Epilogue ~*~ Final Dawn
The skies outside were still dark as she slipped from the warmth of her bed. A cold wind blew through the window, causing her to breathe in sharply as she knelt, facing east towards D'ar Hara. She always faced D'ar Hara during her morning devotions. Her voice was a whisper, her breath forming mist in the chilly air, as she spoke repeating the familiar formula seven by seven times.
"Master Rahl, guide us. Master Rahl, teach us. Master Rahl, protect us. In your light we thrive. In your mercy we are sheltered. In your wisdom we are humbled. We live only to serve. Our lives are yours."
The room was cold, but it was more than just the weather outside that made it so. The cold of these chambers was the cold of loneliness. The cradles in the corner stood dark and empty, her children months gone... while her bed, more than large enough for two had never held anyone besides herself. Her only wish for herself was that she didn't always have to be alone. However, unlike her husband, she was expected to be faithful to their marriage vows. She had worked up the courage to defy that expectation the night before. A cruel twist of fate had ensured that the attempt ended in disaster. She would not try again.
She had barely spoken to Geran since the day they handed the twins over to safety. It was just as well, when they were alone for any length of time they would fight. For her part she was tired of his rages, and sick of his demeaning words. She was not a fool, or a child, and no amount of his insisting would make either true. She was a mother, a warrior, a sorceress, and a Queen. Given the chance she could have been a wife as well, but that chance would never come because he wouldn't allow it.
Kimera could remember a time when they had been in love, but it seemed so long ago, even to her. She could only imagine what he thought, having lived eighty years in the passing of a night. She long understood that any trace of their love had vanished the night of the children's birth, and nothing she could say or do would be enough to bring it back. To be perfectly honest, she'd understood that long before Geran's second chance at life with his first wife, she knew it the morning she watched him leave another woman's bed. It was a bitter fact of her life.
Their marriage was a sham, and everyone knew it. He had married her to keep his children safe from the stigma that being born on the wrong side of the sheets would have brought. He would not abide their being considered anything less than legitimate, and she could respect that.
The battle for the Dross had been raging for months, and with the exception of chance meetings on the battlefield, Kimera had not seen Geran at all. However the news of his exploits, especially those with his apparent favorite Charis, reached her on an almost nightly basis. Often during her quiet dinners with the wives of her officers, the stories would be discussed by her guests in great detail, while she was forced to sit through them without reaction. Such cattiness was to be expected even among those from the borderlands, but their sweetly 'sympathetic' commentary on her position cut her deeper than she could ever allow to be seen. Worse were the self satisfied smiles of the Keep's female staff, many of who had shared her husband's bed in her place.
While few people could see behind the small smile and smooth features she presented to the world, her blood boiled with anger over the constant onslaught. She kept the outward signs hidden as she had always done, locking her emotions away behind a smooth, untroubled masque. Kimera refused to give the harpies of her court, or his doxies amongst the staff the satisfaction of seeing her pain.
Glancing over to the mirror on the wall, Kimera studied the nude reflection there with satisfaction. Her body was lean, the muscles defined but not bulging. The puffiness and slackness of her stomach from the pregnancy were nothing but a memory, along with her once pale complexion. Her skin, marred by a few healed and half healed scars, had gone from milk white to a golden tone thanks to countless hours of running, working and fighting under the sun's glare. Her eyes had darkened and become clearer than before, now they resembled liquid pools of forest green. Even her hair had changed, her once stark raven locks were now a rich chocolate brown, kissed with streaks of gold from the sun. All and all the effect made her look more approachable. The witch queen was gone, leaving a lady warrior in her place.
The rank and file had noticed the change, even if her 'husband' and his company had remained oblivious to it. For the first time since her childhood she was not 'the damned witch', 'the cursed Aes Sedai', or 'the Damane'. She considered her current position in the world as she wrapped her torso in the cloths that would provide her support during the coming battle. From the blight-border to the spine of the world she was treated with both awe and suspicion, having been born a queen and trained to be the power behind thrones. Beyond the spine she was considered a respected woman of strength and wisdom by tribesmen and women who were the most feared fighters in history. Meanwhile in the strange lands of the Senchean she was considered to be little more than an animal, a possession and nothing more. A different land brought a different perception... her life was nothing if not a study in contrasts. Here at least she had found peace, on these walls where people had learned to look beyond the accident of her birth.
Kimera had begun as the Lord Rahl's intended, mother of his heirs, but over time she had earned a name for herself among the men, one based on her skill alone. They called her Blade-Dancer, and she smiled inside whenever she heard it because it was proof that she had finally been accepted for her own sake. It brought her no small measure of peace to know that if she were to fall, there were some here would remember her for who she was instead of what she had been born. It gave her a sense of belonging. That was her edge on the battlefield, knowing that she was finally a true part of things. She was willing to fight for these men, and yes even die for them. Her true sword brother Ulric and their warriors were waiting for her at the wall; the fighting had been hottest where they stood together. She took it as a compliment, and knew he did as well. They fought well as a team, time and experience forging them into a dangerous combination.
She considered briefly what life would have been had she met Ulric before crossing paths with Geran. Would her bed be as cold as it was now? Would she have been forced to give up their children the way she had the twins? Kimera shook her head in exasperation, it did not good to consider what might have been. Dreams were for the innocent, the untried, and she was neither. Death had not reached her yet and until it did she had duties to attend to. As for romance... well last night's chance with Ulric had shattered when Geran entered her rooms uninvited. Maybe there would be another day, when the war was done, and she could walk away from the Fool King for once and all.
She shook her head in amusement. After the war, Kimera shook her head to clear away the thought; she had no time for such foolish fancies! Dawn would arrive soon, in a few hours she would be back on Sumitos, back among her sword-brothers where she belonged. Slowly she put on the accruements of war; her chain mail tunic and breastplate to protect her torso, grieves for her shins and gauntlets to protect her arms. The helm, with its crimson horse hair plume, she left where it lay, choosing to wear a plain gold circlet instead. Tomorrow, the armorist promised, her fitted armor would be completed. Until then, she would make due. Finally she crossed to the weapons stand by the window and lifted up one of her bladed fans.
They were her finest creation, combining skills she learned all over the world, into one deadly work of art. The metals were mined, forged and finished using only the strength of her magic. The fans had been perfectly weighted to her hands, and thanks to her training took as much effort for her to use as breathing might have. They were as beautiful as they were deadly.
The ribs of both fans were made of steel, worked with fiery patters of silver and gold. They were similar in appearance to the ones she was taught to use in dance as a child, with few exceptions. The main and most deadly difference was that instead of cloth being stretched across the ribs of each fan, these had a fine chain mail which supported a razor edged blade across the fan's spread. The blades themselves were as sharp as sin, as thin as hope, and as unbreakable as an oath taken on the Oath Rod of the Tower. They would never need to be sharpened. Such was the magic of the Aes Sedai in creating power wrought weapons, an art she had rediscovered after being released from the Tower's rule. Along the outermost facing ribs of each fan, in the beautiful script of the old tongue, were the words; "Death is lighter than a feather, Duty heavier than a mountain."
The writing itself was gold inlaid into the steel with minute care. The saying from the lands of her birth, a place where men and women were expected to lay down their lives in the protection of their people at a moments notice. She came to understand more about life with each passing year, and the more time passed, the more she could accept the truth of the legend. After all hadn't duty brought her here; to this place, at this time, with these people? Sheathing the fans, she turned and left the cold chambers for the heat of battle, of life.
~*~
The sun was halfway towards its zenith by the time they had finished policing the bodies of the morning's battle. The man wiped the sweat from his forehead as he looked up at the broken gates of Sumitos. They all knew that to defend these walls was to die, they had accepted that. The hardest part was always the butcher's bill that had to be tallied at the end of the day.
The Order had returned to their camps beyond Eldibar, carrying the body of Deathwalker with them, leaving their mingled dead where they had fallen. It had been surprising but not unexpected. They had managed to stop a legend; even they would rest and celebrate such a deed. Now all that was left of the dawn battle for the defenders was blood, ashes and regret. It was rare to have a chance to properly honor the dead of a lost battle; they would not waste the opportunity.
Their fallen had been carried back behind the shelter of Valteri and were now awaiting burial. The enemy dead had been laid out against Sumitos, normally they would have been thrown onto a bonfire without ceremony, but the war had raged long, and the defenders had no interest in the stench of burning flesh. It would bring back too many memories; the coming days would be difficult enough without such reminders of their likely fate. What the Order chose to do with their kindness was anyone's guess.
He picked his way through the maze of abandoned buildings towards Valteri, wall five. He missed the open killing grounds between walls one and three but it wasnt to be helped. The maze had its own advantages, chief among them providing new and interesting ways to 'surprise' the enemy. A smile crossed his face as he considered the shape those surprises might take. He would have some interesting ideas for the Lady Porthos come evening.
His smile died as he crossed the thresh-hold of Valteri to see the bodies there. The fact that there was a bare fraction of the number below was cold comfort as he studied the faces of friends and comrades. The sadness became an icy knife in his heart as he reached the one who was at once so familiar and so alien to him.
She lay a little apart from the others, and at first his eyes were blinded to the truth. She wasnt dead... no only sleeping, she couldn't be dead this precious one. Her raven hair, lightened and streaked by the sun, was bound in a single braid it would have fallen to a length well below her waist if she were standing. Emerald green eyes that he had seen glitter with laughter and storm with rage were closed. Her face, ageless delicate features that always seemed to hide some inner pain were relaxed. In this state she regained the innocence he remembered so well. Her limbs were arranged carefully, her hands folded over her chest, a blanket covering her to the shoulder. He fought the tears threatening to fall as he knelt down beside his Kimera.
He could only partly succeed, but the tears that escaped his control seemed to clear his vision. Now he could see the painful imperfections of the almost peaceful image; the blood that was marring her skin, the faded bruises on arm and shoulder, and the edge of one of the wounds that had ended her life peeking out from beneath the blanket. There was no pretending anymore. She was gone and nothing within his considerable power would change that. The only thought he would allow himself to entertain was how to properly bury her.
As things usually were when it came to this dark haired woman child, the burial arrangements had proven difficult. She had been raised under several differing traditions each with attendant rites and rituals, and while there were some that he knew she would never consent to, others were very dear. That was why he had arranged a discussion with representatives from the peoples she loved, so that they could reach some reasonable compromise. The man smiled to himself as he thought over the brief discussion. The Wise Ones among the Aiel had mediated between the other groups allowing for a surprisingly quick consensus. Silently he was thankful, now was not the time to create resentments. He knew Kimera would have approved, she hated it when people she cared for were hurt or distressed. Wherever she was, he hoped she was enjoying seeing how they had all come together for her. With that thought firmly in his mind he scooped her up into his arms and began walking back towards the keep.
She was so light in his arms, as light as the first time he carried her. But there were no arms around his shoulder this time, no whisper in his ear, nothing but the silence of those they passed. He had left the blanket behind. Her limbs were clad in the black leathers she had worn into battle, her blades in sheath at his back. He made his way through Geddon's gate and found an honor guard of thirteen waiting for them. Two Aiel, two Asha'man and seven Shinearians fell into step with him, small groups of Wise Ones and Aes Sedai falling in behind. Conspicuous by their absence were her husband and his friends. The group she had fought with, and their leader Ulric, looked on with hard eyes. They had lost their shield sister, but their grief was as cold as the steppes they came from.
Together the small party made their way past the keep to the cliff side, where the Wise Ones had found a small cave. The guard formed a half ring outside the entrance as he stepped through.
Flames from two torches set into the walls bathed the room in a warm and changing glow. On the far side of the cave a cairn had been built for her. He laid her down gently, almost reverently, crossing her arms over her chest. He brought the bladed fans that she had wrought with her skill and power, unfolding them to display them above her on the wall. He turned his back then studying the rest of the room. On the right side of the door rested her battle armor, ironically the refitting had been completed that morning by the blacksmiths who had yet to hear the news. On the left side of the door was the dancing costume she had worn the night she ascended the Blackwood Throne. Any other clothes she owned had been packed away for her daughter Aideen, her other weapons set aside for Darin, her son.
Her jewelry, the necklaces and bracelets she had collected as a Wise One, were displayed on a shelf across from her. The gold silver and gemstones glimmering gently in the torch light, as a reflection of her wealth in spirit. He watched as Nynaeve Sedai slipped a specially made silver great serpent ring on her right index finger, showing she had completed her service to the Tower, and had died after leaving the Aes Sedai. The serpent's eyes glittered green, showing her Ajah. Had she lived and decided to return to the tower at any point, she would have been welcomed back with open arms. He smiled darkly as he considered that. That would never have happened, he was sure of it. Once things had been arranged to everyone's satisfaction they filed out of the room. He exited last signaling to two of the Shinearians to begin rolling the stone across the entrance. Only then did he speak, his voice ringing out strongly. Kimera ni Togita t'Rahl, May the light shine on you, May the Creator shelter you, may the last embrace of the mother welcome you home. The stone settled into place as his words died away, the people separating to deal with other concerns of the day.
The man started back down to Valteri and Sumitos. There were other soldiers to be buried, other sacrifices to be honored. He looked down at the bloodstain on his shirt. Her blood made that stain, blood of his blood... the blood of Shinera. Yes there were other soldiers to attend, but his Queen, his daughter, who had given everything for them deserved to be cared for first just this once. He knew the spirits of the departed understood.
Roughly he brushed away a tear before continuing on with his work for the day.