Greetings Readers! This story will encompass some of my thoughts on the future of the Wheel of Time universe, post-Last Battle, wrapped in the story of two channellers in the Fourth Age. If you have questions, feel free to PM me. Reviews are appreciated, as are potential plotlines.

Anyway, let's get on with the story!

Chapter One

The Wheel of Time turns, and ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one age, called the Fourth Age by some, an Age yet to come, and age long passed, a wind rose in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are no beginnings to the Wheel of Time. but it was a beginning.

The wind flowed down the mountains, passed the Sand Hills and the deep forests into the Two Rivers, into the growing town of Emond's Field. It brushed passed the mayor and his wife, still grieving for their daughter, Egwene. Grieving, yet so proud of their little girl. The wind lifted their spirits, in the way fresh breezes tend to do, and moved on. The wind flowed on and on, to the city of Caemlyn, through the outer and Inner Cities and into the city's palace. The breeze ruffled the hair of Elayne Trakand, Andor's queen, as she oversaw the rebuilding of the palace. Just as the city around it was being rebuilt, just as all the lands were slowly recovering.

The wind turned south and flowed on two leagues south of Camelyn, to what had once, just two years ago, been a deserted farm. It had been repurposed since then; now it was a bustling self-sustaining military compound. But the only soldiers who came to this place were the initiates. Men who had come to learn to channel saidin. To learn at the Black Tower.

Within the compound, surrounded by a massive black wall, stood all the makings of a small town: smithies, carpenters, tailors, stables, and all other manner of craftsmen, even taverns and a few inns. The Black Tower had grown with intent to rival, and eventually succeed, the White Tower and Tar Valon to the north; that meant it had to support itself and its residents in any way possible. And among all of the mundane workers and citizens strode men of all nations in long black coats with swords at their hips, the Asha'man.

Outside the town, as far from it as you could get and stay within the the wall, the young man Riften Arason sat on a boulder, his back against the wall itself, sharpening his sword. The silver sword pin on the left collar of his coat marked him as a Dedicated, the rank between the initiates一the soldiers一and full-fledged Asha'man. And while he was eager to receive the dragon pin that would mark him as Asha'man, he was content with the sword.

Riften, "Rif" as he liked to be called, gave his sword one last scrape of the whetstone before testing the edge with his thumb. "Sharp as a gateway," he chuckled. No sword could be as sharp as the impossibly keen edge of a gateway, but Rif liked the comparison. It sounded very … Asha'man-like. With a few flourishes, Rif slid his word into its scabbard and started for the Dedicated barracks.

Rif walked slowly, trying to savor the relative quiet of this far from the towns of the Tower. Aside from the wall, the area could have been a very large field. He didn't regret coming to the Black Tower, not at all, but sometimes he missed hunting in the forests high in the Mountains of Mist with his "uncles". The quiet, the trees and grass, the smell of flowers and the songs of birds. Maybe when he earned his dragon pin he would go home for a while. But that day was not this day.

As Rif neared the second settlement of the Black Tower, the one that housed the Asha'man and initiates themselves, his pace sped up. He loved nature, but he had come to view the Black Tower and its towns as something of a second home. He'd been here a year and a half, and in that time the compound had grown considerably. Hard to believe it had originally been just an abandoned farm.

Rif passed the palace where the M'Hael Logain and the eight (so far) Telamons lived, heavily altered in the months since Tarmon Gai'don, and pressed on. He passed soldiers doing work with the Power, training themselves while building the actual Black Tower and strengthening the town itself, and smiled to himself. Six months ago he had been in that very position.

As Rif neared the house that he shared with a number of other Dedicated, Rif stopped short. Standing on the porch was the Asha'man Jahar Narishma, one of the Telamons, Keeper of Callandor, the Sword That Is Not a Sword. Asha'man Narishma smiled at Rif's approach. Rif clapped his fist to his chest in the Asha'man salute.

"Good evening, Dedicated. I hope you are well," Narishma greeted, his long, bell-woven braids tinkling in the wind. Rif hesitated and glanced backward, looking for another Dedicated. Surely Narishma was not referring to him. Narishma laughed as he descended the steps to stand in front of Rif. "Yes, you, young Riften."

Rif swallowed his nervousness. "May I help you, Asha'man?" he asked. Rif was a sunny young man by nature and several Asha'man had for some reason had found that annoying in the past. Had he offended one of the Telamons? But if he had, why was Narishma greeting him so brightly.

"Calm down, young Riften. I have actually come to ask you to ask a request of you." A request? "I have a mission in mind for you, if you will have it." Rif nodded without thinking, a wide smile on his face. "Yes sir, Asha'man Narishma!" he answered.

Narishma smiled dryly. "You don't even know what it is," he pointed out. Rif deflated, then considered the words and rose again.

"May I know what it is?" he asked. Narishma nodded in approval.

"Better," he noted. Narishma reached into his coat and removed a sealed letter. "Go inside and rest, then read this. I f you agree to take up the mission, report to the northern gate at first light." He handed the note to Rif and departed.

That night, Rif sat on his bed with the letter in his hands. He had read it twice by the ball of light he had summoned and tied off, but he read it one more time to make sure.

Riften Arason, you have been chosen as part of the detachment of Dedicated sent to the White Tower for a period of six months to two years as part of the Al'Vere Pact between the M'Hael and Amyrlin Seat. Three Accepted will be brought to the Black Tower in return.

While living in Tar Valon, you will follow the instructions of the Aes Sedai in learning to collaborate with Accepted of the White Tower to promote cooperation between our two branches. You are expected to act civilly and respectfully to our sisters in the Power until you return.

If you accept your mission, report to the northern gate at first light with anything you wish to carry with you. You will be transported to Tar Valon by gateway.

With respect,

Logain Ablar

Seal Breaker

Dragon's Fang

M'Hael of the Black Tower

Rif placed the folded letter in his bedside drawer and sat back to think. Why would they choose him to go to the White Tower? He was aware that the Al'Vere Pact一an agreement between the Black and White Towers named for the late Amyrlin Seat Egwene al'Vere一required that mid-tier students be sent to learn among other factions of channelers to spread knowledge and, in the Black Tower's case, promote union. Asha'man had already been sent to the Aiel Waste and the Sea Folk Islands to help establish organizations of male channellers there as well. He just never thought he would be chosen for one of these missions.

Rif didn't think he was being sent to get him out of the way. The pact stipulated that the traded students be among the best of the Towers' recruits. In a way, this was a compliment. And if he was honest with himself, Rif was curious almost to a fault, and that curiosity extended to what went on the White Tower. Overall, he really couldn't see a downside to going. Rif smiled as he made his decision. He stood and began to gather his things.

It was going to be a long night.

At first light, Rif stood with his back once again to the wall of the Black Tower, next to the edge of the foregate, his pack at his feet, running over the checklist in his head. His coat was cleaned and pressed, the sword pin polished, his sword was sharpened and oiled, and all of his things were in his pack, including an extra coat.

Two other Dedicated with packs of their own, one a Cairhienin lord's son five years older than Rif and the other a Saldaean ex-farmer in his middle years, stood some distance apart; likely they were part of the mission, too. The town was already milling, business owners and workers trying to get a head start. First light was only minutes away; where was their escort?

Finally, four figures in black coats of Asha'man emerged from the crowd. Rif's eyes widened and all three Dedicated stood straighter. Narishma was one of the handlers, along with two other Telamons, Damer Flinn and Androl Genhald. The leading handler was Logain Ablar, the M'Hael himself. Logain was tall and well-built, and many would say quite handsome. The haunted look in his eyes from his narrow escape from being Turned by the Shadow had eased greatly over the half-year since the Last Battle.

"At ease, men," Logain said, letting the Dedicated relax. Rif rubbed above his eyebrow with his first two fingers, a habit his frequent headaches had never allowed him to break, then gathered his things and stood with the other Dedicated to listen.

"You three have been selected for qualities we need in the first team of Black Tower envoys to Tar Valon. Other groups have already been sent to the Aiel Waste and the Sea Folk Islands, but you three are going to our sister Tower. Therefore, you will be held to even higher standard. But that means your success will even sweeter when you return." Logain paused for a moment. "Any questions?"

During the speech, Rif had heard Androl mumble something under his breath about a quality the White Tower would stamp out. Rif could have sworn he was looking at the Cairhienin when he said it, and the thought made Rif grin inwardly.

The Saldaean raised a hand. 'Will we be bonding Aes Sedai, M'Hael?" he asked in a surprisingly soft voice. Logain looked the Dedicated (what was his name?!) straight in the eye, a sign of respect for asking the question on all three of their minds.

"That will be between you and the Aes Sedai," Logain answered, which did nothing to allay Rif's nerves on the matter. Before he could voice a follow-up question, a vertical slash of blue-white light cut through the air and turned, widening into a hole in the air that led to the Traveling grounds of the White Tower.

The Asha'man led the way, followed by the arrogant strut of the Cairhienin, the Saldaean's dignified stride, and Rif's determined tread. Logain and Narishma led the way through the grounds and hallways of the White Tower, never hesitating in their path. Finally, after what felt like hours but couldn't have been more than twenty minutes, they stopped at a large door, presumably the entrance to a meeting hall.

Rif felt Logain seize saidin before he forced the doors open with a burst of Air. Rif grinned despite himself. Any resident of the Black Tower's village could tell you that dramatic entrances came with the coat and pins. Rif thought it contrasted well with the Aes Sedai's reputation for aloofness. Upon that thought, the sight of the women in the hall brought Rif's mood crashing back down. He strived for the stillness that his uncles had taught him, pointedly ignoring the Source that lingered just at the edge of his vision.

Inside the meeting hall sat the Amyrlin Seat, her Keeper of the Chronicles, and six other Aes Sedai of the remaining Ajahs. Eight of the most powerful women in the world facing seven Asha'man. Scratch that, four Asha'man and three Dedicated. Rif forced his face to look focused and determined, but had a feeling it only looked like he was fighting off terror. Logain led the way to approach the Amyrlin, Pevara Sedai.

Logain gave the slightest nod of respect, the nod one would give an equal, and Rif distinctly felt a smirk in his body language, difficult to judge from the back. Pevara's lips quirked slightly at his action, and she nodded in return. Saidin had been cleansed just over a year ago and Pevara Sedai had gentled no small number of male channelers herself, but those nods of camaraderie spoke volumes of the progress made since the Last Battle. Of course, it did help that the Amyrlin Seat was bonded to one of the Telamons.

"Welcome, M'Hael Logain," Pevara greeted courteously. Logain nodded again politely.

"I leave my men in your capable hands, Pevara Sedai," he replied. He gestured to the Asha'man and led the way out. Androl paused and gave the Amyrlin a shared look of affection before the doors closed. Rif gaped as the doors thudded with their departure.

That was it? They just greeted the Aes Sedai and left their Dedicated in the wolf den? Granted, they had probably arranged everything beforehand, but really? The whole thing seemed a little abrupt. Then again, that single word could describe all forms of training in the Black Tower. Why would their assignments be any different.

Rif rubbed his brow again, the beginnings of another headache coming on. A sharp clap brought him, as well as the others, back to attention. "You know why you have been brought here?" Pevara asked, or more accurately, demanded. All three nodded wordlessly.

"During your time here," she continued firmly, "you will attend various classes of the Tower's Accepted to better understand our history and philosophies. You will practice linking with Accepted and learning to direct these circles should it become necessary. And you will train in swordsmanship with Warders and their students to both sharpen your own skills and to teach them to combat channelers. As well as any other tasks we give you. You are here to learn, you are students, and you will be treated as such."

Pevara looked over them with a critical eye for several long moments, moments that made Rif feel like ants were crawling over him. Then she nodded her head and whispered to her Keeper, who in turn gestured to a girl in a banded white dress. An Accepted.

"Bodewhin, show these gentlemen to their rooms," the Amyrlin commanded, and strode out of the chamber, followed quickly by the rest of the sisters. Rif noticed the Cairhienin bristle at the Aes Sedai's dismissive tone and resisted a grin. What Androl had said about qualities stamped out was starting to make sense. The three Dedicated followed the girl, accompanied by an awkward silence, or at least awkward to Rif. During the journey, Rif marveled at the number of novices and Accepted milling about, doing chores and, presumably, on the way to lessons.

The Accepted, who seemed bitter at having to show men who could channel around the White Tower (and probably a little on edge about men who could channel in general), guided the Dedicated to a suite of guest rooms and gave them orders to report to the first dining hall early in the morning.

"The rest of the day is yours to do with as you see fit," she finished. A small, mischievous smile crept onto her face. "Enjoy it while it lasts." With that slightly ominous statement, she turned on her heel and departed.

Rif took a deep breath to offer encouragement to his companions, but turned to find both already closing their chamber doors. Rif sighed the breath away and entered his own quarters.

The room was fairly simple. A comfortable-looking bed on the far wall, a chest for storage, wardrobe, desk, and bedside table. The walls were unadorned white, broken only by a window above the bed. Rif placed his pack on the bed and sat, considering what to do next. He didn't want to go to the training grounds, not if he would spend too much time their later. The Tower's legendary library was probably swarming with Aes Sedai. Come to think of it, he didn't even know how to find the library. He didn't know where anything was. And with that, an idea crossed his mind.

Rif stood and unbuckled his sword belt, leaving it on the bed. It was time to do a little exploring. He left his room and roamed the hallways with a smile on his face, trying to look friendly with a touch of sinisterness. He had heard some horror stories about gentling and didn't want an Accepted getting any bright ideas about testing her strength against a man.

The White Tower was huge, and packed with people; groups of Aes Sedai of all Ajahs, lone Accepted, packs of novices, servants doing their duties, Tower guards, and petitioners to the Aes Sedai. But no matter where he went or who crossed his path, one thing was constant: the look on people's faces. Fear, mistrust, loathing, even hostility, and more often than not mixed with a touch of curiosity.

Rif gritted his teeth and turned blindly down a hallway, then another, and another, until he appeared in the entrance to a large garden. A small trace of his smile returned at the sight of the plants and the fresh air. Rif removed his coat and hung it on a close tree branch, leaving him in a linen shirt and wool pants like he would have worn back home. He removed his boots of comfortably worn leather as well, savoring the feel of grass under his feet.

Rif moved into the garden and breathed in the smell of the flowers. It was too organized for the wild, but at least it was outdoors. Rif eyed one of the sloping willow trees sitting by a quaint pond and grinned. He seized the sweet freezing fire of the Source and ran under the sloping boughs, then jumped as high as he could, a funnel of Air lifting him higher into the branches.

Rif had been capable of channeling for three weeks when saidin was cleansed and he remembered quite sharply the revolting foulness of the Taint. And all this time later, he was just as grateful to the Light and to the Dragon Reborn for its cleansing. Even if he still wanted to cry every time he had to let the euphoric torrent go.

Rif closed his eyes and sighed in contentment, breathing in the smell of the garden and the willows. Green matter, grass, flowers, and … perfume? Rif stiffened, his eyes shot open, and he obeyed his first instinct. Look down. An Accepted (judging by the dress) was sitting at the base of the willow, reading a book and writing in a small notebook. She had dark hair. Rif leaned forward for a better look, forgetting for the moment that he was on a branch, and lost his balance. Goose pimples of fear raced along his arms as he cringed for impact and … didn't feel it.

Rif was floating three feet from the ground and the Accepted, the very same who had shown him to his room, was looking at him in a very, very angry way. The goose pimples remained, an effect of sensing saidar being held. Rif smiled widely, trying to calm the girl down, but was met only with a whip of Air striking his backside. "That's for spying on me," she said harshly. Another whip. "And that's for shirking on your chores."

Rif gaped at the Accepted, Bodewhin he recalled. She thought he was a servant of this ivory tower? With his black coat and sword pin … which were sitting on that tree branch near the garden entrance. Instinctive anger rose in Rif's gut, but was replaced with acceptance just as quickly. One Telamon he had befriended, Androl, had bonded an Aes Sedai (the soon-to-be Amyrlin, no less) and had once given some advice in regards to Aes Sedai. Be humble, and it will end quickly.

Rif put on his best apologetic pout, the one that he had used on his mother growing up. "My apologies, Accepted. I had finished my chores for the moment and … simply wanted a to rest a moment. I will resume my duties immediately if you let me free. Please." The last word seemed to make an impression. She let him collapse onto the grass, his goose pimples smoothing away, and he moved along. He grabbed his coat and made for the exit.

On impulse, he looked back to find Bodewhin once again reading and scribbling in her notebook, likely having forgotten he was there. A mischievous smile crept over his face and he seized the Source. A tendril of Air to lift her up (her indignant shriek was worth it already) and another across the backside, just as she had done to him. It may have been childish, but it was satisfying. By the time she had turned to face his direction, he was gone.

Rif retreated to his quarters after that to unpack, his coat replaced and straightened. And his smile was back in full force. Whatever came in the future, at least he had the memory of knocking an accepted down a peg.

As he entered his room and began unpacking, he found himself seriously considering that girl. She was quite pretty, with dark (he caught himself thinking "glossy") hair in an elegant (hold on, elegant?) braid. Her anger had masked it, but Rif thought he had seen a sparkle of mischief in her eyes that made him think of a fox. A lovely vixen with deep, beautiful ey一huh?" Rif shook his head and moved faster.

She was an Accepted, a step below some of the most haughty women in existence. She wouldn't remember him. And in a tower this huge, with tons of novices and Accepted scurrying around, he probably wouldn't see her again at all. But a deep feeling, deeper than rational thought一his uncles had called it a "hunter's instinct"一told him he was wrong. Very wrong.

What's in store for Riften in the White Tower? We'll soon find out. PS, see if you can peg who "Bodewhin" is.