Though, they may not even know it yet.” 

Mierin’s words settled over the dream like a silken veil drawn tight, obscuring comfort with implication. I didn’t move, but I could feel the shift in the Dream around us—-the stars above seemed to pulse in time with her voice, the air denser now, charged with tension I hadn’t yet named. “What is it?” I asked carefully. “What don’t they know… and what challenge may come to us?”

She paced slowly to the edge of the vast marble platform that formed our shared space—now high above some unnamed cityscape, flickering with illusion and memory—and placed her hand on an unseen railing, as if it had not existed before she reached for it. “You are walking a line no other has ever walked. Not Lews Therin. Not any of the men who came after him, nor any who tried to fix what he broke. The Flame that lives in you… it doesn’t just burn the taint. It rewrites the rules. That much, I had suspected. But now I know.”

My breath caught faintly at the word rewrites.

“You’re not just cleansing saidin,” she continued. “You’re reshaping the Pattern’s expectation of it. That blade you made for the girl—Min—it is not just a weapon. It is a thread newly spun into the Pattern, with power to change other threads around it. She’s now a fixed point because of you.”

I frowned, the weight of what she said sinking like iron. “A fixed point?”

Mierin turned, her gaze intense, her presence unmistakably that of someone who had once brushed the heavens——and shattered them. “Like the tavern… but inverted. A fulcrum. Not someone who bends the Pattern with their presence, but someone who holds it in place. Anchors it. And you gave that to her. With intent. With flame.” She paused. “And now the Pattern is responding.”

My mind reeled at the implications. “So what, I’m weaving people into the Pattern differently just by choosing them?”

“Yes,” Mierin said, eyes glinting. “And that is a power more dangerous than balefire.” She stopped then considering. “Perhaps I will have to teach you to weave balefire sooner than I had thought… with what is coming after you now, it would be useful to know.” There was a drawn out silence between us again, long and heavy. Then she added, almost gently, “They will come for you, Alex. The Forsaken. Not just with armies or seduction or threats. But with understanding. With truths that sound like freedom. Because if you can re-anchor the Pattern… then you can also unmoor it. And that terrifies some of them, and tempts others.” 

She moved closer again—closer than she ever had been before—until only inches separated us. “I came tonight not to train you, though I may end up needing to do that too. I came to warn you. What you are becoming is more than the legend already shaping around the Flameforged. More than ta’veren. You are unwritten law. You are potential, and potential terrifies the ones who still believe they are gods.” The words rang like prophecy, though they came from no foretelling. “Do not mistake your path as parallel to Rand’s,” she finished. “His fate is grand… but yours may be final.” 

From this distance I could feel something in Mierin wavering, being unwritten, as though it was being removed from the Pattern itself. It was something dark, something like what had surrounded Ishamael on top of the tower in Falme… was it the shadow inside her being burned away? Could I affect her like that, even here?

The sensation deepens—like standing at the edge of a forge not made for steel, but for souls. Something was burning in her, not with fire, but with truth. And it felt like the truth—the kind that couldn’t be touched by weaves or lies. I didn’t reach for saidin, I didn’t need to. The Flame inside me stirred all the same, the feeling I had become familiar with burning behind my ribs though it grew more fierce. It was slow yet bright and certain. 

Mierin’s eyes widened, just slightly. Her composure didn’t falter, and she didn’t seem to be in any pain, but I could see something in her, quivering like iron bending under too much heat. 

“You feel it,” I said, voice low. “Whatever this is, it’s not coming from me trying to cleanse you. It’s reacting to something inside you. Something changing.” She didn’t answer, not with words. But her breath hitched, and her gaze broke away—not in weakness, but in awe. I continued, “This is something being done because you changed.” 

“What you carry,” she whispered, “is not just Light. It’s choice. The Pattern responds to it—not with resistance, but with yielding. Like a lock recognizing its key.” She stepped back, just enough to breathe. You could undo me. Or you could rewrite me. And I…I do not know which fate I fear more.” For a moment, I wasn’t sure if I was looking at Lanfear at all. Mierin stood before me, and she looked haunted. Not by what she had done—but by what she might still become. “You’ve seen what I was,” she said. “What I’ve done. I don’t ask forgiveness. But if this is what the Pattern wills—if I’m to be… changed…” Her voice caught, rare and raw. “Let it be by you Flameforged. Not the Forsaken. You.”

I took a half-step forward, letting my presence fill the space without pushing against her. “Then stop standing between the worlds, Mierin. Choose. Be part of something again. Burn the rot away yourself, and allow it to be let go.”

Mierin trembled—just once, just enough to be seen. The Dream held still around us, like the Pattern itself was listening. “I don’t know how,” she said, her voice barely a breath. Not proud or pleading, just honest. “I don’t know what I would be without it. Without… her.”

“You’d still be you,” I said. “Maybe not the version who called through history with blood on her hands—but the one who stood before all of that. The one who dared to want more. You’d be Mierin Eronaile, and that is so much more than Lanfear could ever be.” Her lips parted, not in argument, but in memory. “You were never weak for wanting love. Or freedom. Or power used rightly,” I added. “But you became hollow chasing it through shadows. So stop chasing. Choose. That’s the only power worth keeping.”

Mierin closed her eyes. Not in dismissal, or denial. But as though she needed to feel the words I’d spoken—hold them against the pulse of her own truth and see if they would hold. For a long moment, she was silent, caught somewhere between the woman she had been and the one she might still become. Then she breathed out, and it was as if the Dream itself exhaled with her.

“I remember the research,” she murmured, voice distant. “The theory of the Bore… how we thought we were touching something new. Clean. Untapped. The Source beyond the Source.” Her voice turned brittle. “It was me. I was the one who drilled it. And even knowing what came after, there’s still a part of me that yearns for what I thought I’d found.”

I didn’t move to interrupt her. She needed this. 

“But there was a moment,” she went on, her eyes opening again, silvered and haunted, “when I touched the rawness of the Light for the first time. The true Light, not the One Power, not the True Source. Something… deeper. I only brushed it, a breath of it at that. And it hurt—not because it burned me, but because it knew me. And for a heartbeat… it mourned.”

I swallowed. “That was the moment you realized you weren’t just lost. You were mourned.”

Mierin nodded, just once. “And now it feels as though it’s watching me again. Through you.” She stepped forward—not in seduction or calculation, but something closer to surrender. Her voice was almost a whisper. “If I burn… let it be for truth. Not punishment. If I am remade… let it be because I chose it.” I reached out, not with power, not even with certainty—but with presence. The same way I had touched saidin and made something whole with it. The same way I forged the ring for Moiraine. The same way I held Min’s blade steady when it cooled. 

And the Pattern shifted. 

Not drastically. Not with thunder or light. But with the sound of a page turning n a book that was never meant to be closed. Mierin let out a breath, and when she opened her eyes, they were still sharp—but something inside her had softened. The edges weren’t gone… but there were no longer knives turned against herself.

“When next we meet,” she said finally, “you may not find me as I was. But you will find me.”

Then the Dream shimmered—-and unraveled.

——————————————————————————————

I woke with a gasp.

The ceiling above me was familiar—smooth stone, the faint shimmer of wards laced by Moiraine’s hand just outside the door. The quiet stillness of my room in the Tower. The bed was warm beneath me, but the Deam’s chill clung to my skin, as though some part of that realm still lingered. Maybe it always would.

I lay still for a moment, breathing slowly. The bond thrummed faintly in my chest, both of them—no, all three—calm, but aware. Egwene and Elayne were already awake, I could feel their focus drawn elsewhere, like Novices quietly bustling through their morning tasks. Moiraine, however, was near. Awake and still. She must have sensed the shift too.

Before I could move, the door creaked open. Soft and deliberate. 

Moiraine stood there in a deep blue robe, her hair slightly tousled, a book in one hand she clearly hadn’t been reading for a while. Her eyes fixed on mine like they’d been waiting. She didn’t speak at first. Just came to the edge of the bed and sat beside me.

“You saw her again,” she said. Not a question.

I nodded. “Something changed in her. And something else in me.” 

Moiraine reached out and took my hand, the ring I’d forged for her cool against my skin as she shifted closer, as if she was preparing to hold me should the weight of it all be too much to bear. “I felt it. The Pattern whispered around you like it was… breathing.” Her expression softened, though I could feel an intense desire for knowledge coming from her through the bond. “What did you do?”

“I didn’t cleanse her,” I said quietly. “Not like the Fade, she still exists, and I didn’t necessarily burn anything away. I just—stood with her and reached out.” I paused, remembering the look in Mierin’s eyes. “She chose something different. And the Pattern accepted it. I do not think she is bound to the Shadow anymore… like her soul was lighter in a way.”

Moiraine was silent for a long moment. Then, very softly, she said, “Perhaps that’s the power the Dragon never had.” I turned to look at her, slightly confused. “Lews Therin,” she said. “He wielded might. Changed the shape of the world. But he never gave people the choice to change. You do. You always have. Even with me.”

I didn’t know what to say. So I held her hand tighter, I wanted to hold her closer, for some semblance of security in that moment. Moiraine didn’t resist when I shifted, when I drew her gently into an embrace, wrapping my arms around her with a care I hadn’t dared before. She let herself be held, and for a long moment, we simply sat in the hush between night and morning, her head resting against my shoulder, breath warm against my neck. 

“You’re not alone, Alex,” she said at last, her voice barely above a whisper. “Even when the Pattern feels like it’s threading you toward something immense. Even when it’s terrifying.”

 “I know,” I said, my voice rough. “But Light, it still feels like standing on a blade’s edge sometimes. Like one wrong step, and I could become something else entirely.”

She pulled back just enough to meet my gaze. “You won’t.” Her hand rose to rest over my chest, directly over my heart, over the bonds that linked us. “Not while these are real. Not while you carry is much love, even for those who others would have cast aside.” 

I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of her words settle like a cloak across my shoulders. “She may not be free yet,” I murmured. “But she’s… choosing. And that’s what mattered. It’s more than I expected.” 

Moiraine smiled again, though this one held something deeper—relief and quiet awe. “Sometimes, that’s all we’re given. A chance, and you offered her that. Not with force, or Power, but presence.” She brushed her thumb lightly against my cheek. “You truly are Flameforged. Not just for what you burn away, but for what you shape.”

I didn’t know how to answer that. So I leaned forward and kissed her, soft and unhurried. Not because of the night’s revelations. Not because of what had changed, but because I wanted to, and because I was ready to. And this time, she kissed me back without restraint.

When we parted, she rested her forehead to mine, breath steady. “We should get ready,” she murmured, though she didn’t move. “If I can feel what you did in the Dream, the Amyrlin surely can as well. And if she doesn’t come knocking first, I suspect Elayne and Egwene might, especially with how warm you are feeling right now.” She chuckled as she had said it, she of course knew what caused that warmth, and was happy for it. “Besides, there’s only so much patience between them.”

I gave a tired chuckle. “Let me guess: no breakfast first?” 

Her smirk was all the answer I needed. She lifted herself gracefully from my bed. “I am going to get dressed in something more presentable, if you are not here when I return, I suspect it would mean the Amyrlin sent for you. Even I wouldn’t dare to keep her waiting within the halls of the White Tower.” 

I watched her go, the way her robe swept behind her like a shadow touched by starlight, and for a moment, I let myself simply exist in that quiet. The warmth she left behind lingered—on my lips, in my chest, in the way the bond hummed faintly like a harp string still trembling. I moved slowly, letting the morning settle over me like the soft press of a forge’s heat—something steady, something known.  The Dream might have been ephemeral, and the conversation with Mierin filled with echoes and half-warnings, but this moment in Tar Valon was real. Grounding. The kind of real that kept a man tethered to who he wanted to be. 

I dressed, brushing wrinkles from the coat I had chosen to wear, slipping my twin blades into their familiar places at my sides. I checked myself in the mirror to make sure I looked appropriate, then glanced toward the small table where a few scattered sketches remained from last night, when I had had issues falling asleep. Concepts for a new design, a project I hadn’t even told any of my bond mates about yet. It was for another time. 

Just as I reached for the door, a knock came—a firm, measured rap that left no doubt. I opened it to find a young Accepted standing there in the multi-banded dress that signified her station. Her expression was politely neutral and her spine was far too straight for someone who wasn’t hiding nerves.

“The Amyrlin Seat has requested your presence,” she said. “Immediately.” 

Of course she has. I gave a nod and stepped out into the corridor. As I followed the Accepted through the spiralling heat of the Tower, I felt both bonds stir—Egwene’s was filled with curiosity, and I realized that she had seen me walking through the halls. Elayne’s was like focus clicking into place like a drawn bowstring. She already knew. Light, they probably had word of the summons reach them faster than any one Accepted could travel. 

The Tower was quiet in the early morning, its halls gleaming like bone and ivory, still cold from the night. Yet the silence wasn’t restful—it held breath, waiting and watching. The Pattern had shifted gain last night, and now it was time for me to face what it wanted.

The Accepted led me to the Tower’s heart—the inner sanctum reserved for only the highest business of the White Tower. Two full sisters stood guard outside the Amyrlin’s chambers, both Green Ajah by their shawls and both watching me with expressions carved from stone. One nodded once, the other opened the door. Inside the room was sparse—the seating area I knew to be for the Keeper of the Chronicles. Leane stood from her desk, motioning for me to sit on one of the waiting chairs as she let the Amyrlin know that I had arrived. I elected to stand, knowing that it would not be long before I was called in.

I could still feel Egwene through the bond, her concern sharpening now that she realized who I was being brought to. Elayne’s steadiness didn’t waver. It was almost s if she had already game out this exact moment and was now waiting to see whether I would play my part with grace or fire. And Moiraine, she felt of the cold calculation she often outwardly wore, though I could feel her getting closer to the chambers where I sat. I breathed out slowly. Flameforged. It wasn’t just a name anymore, it was an expectation placed on me. 

The door opened again. Leane stepped out and gave a simple gesture. “She will see you now.” 

The door shut behind me with a soft finality, and the chamber beyond felt colder than the hall. Not for lack of warmth, but for what it represented. Power, woven not of saidar or saidin, but of decision, burden, and consequence.

Siuan Sanche sat behind her polished desk, the striped stole of the Amyrlin Seat dropped like a banner across her shoulder. She did not rise, did not offer a word of greeting. Her eyes, sharp as the swordfish she once captained among the Sea Folk—fixed on me with the intensity of someone weighing storms.

“Flameforged,” she said at last, voice as calm as deep water. “Good. You still aren’t foolish enough to avoid a summons. Sit, if you wish,” she continued, not kindly, though her tone was not harsh. “Though I suspect we won’t waste time enough to make it comfortable.” 

I chose not to sit. 

Siuan studied me in silence, her hands folded atop a document she had not been reading. “Last night, the Pattern shifted,” she said. “And not subtly. I felt it from my dreams. So did half the sisters in this Tower, even if they cannot name it.” Her gaze narrowed. “And something tells me, you were the centre of it.”

I didn’t flinch, though I felt every bond stir again—Egwene’s concern laced now with something like alarm, she must have seen Moiraine moving quickly to try and get here, Elayne’s felt of quiet support still unwavering. Moiraine had stopped moving, she was close. Listening, perhaps.

“I won’t ask whether you met with Mierin,” Siuan said, voice low. “I already know. What I want to know is what passed between you…and what exactly it was you did that made the Pattern breathe around you like it was drawing new lines.”

I held her gaze. “I didn’t fight her, if that is what you are thinking,” I said. “I didn’t cleanse her either, at least not fully. I spoke to her, and offered her truth that wasn’t wrapped in chains or fear. And she chose something different from what she had been, of her own free will. She chose to be a different woman than what she had been for a long time, to be Mierin Eronaile.”

Silence stretched. 

Siuan taped a single finger once against the wood of her desk. “You expect me to believe that Lanfear—the woman who once cracked the Bore open with her ambition—chose to turn form the Shadow simply because you offered her kindness?”

“No,” I said. “Kindness is not what I offered. I offered choice.” 

The word hung there between us.

“Moiraine has a habit of saying that the Pattern weaves as it wills,” I went on. “But the will of a person within it? That can still matter. The Flameforged—the Flame—whatever it is that gives me power, it doesn’t force a path—it clears it. That’s what I did. No more, no less.”

Her eyes narrowed further, unreadable. “You’re saying you can change the weaving of the Pattern.”

“I’m saying I can invite others to. The Pattern responded not to my power… but to her decision. And because of that, something ancient—something dark—released her.”

For the first time, Siuan leaned back, folding her arms. “Lews Therein Telamon wielded fire enough to reshape the bones of the earth, and still he couldn’t stop the descent of his closest friends. You claim to have undone one of them with no battle at all. Light burn me… what are you?”

I let the words come without dressing them up. 

“I am Flameforged,” I said. “Not because I chose it, but because I kept choosing. Over and over again. And I keep choosing—for Light, for mercy, and for truth—until the Pattern no longer gives me that chance. I will not kill if I do not have to, I will help those who seek it, and I will do what must be done. The title of Flameforged may have come from the people of Falme, but I have made it mine, and brought to it meaning that was not originally there.”

Another silence. This one longer. 

Finally, Siuan spoke.

“Then tell me, Flameforged,” she said softly. “If given the chance… would you remake the Pattern itself?”

She wasn’t testing me. She truly didn’t know the answer. Maybe no one did. But I had some semblance of an idea in my head.

“I already have,” I started. “My very existence, the fact that I give people choice to go against the role that they were assigned, to be redeemed, to keep them from madness, it rewrites portions of the Pattern.” I stopped, considering my next words carefully. “But I cannot force anyone to be something that they are not. The Flame inside me offers a choice, to be better, to do better, to turn from the Shadow and darkness. But if a being chooses not to, or it is unable to go against the Shadow due to its very nature… it unmakes it… like the Fade aboard the ship on the way here.”

Siuan listened without interrupting, though her eyes grew stormier with every word I spoke. She wasn’t angry—not yet—but I could feel the weight of her role pressing down on every breath she took. The Amyrlin Seat didn’t just hear possibility in my words. She heard consequence. 

“You’re tell me,” she said, voice low, “that you can unravel what the Creator has woven. That you can remove threads from the Pattern itself.”

I shook my head. “No. Not remove. Not by choice. Not deliberately. I offer a spark—not a blade. I don’t burn threads out of spite or judgement. I illuminate the choice they have, and if there is nothing left in them that can turn from darkness… the Pattern seems to decide what happens next.”

Siuan leaned forward slightly. “And if the Pattern keeps letting you do this? Keeps bending instead of breaking?”

I met her gaze. “Then maybe it isn’t breaking at all. Maybe it’s growing. Adapting. Maybe it’s always been waiting for someone to choose not to repeat the cycle. To put an end to the ruin and bloodshed that have been the truth of our world for as long as we have known.”

That gave her pause. She let out a slow breath and looked down at her hands, then toward the great mural behind her desk—a stylized rendering of the Flame of Tar Valon.

“For three thousand years,” she murmured, “we’ve lied by prophecies. Predictions. Patterns.” Her voice hardened slightly. “And now I have a man in front of me who may be able to make all of them irrelevant.” She looked up at me again, the weight of the Tower in her eyes. “Are you a threat to the Dragon Reborn, Alex? Or are you his shield?”

I didn’t answer right away. I let the silence draw out, let it speak for what I couldn’t yet name. Then:

“I’m not his enemy. I’m not his rival. I’m his anchor when the world tilts too far. And if I can be more than that—if I can help end this cycle without breaking it—then I will. Not for glory, or power. But because someone has to.”

Siuan studied me a moment longer, then finally nodded once. “I believe you,” she said. “Light help us all.” 

She leaned back slowly in her chair, the tension in her shoulders easing only slightly, like a ship caught between tides but no longer taking on water. “Belief is one thing,” she said. “Now comes the harder part—trust.” She gestured toward the Flame of Tar Valon once more, her eyes distant. “The Tower exists to serve all nations. To guide, to safeguard, to maintain balance. And now we are faced with not one, but two forces outside the Pattern as we know it: the Dragon Reborn, and you.”

I said nothing, letting her speak. It wasn’t reprimand, she knew I had done nothing to deserve that. Instead, it was the sound of a woman trying to chart a map with only half the stars in the sky. 

“I will not order you about like a Novice,” she continued, voice cool again. “You are no servant of the White Tower, and I would be a fool to treat you like one. But you are a wielder of something enw. Something untested. That makes you the most dangerous kind of ally… and the most essential one.” She stood then, stepping down from the dais to stand at my level. Her presence did not shrink in the slightest. “Tar Valon is no longer just the centre of knowledge, or tradition,” she said. “It’s the eye of a storm. And I need to know that when lightning strikes, you will not simply burn with it… but direct it.”

“I will,” I said, simply. 

Her nod was brisk, but it carried meaning. “Then it’s time we make it known—to the Hall, to the Tower, and beyond—that the Flameforged is not a whisper hiding in the wings, but a name that stands beside the Dragon Reborn.” 

That had shocked me to my core. Siuan intended to out what I am, who I am, to the entire Tower, if not farther than that. In front of those who would want to see me gentled, those who would want to see me dead, all to preserve what they expected of the world. Not only that, to place a large target on me, as though placing a glowing sign above my head to those who would seek to strike me down. Light, what did she hope to gain from this? Why now? Why not wait until there was at least some amount of the dark rooted out, or until I was better trained in how to channel, or control my power?

Siuan didn’t seem to notice my hesitation—or perhaps she did, and chose to barrel through it like a ship through a gale. “You think I’m putting you in danger,” she said, her tone sharpening like a blade being honed. “And you’re right. I am. But tell me, Alex—is there a day where you won’t be in danger? Where the Shadow won’t want you dead? Where your power won’t terrify the wrong people and tempt the right ones?”

I opened my mouth to answer, but she was already pressing forward. 

“There is no hiding anymore,” she said, an and the weight of her words fell like a seal being placed. “You walked not this Tower already known by more than a few, already sought by Forsaken. And every day you remain here, more whispers will follow in your wake. The Hall is not blind, and you can only hide so much behind gossip of love affairs and skill with the sword. If I don’t name you myself, they’ll do it without me. And they won’t ask if you’re a threat—they’ll decide you are.” Her eyes met mine, clear and cold and without a hint of apology. “Better to face them on our terms. On your terms. Let them see your strength before they decide to fear it. Let them witness what it means to be Flameforged, instead of letting them invent their own fables.”

I swallowed against the dry in my throat. “And what if they still try to strike me down?”

“Then they will learn,” she said, soft but steel, “that the Pattern doesn’t burn so easily.” 

The silence between us stretched—then Siuan turned, her presence once more wrapped in command.

“You have until sundown tomorrow. I’ll summon the Hall. Use the time wisely. Speak to those you trust. And make sure you are ready for what is to come.” She didn’t say goodbye. She didn’t need to. I knew I was dismissed and that it was time for me to start my preparations as she would surely start hers.

The door closed behind me with a sound that echoed deeper than the stone around it should have allowed. The Tower felt heavier now, as though it, too, had heard every word. Moiraine sat in the antechamber, waiting with the stillness of a blade laid carefully aside but never truly sheathed. Her dress was immaculate, her posture regal, but through the bond I felt the quiet churn beneath—concern, curiosity, and a touch of pride. She stood before I could speak. 

“Well,” she said, voice smooth. “How many centuries of tradition did you upend this time?”

I exhaled, a tired half-laugh escaping. “I’ve been given until sundown tomorrow to prepare for my reveal to the Hall. Siuan intends to make it public. The Flameforged, no longer mere rumour.” I said it quietly, just for Moiraine, though it occurred to me that Leane would know in short order as well.

Moiraine didn’t flinch. Of course she didn’t. But she tilted her head slightly, the way she always did when she was weighing a move not yet made. “Then the shape of the Pattern sharpens. She’s playing a dangerous game… but not the wrong one.” 

We began walking, our steps light in the stillness of the Tower’s central halls. My boots made the only sound, hers somehow silent even against stone. It felt like walking through a place of memory more than stone and glass—a temple of things unsaid.

“I thought she might wait until more of the Tower was behind me,” I admitted. “Until I knew how to better hold what I am. Or until the Shadow was further from our doorstep.”

“She can’t,” Moiraine replied. “You’ve already drawn too much attention. And the moment you turned a Fade to ash in open air on the ship, the rumours that the men aboard had been speaking of ceased to be rumours. They became narratives. And no matter how well intentioned those men are, they would eventually talk about what they saw you do. And if she doesn’t name you now, someone else will—someone with a reason to twist what you are into something they can fear or control.”

I let it sit between us for a moment. Then, quietly: “I need to start building allies outside the three of you.” 

Moiraine arched a brow, just barely. “A sensible move, if you choose them well. Who first?”

“Gawyn,” I said. “He’s proud, but not blind. And Elayne matters to him. He saw me fight. If I can earn his respect, maybe others in the Tower will start to consider me too—not as a threat, but as someone worth trusting, someone they could stand behind.”

Moiraine’s steps slowed for just a beat before she nodded. “He may be difficult. He’s suspicious by nature, and Galad’s humiliation won’t help. But if he can be made to see what you are to Elayne—and what you’re not—then yes. He could be an anchor.”

We reached an intersection. Moiraine turned to me, her presence calm and contained. “He trains most mornings in the Green Ajah’s yard, form what I’ve been told. Toward the wester terraces. If you’re going, you should go soon.”

“You’re not coming?” I asked.

“No,” she said, and I felt her warmth across the bond shift toward something steadier. More private. “This conversation needs to be between men. Between equals. And besides…” Her fingers brushed the ring on her hand, the one I had forged. “I have my own part to play today. Trust me, Alex—I will not waste the time we’ve been given.”

I watched her turn and walk away,  every line of her composed and unreadable—but I felt the promise through our connection. She would not let the Tower face what was coming unprepared. And neither would I.

I turned toward the training yard. Gawyn Trakand awaited.

Chapter Text

The Green Ajah’s training yard was a wide stone terrace bordered by trimmed hedges and bright with sunlight. Though the Tower grounds were always pristine, there was something wilder here—more alive. They cultivated readiness. Blades rang, and the scent of oiled leather and sweat clung to the air. 

And there, at the centre of it all, was Gawyn Trakand.

He moved well—Light, he was skilled—but he made sure everyone knew it. His shirt clung damply to his chest, unbuttoned just enough to suggest it was part of the technique. He was in the midst of a mock duel with another young man, blade flashing with speed and precision, but he wasn’t trying to win quickly. He was drawing it out. A flourish here, a pivot there. His strikes were clean, but they lacked economy. Show over substance, and several mistakes glared to me, though that was likely from my time training with Lan. 

Several Green sisters looked on from the terrace benches, some amused, some plainly unimpressed. One or two watched more intently, measuring—not his posture, but his potential. And likely his motives. 

I crossed the yard slowly, not speaking at first, letting the clink-clink of my steps carry. Gawyn parried a high blow, twisted and caught his partner with a light tap to the chest. 

“Yield,” the boy said, stepping back, breathless.

“Not bad,” Gawyn said, offering his opponent a hand and then turning toward me with a satisfied grin that faltered when he saw who I was. “Flameforged,” he said, the word half-honorific, half-question. “Did you come to test your swords again? Or is this a social visit?”

“I came to talk,” I said evenly. “Though if you feel bad for Galad about his bruises, I can give you a few of your own to match.” 

That drew a faint chuckle from a few of the watching Sisters. Gawyn’s smile came back sharper this time, less cocky. “Galad can bruise. His pride needed it. But that’s not why you’re here is it?”

“No,” I said, stepping closer so we stood near even, though I was still taller than he was. “You care about Elayne. You want what’s best for her, and you don’t want her hurt or caught in something she didn’t choose.”

His face shuttered a bit, arms folding across his chest. “She’s not naive, no matter what anyone thinks. But you’re right—I don’t want her used. Not by the Tower. Not by Rand. And not by you.”

I nodded. “Good. Then you and I need to have a chat, Gawyn. In private, if we could.”

Gawyn gave a slow blink, his jaw working just slightly, as if weighing out whether this invitation was bait or trust. For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he turned and gestured with his chin towards a stone archway leading off the training terrace into a shaded alcove where weapon racks stood quiet and unoccupied. 

“This way,” he said simply.

We walked in silence, the clatter and shuffle of practice fading behind us. The alcove was cooler, the light dappled through high vines overhead. Gawyn turned only once we were fully alone, his arms still crossed—but his stance less confrontational now, more like someone bracing for the unexpected. 

“Alright,” he said. “Speak your piece.”

“I’m not going to pretend we’re friends,” I began. “You have reasons to distrust me—and some of them might even be good ones. But this thing that’s happening—what I truly am, what the Amyrlin is about to make public—it’s going to redraw lines. And when it does, people will start picking sides fast.”

“You’re asking me to pick yours?” He asked, skeptical. 

“No, I’m asking you to think carefully before you don’t, and to at least let me give you the full story before you draw any conclusions. Would you be okay with doing that?” I asked him, though I wasn’t filled with hope. He didn’t know my story at all, except that I loved his sister, that she loved me, and that I was a good swordsman. Outside that, he had only bits and pieces of stories and suspicions.

Gawyn’s brow furrowed, and for a long moment he said nothing. He glanced away, jaw working as though biting down a sharp retort, then looked back at me. His arms remained crossed, but his posture shifted——no longer rigid with challenge, but way with the weight of consideration.

“I can’t promise I’ll like what I hear,” he said finally. “But I’ll listen. You’re right—I don’t know much about you. Just rumours, and what Elayne told me. Which… wasn’t nothing.” His tone shifted subtly on that last word, like it held more than he was ready to admit.

I nodded once. “That’s all I ask. A chance to lay the truth bare before it gets twisted by people with reasons to fear it.”

Gawyn gestured for me to continue, stepping aside and leaning lightly against a nearby stone column, arms still folded but his expression now open, analytical. “Alright, then. No Tower eyes or Aes Sedai ears around. Tell me what makes you more than just a man holding my sister’s heart.” 

I took a breath. “What I’m about to say isn’t just about power. Or prophecy… or rather, the prophecies I wreck by my existence. It’s about choice. I’m Flameforged—not by name alone, but in nature. You already know that name was given to me in Falme, however, it was given after a flaming hammer appeared above my head before joining the symbol of the dragon in the sky… a symbol marking the Dragon Reborn, and me alongside him.” I paused here, letting the words sit with Gawyn to see if that would scare him or shake his demeanour, but it did not. And so I continued. “I have a power that goes along with the title of Flameforged, the reason that the hammer appeared above my head back there in Falme. I don’t draw the Shadow out of others, I don’t cleanse it like a  spell or a sword. I just… stand beside people, and it changes them. Because they can choose to change. My presence gives people a way out—out of madness they were destined to have, out of corruption, even out of fate. Not because I force it, but because I offer something no one else has: the freedom to become something different.” 

Gawyn blinked. Not scoffing, not mocking—just stunned silent, his mouth parting slightly as though trying to wrap itself around that truth. 

“You asked me what I was to Elayne,” I continued. “And well, I am also that to Egwene… and now to Moiraine. I didn’t make them love me. I didn’t ask them to bind themselves to me, or me to them. But they chose it. And I carry those choices the way I carry my blades—with care, with weight, and with the knowledge that they could break if I misuse them.” 

He straightened, pushing off the column slightly, his face still unreadable. “And the Amyrlin? She’s going to reveal all of this? In front of the Hall?”

I gave a short nod. “At sundown tomorrow. She says it’s better to name it before someone else decides to shape it into a threat. She’s probably right. But that doesn’t make it less dangerous. It will be a target placed on me for many to attempt to take a shot at.” I paused again, deciding to reveal the whole story to Gawyn, Light, the man could be my brother in law one day… if I survive to see it come. “That’s not all though. My powers let me purge the taint from saidin, the male half of the One Power. I can channel, but I will never go mad from it. And I have kept another from going mad merely by him being in my presence… I purged all the built up taint from him, as well as allowing him to continue to channel. Though to keep him from going mad when he is not in my presence, I’ll need to see him fairly regularly.” 

Gawyn’s face twitched slightly—just a flicker at the mention of me being able to channel—but it wasn’t fear. It was calculation. He took a slow breath and looked away for a moment, eyes scanning the practice yard outside as if the stones might offer some simpler puzzle than the one now standing in front of him. 

“You can… cleanse the madness?” He said at last, voice tight with the weight of the truth sinking in. “Not just shield it, not delay it—cleanse it?”

“Yes,” I said. “I didn’t understand how, not fully. Not at first. It’s not a weave. It’s not even necessarily active all the time, though it will always purge the taint around me before it can reach me, or those near me. It’s a part of me. I’ve stood in front of a Fade and watched it burn from the inside without raising a hand. But with people—people who want to be whole again—it’s like I open a door, and if they step through… they change.”

Gawyn paced a short step away and then back, hand running through his hair, eyes sharp with the kind of awareness you only get when your entire worldview shifts under your boots. “So the Dragon Reborn—the madness they all fear from him—you’ve… you’ve already purged it?”

“Rand,” I said quietly, “is the one I cleansed. The madness, the rot from saidin, it’s gone from him, at least for now. He still carries everything he’s done, all the pressure of being who he is, but the poison twisting his mind is no longer part of the weight. He’s still him. Just clearer, able to be his true self.” 

For a long moment, Gawyn said nothing. Then:

“Light,” he breathed. “If the Tower knew that… if the world knew…”

“They will,” I said. “Siuan will see to that. The Hall will not just be meeting to hear of the Flameforged—they will hear that the taint on saidin may be undone. Not by accident, not by theory, but in truth. And they’ll have to decide what that means for every oath they’ve sword, every judgment they’ve passed.” 

He looked at me then—truly looked—without suspicion or guardedness, just the weight of the moment reflected in his eyes. And then, to my surprise, he nodded. “Elayne… she’ll stand with you no matter what,” he said. “But she’s also a Daughter-Heir. You’ll be drawing a thousand eyes on her too.”

“I know,” I said. “But I won’t leave her in shadow. Not her, or Egwene, or Moiraine, or Rand, or any of my friends. And not you, if you choose to stand with me.”

He gave a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, grim and accepting. 

“Well,” he said, “then Light help us both.” 

Gawyn extended his hand—not with ceremony, but with clarity. A soldier’s grip. Not for show, but for battle. I took it without hesitation, and something in the bond to Elayne pulsed, warm and steady. She felt it too, wherever she was. Maybe not the moment itself, but the shift it meant. 

“Just promise me on thing, Alex,” Gawyn said as he released my hand. “Don’t make her bury you. Don’t make any of them bury you.” 

I met his gaze. “I won’t. Not if I can help it. And who knows, with you watching my back I just might stand a better chance. Even with the bloody Sun Throne calling me.”

Gawyn huffed out a breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Light, don’t remind me. I barely got used to the idea of her marrying a prince, now I have to picture her beside a king?” He shook his head, a flicker of wry affection softening his face. “Just… don’t let that crown blind you. She’ll care more for your spine than your station.”

“Believe me,” I said, smiling faintly. “She made that very clear.”

He gave a dry chuckle, then nodded toward the Tower. “Go. You’ve got precious little time, and many more allies to gather, I’d wager.”

“I do.” I stepped back, glancing one last time at the training grounds outside of the alcove. “Thank you, Gawyn.”

“I haven’t done anything yet,” he said. “But if the time comes, I’ll be ready.” He turned to follow me out through the archway, before stopping me. “You’ll want to speak to Alric—Warder to the Amyrlin Seat. He doesn’t wear rank, but make no mistake, he carries it. The younger Warders watch him. A few of the Ajahs do too.”

I paused at the threshold, Gawyn’s words settling into place like stones in a foundation. “Alric?” I asked, more to weigh the idea than to question it. “You think he’d stand for me?”

Gawyn gave a half-smile. “I think he’s a man who respects those who carry their strength without needing to boast about it. He’s seen you fight. More importantly, he’s seen who chooses to stand with you—and likely understands why. He may not speak loudly, but when he does, it lands.”

“Where would I find him?” 

“Behind the Tower,” Gawyn replied. “Not the public yard. There’s a quieter ring near the base of the northern wall. Stone floor, no crowd. Just a place to focus. That’s where he trains.”

I gave a final nod. “Thank you, Gawyn. Truly.”

He offered a short mock salute, and a short dip of his head. The look in his eyes felt almost like approval. Then he turned and strode back toward the sparring ring without another word. I watched him go, then turned toward the Tower’s rear, feeling the weight of the day settle heavier with every step. If I could gain Alric’s voice—even silent and steady—it might be enough to tip the balance when the Hall convened. 

And so, I left to find him.

———————————————————————————

The northern yard behind the Tower felt like a space carved out of time—no polished balconies, no observing Sisters perched above with sharp eyes and sharper tongues. Just weathered stone underfoot and the rhythmic sound of blade against blade. 

Alric was there.

He moved like silence given shape, his motions lean and economical as he ran a novice through a simple disarming sequence. No flourish. No wasted movement. His hair had gone mostly silver at the temples, but the lines of his body showed no softness. Every step, every correction he gave was precise, patient, and final. 

I waited until he dismissed the young man with a quiet word and a nod, then stepped into the circle.

He didn’t seem surprised to see me. “You move like someone who’s made a decision,” Alric said without turning, as he picked up a cloth and wiped his practice blade.

“I have,” I said. “And it’s going to make the Tower louder than it’s been in years.”

Now he turned. His eyes were the colour of early storm clouds, and the held the kind of calm that came not from stillness, but from having survived through chaos. “Then say what you came to say,” he said. “Before the storm breaks.”

I took a breath. “The Amyrlin intends to make me public at sundown tomorrow. Flameforged, taintless, bonded not once but thrice. She means for the Hall to know the truth before anyone else writes a lie large enough to stand on its own. I came to ask if you would stand with me when that truth lands.”

Alric tilted his head slightly. “And why would I do that?”

“Because the Tower is about to be forced to choose what it stands for. Fear… or potential. Because if you do not, others will fill the silence. And not all of them want the world to survive what’s coming.” I let the weight of it sit between us. “I know I’m asking a lot. But I think you already knew this moment was coming, and I think you already know how you intend to answer it.”

He considered me for a long time—too long for comfort. But when he finally spoke, his voice was low and certain. “The Pattern always brings the Wheel around again. What matters is who choose to hold the spoke.” Alric sheathed the practice blade. “I will not speak often. I will not speak loudly. But I will speak.”

I nodded once, deeply. “That may be the difference between survival and another war inside these walls.”

“O’m not doing it for you,” he added quietly. “I’m doing it for her. And for the Tower. Keep that in mind.”

“I never forget what I fight for, Alric,” I said.

His eyes narrowed—approving, or merely assessing, I couldn’t tell. But he stepped past me with the same calm he’d entered the yard with. The silence he left behind didn’t feel like dismissal. It felt like promise. That was another important person added to my cause—-though he was not on my side so much as on the side of what was right. At least he saw that, in this case, those two were one and the same.

I didn’t make it more than a dozen paces from the training yard before I realized I was being watched. Not with hostility, not even with suspicion. Just a presence trailing me like a question waiting to be asked. I turned the corner into a quieter stone corridor, thinking I’d shake whoever it was. I didn’t.

She was already waiting. 

A woman stood there, robed in brown with her hands folded neatly around a slim leather-bound book. Her hair was streaked with grey, her eyes almost kindly, and she gave no sense of alarm or urgency. Just calm, and perhaps a touch of amusement.

I slowed to a stop, unsure if I should speak first, but she took that from me with a pleasant smile. 

“You burn far more brightly than anyone told me,” she said softly. “And that’s saying something. Rumours are a kind of currency in the Tower.” 

I didn’t respond right away. Her voice wasn’t mocking. If anything, she sounded almost… academic. As if observing a rare phenomenon rather than a person. And Light, the way she stood—still as a pond, but with depth I couldn’t yet gauge. “You have me at a disadvantage,” I said carefully. I didn’t want to offend someone who was clearly an Aes Sedai, especially when I was trying to garner support ahead of tomorrow.

She inclined her head with just the right amount of humility. “Verin Mathwin. Brown Ajah.” She stepped closer, and that was when I felt it—just the edge of something tightening in the air. A ripple in her composure. It wasn’t much. Her breath caught a half a second too long, and her hands, still wrapped around her book, pressed tighter for a beat before she masked it again behind a serene expression. But I’d felt it. That flicker. Like something inside her recoiled, or perhaps… was being pulled.

Her eyes flicked to mine, and for the first time, there was something behind them that wasn’t entirely scholarly. Not fear, or guilt, it was something quieter. Older. Warier. “I see,” she murmured, more to herself than to me. “Not merely power. Not merely influence. Presence. The Pattern tugs around you like thread caught on a nail.” Another beat. “And not always gently.”

I said nothing, letting the silence stretch. She adjusted the book in her grip, and her smile returned—lighter, but perhaps more genuine now.

“You may not know it yet,” she said, “but there are moments in history that change everything. Sometimes it is the Dragon. Sometimes it is a queen. Something,” she tilted her head slightly, “it is the man no one expected. Or the one they feared without understanding why.”

I studied her, still cautious. I could feel something was off with her, like a flicker behind a pane of frosted glass, but I couldn’t quite put a finger on it. “So which do you think I am?”

She gave a quiet laugh, barely more than breath. “That is what I’ve come to discover.” Her eyes searched mine then, gently but thoroughly. “There are many in the Tower who will want to box you, Alex. Label you, or control you. Some out of fear, some out of ambition. But I’ve always preferred… observation. With occasional intervention.”

“And what kind of intervention is this?”

She took another small step forward—and though she kept her expression pleasant, I felt it again. The tension. As though my very presence was putting strain on something within her. Not pain, but resistance. Like a dam quietly cracking beneath its surface. She noticed it too.

Her smile flickered just a little, replaced with something unreadable. Then she said, very softly, “You… truly are dangerous.” A pause. “Not because of what you destroy. But what you unbind.” 

My pulse quickened. “You felt that.” 

“More than I expected,” she said. “And sooner than I would have liked.” Then, to my surprise, she chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’m not here to report you to the Hall or throw you from a balcony. Though, you should know that others will feel it too—what you do to people. What you allow them to do to themselves.” She leaned in just a touch. “And not all will find it liberating.” 

I kept my expression still, but inside, the weight of her words landed hard.

“Why me?” I asked. “Why now?”

“Because the Tower is already preparing to name you,” she said. “And when the Wheel starts spinning this fast, you can either fall off it… or help guide the turn.” She stepped back, gaze sweeping me once more. “You have until sundown tomorrow, I hear. That is not long to shape a future. But it may be long enough to shape who stands in it.”

“And you?”

She turned, beginning to walk down the hall with that same measured, book-bound grace. “I’ll be where I need to be,” she said over her shoulder. “Watching. Listening. And if the time is right… helping.” She paused then, just before turning the next corner. “Know that you can count on the Browns tomorrow, in the chamber. We may not shout… but we do remember who moves the Pattern.”

And with that, she disappeared from view—leaving behind no sense of power or command, only the quiet certainty that something crucial had just shifted. 

———————————————————————————————————

The Tower’s corridors dimmed as I descended into the lower levels, stone giving way to stone, until even the marble faded into something older, scratched and somewhat dark. It wasn’t empty down here—it was full, waiting. It was not the cold stillness of politics or stone faced councils. This was the breath held between hammer strikes. I found the forge exactly where I’d left it. The same one I used yesterday to forge Min’s blade and Moiraine’s ring. The coals were dark now, but the scent of fire still clung to the stone. I stepped into the space slowly, and I let saidin fill me to light the lanterns around the room, giving myself some light to move through. It was a simple thread of Fire and Air, and the familiar glow returned, catching in the curve of the anvil and the soot-smudged walls. I let the warmth of the room soak into my bones, and into the ache behind my ribs. 

Here, I didn’t have to be the Flameforged. Not the one the Amyrlin planned to unveil, not the miracle or the threat. Here, I could just be—a craftsman with heat and steel and breath. My thoughts burned to hot for silence, and too wild for words. The forge, though… the forge would always understand. 

I passed the threads of Fire and Air into the forge, coaxing the coals back to life. The breath of flame stirred slow at first, like waking from deep sleep then grew warmer and brighter. Still, I hadn’t decided fully what I would shape. The piece didn’t need to be grand. It just needed to be real. I stepped away from the fire and made for the small storage room off to the side—the one where Moiraine had gotten the metal for me to work the night before. Its door creaked faintly on the hinges, like it, too, remembered use after too long ignored.

Inside, the room was crowded with old tools and shelves of dust-laced ingots, many marked in languages I didn’t recognize, some wrapped in cloth that had gone brittle with age. Gold, silver, bronze, even a few strips of power-wrought steel tucked far in the back. But I wasn’t looking for strength. 

I found it tucked among the simple bars—a block of reddish iron shot through with darker streaks, like veins in stone. It didn’t gleam, it breathed. Unassuming, humble, but solid. Something that had waited patiently to be useful again. I ran my hand over its edge, feeling the weight of it settle in my palm. Yes. This would do. 

Back in the forge, I placed the metal in the coals and waited. Not with urgency, or the edge of battle. Just presence. As I let the fire and the silence do their part, I removed my jacket and rolled up the sleeves of my shirt, placing the same apron I had used yesterday over top of my attire. I tied the apron with steady hands, the motion practiced, grounding. The heat form the forge wrapped around me like an embrace—not fierce, not consuming, but steady, familiar, and honest. It was the sort of warmth that demanded presence, not pretence. 

The metal was ready. I lived it with tongs, its surface beginning to glow, and set it on the anvil. And only then did I truly let myself consider what I wanted to make. Not a weapon. Not this time.

A symbol.

Not for the world, for me. 

Something to carry—not to dazzle, or to declare—but to remind. Of what I was. Of why I stood. Of who I stood for. 

I thought of the forge I’d built as a boy, half-wrecked and hidden behind a barn. Of the first blade I’d made, too thick and too dull, but mine. I thought of Elayne’s laughter echoing off tower stone, of Egwene’s fire that never asked permission to burn, and of Moiraine’s steadiness, how she met the storm and never let it sweep her away. And I thought of what it meant to choose.

A clasp, I decided. Simple, but not plain.

I shaped the curve first, letting the metal tell me how it wanted to bend. No over design, no pomp. Just form and function. Then I added the lines—not carved, not elaborate. Just two shapes: a hammer at the heart of a flame, the perfect symbol for what I am, who I am. The hammer for craft, for choice. The flame for truth, for change. 

Flameforged.

The name wasn’t chains anymore. It was a promise. One I would carry, even if the world tried to make it weight or burden.

I hammered out the metal more fully, seeing the clasp take its final form in front of me, glowing red hot, yet somehow feeling as though it was exactly how it was meant to be. I submerged it in the bucket of water I had prepared nearby, the hissing noise of the red hot metal meeting the cooler water giving me a level of satisfaction I had not known I was waiting for. When the metal cooled, I held it in my palm. It wasn’t large, it wouldn’t draw the eye in a crowd. But it was mine. And as I pressed it to my chest, just over the heart, I felt something settle. 

I pressed it to my chest, just over the heart, and felt something settle in me. 

“It suits you.” 

I turned, startled—not because I didn’t recognize the voice, but because I hadn’t felt her approach. Not through the bond. Not through the silence. I had been too deep in the act of shaping something true, and too distracted in trying to get away from the thoughts clouding my head. How Alric had seemed to judge my whole character, how Gawyn seems to change, to adapt to the news and accept me as something more than just a forced ally, or how Verin seemed to already know exactly what I was… or her unsettling ties under the surface. 

Moiraine stood just inside the doorway, not cloaked in Aes Sedai frost, but wrapped in something softer. Thoughtful. Her hands were folded loosely in front of her, her head tilted slightly as she took in the forge, the anvil, the cooling clasp still steaming faintly in my palm as the remaining water on the metal evaporated away. 

“I didn’t feel you,” I said.

“No,” she agreed, stepping closer. “You wouldn’t. Not when you were so focused. That is one of the reasons I waited.”

I looked down at the clasp again. The flame. The hammer. The promise that it meant. 

“I needed to remember who I am,” I said, quietly. “And to clear my head.”

“And you put it all into the forge,” she said, not asking. “Not in words, but in action. That is what I hoped you would do.”

I met her gaze. “Did you come to find me?”

“No,” she said, but there was no dismissal in it. “I came to see whether the man he Amyrlin intends to present to the Hall tomorrow is the same man I saw in Falme… and the same one I saw hammer steel into something sacred for others, the same one I had called for and became bonded to. And I was not disappointed.”

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding. The forge heat didn’t sting anymore—it wrapped around me like a memory of something familiar. Home, or what had used to be my home at least. Or at least the hope of it. Moiraine stepped forward and held out her hand. I had made a guess that she had meant to see the clasp and not to hold my hand, so I softly placed the clasp in her palm. 

She studied it for a long moment, fingers brushing over the etched lines—the hammer, the flame. Her touch was light, but her silence held meaning. “A different man might have carved a sword,” she said eventually. “Or a sigil, meant to declare. But you made something quieter. Truer.”

“It’s not for show,” I said. “It’s for me. A reminder of what I am, and what I am not.”

“And that,” she murmured, “is why it matters.” She gently slipped the apron off of me and replaced it with my coat, adjusting it properly before affixing the clasp to it. The metal was still warm, or maybe it was just me. She raised herself to my head quietly before placing a soft kiss to my temples. “You are a strong man, Alex Dorevain. The Amyrlin will shape the Tower’s voice. But you must be the shape they see. The one they cannot deny.”

“I’ll be ready,” I said.

Moiraine gave a small nod, but didn’t immediately step away. Her hands lingered for a moment at the edges of my coat, as if checking the seams for strength. Or maybe just reassurance. Then she turned, her footfalls barely audible against the stone. At the doorway, she paused, her profile lit by the soft orange of the forge. “I know you will.”

She moved to the door, but paused before leaving. “Elayne and Egwene will find you soon,” she said, not as a guess but a certainty. “They’re already trying not to crowd you. But they know what tomorrow means too. Let them in, Alex, as you have let me in. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

She left then, disappearing into the corridor with the same stillness she’d carried into the room. The warmth of her kiss lingered longer than the scent of the forge smoke. I stood alone again, but the silence wasn’t as heavy as before. It hummed now, like something alive and waiting. Tomorrow would bring the Hall, the Tower, and judgment, but not yet. 

I let my fingers brush once more over the clasp at my chest, the metal now cool against the fabric. A flame and a hammer. Not for them, but for me. 

I heard footsteps, soft and hesitant, as they echoed outside the door. They weren’t Moiraine’s. There were lighter—careful, and familiar. Elayne. No—Egwene. The bond flared the moment I noticed, warmth and nerves both flickering through it. They were together. They were here.

They stepped into the glow together, silhouettes at fist—Egwene’s shorter frame taut with unspoken energy, Elayne poised and watchful, her hands folded in front of her skirts like a woman preparing to speak to a crown. But their faces were not guarded. Not here. Elayne crossed the room first, but Egwene wasn’t far behind. I could feel them both now through the bond, steadying each other… and steadying me. 

“You disappeared,” Elayne said softly, stopping just shy of me. Her eyes flicked to the forge, then to the clasp at my chest. “But I suppose you left a trail.”

“It wasn’t meant to be hiding,” I said. “I just… needed to be something I could recognize for a while.”

Egwene’s expression softened, the frustration that had sparked behind her eyes cooling into understanding. “And did you find it? That something?”

I glanced down at the hammer and flame. “I think so.”

She stepped closer then, not touching me but close enough I could feel her through the bond—warmth and concern, quiet affection, and the trembling edge of fear she was too proud to name. “You shouldn’t have to do this alone.”

“I’m not,” I said. “I suppose I never was, though now I have secured some… new allies here in the Tower.” 

Elayne arched a brow, amused despite the tension that lingered in the room. “Gawyn?” She guessed. “Or did you win over someone else with that brooding charm of yours?”

I gave a quiet snort. “Gawyn, yes. And Alric. And… Verin, in her own way.”

Egwene’s lips parted slightly. “Verin? You spoke to her?”

“She found me,” I said, and the memory of that strange, quiet moment returned like a chill beneath the forge’s warmth. “Said things I haven’t even told all of you yet. Like she already knew. She felt it—what I do to people. What I unbind.”

The two women exchanged a glance, something passing between them in silence. They didn’t speak over me or question it, but I could feel their thoughts brushing against mine——protectiveness, worry, and something else deeper: trust, unshaken. 

“She’s not just any Brown,” Egwene said slowly. “She has her secrets.”

“And if she’s chosen to be on your side,” Elane added, “it means she’s already weighed the cost. She doesn’t gamble lightly.”

I nodded, still absorbing it all. “She told me the Browns will support me tomorrow. That she’d help—when the time is right.”

“Then you’ve done well,” Egwene said. “And the clasp… this?” She touched it lightly, reverently. “It feels like the beginning of something.” 

“It is,” I said. “But not just for me.”

Elayne stepped closer. “Then let us help carry it. The Flameforged… the love of our lives… doesn’t walk alone.”

Egwene reached out then, her fingers slipping around mine—steady, strong despite the quiet storm I could still feel within her through the bond. Elayne mirrored her, looping her arm gently through my other, anchoring me between them. The forge light caught in her hair like a crown of fire, and for a moment, time stilled.

“I know tomorrow won’t be easy,” Egwene said. “The Hall will judge you before they understand you.”

“But they’ll see us too,” Elayne added. “Not just as your lovers or your bonds, but as women who chose you. Who stand by you. They’ll have to weight that, even if they don’t say it aloud.”

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” I said, voice quieter than I meant. “Not the Flame, not the prophecies people keep saying I break with my very existence, and not the judgement,,, but if all of it is what led me to have you—both of you, and Moiraine—then it is all worth it.”

Elayne smiled, soft and radiant, and Egwene’s hand tightened just slightly around mine. 

“You fool,” Egwene murmured, but her voice broke at the edges, and her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “You beautiful, maddening fool.”

Elayne leaned in and kissed my cheek, her lips warm against skin still touched with forge heat. “Then let tomorrow come. We’ll walk into it with you—and Light help the Hall if they think to stand in your way.”

I breathed them in—strength and defiance and devotion. Not just mine. Theirs. Ours. The forge crackled behind us, the warmth wrapping around all three like a promise. For now, there was no Amyrlin, no Hall, no broken prophecies. Only this: three hearts bound by trust, fire, and choice. The only thing that would have made it better would have been if Moiraine was here, completing our little circle of hearts. 

“I love you,” I said, the words meant for both of them.

Egwene’s forehead pressed to mine. “And I love you.” 

Elayne touched her fingers gently to my chest, over the new clasp, over the hammer and flame. “Always.” 

The silence after that didn’t need to be filled. It just was—complete and real. I happily stood in that moment a while longer before using saidin to snuff the forge, as well as the lanterns, knowing I could not hide away in here forever if I hoped to have success tomorrow. For now, I needed food, and I needed to continue to prepare. 

Chapter Text

The midday sun filtered through high-arched windows, casting long blades of light across the stone floor of the White Tower’s small west-facing sitting room. It wasn’t grand like the Hall of the Tower, nor secluded like the rooms granted to the Amyrlin’s inner circle—but it was quiet, and more importantly, it was ours for the moment. 

Elayne poured tea with steady hands, the subtle grace of her training on full display even in the simple act. Plates of warm bread, sliced fruit, and spiced lentil stew sat between us, untouched for now. She watched me with that soft, searching look she always wore when she could tell my mind was elsewhere. 

“This may be the last quiet meal we have in a while,” she said, offering me a half-smile as she reached for her own tea. “You should try eating some of it.”

I gave a small exhale of a laugh and finally picked up a slice of bread. “It’s not the food, it’s everything else.”

Elayne didn’t press. She just waited, like always—letting me come to the words on my own.

“They’ll name me tomorrow,” I said, keeping my voice quiet in case anyone would be able to overhear. “The Hall. The Tower. Flameforged, in front of the whole world. And then what?” I glanced out the window. “Rand’s already gone to claim Callandor. Perrin and Mat are with him. Thom, Lan, Nynaeve, even Min who I had just started to get to know… all gone. Half the people I trust most, and some of the people I could rely on to defend me should things turn sour.”

“You still have us,” Elayne said, calm but firm. “You have Moiraine, Egwene. You have me. You have allies here, even if you had to forge them one conversation at a time. Gawyn is on your side now, as is Alric, and with them a fair amount of Warders and Warders in training will come to your side as well, let alone after having seen the spar between you and Lan the other day.”

“I know.” I looked back at her. “That’s what scares me. If I fall, I don’t just fall alone anymore, and there are many here in the Tower who would likely be happy to see me fall.”

She reached across the table, placing her hand on mine, fingers warm and sure. “Then don’t fall. You lead, build, and if we do this right, you Donn’t just survive tomorrow. You begin something new.” 

I didn’t speak for a moment. Just listened to the silence of the Tower around us—the distant murmur of novices training, the soft creak of wood in the walls, and the hum of our bond. 

And then it changed.

Elayne saw my face drop, and her hand tightened over mine. 

Egwene. 

A sudden thrum of nerves sparked along the thread that connected me to her, then steadied into cold, determined calm. Then nothing. I inhaled sharply, gripping the edge of the table. 

“She’s gone in,” I said.

Elayne’s breath caught. “You mean… she’s gone through the Arches?”

I nodded. The silence in the bond wasn’t loss—it was absence. Like a door had closed. Not violently, but firmly. Deliberately. Egwene walking through the Arches, the feeling of her suddenly being out of reach, as if she was no longer in our world.

“She didn’t tell us it would be today,” Elayne whispered, eyes wide.

“Likely she didn’t want us to worry,” I said, heart pounding even though I knew I couldn’t follow her. “She knew what this meant. She chose to do it now… perhaps she’s attempting to raise her station in the Tower ahead of what is coming tomorrow… Light, it feels like she’s just… gone.” 

Elayne’s grip didn’t falter. “I’m sorry, Alex. It feels that way,” she said quietly. “But she’s not gone. Not truly. You’d know it if she was.”

I nodded, but the hollow silence where her presence had been was still too loud. It wasn’t grief, not exactly—it was like a heartbeat you couldn’t hear anymore, even though you knew it still beat somewhere. 

“She’s strong,” Elayne said, and now her voice carried steel behind the softness. “Whatever the Arches show her, she’ll endure. She’ll return. She has something to return to.”

“To us,” I murmured.

Elayne leaned closer, her other hand joining the first, cradling mine between both of hers. “To you, you beautiful fool. And when she does, we’ll be there—you’ll be there. That’s all we can do.”

We sat in silence for a while after that, the half-eaten meal forgotten between us. The Tower hummed faintly around us—distant voices, clinking dishes the life of the place going on as if the world weren’t holding its breath. I felt like I was holding mine tightly though.

But Elayne didn’t let go.

She kept my hand, her thumb brushing across my knuckles in steady, grounding strokes. “You know,” she said softly, “when I first came to the Tower, Egwene was the one who introduced me to my room, and to my duties. She used to talk about this test like it was a myth. Something distant, grand, And now…”

“She’s walking through it,” I finished. “Alone. And I can do nothing to help her, nothing to comfort her, or ground her to what is real.”

Elayne leaned forward, her forehead nearly touching mine. “You’re wrong about one thing,” she said gently. “You are helping her. You gave her something real to come back to. That matters more than you know.” I wanted to believe it. Light, I needed to believe it. But the absence in the bond still loomed like a canyon—one I couldn’t cross, couldn’t fill. Just wait beside, and hope. “She’s strong,” Elayne continued, voice steadier now. “And stubborn. Burn me, she’s the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met, and that includes Nynaeve. She’ll fight her way through. For herself. For the Tower. And yes—“ her hand tightened on mine “—for you.”

I looked down, the clasp on my coat catching the light. Hammer. Flame.

“I hate waiting,” I admitted. “I hate not knowing.”

“I know.” Her voice was quiet. “But you’ve done what you can, Alex. You’ve prepared. You’ve earned the right to be heard. And Egwene… she’s earning her own place too. Just like we all are.” 

I looked up, and for a moment, I didn’t see the Daughter-Heir of Andor or a future queen. I saw the woman who had stood by me in the forge, through telling my father what I was, through fire and fear and doubt, and helped carry it all without flinching. “I don’t know what comes after tomorrow,” I said. “Not truly. Even Cairhien feels like a half-formed idea. But I know one thing, my future is made all the brighter because you are in it. And I want you to be in it.”

Her smile was soft, but sure. “Then you’ll have me. Wherever it leads. I love you, Alex Dorevain.” 

“I love you too, Elayne Trakand.” 

We sat there in the hum of the Tower’s quiet rhythms, waiting for a sign that Egwene had come through, that her silence would ice and the bond would return in full. I had an occasional ping of the bond returning, it came twice, but the third time was taking the longest. I knew that it would happen this way, three arches, and once she went through the first, I knew she would be determined to complete them all. Yet still, I felt fresh worry each time the bond flicked out. 

Elayne looked up at me with a flicker of mischief on her face now. “You know, perhaps I should feel blessed inside that you have this much of a reaction to the bond going quiet. Though it makes me worry how you’ll react when I eventually have to go through the Arches.”

I gave her a dry smile, though my chest still felt tight. “Light, don’t remind me.” 

Elayne arched a golden brow. “Why not? I thought you liked challenges.” 

“I do,” I said. “But not the kind I can’t fight, can’t shield you from, can’t even feel you through. It’s like being blind and deaf, only worse—because you know what is happening, and you can’t stop it.”

Her gaze softened again, and her fingers traced idle circles over the back of my hand. “Then when my time comes, you’ll wait for me too. Just like you’re doing now. And I’ll come back to you. Just like Egwene will.”

I leaned in and brushed a kiss against her brow. “You’re both braver than I’ll ever be.” 

“Maybe,” she said, amused. “Or maybe we’re just too stubborn to give up. You did fall in love with three women who don’t back down. At least you won’t have to go through this with Moiraine, she has already passed through the Arches, already been through that part of her journey as an Aes Sedai.” 

I gave a low chuckle. “Light, what does that say about me? Falling for three women who could probably conquer nations without me.”

Elayne’s grin turned wicked. “That you have excellent taste. Or no sense of self-preservation.” 

“Both, probably.”

She leaned in, pressing her forehead lightly to mine. “But you do give us something none of us ever expected to have.” 

“What’s that?”

“A choice. A life beyond duty. A future that’s ours, not just the Tower’s or a throne’s or the Pattern’s. Even Moiraine sees that. You don’t just burn the taint from saidin, Alex—you’re burning the old rules too.” 

I swallowed hard. “That might be why so many are going to be afraid.”

“Let them be,” she said. “You’re not fighting alone.” 

Just then, the bond flared back to life—so sudden and full it almost made me gasp. Elayne could see it too and she straightened, her eyes wide. “She’s through,” I said. My heart pounded as I felt not just Egwene’s presence, but something changed in it—heavier, quieter, as if the weight  of three impossible choices still lingered on her shoulders.

Elayne rose to her feet. “Come on. She’ll need us.”

Elayne pulled me through the halls of the Tower, taking me towards the testing chamber. The air was so still that even Elayne’s footsteps seemed too loud against the stone as we hurried toward the long corridor. I felt Egwene clearly now—drained but whole, the bond reuniting itself fully between us like a ribbon tied too tight then loosed all at once. She was there, she was back.

We rounded the final corner, having already passed multiple Aes Sedai who had been going in the opposite direction of us, and I saw her.

She stood beside Siuan Sanche, robed now in white, her damp hair clinging to her face and shoulders. There was a silver goblet in her hand, but her knuckles were tight around it, as though she had forgotten it was there. Siuan was speaking to her, voice low, the words meant only for Egwene. But Egwene wasn’t listening. Not fully. Her eyes had already found me. The goblet slipped into Siuan’s hand as Egwene moved. She didn’t just walk or saunter towards me, she ran.

I barely had time to brace before she collided with me, arms wrapping tight around my waist, her face pressed against my chest. My arms went around her instinctively, protectively, and Elayne moved in just behind, wrapping all three of us in her warmth like a seal against the cold. 

“I’m here,” Egwene murmured. “I’m here, I’m here…”

“You did it,” I said softly, my throat tight. “You came back.” 

She looked up at me, and Light, there were tears in her eyes. Not from grief, not exactly. From the weight of what she’d carried through. “I need to tell you,” she whispered. “I need to tell you what I saw. All of it.”

I glanced to Siuan who gave me the barest of nods before stepping away, letting us have this moment. Then I guided Egwene down a quieter hall, Elayne close behind. We found a side chamber—a study, long unused—and shut the door. Only once we were inside did Egwene finally let go, enough to breathe. I embraced saidin and used it to light a few notably dusty candles in the room in order to provide us with some light to the interior study, as well as hopefully to provide some warmth.

“The first arch was fear,” she said, her voice steady but low. “The second was shame. But the third… the third was the hardest. Because it was perfect.” She sat on the edge of a cushioned bench, hands wringing together in her lap. “It wasn’t a dream or a nightmare. It was… a life. Ours. You and I, married. Happy. You were kind of Cairhien—because the people loved you, not because of some throne or politics. The world was at peace, like we had succeeded in everything that needs to be done with Rand being the Dragon and you being… you. We had two children, Alex. A little girl with your eyes and a boy who already wanted to swing a sword at age five.” 

She gave a tearful laugh, and Elayne reached out to place a hand over hers. Egwene gripped it tightly. “We had a home with a real hearth. And I was just… me. No Amyrlin, the position I had to hold in the first arch, no Seanchan shame from Falme…. The shame that I couldn’t protect you, or stop them hurting you, no war. Just… your wife. And I wanted to stay. Light, I wanted to stay more than I’ve ever wanted anything.” Her eyes found mine again. “I almost didn’t come back.”

“But you did,” I said, dropping to one knee before her so we were eye to eye. “You chose to.”

She nodded slowly, breathing ragged. “Because I realized something. That vision—it wasn’t just some impossible dream. It was a future. Our future. Something we can still have, that we can still make. And I couldn’t let it end in that arch. I couldn’t abandon you to fight your way there alone.”

I reached out, cupping her face. “You didn’t abandon me. You came back. That’s all that matters.” I leaned in and gave her a kiss on the forehead, wanting to provide her some kind of comfort as she seemed truly shaken inside. I would ask her what happened more thoroughly in the first two arches, what she meant by her being the Amyrlin and the fear around it, to assure her that she did more than she could imagine while we were both trapped in Falme… but I couldn’t bring myself to do anything to make her relive that pain, not right now. 

Elayne watched us for a heartbeat longer, her fingers still resting gently on Egwene’s, then slowly withdrew her hand. “I’ll give you two a moment,” she said softly, standing. Her smile was warm but knowing. “You’ve both earned it.”

“Thank you,” Egwene whispered, her voice rough but sincere.

Elayne stepped behind me and rested her hand briefly on my shoulder. “I’ll wait outside,” she said, and though she said no more, I felt her presence linger through the bond for just a second longer—steady, reassuring—before it retreated with the soft click of the closing door. The room felt quieter without her, but not emptier. Just more focused. The bond between Egwene and me pulsed gently now, like a heartbeat beginning to steady after a storm.

She looked down at our joined hands in her lap. “She really is remarkable,” she said.

“She is,” I agreed. “But so are you. It seems I have good taste in the women I choose to bond myself to.”

Egwene gave a half-smile, one still frayed at the edges. “I don’t feel remarkable right now.”

“You don’t have to,” I said gently. “You just have to breathe. The rest will come back. And when it does, I’ll still be here.”

She nodded, leaning her forehead to mine again. “I know, That’s why I came back.”

We sat like that for a while, our foreheads resting together, the world held at bay. The Tower’s quiet murmur was distant now, as though the arches had stretched time around us and the silence was still catching up. 

“I was the Amyrlin in the first one,” she said at last, her voice hushed, but steady. “Full stole, full authority. But I was alone. So alone. You were gone—no one remembered you, not even Elayne. Rand was…missing. I had power, respect. But I couldn’t breathe beneath it. When the bond left passing through the arches… it felt like a part of me was just… gone. And it was made all the worse by the feeling inside that arch.”

I stayed silent, letting her speak at her own pace, but giving her hand a reassuring squeeze, encouraging her to keep going if that is what she wanted. 

“In the seance, I was collared.” The words cracked, sharp as shattering glass. “Back in Falme. But this time… I didn’t fight. I couldn’t. I just…endured. Day after day, waiting for someone to come, and no one did.” Her eyes brimmed, but she didn’t look away. “Everyday I had to hear how they tortured you… you were there, but your strength was gone… you weren’t truly you.” Tears openly streamed down her cheeks now. “And still, the third was the hardest.” 

“Because it asked you to let go of hope,” I said quietly.

She nodded. “It felt so real. The weight of your arm around me, the warmth of our children. The way the sun came through the windows in the morning. It didn’t feel like a vision. It felt like a memory—one I hadn’t made yet.”

“And still,” I said, brushing her cheek wit the back of my fingers, “you walked away from it.”

“I didn’t want to,” she admitted. “Light, I almost didn’t. But I kept thinking… if I stayed, it would mean you were alone here. That you might never reach that life. And I couldn’t bear that.” She took a trembling breath. “So I turned away. Because I had to believe I wasn’t giving it up—I was choosing to fight for it.”

“You were,” I said, and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her brow. “You are.” 

Egwene leaned back slightly, her eyes searching mine. There was still a flicker of uncertainty in them, not about me, but about herself—about whether she was truly back yet, whole. I didn’t rush her. I simply held her hands, the way I had in the forge, steady and sure. 

“I kept seeing your face,” she whispered. “Even after the third arch faded. I was afraid it would vanish when I stepped through. That I’d lose the feeling of it. But I didn’t. It’s still here.” She rose to her knees on the cushioned bench, shifting so we were entirely level, and cupped my face between her palms. “I need to feel that it’s real,” she murmured. 

And then she kissed me.

Not with desperation, or hunger—but with a quiet reverence. Slow, certain, grounding. Her lips were soft, but there was strength behind them— the strength of the most stubborn woman I knew, woven with everything she couldn’t say aloud just yet. The bond hummed like a harp string touched at just the right pitch. Steady, clear. 

I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her gently into my lap, not to depend the kiss, but to hold her closer, to let her feel the strength she’d returned to. Her fingers slid into my hair, and for a few breaths, we just existed in that shared warmth. The taste of the world she’d left behind clinging to her, and the promise of this one—the real, flawed, hopeful world that we could build together---still settling around us like a cloak. 

When we finally parted, her forehead stayed pressed to mine. 

“I love you,” she said, and this time there was no tremor to her voice. “And I’m not going anywhere.” 

“I know,” I whispered. “Neither am I.” 

Egwene leaned back just enough to really look at me, her fingers still resting against my jaw. Her expression was warmer now, more herself. The shadow of the Arches still lingered in her eyes, but something clearer shone through. She tilted her head. “You know… you looked quite good with a beard.”

I blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

She gave a soft, mischievous laugh. “In the vision. The one I didn’t want to leave. You had a beard. Trimmed. Clean. Very kingly.” Her eyes twinkled now. “It made you look unfairly handsome, actually.”

I raised an eyebrow at that. “Unfairly?” 

“Mhm.” She tapped my chin lightly. “Just enough to make half the women in Cairhien sigh when you walked past. And maybe a few of the men.”

I smirked. “Should I be worried?” 

She leaned in again, lips brushing my cheek. “Not unless you start growing it and forgetting who it’s for.” 

I laughed—really laughed for the first time in what felt like hours. “Noted. Short bear. Reserved entirely for Egwene al’Vere.”

“Good,” she said, with mock gravity. “I’d hate to have to fight for you.”

I touched my forehead to hers again, still smiling. “You’d win.”

She grinned, the expression settling into her like it belonged. “Though, at that point, I was Egwene Dorevain. And, Light, that name does sound good. Might take some getting used to though.”

“For you or me?” I asked.

Egwene gave a theatrical sigh. “For the world, I think. You, me, Elayne… Moiraine. They’ll have to rewrite the old stories.”

I chuckled, brushing my thumb across her cheek. “Then let’s make sure they’re worth the ink.”

The door creaked open then, just slightly, and Elayne leaned her head in. “”Is it safe to come back in, or are you two plotting Cairhien’s future royal naming conventions?” 

Egwene gave a delighted laugh. “Only a little.”

Elayne stepped inside, graceful and golden as ever. “Then I suppose I’d better get used to being the Lady Dorevain, too.”

I groaned. “Light help me.”

Egwene and Elayne both laughed, and for the first time since Egwene vanished into the Arches, the world felt right again—the three bonds in my head, steady and glowing, ready for whatever came next. I tuned back in to the conversation just as Egwene readied a witty retort.

“Technically, Elayne, you’ll need to get used to being called, Queen Elayne Dorevain.” 

Elayne turned a light scarlet. “But Queen of what? I hadn’t thought of that… I’d still be the Queen of Andor, but what of Cairhien..?”

Egwene leaned back with mock-seriousness, clearly enjoying herself. “Well, if you and Alex both rule Andor and Cairhien respectively… I suppose the bards will have to start composing epics about the union of crowns. ‘Queen Elayne of Two Thrones, and her Flameforged King.’”

Elayne groaned, but she was smiling. “Light, that sounds ridiculous. No one should have to say that with a straight face.” 

“Don’t worry,” I said, biting back a grin. “I’m sure the Cairhienin will come up with something subtler. They’re very fond of intricate insults wrapped in flattery.”

“Which is why you’ll make a perfect king,” Elayne shot back, and I placed a hand on my chest, looking to be mock wounded by her jab.

Egwene tilted her head, the mischief in her eyes softening. “Whatever the title ends up being, it’ll be ours to define. Not the Hall’s, or the White Tower’s. Not even Andor’s or Cairhien’s. We’re building something new, and that may see a marriage of four people.”

Elayne arched a golden brow. “Four?”

Egwene gave her a knowing look. “Moiraine,” she said simply.

The name settled into the room like a quiet truth. Elayne’s smile softened, the humour in her gaze dimming into something warmer. “Ah,” she said, after a moment. “Yes. That… that makes sense.”

I didn’t speak right away. My chest felt tight——not from fear or confusion, but form the sheer depth of what Egwene had just laid bare. We had danced around it, all of us, ever since Moiraine’s bond had joined the others. Though the women couldn’t feel one another through the weave, they knew I carried three threads in my mind, could sense each one of them in a way that defied Tower law and custom.

But hearing it spoke aloud made it feel real in a different way. Tangible. Possible. I had thought about it, yes. Moiraine and I had talked of Cairhien, of the throne, of appearances and alliance. She’d said she intended to be tied to me publicly, politically—and the bond between us had deepened more than I’d expected. And Light, we had kissed just this morning. Still, I hadn’t expected Egwene to name it. Not yet. Not like this. Not as us.

Egwene didn’t back away from what she’d said. If anything, her gaze steadied. “She’s already part of us,” she said softly. “Even if she doesn’t admit it as freely as we do yet. Even if we haven’t said it aloud before now.”

Elayne nodded once, slowly. “She loves you. And not the way most people mean it, either. She sees all of you, Alex—the fire and the fear and the weight—and she still chose to stand in it. With you.”

“She’d never ask for a place,” Egwene added. “Which is why she deserves one.”

I let the silence stretch just long enough to breathe it in. To feel it. All of it. 

“I think,” I said finally, “I’ve loved her rather longer than I realized.”

Egwene smiled faintly. “That’s alright. We knew before you did, and that’s why we were okay with her entering the bond.” 

Elayne nodded her agreement. An idea formed in my head, though it wasn’t yet complete, I didn’t know how to execute it. But Moiraine had said about a full date… and I wanted to give her something special, even after the ring I had made for her yesterday. To show her that she belonged as part of the bond, and that my plans for the future include her, as intimately as they include Egwene and Elayne.

“I want to do something for her,” I said, the words half-formed, even in my own mind. “Not just a token. Not something political. Something personal. To show her that she’s in this. That she belongs.”

Elayne tilted her head, curious. “Something like the ring?” 

“More,” I said. “The ring was a start. But I want… a moment. A memory. Something only we share. She had mentioned about a proper date between the two of us, last night.” I smiled faintly. “I want to give her that. Something unburdened, and something that is simply ours.” 

Egwene leaned in, her fingers tightening around mine again, though she had gotten off of my lap shortly after Elayne entered the room. “Then you should. She won’t ask for it. But she needs it. Just like I did, and just like Elayne did.” 

Elayne grinned, golden and sure. “You’re going to end up forging half the Tower by the time you’ve proposed to all three of us. Especially if you put as much thought into each gift as you did the ring for Moiraine.”

“Well,” I murmured, half-laughing, “I am a blacksmith.”

That earned a soft laugh from both of them. Egwene rested her head against my shoulder, and Elayne leaned into my other side. 

“I think she’d like something in the gardens,” Elayne said after a moment. “There’s a hidden rose terrace just above the inner halls. Almost no one uses it.”

“She likes quiet places,” Egwene added. “But not lonely ones.”

I nodded slowly, the idea taking shape. This was not a gift, it was a night, and a space. It was something real. “Then that’s what I’ll give her,” I said. “A moment that says you are not separate. You’re not duty. You’re not obligation. You’re mine, and I am yours, and you are a part of us.” 

————————————————————

I left Egwene and Elayne in the study, pressing a kiss to each of their foreheads before slipping out quietly. The moment still lingered behind me—soft laughter, steady warmth—but my mind was already turning toward what needed to be done. If I was going to do this right, it had to be real. Not flashy. Not showy. Just meaningful. 

I returned briefly to my room and sat at the small desk near the window. I pulled out a clean sheet of parchment and dipped a quill into the ink pot. I hesitated only a moment before the words came.

Moiraine,

If you can spare the evening, I would like to share it with you. Not as the Flameforged. Not as the man you advise. Just as Alex. No titles. No work to be done. Just us. You’ll find me where the roses bloom above the eastern halls. Just after sunset

—A

I folded the note carefully and sealed it with a dab of red wax, before removing the clasp from my jacket and pressing it into it as a makeshift sigil. Then I flagged down a passing Tower servant in the corridor—a girl barely more than fifteen wearing novice white and carrying a tray of scrolls. 

“Would you deliver this to Moiraine Sedai?” I asked gently. “Directly. And privately.” 

Her eyes widened, but she nodded with proper deference, tucking the letter into her satchel before hurrying off. 

That done, I made my way through the winding halls to the eastern wing, climbing a narrow set of stairs I vaguely remembered from my first walk through the Tower’s upper levels. At the top, behind a door worn smooth by time and barely marked at all, I found it. 

The rose terrace.

A curved stretch of stone open to the sky, ringed with low hedges and trellises that crawled with climbing roses in every hue—from soft blush to deep crimson. The air smelled faintly of dew and petals. It was secluded, high enough that no one could easily stumble across it, and more importantly, it was quiet.

I embraced saidin once—only once— to place a ward over the space. Nothing elaborate, just a soft weave of Spirit and Air, bent inwards to muffle sound and prevent interruption. The rest… I would do with my hands. I didn’t want anyone to discover what I could do unnecessarily, after all. 

I carried up a simple wooden table from the storeroom below and scrubbed it clean with cloth and effort, not power. Then I added two sturdy chairs, and covered the surface with a cloth Elayne had once used for training etiquette—soft gold and cream, tasteful but not ostentatious. 

I returned to the Tower’s kitchens, speaking quietly with one of the older cooks who had taken a liking to me yesterday when I complimented her lemon tarts. She agreed to prepare a modest meal—roasted herbed chicken, some kind of glazed root vegetables, and a small bottle of white Andoran wine. 

Candles came last.

 I scoured the unused corners of the Tower until I found enough—mismatched in size and shape, some clearly half-burned already. But I cleaned the wax and set them around the terrace in a wide circle. I wouldn’t light them with saidin. That would be too easy, and more of a risk of me being caught. I found flint and steel, struck spark to wick, and let each one catch in turn, until the whole garden terrace glowed with soft amber fire. 

When I finally stepped back, sweat on my brow and a faint ache in my arms, it looked… right. Not regal, nor ceremonial, just real. And now… all I needed to do was get changed, and wait for Moiraine. 

I left the terrace just as the Tower bells tolled the hour before sunset. Back in my room, I washed away the sweat and dust of the day with quick, practiced movements, hands lingering only briefly as I towered off and pulled on a clean tunic—midnight blue with a simple silver clasp at the collar all to match her usual colours, the Flameforged clasp tucked away safely for tomorrow. Tonight wasn’t about that, it was just for us.

I checked my reflection once, adjusted the cuffs, and ran a hand through my dark brown curly hair to calm the mess of it. Then I made my way back to the terrace, heart oddly unsteady, like I was walking into something I hadn’t let myself hope for. The last day’s light had dipped behind the Tower spires, and the candle flames danced against the stone like tiny constellations. The scent of roses mingled with warm food, just now being laid out by the same kindly cook I had spoken to earlier. She gave me a wink and a pat on the shoulder before slipping out without a word. 

And then, I felt her.

Not in sound or sight, but in presence. The bond flared like a spark catching dry kindling—controlled, quiet, but alive. She was close. Steady. Watching. I turned toward the entrance to the terrace just as Moiraine stepped through the arch of climbing roses. She had changed—her usual silk replaced by something simpler, softer. Midnight blue like mine, her hair unbound and falling loose over her shoulders. Her face unreadable at first glance… until I saw her eyes. 

And they were not the eyes of the Aes Sedai, planning and calculating. They were hers. 

Moiraine.

Not the voice of the White Tower. Not the woman who bore the weight of prophecy to find the Dragon Reborn. Just the one who had kissed me in a quiet moment of honesty, and who I bonded in a room filled with trust. She paused at the edge of the candlelight, taking in the table, the flickering circle of warmth, the simple care in each piece.

“You did all this?” She asked, voice barely more than a murmur.

I nodded. “With my own hands. Just for you.” 

And for a moment, she said nothing. Then she stepped forward slowly, her eyes sweeping the terrace one more time, taking in the flickering candlelight, the mismatched but carefully cleaned pieces, the soft gleam of silver at the table’s edge. Her hands, usually so composed, hung loose at her sides, as if she didn’t yet know what to do with them. 

I didn’t move either.

I let her take her time, the silence between us no burden—just breath, and the hush of roses rustling in the evening air. 

Then, without a word, she reached me.

She slid her arms around my waist, resting her head lightly against my chest. I wrapped mine around her in turn, letting my chin rest against her hair. She smelled faintly of cedar wood and fresh paper, like the Tower’s libraries and something entirely her own. Her hands curled into the back of my tunic, not tightly, just enough.

For a long time, neither of us moved. The only sound was the soft flicker of candle flames and the distant hum of the Tower far below.

“You remembered,” she said at last, her voice muffled slightly by my chest. “I thought… perhaps you would be too busy, too overwhelmed.”

“I was,” I said quietly. “But not too much to remember this. Not too much for you.” I paused for a moment before continuing. “I’m sorry if it isn’t enough… I wanted to do something for you, before things all got uprooted and rather hectic with Siuan revealing what I am to the Hall. With how quickly I moved to try and prepare, I don’t know if it’s what you had in mind, or if it’s to your taste—“ 

She cut me off there by kissing me gently. Though this was just the second kiss we shared, it was tender and familiar, as if it were something we had done many times before—as if it was a comfort we knew of each other. Her kiss quieted every doubt faster than words ever could. It was soft, yet steady, and when she pulled back, her hand lingered at my jaw, her thumb brushing just beneath my cheekbone. Her expression wasn’t unreadable, as it so often was in the Tower. It was open, and wholly, achingly hers. 

“It’s exactly to my taste,” she said. “Because it’s you, and because it’s real.”

She didn’t let go right away. Her fingers traced the edge of my collar lightly, her eyes searching mine. “You’ve lived so much of your life forging for others—blades for the guard, tools for strangers, expectations for the Pattern itself since you were revealed in full to it. But this… this you made for me. Not because you had to. Because you wanted to.”

“I did,” I murmured. “I still do.”

“Then it’s perfect,” she said. “And I don’t want to miss a moment of it.” 

I smiled, lifting her hand to my lips and pressing a kiss to her knuckles before gently leading her toward the table. The candlelight flickered around us like memory, painting everything in gold. The meal waited, warm and quiet between us. But before either of us moved to eat, we sat. Just sat—hands entwined on the table’s edge, letting the world hold still for once.

Even the silence between us felt like something sacred.

We lingered in that stillness for a while longer before I finally moved to our the wine. Moiraine watched me with a small, unreadable smile, her hand never left mine on the table. 

“You’re quite practiced at this,” she said as I handed her the glass.

I raised an eyebrow. “Pouring wine?”

“Making something special, something almost sacred, out of a quiet evening,” she replied, and there was a softness to the words that made my heart ache a little.

“Well,” I said, leaning back slightly, “I’ve had good teachers. Egwene, Elayne… and you.”

She shook her head, amused. “You always say things like that—like you’re just reflecting back what others gave you. But this? This is yours, Alex. I’ve lived long enough to know the difference.” That silenced me for a moment—not because I didn’t have a response, but because she wasn’t wrong. I’d been trying so hard to give to each of them, to carry weight, to carry them, that I hadn’t realized how much I’d already become something permanent in their lives. Not a future possibility. A present certainty. Moiraine picked up her fork, speared a bit of glazed carrot, and said, “For what it’s worth, I think you’d make a dreadful courtier.”

I blinked. “That bad?”

“Oh, Light, yes. You’re far too earnest,” she said with mock gravity, but her smile betrayed her affection. “You’d ruin half a dozen games of Daes Dae’mar before breakfast and never know it.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “And yet, somehow I’m meant to be King of Cairhien.”

She tilted her head. “Yes. Because daes dae’mar doesn’t need to rule Cairhien. You do.”

I swallowed hard at that. “You truly believe that?”

 “I do. And that is not something I say lightly.” The words lingered. And then, in a softer voice, she added, “Do you remember what you said in the forge? That you wanted to give me something that wasn’t political. Something that was just for me?”

I nodded.

“This is that. But more than that—you are that. You already gave me something I didn’t think I could have again, not after Lan, not after the Tower… the prophecy.” Her voice lowered, like a secret. “You gave me a future to look forward to.”

I reached across the table again, taking her hand properly this time, interlacing our fingers. “And you gave me clarity,” I said. “You walked into my fire and didn’t try to put it out. You just stood there, steady. You saw who I was before I did, and you helped me along with accepting it while still not pushing me to it.”

She leaned in, her blue eyes searching mine. “And what is it you see in me, Alex Dorevain?”

I didn’t hesitate. “Someone who leads without asking for praise, even when it is deserved. Someone who carries impossible burdens and yet still somehow finds space for kindness. Someone I trust… and someone I love.” 

Moiraine’s breath caught, and for once, she didn’t mask it. I stood then, walking around the table. She rose too, and I took both her hands in mine. “Moiraine Damodred,” I said softly, “whatever the Tower sees tomorrow, whatever Cairhien demands in the months to come—you are not a piece in a game to me. You’re part of the whole. And I want you to know that. You are in my heart, and always shall be.” 

Moiraine’s fingers tightened around mine. For a moment, she didn’t speak—just watched me with something fragile and fierce in her gaze. Then, quietly, “You’re going to break all the rules, Alex. And I find I don’t mind one bit.”

I smiled, brushing a loose strand of her hair back behind her ear. “Then let’s break them together.” 

She leaned forward, and this time, the kiss wasn’t gentle. It was full, certain, the kind of kiss that said yes—yes to this moment, to this future, to everything we were building together, no matter how uncertain the world beyond this terrace might be. When we parted, her forehead stayed pressed to mine, and her voice was barely a whisper. “I love you, Alex Dorevain. Light help me… I think I have for some time.” 

I didn’t answer right away. I just held her, the candlelight flickering around us, the scent of late-blooming roses drifting on the breeze. When I did speak, my voice was steady and full. “I love you too, Moiraine.” 

Chapter Text

The morning light found its way through the Tower windows in quiet golden streaks, soft against the stone. I stood alone at the terrace’s edge, the memory of candlelight and roses still fresh in my mind. Moiraine had stayed with me well into the night—no longer as an Aes Sedai or a Damodred or a political strategist, but as herself. As mine. After the kiss we hadn’t rushed. We hadn’t needed to. We sat at the table long after the food had cooled, talking softly of what came next. Of what it meant to love one another in a world that might demand we remain distant. She told me of her fears—not just of the Hall, or Cairhien, but of losing herself in service again. I promised her she wouldn’t. That she wouldn’t be just a part of my strategy, or a bond I leaned on in war. That she would be Moiraine. And I would be Alex. And tighter, we would make space for a life beyond fire and prophecy. 

We didn’t speak of duty again after that. We simply sat, hands linked, her head eventually resting against my shoulder until the candles burned low and the moon rose high. She had kissed me again before parting, softer this time, lingering. I didn’t sleep after. Not because of nerves, but because I didn’t want to lose the shape of the moment. Now, as the Tower slowly roused around me, I could feel the pulse of my bonds like anchors in my mind. Elayne and Egwene were both already stirring, their emotional rhythms steady and calm. Moiraine, though her presence was quieter, radiated calm resolve. 

I dressed without ceremony, letting my mind settle. Today would bring the Hall. Today, I would be named, judged, and either accepted or rejected. But before that, I still had work to do.There were whispers in the halls now. Servants moved with purpose, Novices looked twice when they saw me. The story was spreading. The Flameforged. The man bonded to three women. The one who had cleansed the tainted rot from saidin around him and stood beside the Dragon Reborn.

I needed one more ally.

I made my way through the upper halls, ignoring the startled looks, until I reached the Gray quarters. I asked for Yukiri Haruna by name, and after a moment, a Novice led me to a small, elegant sitting room layered with pale silks and fine scrollwork. Yukiri sat near a polished table, a cup of tea cooling at her elbow. She did not rise when I entered, but her eyes met mine with frank curiosity.

“Flameforged,” she said, her tone unreadable. “Or do you prefer something less dramatic?”

“Alex, will do,” I replied. “Thank you for seeing me.”

She inclined her head. “Well, Alex, you’re causing quite the storm in the Tower, and now you’re knocking on Gray Ajah doors. Curious.”

“I assure you, any storm I have caused was not intentional.” 

Yukiri’s lips twitched into something that might’ve been a smile, or a polite dismissal of the notion. “Intentional or not, you’ve broth the rain—and the Hall does not like being caught without cloaks.” She gestured lightly to the chair across from her. “Sit. If you’ve come to plead your case, do it plainly. I do not have the patience this morning for riddles or rehearsed flattery.”

I took the offered seat and met her gaze with the quiet calm I had been practicing in an attempt to mirror Moiraine’s composure. “Then I’ll speak plainly. I am not here to plead with you, or to swear that I am not the man some will try to make me out to be. I am here to be honest, and to shed light on what I truly am. The Tower has only a few hours before the Hall meets, and while I hope after this meeting I can count on you to do what is right, I do not expect you to be on my side. During all of this, I will not try to manipulate you, or the Gray Ajah. I came because I believe you, personally, might listen to the truth—and that it is better that you decide for yourself after hearing it whether what I represent is worth defending.”

Yukiri leaned back, folding her hands in her lap as she studied me—not with suspicion, but with the meticulous detachment of a negotiator weighing a new variable. “You certainly don’t lack confidence,” she said, though her tone was neutral. “Or foresight. Most who come before the Hall do so trembling, or wrapped in titles and demands. You’re offering me neither.”

“I’m offering you a chance to understand before the Hall moves to judge, and true knowledge before the Hall meets where it will be publicly offered, but may be somewhat distorted,” I said. “That’s all I can give, and all that I offer.”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “Then speak, Alex Dorevain. Let’s hear this truth from the man at the centre of it all.”

I nodded once. “I was born in Cairhien, the son of a blacksmith. No nobility, no titles, just fire and steel, and that was the life I expected to die in.” My voice remained steady. “I didn’t know anything was different about me until Falme. I was taken from Cairhien by Seanchan, it was unclear if they had been spent specifically with instruction to take me, or if they were in the area and sensed something about me. When they had me, I was tortured, and caged, But even they didn’t fully understand what I was, but they knew enough to know they wanted to use me.”

Her expression didn’t shift, but her fingers flexed faintly against the hem of her sleeve. She didn’t interrupt, so I pressed on.

“They believed I could burn away the taint on saidin—and they were right. I can, and I do. Not through the One Power, or anything they could touch or control. It’s a part of me, like breathing, or pain. And when they couldn’t chain it, they tried instead to break me. They had placed an a’dam on me already, and had decided to routinely beat me and torture me while trying to get me to tell them something that I did not have an answer to at the time: what I am, and how I do what I do.”

“They didn’t get their answers,” I continued, my voice low but steady. “But they very nearly got what they wanted anyways. I lost myself, for a time. I stopped thinking of, or hoping for escape, or rescue, or even survival. That is when Egwene al’Vere entered my life. Our cells were next to one another, separated by a wall of stone. She reached through the darkness and silence I had been left in, and reminded me that I was a person. Through talking with her, I regained who I was, the strength I had within, and the knowledge that I was more than what they were doing to me.”

Yukiri’s eyes narrowed slightly—not in disbelief, but focus. The small movements of her fingers stilled completely.

“She gave me a thread to follow back to myself. And when the time came, when she was taken from her cell during the attack on the city, I broke the a’dam. I didn’t now that I could, I hadn’t ever channeled intentionally before, and I didn’t summon anything to me. I just… shattered it, blasted it to hundreds of pieces as if to say that it had no right to hold me. I’ve never made sense of it in the terms Aes Sedai used, and even though I have come to learn a lot about myself since Falme, I still do not understand what exactly made the a’dam shatter. But when it did, I could feel it, bursting out of me, something that burned away the taint and the darkness.” I went on, my voice steady now. “I didn’t know what I was after that. A weapon, a miracle, a threat. But Rand found me, and he brought me with him to the top of the tower in Falme, where we confronted a Forsaken… Ishamael. I channelled, I kept him shielded, though I didn’t know what I was doing at the time. He was afraid of me, of what I meant for the Pattern, and what it would imply for the world. After that, came the part that many people now know… I was marked above the tower, with a flaming hammer blazing above me, which later went into the sky to join the image of the Dragon, which marked Rand.” I paused for a moment here. “The fact that Rand is the Dragon Reborn is not public knowledge yet, at least, not among the whole of the Tower, so please, keep that to yourself, at least for now.”

Yukiri was very still, her hands now folded neatly in her lap, eyes locked on mine with the quiet weight of a woman measuring the axis of change. Her face betrayed nothing, and yet I could feel the weight of her consideration settle over the room like a veil of silk. “I do not gossip,” she said at last, her voice cool but not cold. “And I do not deal in truths I’ve not agreed to share. Your secret—his secret—is safe with me. For now.”

I inclined my head slightly. “Thank you.”

“You speak like a man who has carried truth and burden for longer than his years should allow,” she murmured. “And you carry it well… if a bit recklessly.”

“I’ve had no choice but to learn quickly. The world hasn’t been gentle with me, and things have been a whirlwind since Falme. Between burning away a Myrddraal controlled by a Forsaken, learning to control how I channel, learning the sword from Lan, learning of politics and the world, and os many more revelations… Light, I don’t know how I would have made it through everything I have without those who are close to me.”

Yukiri’s expression shifted slightly at that—not exactly softening, but sharpening in a different way. Thoughtful. As if my answer wasn’t what she had expected, but was somehow what she’d wanted to hear. “You speak of connection,” she said, fingers tapping once against the carved arm of her chair. “Of bonds. That isn’t something men in your position usually admit to valuing, let alone depending on. Power often isolates. But you… you keep gathering people to your side like iron filings to a lodestone.”

“They’re not filings,” I said quietly. “They’re people. Elayne, Egwene, Moiraine, Rand, Lan… they’re not tools or titles. They’re the reason I know who I am, and the reminders of why I continue to do what I do. I haven’t survived this long because of what I can do. I’ve survived because of who I have chosen to trust, and what I have chosen to learn from them.”

Her fingers stilled on the armrest, her expression unreadable for a long moment. Then, almost imperceptibly, she nodded. “That,” she said softly, “is a better answer than any oath or promise you might have offered.” 

She rose from her seat, moving to the window with the quiet grace of someone accustomed to watching from the sidelines—and choosing very carefully when to step in. Her voice, when she spoke next, was quieter. “You remind me of another young man who came to the Tower not knowing the shape of his future. He burned bright too. But he tried to carry everything alone, until it broke him.” 

I said nothing. The comparison didn’t need to be named.

“But you aren’t him,” she said, turning back to face me. “You are letting people in. That may be what saves you. Or makes you dangerous in a new way.” A wry note touched hr tone. “Depending on who you ask.”

“I’m not trying to be dangerous, though I have no illusions that I am not dangerous despite that,” I said. “But I won’t be silent just to keep the Tower comfortable.”

“Good,” Yukiri replied. “Comfort is the first lie a Gray learns to mistrust.” She returned to her seat but didn’t resume the formal posture from before. Now, she studied me not as a risk to assess, but as a man whose presence in the game might be something she could choose to back—on her own terms. “When the Hall meets,” she said, “they will try to frame you in roles they understand. Weapon. Rebel. Champion. Threat. I cannot stop them from doing that. But I can choose not to add my voice to those who see you only as a disruption. I’ll speak what I know. And what I know is this: the Tower will not survive by ossifying, but by adapting. And I will insure that my Gray sisters do the same.”

I inclined my head, gratitude welling sharp and real in my chest. “Thank you, Yukiri Sedai.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she said, arching one eyebrow. “I’ve agreed to listen. I haven’t promised to fight for you.”

“Listening,” I said as I stood, “is more than I will be promised by most.”

Yukiri gave a quiet, dry laugh. “Then let’s both surprise them.” 

I stepped out into the hall, the Gray quarters hushed around me. Another piece on the board shifted into place. And the time of reckoning loomed ever closer. I knew that the Tower could argue itself into knots over precedent and power, but words were only one kind of proof. What I could do—what I was—needed to be seen to be understood, and even more so to be believed. 

Moiraine had suggested once, carefully and without pressure, that I might eventually show the Tower the truth of my gift. That healing madness—true madness, the kind the Tower had whispered of and feared for three thousand years—might be the only thing no one could dispute. And I happened to know that there was one such man in the Tower at the moment who met that criteria. 

Logain Ablar. He was guarded, watched, contained, and severed from the One Power. I hesitated only briefly, remembering that I had heard whispers that he spent most of his days in one of the inner gardens, walking in silence, eyes distant. Egwene had seen him here before, when she was still a full novice… before Falme. Knowing that, I moved quickly to rule out certain gardens that I had seen. It was hard to know where he could be, but I had guessed he may be in one of the private gardens nestled between domed halls and marble colonnades at the lower floors of the Tower.

Moiraine hadn’t asked me to do this, Light, I don’t know that she would approve of it. Not because it wasn’t right—but because it was bold. Because it was visible, and because it risked making me into something even harder for the Tower to ignore. 

But that was the point.

I didn’t need to prove anything to her, or Egwene, or Elayne. They already knew who I was, and they had already seen the effects on Rand. But the Sitters who would gather in judgment soon, the whole Tower, I needed more of them than just grudging tolerance. I needed truth laid bare, and I need it to be undeniable, something that everyone could see and know I spoke truth. And Logain Ablar… if there was even a sliver of him left that the Tower hadn’t broken, he would want that truth too. He would want to be whole again, even if he couldn’t touch saidin anymore.

I passed through a marble arch and out into one of the more secluded gardens. It was quiet here—green, thick with late-summer scent, the leaves heavy and lush over stone benches and carved fountains. There, near a willow tree by a shallow reflecting pool, sat the man I’d come to find.

Logain Ablar.

He was as I’d imagined him, how he had been described: tall, still broad-shouldered, his hair falling loose around a face that bore the shape of nobility, though no crown had ever sat easily on him. His eyes were not mad. But they weren’t whole, either. They stared into the water as if trying to remember what it meant to feel something. To be something. His eyes held so much pain… his face was gaunt now, and it was clear that he had not eaten, or taken care of himself properly since his arrival in the Tower. 

I didn’t speak right away. I approached slowly, letting my footsteps carry just enough sound to warn him of my presence. I didn’t want to startle him. His gaze flicked toward me, sharp even now. “You’re not an Aes Sedai,” he said, voice low. “And you’re not a guard.” He studied me for a breath longer. “So who are you?”

I offered him a small nod, not out of deference, but respect. “My name is Alex Dorevain.” I stopped where I was, a distance I had figured would be enough to keep him from being within the range of any effect I would have. Though I couldn’t be sure, especially after how wide the aura had gotten in Falme.

He looked me over again, slower this time. “I’ve heard that name,” he said. “Whispers. Flameforged. Falme. The one who walks with the Dragon.” A faint breath escaped him, not quite a scoff, not quite a laugh. “So. You’re real.” His voice was rough, but it carried something under the weariness—an edge, like a man trying to decide whether to hope or to hate. 

“As real as you,” I said quietly. “Though some days I wonder which part of this is the burden, and which is the blessing.”

He snorted at that, dry and humourless. “Burden, always. The blessing is what they say about you after you’re gone.”

I didn’t respond immediately. The air between us felt heavy with things unsaid—what he’d lost, what I might yet lose. What connected us, even now.

“I didn’t come here to pity you,” I said after a beat. “Or to parade what I am. I know that you can see some of it still, that I am ta’veren… or something of that nature. But I have come because there might be something I can offer you. Not just for the Hall, or for the Tower’s games. For you.”

Logain’s eyes flicked up at that—more alert now, wary but curious. “And what is it you think you can offer a broken man, boy? Other than a swift death.” He said it while eyeing the swords I still bore at my sides, though I knew I would never use them on him. 

“I’m not here to offer you death, or redemption, or some storybook ending,” I said, stepping just close enough that he could truly see me, the weight of my words carried by more than posture. “I came because there is something inside me that burns away the madness. Something that cleansed the taint from Rand al’Thor himself. It’s not a healing, not as the Aes Sedai understand it. It’s…different. I don’t control it, not fully. But I’ve seen what it can do. I think it might reach what’s still wounded inside you… what is tainted, what remains after almost any man channels the power. I do not know that it will, or even ever could restore everything that was done to you, I don’t know that it could undo your being gentled, or reconnect you to the source. But I can hopefully make your existence at least a little less painful. If you will let me.”

Logain didn’t speak right away. He simply stared—his gaze unflinching, unreadable. I could almost see the weight of my words settling in him like iron dropped into water. Something based through his eyes then—something fragile and dangerous. Hope, perhaps. Or the ghost of it. 

“You sound like an Aes Sedai,” he muttered at last. “Offering things wrapped in careful warnings. ‘If’ and ‘maybe’ and ‘hopefully.’” His lips twisted into something that could have been a smile, bitter at the edges. “Only difference is, you don’t lie well enough to make it soothing.”

“I’m not trying to soothe you, and I don’t care to,” I said simply. “I’m trying to be honest.”

That seemed to land. He leaned back slightly, one hand curling loosely around the edge of the bench. “I’ve lived every day since they gentled me with silence where there used to be life. With… rot in the corners of my mind. Not loud. Not screaming madness. Just… decay. I still feel it, like it’s echoing in an empty hall.” He turned his head, eyes sharp. “If you can burn that away, then fine. Do it. But know this, Flameforged—if you are lying, if this is just some Tower ploy to parade me like a puppet…”

“It isn’t,” I said, not flinching. “This is not the Tower’s plan. This is mine. And I’m offering it only because I believe no one else would.”

Logain held my gaze for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded once. “Then let’s see what kind of flame you carry, Alex Dorevain.” 

I stepped forward, only a couple of steps. My heart was steady, and my soul burned—I let the Flame behind my ribs grow, as I could see the aura around me like I did back in Falme. This was the first time it had appeared as strongly since then, as if it knew that I needed it without even needing to be called upon. I willed it to reach out and touch Logain, just lightly, to give him some form of relief, to heal that which was not meant to be there. 

The air shimmered faintly around me, like heat rising off forge-coals, though the garden breeze remained cool. The Flame didn’t roar to life—it unfurled, calm and sure, golden-bright beneath my skin where it always laid. It wrapped the space around me in quiet radiance. I didn’t reach for saidin. This wasn’t Power, not as the Tower understood it. It was simply me, and the fire I carried within.

Logain tensed as the aura brushed him, eyes narrowing. Then, his breath hitched, and his eyes opened a little wider. His shoulders jolted—barely more than a twitch—but I saw it. The change. The subtle way his spine straightened, the way his fingers, once slack and lifeless, curled reflexively into his knees. He drew a slow, trembling breath through his nose and held it, like a man who had surfaced from drowning. 

“I…” he started, then stopped, blinking rapidly. His brow furrowed in confusion. “What is that?”

“Relief,” I said quietly. “Or the beginning of it.”

He reached a hand up to his temple, as if unsure whether the heaviness that had plagued him might still be hiding there. “It’s… quieter,” he whispered, not to anyone in particular. “Not silent. But cleaner, brighter.”

I nodded once, staying still. “It won’t bring back the Power, or undo what was done. But maybe—just maybe—it can stop the rot in your mind. It might let you be yourself again, even if only a little. And I hope, for your sake, that it is enough to be yourself again.”

Logain was silent for a long moment, staring down at his hands as if they might confirm what his mind could not. His fingers flexed once more, then settled on his knees, tighter now—grounded. Real.

“I thought… I thought the silence was the worst of it, of being sliced out from touching the Source,” he murmured. “But it wasn’t. It was the decay. The way everything inside of me began to unravel, thread by thread… and worse still, the fact that even as I saw it happening, I wanted more.” He looked up at me, and his voice steadied. “And now it’s as though someone gathered those threads and reminded them that they still belong to something.” The wind stirred through the willow branches overhead, and for the first time since I’d stepped into the garden, Logain looked up at them. Not away, not through, at them. “I don’t know what you are,” he said after a time, voice rough with something between awe and disbelief. “But if what you gave me lasts… if it grows… then you are more than they think you are. More than some symbol in the sky.”

“I’m not a symbol,” I said, though my tone was quiet. “I’m just a man who refuses to let the world fall apart without fighting for what might still be saved.”

He huffed a breath at that. “Well, keep doing it, then. Burn them all if they get in your way.” 

“I’d rather burn what’s broken, to give it the chance to be fixed,” I replied. “Not the people trying to save it.”

Logain met my eyes one last time, and the man who looked back at me wasn’t whole—but he was present. Not lost or resigned, not anymore. And the was enough, for now. I turned then, letting the Flame settle back beneath my skin, leaving the air still and warm in my wake. Behind me, I heard him breathe again—deep and steady. It wasn’t healing as the Tower knew it, but it was something, and it at least helped Logain feel somewhat himself again. And that would have to be enough, for now.

I made my way back through the garden paths in silence, the scent of earth and stone lingering on the breeze. The light had shifted, a little harsher now—less the midday sun and more that it was on its descent. I kept my pace steady, my thoughts focused, though the encounter with Logain still echoed in my chest. 

The Tower loomed ahead, tall and white and watching. I could feel the pulse of the small area around me as it was beginning to stir, more people around me as I moved back towards the Tower’s main structure. The eyes of the world felt like they were narrowing on a single point. Me. 

By the time I stepped back into the shadowed halls, I knew: whatever I had done today—whether I had eased a broken man’s suffering, or simply proven to myself that I could—it wouldn’t be enough to change the future alone. But it was a beginning.

And then, from high above, the sound rang out. 

A single bell. 

Then another.

Three in all.

Not the call to dinner, or mourning, or a novice’s punishment. This was the Tower’s summons to the Hall. 

The meeting had been called, and my time had come.

Chapter Text

The Tower bells tolled, solemn and deliberate, echoing through white stone like the beating of a vast, measured heart. Their sound carried weight today as they rung with the setting sun—not the call for classes or the quiet chimes of a meal—but a summons older than nations: the calling of the Hall.

I stood in the antechamber just beyond the Hall’s great does, dressed not in a uniform, nor in House colours, but in a simple black coat with silver flourishes, the Flameforged clasp gleaming over my heart. Moiraine stood beside me, calm and steady, a pillar of presence beneath her blue silk. Elayne and Egwene flanked the other side, their poise unmistakable—even here, even now. 

Moiraine gave me a quiet look, unreadable to most, but I could feel her support through the bond. It steadied me more than I’d admit aloud. Elayne’s hand brushed mine—quick, discreet, a gesture not of nerves, but of unity. And Egwene’s eyes, sharp as ever, swept the room beyond as if daring anyone to question my right to stand there. 

A Sister of the Green stepped forward from within the chamber, her face hard to read. “They are ready,” was all she said.

I nodded once, then I stepped through. 

The Hall of the Tower was circular, high-vaulted and echoing with a stillness deeper than silence. The Sitters were already in place, each Ajah marked by the colours of the shawls draped over the backs of their high seats. Twelve of them stared down at me as I entered, one seat conspicuously empty, the Thirteenth, reserved for the Amyrlin Seat. The session in the Hall was not a closed one, and the balconies were lined with Sisters of every Ajah, it felt as though all of the Tower had come to see what would be discussed here today. 

From behind me I heard a sharp slamming of a metal staff on the floor, before I heard Leane declare, “She comes! She comes! The Flame of Tar Valon, the Amyrlin Seat.” Siuan entered then, her outfit white and unadorned. She met my eyes only briefly, but I saw something in her expression: resolve, and something more—approval. Leane trailed just behind her, stately in blue, taking her place near the dais. Neither of them smiled, they did not need to.

Siuan ascended the steps to the Amyrlin Seat with the poise of someone who had done it a hundred times, though every eye in the chamber could feel the weight today was different. She sat, calm and composed, then nodded once to Leane. 

“The Hall is called. The seats are filled. Let truth be spoken in the Light,” Leane declared, her voice echoing through the dome. 

I stood at the centre of the ring. No protection but my word, and no power but my presence. I would not call on saidin here unless it was requested, or direly needed. This was not a place for doing that form of battle.

“Let the record show,” Siuan said, her voice clear, carrying with it the authority of the Seat and none of the softness she had once offered in private, “that Alex Dorevain of Cairhien, called Flameforged, stands before the Hall of the Tower at the request of the Sitters of the Gray and Brown Ajahs, with the support of representatives of the Blue and Green.” She paused, letting the names hang. 

Whispers rippled throughout the balconies.

Saerin Asnobar of the Brown rose, every movement precise. “The Brown Ajah recognizes that Alex Dorevain is the centre of many rumours within the Tower, and that his abilities that have been displayed for all to see are remarkable. We request that his words be heard and his claims weighed, not dismissed for their strangeness, but tested for their truth in order to come to the roots of these rumours, and instead see what he truly is.”

Saerin’s words echoed for a moment in the chamber, hanging like the ring of a bell. Then, Yukiri Haruna of the Gray Ajah stood in turn, her expression calm but sharp. 

“The Gray Ajah seconds the request,” she said. “We are diplomats, mediators—and seekers of understanding. Alex Dorevain’s presence in the Tower has disrupted more than custom, and yet he has not once acted in defiance or arrogance. His conduct has been deliberate, his power measured. If he speaks truth, then the Tower would be foolish to ignore it. If he does not, then let the Hall see it with their own eyes.” 

She sat, her voice replaced by another shift of fabric and breath as Moiraine Damodred stepped forward from her place at the edge of the chamber, flanked by Elayne and Egwene. Moiraine did not approach the centre—she had no right to speak in the Hall unless summoned, not as a mere sister of the Blue—but her presence alone spoke volumes. And behind her, the women who stood with her made the statement louder still. 

Elayne wore the white dress of a novice, but there was no fear in her spine, nor uncertainty in her eyes. Egwene, in her banded Accepted’s dress, stood with her chin raised, her gaze sweeping the room with calm resolve. They said nothing—yet their presence behind Moiraine, before the Hall, was a message even silence could not dull.

From among the Green Ajah, a Sitter stood.

“Does the Green Ajah wish to speak?” Siuan asked

The Sitter—Malind Nachenin, tall and sharp-eyed—nodded. “We do. The Green Ajah recognizes that Alex Dorevain’s presence may be unprecedented, but so too is the time we stand in. We do not fear the unusual. We prepare for what must be faced. He has fought beside those we trust, and helped return Novices to the Tower safely. We believe he deserves to be heard.”

A ripple of reaction spread through the Sitters again. One by one, eyes turned toward Siuan. She didn’t sit forward or lean back. She simply inclined her head. “Then let it be recorded. Alex Dorevain, Flameforged, has the support of the Brown, Gray, and Green Ajahs to be heard.” Then her gazed locked on me. “You may speak. But speak wisely.”

I stepped more towards the centre of the Hall, the sound of my boots against the stone lost beneath the weight of the moment. Beneth the gaze of twelve Sitters, and the silent scrutiny of what felt like half the Tower above. I met their eyes—one by one—not with defiance, but with steadiness. Moiraine had once told me that silence could speak as loudly as a scream, if wielded well. I let the silence stretch before I began. 

“I am not a Warder, and I have no training in the ways of the Tower other than what I have been taught in the time since I left Falme. I will speak plainly, and will not aim to misdirect any of you. I was born in Cairhien, the son of a blacksmith. I came to this Tower not to seek favour, but to be honest about what I am.”

A few Sitters leaned forward subtly. Others remained inscrutable.