And I who promised myself I'd never write a "lost in whatever-world" fic. Well, I wrote this mainly because it was fun and I wanted to write a WoT fic, but didn't have any idea for the plot.
I'll try very hard not to make this end up like your usual Mary-Sue-meets-hot-book-character-and-falls-in-love-fic.
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Ania tiptoed into the kitchen. If she could avoid her parents' attention, she could go back to her room and read, instead of getting lumbered down by chores. Not only did she hate cleaning, she'd much rather stay in her room reading "The Wheel of Time", her newest obsession. So why was she in the kitchen, risking being held away from Robert Jordan's magnificent world? Why, one of her other obsessions: food. Quietly opening the fridge, she took out a plate of chocolate. She'd saved it for this occasion and she could almost already taste the wonder that was chocolate.
Straining her ears – listening for the dreaded sound of: "Ania?!" – she quickly poured a glass of milk and practically ran back to her room, denim skirt swishing around her ankles. Leaping through the doorway, she closed the door, and leaned against it, catching her breath. I sure know how to put some excitement into my life, she thought with a low chuckle. Then she settled down in her comfy chair, turned on the CD-player – Kate Bush today – and picked up her battered copy of "The Dragon Reborn". Newest obsession? It was a rather old one, actually. But she had just now rediscovered it.
"Why do you keep reading those books?" her dad asked often, "you must know the story by heart by now."
Well, she did. But that didn't mean she didn't discover new things on every re-read. And she quite liked the numerous clothing-descriptions, the political scheming, and all the small details that had no particular significance to the plot, which Lord Jordan had gotten fond of putting into his writing lately.
Opening the book near to the end, she started reading, and was soon lost. So lost she could see the things happening in the book as clearly as she could see her hand turning the page.
He raised Callandor above his head. Silver lightning crackled from the blade, jagged streaks arching toward the great dome above. "Stop!" he shouted. The fighting ceased; men stared at him in wonder, over black veils, from beneath the rims of round helmets. "I am Rand al'Thor!" he called, so his voice rang through the chamber. "I am the Dragon Reborn!" Callandor shone in his grasp.
One by one, veiled men and helmeted, they knelt to him, crying, "The Dragon is Reborn! The Dragon is Reborn!"
Maybe because she was so lost in the book, or maybe because her room was so silent. Either way, she nearly jumped out of her skin – or at least out of the chair – when someone knocked on the door to her room.
Settling down again, still shaken, she called "come!" and the door opened to reveal her mom. Stepping inside, eyeing the piles of clothing Ania had not yet bothered to remove from the floor in disapproval, she cleared her throat, and began.
"Have you done any housework this weekend?" her voice had a tone that Ania had come to dread: her mum already knew what she would answer, and the result would not be pleasant.
"Not really, I–"
"Well, about time you did something then!"
Following was a list that would have scared away most housekeepers. No need to mention how Ania reacted.
"You can't be serious!"
According to the List Of Doom, Ania would not get to know what happened (well, she already did, but that's beside the point) with Rand and Co next; and stay in oblivion until next year! Sighing, she began as her mum left the room. First on the L.O.D., was picking clothes off the floor. That took about half an hour. But it felt longer, for many reasons.
First of all, picking up clothing is, basically, no fun. And Ania being a craver of the fun made it even worse. Secondly: sometimes in the middle of hoisting a particularly large pile of socks – ever wonder where one of the socks in a pair went off to, after being in the washing machine? Ania thought she had found the answer; she had more socks than any two of her friends. Anyway, as she was in the middle of hoisting mentioned large pile of socks off the floor, she simply disappeared.
No flashy light, or distant thunder sounds – think Lord of the Rings – or even a world-turns-negative-for-an-instant moment. She was just there one moment, the next she was gone.
Ania did not notice this, of course, since to her, nothing changed. She was still in her room…wait! Was this over-decorated, dumping place for gold enamel, hers? Well, the pile of socks were still there, no? Any place with a huge pile of matching pairs had to be hers. Shrugging, she dumped down on her bed, and noticed: silk sheets? This might not be her room after all. And what was that crystal sword on that hideous stand doing here?
What?! She thought, a crystal sword, on a hideous stand? No, that was a ridiculous thought! It was impossible! Things like that only happened in dreams, right?
And she thought things couldn't get any worse. Just as she sprang to her feet, the doors banged open, and in came a tall red-haired guy of about 20 years. He wore strange clothing, and was looking at her in surprise – and suspicion.
"Er," Ania said, "hi." That was when she realized she could not move her legs, or her arms. She was surprised at her lack of surprise. But then, she hardly needed to see this guy's palms to know who he was.
"Who're you?" Rand said as he dumped some books Ania had not noticed he was carrying into a chair. He was watching her warily, although Ania did not see why he should do that; she was, after all, unable to move.
"I am–" she began, but he interrupted.
"A Forsaken? Mesaana, Graendal? A wonder you haven't untied yourself by now, I can't shield women."
A bit ruffled from the interruption, Ania tried again. "I am, I mean, my name is Ania. I'm from–" she stopped herself. She couldn't tell him she was from another world! "I'm from Arafel."
"Arafel? What is a Borderlander doing here?"
"Long story. As a matter of fact," what was she to say? He could call the Defenders at any time! Ok, something that would allow her to stay with him, and the other ta'veren, "I'm a Prophet." Good one, she thought sarcastically, now he'll associate me with Masema.
"You are?" Rand looked at her with a puzzled expression.
"Yes. It's what people in my village calls me," this was going straight to Hades, "I can foretell the future."
"Min…" he muttered.
"Oh, not like her," Ania bit her lip as she realized her error, but Rand was apparently too puzzled to notice. "I – I just have a broader perspective of the world. I see more than others do. Hmm." She closed her eyes, and furrowed her brow, seeming deep in thought. Opening her eyes, she said, "ah. You were in this room some time ago, fighting mirrors." Oh, how she hoped she'd gotten her timeline right. Not only would Rand think her a loon if that was yet to happen, she was also rather uncomfortable with the thought of possibly being present at the site of a Bubble of Evil. Which was why she sighed in relief when Rand replied.
"How do you know? Gossip? Does people know about it?" He stared at her.
"I believe it is called a 'bubble of evil', or is that not what the Aes Sedai, Moiraine, says?" Shock and disbelief marred Rand's face.
"When I heard you had proclaimed yourself on the Almoth Plain, I knew I had to come here, knew you were the Dragon Reborn. You must let me stay with you." Offering a silent prayer, she tried not to look at him with a very begging expression.
"I'm still not sure if I believe in you. You could be a Darkfriend. Or worse."
"Then, let us make a deal." She grinned widely. "But first you must release me. Saidin does not worry me, but I'd like to sit down."
"A…deal?" He asked.
Ania felt the bonds around her disappear. Sitting down on the bed, she said, "an agreement." Nodding, he very clearly kept standing, still eyeing her warily. Sighing – he's more paranoid than me! – she prepared herself for an argument.
"Ok, listen up. I will go with you–" That was as far as she got, since Rand apparently liked interrupting people.
"What makes you think I will allow that?"
"Will you let me finish?!"
"Fine, fine."
"I will go with you – and I will, whatever you say; if you don't let me, I'll stalk you – and if I ever – ever! – make a false prophecy, I will let you kill me."
Rand was mouthing, "stalk me?" as if he didn't know the meaning of the words, and seemed not to have heard what else she had said. Ania had to keep herself from punching him in the ribs. If Rand is this annoying, I do not want to meet Mat!
"Now?" She said, not even trying to keep the exasperation out of her voice.
"Now what?" Rand said. But he must have been frightened by Ania's baleful expression, because he quickly added, "oh, yes, right. You may come with me."
"Great," Ania said, "next stop Rhuidean!"
About that time, she realized that Rand must have gotten a strange feeling he was in the same room as a fruitcake – if he indeed knew what a fruitcake was, aside from a dessert. She gave him her best smile, and he all of a sudden got the need to back away a few paces. Rolling her eyes, she said, "How in the world is this arrangement going to work if you keep being afraid of me? You're the strongest channeler in the world, for Christ's sake!"
She knew she had said something stupid even before Rand said, "Who's Christ?"
"Never you mind."
"Then I won't–" he stopped, and eyed the pile of socks askance, "mind. What is that?"
"It's called socks," Ania all of a sudden realized she should be a bit more respectful, "My Lord Dragon."
"It's a bit late to begin Lord Dragoning me now, Ania was it? Rand will do. Did those come with you?"
"Yes. Do you want to hear my great theory of how they all ended up with me?"
"Not right now."
"Okiday. So, where's your very own Prophet going to live?" Ania had to keep herself from giggling when the thought, 'I'm actually IN Randland!' hit home. Oh, she was going to make him buy her some dresses. She did giggle at that. And stopped when his askance-at-socks look became an askance-at-Ania look.
"I can give you some rooms, but you must not call yourself a Prophet," Rand said, "I already have one Prophet on my hands, I don't need two."
"Oh, I'm not anything like Masema; but I see your point. Tell them I am your advisor."
"An advisor of – what? – eighteen?" Her mention of a person she should not know who was didn't seem to affect him much. Or perhaps he was beyond getting surprised at this point.
"Flattering. I'm fifteen. But tell them I'm eighteen, and a prodigy."
"Right. And you will need some new clothes as well." That made Ania smirk, "what you're wearing right now will attract unwanted questions. What fabric is that?" He was looking at her denim skirt.
"I don't know," she lied, "it had been in my family for generations. Some say it is from the Age of Legends." That sounded really stupid to her – three thousand years old fabric? – but Rand seemed to accept it without question. On second thought, Lews Therin might have told him about stasis boxes. Or had he begun talking to Rand yet?
All these thoughts ran through her head, and it took a while for her to realize that Rand was looking at her expectantly. Had he asked her something? Oh, yes.
"You want me to leave? Sure thing! But I will need a guide to my rooms." Was that too demanding? Rand didn't seem to have reacted.
"I'll tell one of the Aiel to show you," there must have been an odd look on her face, because he apparently mistook it, and continued, "don't worry, they're not dangerous unless they veil their faces. Wait a minute! How did you get past them?"
Ania gulped, and stuttered a, "That's for me to know, and you to wonder about. Now, what about those rooms?"
Rand sighed, and – opening the door, poking his head out – told one of the Far Dareis Mai to show her the way. Ania skipped out, not noticing a puzzled Rand watching her, and danced down the hall, smiling from ear to ear.
Only in dreams? HA!
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Disclaimer: Anything you recognize is not mine.