A/N: Again, some of the dialogue is straight from the book, just in case that needs to be pointed out.
Loyalty was not something Taim thought of often. He followed al'Thor partly because he had no choice, partly out of duty, and partly because the Black Tower was the first thing since his brief and unfortunate time as a false Dragon to give him a sense of purpose. Loyalty — to the Lord Dragon, or to Rand al'Thor the person — simply didn't come into it.
Until… it did.
Of course he had always known there were other options, that saying he had no choice was simply an excuse to not have to make the choice. Because if he was honest with himself, did he not want more? Did he not want to be more than just the leader of the Black Tower? Quite aside from the fact that calling himself a leader was being generous when al'Thor treated him as but a steward. If a better offer was made, could he justify declining it?
It came down to loyalty.
Taim barely knew the meaning of the word.
Since before Dumai's Wells, there had been… dreams. Dreams of glory, dreams of conquest, dreams in which he had never been captured by the Aes Sedai and one by one all nations had knelt before him. He awoke from those dreams feeling restless, as though time was wasting but there was not a damn thing he could have done differently.
Except that of course there was, the dreams whispered.
He did not suspect outside interference, however, until the notes began to appear. On his desk, in his coat pockets, between the pages of a book he was reading, they promised things — revenge, power, fame and glory — if he but turned his back to al'Thor. To claim that he was not tempted would have been a lie. He was tempted every time he received a curt, bluntly worded message to remain in the Black Tower, to stay clear of Caemlyn — or Cairhien, or Tear, or where ever al'Thor was at the time — and of any Aes Sedai… He was at times very, very, tempted.
What it came down to — besides loyalty, which al'Thor decidedly did not inspire — was that in accepting the offer, he would be exchanging one master for another. He was not naive enough to think that serving the Shadow would instantly give him a greater freedom to pursue his ambitions than what al'Thor allowed him. But if he was competent enough, if he was ruthless enough — and he knew that he was, on both counts — might he not take that freedom whether it was given or not? He was close enough to al'Thor to do some serious damage to his plans, possibly even kill him, and if that didn't set one high in the ranks of the Shadow, he didn't know what would.
Loyalty. He was fast developing an intense aversion for the word.
He burned the notes anyway; as long as they were only notes, he could ignore them. Whether he was going to eventually respond or not… Well, it would not do to be caught with such things in his possession. That would be as good as a death sentence even if al'Thor didn't already hate him.
What he was going to do if he was ever approached by one of the Forsaken in person — a thought almost too ludicrous to warrant serious consideration — he didn't know. He suspected that at that point the decision would have been made for him; he doubted one of the Forsaken would let him leave the conversation alive if his answer was anything but a very convincing 'Yes, Master.' He did not think the Forsaken would be more trusting than al'Thor. And he had an uneasy feeling that betraying the Shadow, once he had made the choice to join them — if he made the choice to join them; he did not much like the idea of not having a choice — would be more difficult than betraying al'Thor.
Taim set the book aside — and crumpled the latest note that had been waiting for him between the pages — and stood up. After a moment's hesitation he channelled a trickle of saidin and the incriminating piece of parchment burst into flames, burning so hot that not even ash remained after the fire died out. He had been planning to make his weekly report to al'Thor today, but he wasn't sure he wanted to see the man after contemplating betrayal mere moments ago. He could send Gedwyn with a letter… But the main point of reporting to al'Thor in person every week was to force the man to acknowledge that he couldn't just forget about the Black Tower, couldn't just brush it — and Taim — aside until he needed them. Avoiding al'Thor now would be entirely too much like admitting defeat.
He made his gateway right outside al'Thor's quarters in the palace in Cairhien. The Maidens let him through with barely a glance — an almost disturbingly appreciative glance in some of their cases. Only one of them was significantly shorter than Taim, and all looked like they might as readily stick a knife in him as kiss him and he wasn't sure which possibility was less appealing. He ignored the Aiel women and closed the door behind him.
The sound of the harp greeted him, faltering only slightly when Natael noticed him. "Master Taim," the bard said without getting up from where he was lounging on the couch. "You come at an unfortunate time. The Lord Dragon will not be seeing you right now."
Taim raised his eyebrows and cast an involuntary glance towards the bedroom door. "Is that so?" he said. "Very well. I'll wait." He poured himself a glass of wine and sat on the other end of the couch, stretching out his legs before him.
"Long day?" Natael asked casually. The music from the harp became smoother, somehow — or it might be just Taim's imagination.
"Long week," Taim replied before he could stop himself.
The music didn't falter, but Natael cast him a sidelong glance. "Nightmares?" the bard asked. "I'll admit I haven't been sleeping too well myself since the Wells."
"Nothing of the sort," Taim said, perhaps too quickly. He might have preferred nightmares. They seldom presented a moral dilemma he wasn't equipped to deal with. "Not for me at least," he went on, partly to distract Natael from the topic of his dreams and partly… He didn't finish the thought. "Some of the men aren't doing so well. And sometimes, when somebody breaks down in the practice field, it's difficult to figure out whether it's the trauma or the taint."
Natael winced. "I see how that can be… difficult."
Taim said nothing to that, and the silence stretched on, broken only by the music from the harp, which now resembled a gentle summer breeze. Taim finished his drink and set the channelled the flows of Air to place the glass back on the table; he wanted another but figured it would not be a good idea, not at this hour, not while he was waiting to talk with al'Thor. Natael cast him a sideways glance as he channelled, but unlike most normal people, the bard didn't appear uneasy in the presence of a man who could channel. Instead, he appeared almost… wistful? Taim frowned, but then Natael turned his seemingly full focus back to his music, expressionless as ever, and Taim couldn't be sure it hadn't been just his imagination playing tricks on him.
They waited for hours, mostly in silence. Conversation did pick up a few times but died again soon enough; they had not that much in common, after all, and what shared experiences they had, Taim would rather not talk about in too great detail. He might not be losing sleep over Dumai's Wells, but he wasn't proud of losing his temper the way he had. Not that he regretted it, either; the Shaido had deserved every bit of what his Asha'man had delivered. It was simply something he needed to bear in mind. When men like him lost their temper, people died.
He sighed — and shifted his arm awkwardly. Natael had somehow — gradually; Taim had never noticed him moving — changed his position so that he sprawled casually over two thirds of the couch, one leg hanging over the armrest, leaning on a tasselled cushion that was propped against Taim, who wasn't entirely sure what to think of the arrangement. Somewhat to his surprise, however, he found that he didn't mind terribly, just that his arm was growing numb with the weight of the bard leaning on him. Carefully trying to avoid disturbing the other man, he freed his arm and with a mental shrug placed it across Natael's chest. Natael looked up at him with raised eyebrows; Taim returned the look blandly.
"Do you even know where he has gone this time?" Taim asked after a while. The music faltered, then stopped, but Natael said nothing. "And don't try to tell me he's in there. It's been hours."
The bard chuckled wryly. "I could tell you a thing or two about—"
"I'd rather you didn't," Taim interjected. "Just tell me where al'Thor really is. Assuming you haven't let him get kidnapped right under your nose again."
Natael flinched — Taim felt it clearly — and when he spoke, he sounded tired. "I don't know where he is. I know he was going somewhere with the Farshaw girl, somewhere he couldn't bring the Maidens with him so he left me here in hopes that they might not notice he's gone before he gets back." A worried note entered his voice. "I… don't believe he should have been gone this long."
Taim sighed and closed his eyes, leaning his head back. "You have no idea where he might have gone?" he asked, not really expecting a positive answer. "What else has he been up to lately? Anything about that school of his that might be keeping him occupied?"
Natael shook his head. "No, nothing he's told me about."
"What about any Forsaken activity? He wouldn't have gone off to Illian on his own without telling you, would he?" Taim didn't think so, but then again, one simply never knew what al'Thor might come up with. Sometimes he wasn't sure the man was entirely sane. The thought was chilling. "We can find him. I've done it once, although granted, then I had a trail to follow. But with over two hundred men strong enough to Travel, we'll search the entire continent if we—"
He was interrupted as the door banged open and what seemed like the entire Caemlyn barged in. Taim was on his feet, about to demand what everyone thought they were doing — but then he saw al'Thor. Carried by a half score guards, the Dragon Reborn looked more dead than alive, except that the grey-haired Aes Sedai kept repeating that he was not dead and that everyone had better get out of the way if they wanted him to remain that way.
"What has happened to him?" Taim demanded. The Aes Sedai glanced at him — and upon realising who he was, two of them shrunk back as though attempting to hide behind Min Farshaw. The grey-haired one, who seemed to be their leader, kept issuing orders and ignoring him. "Where is Flinn?" Still no response. Taim's temper flared. He seized saidin — and the grey-haired Aes Sedai's head whipped around and her dark eyes fixed on him with a piercing look.
"I do not have time for another ill-mannered young man right now, Master Taim," she said sharply. "Try not to do anything exceedingly foolish and spare us both the trouble."
The condescending impatience in her voice, the dismissive way she turned her attention back to al'Thor as though Taim had never spoken, Flinn and Narishma and others whose sole purpose had been to keep al'Thor alive being nowhere to be found… Something snapped. Taim drew more of the Power — could he shield three Aes Sedai who were most likely all already holding the Power? He wasn't sure. He wasn't sure he cared. He would not be dismissed like a bothersome child!
A hand gripped his arm. A voice was calling his name — Natael, the damn bard, always in the way. Taim knew he was being unfair but he wasn't interested in being fair, he wasn't interested in listening to reason, the frustration of the recent events had finally reached a critical point and the grey-haired Aes Sedai's attitude was the last straw. He wanted to burn the palace to the ground. He turned to face Natael, was about to push him away, not that he needed the space to channel at the Aes Sedai but his fury demanded release, a target, and Natael was there—
With immense effort, he made his hands relax. He was not going to hit Natael. The bard had done nothing to deserve it; quite the contrary, in fact. Taim wasn't sure what the man had been saying but he was sure it was infinitely more reasonable than what had been going through his own head. He held on to saidin — he wasn't going to leave himself defenseless in a room with five Aes Sedai… Five? There had been three a moment ago; Kiruna Nachiman and Bera Harkin had joined the group hovering over al'Thor, with several of the Aiel women who might or might not be channellers.
"Where is Flinn?" Taim asked again. The Aes Sedai had obviously done what they could for al'Thor and it wasn't enough. Flinn knew something of Healing. Maybe he could… Maybe…
"Here, M'Hael," the old Asha'man, striding through the door, replied. Narishma followed behind Flinn, eyes wide in his pretty face as he took in the scene. He stayed by the door, standing at attention, while Flinn pushed through the crowd of Aes Sedai to the bedside. "What happened to him?" the old man asked calmly as he knelt down — with some difficulty; the bad leg — and stripped the blanket covering al'Thor down to the waist, exposing the wound.
Some of the Aes Sedai tried to argue, clearly horrified by the idea of a male channeller touching their precious Lord Dragon, but the grey-haired one told them to be quiet and let Flinn do his job while Farshaw gave him a short version of the events that had led to this. Taim watched the process in silence — he was fascinated by things other people could do better than he, especially with the Power, and this was the first time he had seen Flinn Heal anything particularly complicated. Beside him, Natael was watching also, a tiny frown creasing his brow.
Natael. It suddenly occurred to Taim that the bard had again shown surprising resilience; he hadn't fled the scene but stood his ground where Aes Sedai had quavered with fear in the face of Taim's anger. Now, though, he was staring at Flinn and al'Thor as though nobody else existed, pure stark terror writ on his face. Fear for al'Thor? Of course, they said that if the Dragon Reborn didn't make it to the Last Battle, the world was doomed. Taim wasn't sure he really believed it was that simple — it seemed that there should be another way, there should always be a way if you looked hard enough — but Natael certainly seemed to take it more than seriously.
After what seemed like an eternity, Flinn sat back on his heels, wiping sweat from his face. "There. Best I can do."
One of the Aes Sedai — the one who had voiced her doubts about letting Flinn try the Healing in the first place — dashed to the bedside before anyone could stop her, laying her hands on al'Thor. "What did you do?" she demanded. Whatever her Delving found, she could clearly scarce believe her eyes. "What did you do?"
Flinn shrugged. "Not much. I couldn't really touch what was wrong. I sort of sealed them away from him, for a time, anyhow. It won't last. They're fighting each other, now. Maybe they'll kill off each other, while he heals himself the rest of the way." He shook his head with a regretful sigh. "On the other hand, I can't say that they won't kill him. But I think he has a better chance than he did."
"Yes," the Aes Sedai said, wonder in her voice. "He has a chance, now." Much to everyone's surprise, she rounded the bed to help Flinn up. "You will tell me what you did," she said, as if unsure herself whether she was commanding or pleading. "If only there was some way you could show me! But you will describe it. You must! I will give you all the gold I possess, bear your child, whatever you wish, but you will tell me all that you can." She led a much bemused Flinn away by the arm, all the while talking about how she wanted to learn what he had done, without giving him the opening to attempt to explain.
Taim dismissed them from his mind — Flinn could take care of himself — and walked over to the bed. Min Farshaw and the grey-haired Aes Sedai looked up at him, as if prepared to defend al'Thor against him. Taim paid no mind to the Farshaw girl — love could turn people into fools — but the Aes Sedai he faced with a stare of his own. He was still angry, but the anger was cold and controlled, now, a blade he could aim with precision instead of lashing out blindly. Much more useful.
The Aes Sedai merely met his gaze calmly, without looking concerned in the least. A movement caught his attention and he glanced at Min Farshaw, who was shaking her head in mute appeal. Then, curiously, she made a small, almost imperceptible gesture towards Natael. Surprised enough to go along, Taim glanced back at Natael, who stood where he had left him, alone, hugging himself as though cold.
There was nothing he could do about al'Thor right now. The presence of Flinn and Narishma would make sure the Aes Sedai didn't get any ideas, either. And Taim could find out later where exactly the two had been when al'Thor was once again getting himself nearly killed. Not to mention the rest of the eight he had agreed to keep with him. If al'Thor survived — and it seemed that he would — he had some answers to give, Dragon or no Dragon.
With that thought, Taim nodded briefly at Min Farshaw and turned his back to her, al'Thor and the Aes Sedai, and went back to Natael. He placed a hand on the bard's shoulder and steered him out of the door, out to the sitting room, and sat him down in a chair. After a moment's thought he filled a glass of wine and handed it to Natael, who accepted it gratefully.
"I take it he does that all the time," Taim said. "Not the getting stabbed by a madman with a magic dagger part," he added when Natael gave him a blank look. "I mean sneaking out without his honour guard, neither the Maidens nor the Asha'man, placing himself in danger."
Natael nodded, looking defeated. "He does," he muttered. "Even Min can't seem to talk him out of it. What chance do I have..?"
"We'll think of something," Taim said, the words out of his mouth before he had time to consider what he was saying. "For now, he's alive, and we'll find a way to keep him that way."
Natael looked at once wary and profoundly relieved. Taim looked away. He hadn't yet made his decision regarding the questions of loyalty. He hadn't decided that he was not going to betray al'Thor, yet he had just effectively promised Natael that he wouldn't. He almost wanted to laugh. He was considering bringing about the victory of the Shadow and he was being held back by a careless promise to a jumped-up gleeman? Breaking that promise would hardly be worse than betraying al'Thor's trust — what trust? al'Thor had never trusted him — and yet…
And yet.
On the surface, the bard was just another sycophant, the sort that inevitably gravitated towards someone like the Dragon Reborn like flies to a week-old corpse. But he had fought at Dumai's Wells, and Taim had heard that he had accompanied al'Thor to face Rahvin in the battle for Caemlyn, as well. That did not match the image of the soft, foppish court bard. Neither did the terror that gripped him when he thought al'Thor was dying; even now, Taim suspected, most of the world would as soon see the Dragon dead and forget that he had ever been reborn.
"What are you, Natael?" he asked, turning back to face the bard. "Why do you care so much? You're not his lover, nor is your concern for the sake of world, so out with it. What are you to him?"
The glass fell from Natael's hands; empty, it landed on the thick carpet without breaking and rolled under the table. Natael stared up at Taim as though considering flight. Then, something like resignation settled in and he loosed a shuddering breath, averting his eyes. "I can channel," he said, so quietly that Taim could barely distinguish the words. "I've been teaching him. He uncovered me and gave me the choice to serve him and have his protection, or be left to the Aes Sedai."
Taim stared. Whatever he had expected, it was not this. Yet he had the feeling that even this was not the full story; some things didn't add up. "You're much older than I've heard any channeller survive, before," he said.
"I didn't have the spark," Natael said, still without looking at him. "I was taught, some years ago." He chuckled, a bleak, mirthless sound. "People do foolish things. It's a long story, one I'd rather not share."
Taim nodded slowly. "As you wish. But why did neither of you tell me until now?" he asked. It was not that he felt betrayed and disappointed… Or did he? Al'Thor — damn him — never told him anything he didn't need to know, and most of the time only half of what he did need to know. But this was… different. Channellers were Taim's area of expertise, Taim's responsibility. Even if al'Thor chose to keep Natael with him rather than send him to the Black Tower either to learn or to teach, he was a channeller and as such Taim should have at least known of his existence.
Natael finally looked back at Taim. Wary though the look was, Taim thought he saw a hint of sympathy in the bard's eyes. "We — mostly he — decided to keep it a secret from everyone," he said. "I avoid channelling when there is anyone around who could detect it. If the world is focused on the Asha'man and people continue to disregard and overlook me, I can perhaps act as a last line of defence, should it be necessary." His mouth twisted in a grimace. "And a fat lot of good that does when he keeps leaving me behind."
Taim nodded slowly. It made sense. Natael needed to be seen as harmless, to be seen treated as harmless, for any of it to work. It made sense, but it didn't make it sting any less to know that this was yet another thing that Taim hadn't been trusted with.
"Your secret is safe with me," he said after a moment — a too long moment — of silence.
Natael nodded his thanks. "I am sorry that this was kept from you for so long," he added. "Communication is not our Lord Dragon's forte, as I'm sure you're aware. We must be better, if we're to see him to the Last Battle alive." There was the barest hint of a question in that last part; Natael wasn't sure whether, in the light of the new revelation, Taim's earlier resolution still held.
"We will," Taim said, putting all the confidence he could muster into the words. "I promise you, we will." How he was going to keep that promise, he had no idea; al'Thor not only attracted danger but actively sought it out like a man tired of his life. But he would think of something. He always did.