A/N: So, I finally got around to, you know, answering Niani's challenge like I said I would and writing an Asmodean one shot. Well, here it is. And another shout out to Niani for being a fellow writer of Asmodean stories, which are excellent, and probably superior to this one. It took a while, but eventually I found the inspiration necessary to write, and for that I must thank a number of people who said things in reviews about how glad they were someone was writing about Asmodean, because they liked Asmodean because he wasn't such a bad guy and helped Rand.
This story is my response to that.
And, since I'm answering a challenge, I thought I'd throw one out of my own. I've noticed that most of the stories here are focused on the 'good guys' in Wheel of Time. God knows why. Let's be honest with ourselves, the good guys are really just a bunch of wimps. So, write me a story featuring someone from the Dark Side of the Source. One shot, ongoing, whatever, the only rule is it must feature as main characters (and I'll be the judge of who does and doesn't constitute a main character) at least one character presented in the books as being allied with the Dark. That means Forsaken, Shaidar Haran, Slayer, Fain at a stretch. Not people you simply think might be Darkfriends – anything based on unproven theories coughTaimcough won't be accepted. If you really want to be awesome about it, try writing all 13 Forsaken into a (non-comedic) story. I did (speaking of which, apologies to anyone waiting on the next chapter of Forsaken Tales – it's shaping up well, but it'll still be a while before Balthamel gets finished). If this gets enough response, I'm thinking of expanding my C2 community to a Forsaken one or even just a Darkfriends one, as opposed to just Asmodean (meaning about 50 of the stories are written by me). Plus, of course, my undying respect and admiration is on the line. That's a lot at stake. So get writing.
Anyway. On with the actual story.
A Dream Within a Dream
A tired, confused Asmodean wandered the corridors of his life. How or when he had got here was a mystery to him, and then suddenly was no mystery at all; he had always been here, and always would. He wondered for a moment why it had not occurred to him before, and realised he hadn't. Each thought removed the previous one, was removed by the one following it; it was foolishness. Asmodean continued along the path.
The corridor was an insane mess of curved lines and circles that spiralled into one another. Asmodean tried to follow a line that ran from the ceiling to the floor, and stopped when his eyes started to ache. He tried not to look at the walls as he walked, but after a while, he noticed that some of the walls held doorways, so curved in on themselves he likely could not walk through them. Nor did he want to. They seemed to have words on them, if those strange symbols were truly letters, but if they were, it was no language Asmodean had ever heard spoken before. Even so, he tried opening one, to see what was beyond them.
Memories assaulted him, driving him backwards. He watched himself watching his enemies and rivals be maimed and crippled beyond repair; he saw the impassive face as if looking into a mirror. He watched as his mother was dragged away, screaming. It affected him little. Those were the even handed dealings of the world. He would shed no tears for his past. He walked on.
Through another door, he saw himself again, this time in the desert. He watched as his immortality was ripped from him, as the woman he had trusted stabbed him in the back and left him to die. His mouth twisted, and it was with a feeling of unease that he continued.
He knew his past, and he knew his present. Now the corridor bisected, one path as it was before, the other totally different; everything was straight and neatly aligned, and he could see a door that was rectangular and wooden, as Asmodean usually envisioned doors. Somehow, without knowing exactly how he knew, the thought came to him that one path would show him the truth, and the other would show him lies. Asmodean felt he had had enough of the truth. He took the straight path, and opened the door at the end.
He found himself standing on a stage with crowds of people in front of him, most of them cheering. The room had a high ceiling and seemed to go on forever; Asmodean could not see the back wall, though reason told him it must have been there. Various people were on the stage with him, some he knew and some he didn't, but the one that stood out to him was Rand al'Thor. He walked towards him as the crowd's cheering started to die.
Rand turned to the assembled mass. "A couple of years ago," he told them, "when I first met this man, I didn't trust him at all. I treated him like a pariah, because he was one of the Forsaken. But now, he is someone I trust. He has proved himself worthy time and again since that day, and what he did to help us win Tarmon Gai'don earned my respect. Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Asmodean, a champion of the Light."
The crowd stared at him in silence for a moment. Then someone started to clap; Asmodean strained to see who it was, but it was lost in the sea of humanity that gave him their applause, slowly at first, then building until it was louder than anything Asmodean could remember hearing. A smile began to cross his face, and he felt like laughing. After everything, after all he had been through, he had finally done enough to be appreciated.
"Are you dreaming again?"
Smile fading, Asmodean turned around. He thought the voice had been behind him, but there was no-one there. Had someone on the stage spoken? He looked around. Now he thought about it, the voice had seemed to come from everywhere at once. With a shock, he noticed that the crowd was gradually beginning to disappear; not leaving, or even slowing in their applause, just literally fading out into nothing.
"You'd better wake up."
There it was again. Asmodean turned and opened his eyes, and saw Lanfear glance at him quizzically.
Now he was awake, he remembered everything. He was still in Rand's camp, in a room he couldn't leave. He couldn't say he was surprised. He had become much more cynical just recently; understandably so, perhaps, but still, it worried him. He thought keeping his own mind in check might be the only way of surviving the mess he had gotten into. No, the mess that woman had pushed him into. He scrambled into a sitting position, meeting Lanfear's gaze. "How did you get in here?" he demanded, suddenly and painfully aware of the fact that most of his clothes were still lying beside the bed.
"Do you really think you could keep me away, if I chose to come here?" Her voice was silvery and every bit as beautiful as her face, and as always, it sounded amused, as if she knew something she wasn't about to tell you. "Or do you think Lews Therin would bar me from entering?"
"I think that if we're going to talk, I'd rather be dressed," he told her, and she chuckled. Obediently – if such a word could be applied to someone like her – she turned around and Asmodean reached for his clothes, but he didn't take his eyes off here as he dressed himself. He knew her too well to trust her, and if al'Thor believed half of what she said, then there was less of Lews Therin in the man than any of them had thought.
Even from behind, Lanfear was instantly recognizable. From her hair to even the dresses she wore, every bit of her seemed more perfect than any female form had the right to be. It really was a shame (or so Asmodean always thought) that someone so beautiful should be so obsessed with one man who did not love her; Asmodean could think of few men who would not succumb to her charms given the chance, but she thought of no one but Lews Therin, and spoke of few others. At least Graendal was almost as beautiful, as long as you met her standards; Asmodean had discovered that he did, one rather memorable evening, a long time ago, now. He thought it could be another advantage of being Chosen, until he remembered the others. The thought of Semirhage being in love with someone was not a pleasant one, and he felt a sudden wave of pity overcome him.
"I would not speak like that around here," Asmodean said conversationally to Lanfear's back, pulling on his coat and picking up his harp. He felt more comfortable when it was close at hand. "Al'Thor does not like to be referred to in such a manner, and he can hand out strict punishments for the slightest offence." Much like you, he didn't add. Maybe he could poke a little fun at her, but he knew better than to push things too far; she was usually quite calm, but when she was roused…
"You act as if he is my enemy." Turning around, she smiled at him mockingly. Light, but he hated her. Everything was all her fault. He had trusted her, he really had, and more fool him for doing so. Why couldn't she see that not everything had to do with her silly games with Lews Therin? "Surely someone as intelligent as you should have worked it out by now."
Asmodean frowned at her. "You want me to believe that the two of you are working together, and he wants me to believe the opposite. Maybe this is some conspiracy between the two of you, and maybe it isn't, but either way, it has nothing to do with me. Why don't you just tell me why you're here?"
Lanfear leaned close to him. "But it has everything to do with you, Asmodean. Perhaps soon, you'll realise that." She smiled and stepped around him. She was always smiling around him, he noticed; it hardly seemed fair. "But Lews Therin's plans are my concern, not yours."
"If they involve me, then I think I'm entitled to know," he pointed out, and Lanfear laughed delightedly as if that were the funniest thing in the world. Asmodean shrugged. "What do you want from me, Lanfear? Haven't you done enough already?"
Lanfear gave him a look of mock disappointment, though she didn't lose her smile. "Why, you insult me. I was just discussing something with Lews Therin, and thought it would be nice to stop and see an old friend." She delighted in torturing him. "And you know I watch your dreams as closely as I do anyone's. Did you not want to see me?"
I could not think of anyone I would want to see less, Asmodean thought, but again he stayed silent. He knew she could kill him in an instant, and probably would, plan or no plan. Of course, she might not, but he did not want to find out that she had thought of another plan the hard way. "I find solitude more fitting to my present situation. And I would thank you to stay out of my head; I should think there, at least, you could leave me alone."
She pretended not to hear him. "The others believed, just as I thought they would. It was easy, really. You should have seen the look on Sammael's face when I told him, and the things he said he'd do to you. He believed, all right." Asmodean grimaced; he had hoped they would see through her lies, but he hadn't seriously believed it possible. They would be only too willing to jump on him. Especially Sammael. "I doubt you can put your faith in anyone, now, save Lews Therin. And me, of course."
Asmodean almost laughed. It would have been funny if it wasn't true, or if it was happening to someone else. As it was, he knew she was right. It wasn't like he was in a position to contradict anything she said, anyway. "Fine. Have it your way."
"My way is the only way, Asmodean. By now, I thought you should have known that."
"You really believe that?" he asked her, as much for something to say than out of curiosity. Of course she believed it. Why wouldn't she? She hated to have anything out of her control. Including him. "Perhaps al'Thor isn't playing the same game as you are. I see him more often than you do, Lanfear. He's changed. He isn't Lews Therin anymore."
Lanfear's smile stayed where it was, but her eyes narrowed. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying, maybe you can't trust him. How do you know he won't sabotage your plan as soon as you turn your back? He means to kill the Chosen, not help them. Surely you realise that."
"My plans and Lews Therin's plans are not your concern, Asmodean. I told you that already." There was something in her eyes, though, almost invisible to anyone else, that showed that she was listening to him, and he was saying what she had already thought. Asmodean thought he knew her better than anyone else living, as likely as not; that was why she had chosen him for this ridiculous plan in the first place, no matter what she said. He had a chance, if she would listen to him.
"If they were really none of my concern, then why did you come here and tell me about them? I'm trying to help you here." This was the chance he had waited for, all right. The chance to get out of here.
Her smile finally gone, she glared at him. "I can tell you whatever I like because I know you will keep it secret. It's not like you have anywhere to go or anyone to go to. You're all alone Asmodean, and no one will defend you." The words hit home, but he could see she was trying to reassert control. She was unsure; it was a good sign.
Asmodean cowered back, but kept talking. "That's exactly where you put me, where I can do no good to anyone. You know I am not a good teacher. Al'Thor is weak and he knows little. Don't you see that your plan will not work if you use him? Think, Mierin! He will not stay loyal to you. You need someone stronger, who can do more with the Power, who you can trust." Was she really so blind that she could not see the truth of his words? And when she used him for her fool plan instead of al'Thor… then would be his chance to get his revenge on her, as much to avoid being killed for her as to show her the price of stabbing him in the back. After that, he would do whatever he wished. Perhaps he could convince al'Thor he really had gone over to the Light, after that. But Lanfear just smiled again.
"My name is Lanfear," she told him, before she pinned him against the wall with flows of Air. At least when Rand did such things, he didn't try to hurt him; Lanfear enjoyed it, though. He writhed, and not just because of the pain. He had made such a foolish mistake! She would never listen to him, now. "Someone like you, Asmodean? I don't think I need you to advise me on what to do." Her mouth twisted, and Asmodean felt something strike him on the bridge of the nose, making his eyes water. "I could kill you, you know. I could finish you off right now. Maybe I will. You'll probably wish I had, soon." Asmodean had no answer. She could, and maybe she would. But something caught his attention, someone weaving something behind Lanfear, and then clearing their throat.
"What's this? Have two of you people graced me with your presence?" Rand al'Thor strode up to them, ignoring Asmodean being pressed against the wall until his spine was being crushed. He did, however, slice the weaves holding him, and he fell to the floor. "I've been learning a few new things," he added to Lanfear. "Thanks to Natael, of course."
"So I can see," she said. Her demeanour had changed as soon as she had realised he was there; she stood straighter than usual, and seemed to radiate beauty even more than usual. It seemed to be a special Talent of hers. "Why are you here?"
"It's my camp. I was a little surprised to sense saidar coming from here, you know. Lucky for you no-one else was really paying attention. That would have given Natael and I some difficult questions to answer." He did not look as happy to see her as she apparently did him. "I do not know why you are still here. I told you to leave, and I meant it. Now go."
She didn't go. "Natael? Still afraid of naming the Chosen, are you? Well, in time you'll learn. When we rule the world, together." She turned away from him, opening a Gateway as she did so, and gave Asmodean one last smile, and all he could think was that one day, he would see her dead. One day. Then she was gone.
Rand turned to Asmodean. "Why was she in here? I thought she had one back to… wherever it is she goes when she isn't harassing me." He looked very tired.
"She was trying to kill me, my Lord Dragon. She didn't leave me much time to ask questions." Not for the first time, he wondered if he truly could trust the man. He had no choice to go along with him, of course – his lot was thrown in with al'Thor's now, and only Lanfear had the power to change it, a power she did not seem likely to exercise – but he clearly did not trust him or his teaching, no matter what he did. He hoped he could convince him that he needed him, or else no one would have a reason to keep him alive.
Rand put out a hand to help him up, but Asmodean brushed it away, saying, "I'm fine. You look worse than I do. You should get some rest." Rand nodded, but Asmodean couldn't help noticing the care he took as he undid and then rewove the trap over the door that no male channeler could walk through. Perhaps, one day, the man would trust him, and he would be right to do so. Whether it was forced or not, he knew that he really was loyal to Rand, far more so than he ever had been to the Dark One. He had put his faith in al'Thor, in the hope that it would be repayed. Could he really not know that he was his man now, through and through? Did he really think he had anywhere left to turn?
It didn't make much difference in the end, he supposed. No matter which way he went, whatever he tried to do, he was still at the mercy of others, and whatever he did to try and free himself would only dig him in deeper, until he suffocated. He thought he would stay with Rand. It seemed like the best chance he had. Perhaps the others would kill him, if they got a chance, but he would fight them if he had to, and if Rand would protect him as he said he would. He was still alive.
Asmodean closed his eyes and lay back down on his bed. Maybe he would live through all of this, and maybe he wouldn't, but he would do whatever he had to in order to survive. Perhaps he would even have a chance to command his own person once again. Until that day came, though, all he had to comfort him was a nice dream.