Oops, the purple dome

Forgot that little detail

Wolfman saves the day

"I'm an idiot," Natael muttered for the third time, watching the purple dome in dismay.

"Stop saying that," Taim snapped.

"I'm a cretin," he said instead.

Taim rolled his eyes. "Nate, you forgot about the barrier, it's no big deal. With so much knowledge stored in that ancient brain of yours, it makes sense that it would forget some things. Happens to the best of us."

"Yes, but-"

"Enough. Stop tormenting yourself. At least we tried…"

He looked exhausted. There were dark shadows under his eyes, and he had not shaved in a couple of days – the days they'd spent futilely practising how to navigate and manipulate the World of Dreams.

Since neither of them was a Dreamwalker, and that they didn't have in their possession any ter'angreal that allowed them to access it in their sleep, they had to open a gateway to enter Tel'aran'rhiod in the flesh. That part wasn't really a problem; they'd snuck out of the Black Tower, shrouded in inverted weaves of Folded Light, and had opened a gateway three miles south – not directly into Tel'aran'rhiod, but into the Aiel Waste, which was even more deserted than usual, nowadays. Nobody would disturb them there.

He had taught Taim everything he knew about Tel'aran'rhiod – a rather short-lasting endeavour – and then they had set to practice. They had done so two days in a row, intent on the mission, barely sleeping. Taim was, unsurprisingly, quite competent. He was a fast learner, but Natael knew that already.

Then had come the time to actually penetrate the mirror world of the Black Tower and disrupt Demandred's Dreamspike.

The entire compound was surrounded by a faintly-glowing purple dome – the barrier that defined the reach of the Dreamspike. Natael had completely forgotten about that part. He had never felt more foolish in his life. There was no way for them to deactivate the Dreamspike: if they remained within the limit of the dome, they couldn't enter Tel'aran'rhiod and, if they set foot outside of the dome to access the World of Dreams via gateway…they couldn't get back in. One couldn't simply will oneself inside the dome. That would defeat one of the purposes of the Dreamspike.

He wasn't certain what going through the dome while they were in Tel'aran'rhiod would do to them, if it was even possible. Kill them, at worst, and most likely. Greatly weaken them, at best, but this would probably result in their deaths, if they were too weak to deal with the traps and potential guards around the Dreamspike.

"So stupid!" he groaned.

"Do I need to slap you out of your near-hysterical state?" Taim demanded. "Don't think I won't. The whining doesn't help, Nate. We've established that."

"I know it doesn't! Nothing I do is helpful! I'm bloody useless!" He sat down on the ground, hugging his knees, head bowed. "Demandred was right, Ishamael's orders are utter nonsense. Why on earth would he want me alive? The only thing I'm good at is messing everything up. Maybe that's his plan. Maybe he's relying on me to accidentally destroy al'Thor's army, or..." He trailed off, because the truth was that he'd already done that. Half of their Asha'man had perished because he couldn't make proper plans to save his life. And forty women had died, female channelers who could have served the Dragon Reborn. What if, without these people, the Last Battle was already lost?

"I can't understand a word you're saying, dear. You're speaking to your knees and all I get are the vague rambling noises of a madman. This is merely a setback, Nate. We'll-"

"Another setback," Natael grumbled.

Taim sighed in exasperation. "We'll find Dreamwalkers," he said. "There are hundreds of channelers at the Black Tower. Surely at least one of them-"

Natael sat up straight and stared at him. "Of course! You're a bloody genius! There has to be a Dreamwalker amongst this rabble. Has to be." He stood up and dusted his backside. "Although…"

"What?"

"Well, I'm not sure how we're supposed to test for that ability…."

"If they have it, they must have stumbled upon Tel'aran'rhiod already. They just don't know what it is. We need to define a set of questions and ask around. Gorman will see to it."

They relied on the Asha'man a lot. Too much, Natael's paranoia told him. If Gorman betrayed them, as Atal had done… If he was a spy… Oh, the potential damage.

"We can trust him, Nate," Taim said. He must have noticed Natael's guarded expression. "We've been over this."

"We can't trust anyone," Natael retorted. "No one but ourselves. Even Logain-"

"You don't trust Logain? Why ever not?"

"He's been away for a long time, and now he's gone again. They could have gotten to him."

"You're not making any sense," Taim insisted. "He's already a Darkfriend. We asked him to become one. What more could they do to him, short of Turning him?"

What more…? Natael very nearly laughed. Taim had never had the misfortune of meeting Semirhage… She could torture someone into submission with disconcerting ease, even a man as strong and courageous as Logain.

Demandred or Moridin could have found him, too, and truly convinced him to join the Shadow, behind Taim and Natael's backs. To take over for them later, perhaps, when he was done spying on al'Thor, or whatever it was that he was really up to. Logain, despite his principles and self-righteousness, was only human. Humans were easily swayed. Wealth, power, immortality… Recognition. Vengeance. Fear, even. Anything, even the littlest thing, the most trivial (and often imagined) slight was potentially an excuse to change sides, even at the last moment, as Demandred had done.

They had no idea where Logain had been these past few weeks, to whom he had talked. Had he really seen al'Thor? They had no way of knowing if he was lying…

"I've lost you again," Taim said into the long silence. "Nate, saidin has been cleansed. You have no right to go mad on me now. Don't you dare!"

"I'm not mad!" he exclaimed. "My concerns are perfectly legitimate." He sounded petulant even to his own ears. Was he mad? No, surely he would know if that were the case.

Wouldn't he?

The way he saw it, he would be truly mad the moment he stopped considering the possibility. The moment he stopped worrying about going mad. As of now, the very thought petrified him, Cleansing be damned.

He'd always been a bit paranoid – it was a secondary effect of being considered one the weakest of the Forsaken.

Chosen.

Ugh! Why did he keep correcting himself? Forsaken was the appropriate term. It really was.

"Will you stop that?" Taim demanded.

"Stop what? I'm not doing anything!"

"I can almost hear your inner monologue, Nate. Or is there a debate going on in there? An argument? It looks like there might be. Whatever it is, we were having a conversation, so please talk to me, not to yourself. What is it that you're afraid of? Logain is too rigidly principled to do anything but what he said he would do. He's on our side. He's loyal to us."

Such a staunch stand, regarding a man he used to despise. And distrust.

Demandred was also rigidly principled, and Lews Therin considered him a loyal friend until the very end.

Besides, Natael had a feeling that Logain was loyal only to himself. He expected others to be loyal to him, because he was superior to them, because he was their leader, and therefore-

"You're doing it again!" Taim complained.

Natael raised his hands in apology. "I am. I noticed it, this time. Sorry. I just… We really shouldn't put too much trust in Gorman or Logain. Or anyone. You have no idea how easily they could betray us. For the most ridiculous reason, too. We do spend a lot of time with Gorman, but who's to say what he does at night? Who visits him in secret?"

"We have to trust some people, Nate. It's unreasonable to think we'll accomplish anything, just the two of us."

"Depends what you're hoping to accomplish," Natael muttered. "You're trying to save the world. I'm just trying to keep us both alive until someone else saves it. Preferably the person who is supposed to save it."

Taim regarded him with narrowed eyes. "I'll save the world if it needs saving. Logain would do it, too. And so would you, though you refuse to acknowledge it."

"Well, you're part of the world," Natael mumbled. "I wouldn't have a choice."

Taim smirked. "That's more like it. We'll make a hero out of you yet, darling." He clasped Natael's shoulder affectionately. "Let's go home. We need to rest. We'll brief Gorman in the morning."

Natael was readying the weaves to open a gateway back to the real world but, before he could begin to form it, a bulky man stepped in front of him, seemingly appearing out of nowhere.

Natael jumped backwards, instantly preparing for battle: weaves of Fire and Earth to attack the newcomer, weaves of Air, Water and Spirit for defence. He may be old, but his reflexes were still good.

Taim had already erected a saidin-woven shield to separate them from the stranger, though he was merely observing the latter, gauging his intentions.

Was he a stranger, though? He looked familiar, Natael decided upon closer inspection. He was a young lad, probably al'Thor's age. He had a full beard…

…and a wolf at his side, Natael finally noticed. He let out a little gasp and took another step backwards. Taim didn't move a muscle, but his shoulders were noticeably tense.

The young man raised his hands slowly, perhaps to show that he meant them no harm. The wolf cocked its head to the side as it watched Natael, and it seemed to be grinning. To mock him, most certainly. Everyone did it; why not this canine specimen?

"You're Aybara," Taim stated after a while. "One of the three ta'veren."

Perrin Aybara, newly-appointed Lord of the Two Rivers, an old friend of the Dragon Reborn. They had briefly met at Dumai's Wells, though no one had bothered to properly introduce them.

Natael would have breathed in relief but, ta'veren or not, that did not explain the wolf's presence. Or what the lad was doing in Tel'aran'rhiod when he was not a channeler. Could non-channelers be Dreamwalkers? Or did he have a ter'angreal?

Yes, he must have. Al'Thor must have given his friend one. Perhaps they all met in secret in the World of Dreams, the three ta'veren of the Two Rivers.

That still didn't explain the wolf.

Aybara was eyeing Taim studiously, a slight frown marring his face. "You're that False Dragon from Saldaea. Mazrim…"

"Taim."

"Yes, Mazrim Taim." Aybara seemed to hold back a grimace – of contempt, perhaps, or anger. His hands, now at his sides, knotted into fists. "Faile has told me about you."

Taim raised an eyebrow, but he didn't lose his composure. "Faile?" he repeated politely.

Natael translated automatically from the Old Tongue: falcon. Was that an actual name, or rather a nickname, perhaps?

"And you are?" Aybara demanded.

Natael realised that he had already asked the question once. "I'm…er…" Blimey, he seemed to have forgotten his own name.

"Natael," Taim put in. "Jasin Natael. Court Bard to the Lord Dragon. He and I are the leaders of the Black Tower."

Aybara's face did not soften one bit at that. "And what are you doing here? What's that?" he added, pointing to the dome. "What did you do?" His voice was liberally laced with suspicion.

"This is not our doing," Taim replied curtly. "The Forsaken want to isolate us from the rest of the world. They have installed a Dreamspike, which prevents us from Travelling. We were trying to disable it."

Aybara's shoulders relaxed minutely. "Trying to?"

Natael sighed. "I forgot about the dome thingy. We can't get to the Dreamspike from outside of it, and we can't access Tel'aran'rhiod from inside. In short-"

"In short, you need help," Aybara finished for him.

Taim nodded hesitantly. "We do, but… I don't see how you could… I mean, you're not even a channeler. Do you have a ter'angreal? Well, you must have one. How else could you be here?"

Aybara briefly averted his gaze and made a non-committal sound. He was silent for a moment. His eyes shifted between his deadly pet and the purple dome.

His eyes, Natael realised suddenly, were not quite human-looking. The irises were an intense gold – pretty much the same as the wolf's.

"What does a Dreamspike look like," Aybara asked eventually, "and how does one disable it?"

Natael proceeded to explain, to the best of his knowledge. "And then you twist the top."

"That's it?" Aybara said dubiously. "This dangerous instrument of the Shadow can be rendered inoperative by simply…twisting the top?"

"The ter'angreal itself is not dangerous," Natael noted. "But there will be traps. And it could be guarded."

Aybara welcomed that information without a word. His face indicated that he wasn't particularly worried, but he was deep in thought. The wolf was observing the scene impassively but, just as Natael's gaze fixed upon it, it yawned, as if to show that it was bored with Natael's endless stream of complicated human explanations.

After nearly a minute, Aybara nodded firmly. "I'll do it."

Natael had no idea how the lad could manage such a feat, but he did look confident that he could.

"But if I succeed, I'm keeping the Dreamspike," Aybara went on.

Natael's first reaction was to be outraged. It was his first reaction to most situations. "But we need it!" he argued. The wolf gave a warning growl when Natael raised his voice, though it showed no sign of violence – or hunger.

"Rand might need it, too," Aybara said calmly. "And I believe that his needs are more important than yours. Don't you?"

No. I believe nothing of the sort. I never have, never will. My own needs – and now Taim's – are foremost and matter more than anyone else's.

Of course, he didn't say that aloud. In fact, he didn't get a chance to say anything. Taim must have been afraid that Natael would speak his mind, because he uttered a hastened reply: "We do. Anything for the Lord Dragon."

If Aybara could tell that Taim was lying – was he, though? – he didn't comment on it. "If the dome vanishes, then I've succeeded. If it stays…" Aybara shrugged his massive shoulders. He used to be a blacksmith, Natael remembered. Al'Thor had mentioned that. Or perhaps Cauthon. "I'll see you on the battlefield for the Last Hunt," he murmured cryptically.

He must have meant it as a goodbye, because he disappeared in the blink of an eye. The wolf didn't, though, not right away. It stretched languorously, yawning again, then snarled at him so suddenly that Natael almost fell over. Taim held his arm. Once again, the wolf seemed to grin mockingly. Content that it had accomplished this task – to scare Natael and make him look foolish one last time – the wolf vanished.

"An odd fellow, this Aybara," Taim remarked. "What happened to his eyes? Is he…part wolf, somehow? Is that a thing?"

"Who knows?" Who cares? was what he really meant. What troubled him was that they were going to lose the Dreamspike. One of the few means of protection left to them. When Demandred figured out that it was gone, the price to pay would be steep.

But they knew that already. They'd known beforehand that doing anything to the Dreamspike – remove it, disable it, reset it, destroy it – was going to have consequences.

They were living on borrowed time. Which offence would be the death of them? Messing with the Dreamspike? Coaching their recruits to act like they'd been properly Turned to the Shadow? Or in Natael's case…stubbornly continuing to exist?

"This was probably a bad idea," he said under his breath. "Can't trust anyone. What if he gives the Dreamspike to someone even worse than Demandred?"

In all fairness, such a person did not exist. Moridin was terrible, but Demandred… Ugh, Demandred.

"Aybara is ta'veren," Taim said, his brow furrowed. "Why would he do that?"

A strange argument. "That doesn't make him inherently good, if that's what you were implying," Natael said slowly. "Ishamael was – is – very likely ta'veren himself. Perhaps all of the Forsaken are ta'veren, though not as strongly as al'Thor or his friends."

Perhaps Taim and he were ta'veren, in their own, somewhat unassuming way. Given everything that had happened to them over the past half year or so, and everything that was certain to happen in the near future…

"Did he seem evil to you?" Taim questioned.

Natael chortled. "'Seem evil'? Few people ever do. And the truly evil ones know when to appear charming and respectable." Like Logain.

Taim sighed. "Is this about Logain again?" he guessed. "Nate, I don't know why you're suddenly obsessed over the man and convinced that he's against us, but-"

"There's a darkness in him," Natael said curtly. "He's an angry, bitter man."

"Well, that's hardly surprising, considering what was done to him," Taim noted. "That doesn't mean-"

"Were you not listening to me, last night, when I said…" He backtracked. He had not said this out loud, had he? Burn me, am I mad? "Um, that is… He's suffered a lot. He lost everything…"

"Then he gained most of it back," Taim countered. "He was Healed."

"Maybe so, but now he knows what it's like to be powerless. He's a man who will do anything to avoid being gentled again, to avoid feeling helpless or vulnerable. Anything. What if…I don't know, what if al'Thor decides that he should be gentled again? What happens then?"

"You're rambling, Nate," Taim said softly. "Why on earth would he do that? He's a male channeler himself, there's the Amnesty, and saidin has been cleansed besides. He has no reason to-"

"What if he feels threatened?" Natael said.

Taim rolled his eyes. "If he felt threatened by male channelers, especially powerful ones, he would have gentled or killed us already. Well, me, anyway. He doesn't know that you've regained your full strength."

"Even if he did, I doubt he'd feel much threatened by me," Natael said sourly. "He never showed me the respect I deserve. He was never afraid. Thinks I'm a joke. They all do." Everyone always underestimated him, in his humble opinion, though at this point Natael was not certain whether it was indeed underestimation or rather a correct estimation.

Taim observed him for a long moment, his gaze troubled. "You're tired," he said eventually. "It's been a long couple of days – and nights. We'll wait another ten minutes, see if the dome dissolves, then we'll-"

"It's been gone for two minutes," Natael said, pointing in the direction of the mirror Black Tower. "Aybara did it."

Taim, whose back had been turned to it, stared at the dome-less compound for a moment then returned his attention to Natael. "Why didn't you say something?"

"We were talking," he replied with a shrug.

"You're…" Taim trailed off, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Never mind. Let's go to bed. Light knows you need it," he whispered, opening a gateway into the real world.

"There'll be plenty of time to rest when you're dead, Joar," a feminine voice stated.

Natael felt a sudden chill. A woman who knew his real name… That couldn't be good. He turned to find a short woman with silver hair and striking blue eyes standing at a safe distance. He couldn't help but notice that she had…an impressive bosom, to say the least. It wasn't anyone he knew, however.

Perhaps that was a good thing… At least it wasn't one of the original Forsaken.

You're in Tel'aran'rhiod, you idiot, he remembered immediately. Appearances can be even more deceiving here than in the real world. This person could be anyone. It could be Moridin, or Demandred. Or al'Thor.

"Believe me, I know," the newcomer added with a rictus.

"Who are you?" Taim demanded.

The woman ignored him entirely and moved closer to Natael. Too close for comfort. Her cerulean eyes bore into his. "I will have my revenge," she whispered. "Sooner or later, Joar. Elan cannot control me forever."

Revenge? "What have I ever done to you? I don't even know who you are!" Deep down, however, he had a feeling that-

"Lanfear," Taim said in a murmur. "The Dark One must have brought her back."

Natael's knees nearly buckled. He held on to Taim's shoulder for support. No, not her. Anyone but her.

"I'm not allowed to use that name anymore," she said crisply. "I am Cyndane."

Last chance. How…ominous.

He was frightened, of course he was but, at the same time, he realised just how angry he was. First, Elan had forced them to enter Sindhol and risk their lives to rescue Lanfear, something that Natael absolutely did not want to do. Then Elan had commanded him to slay her, rendering their almost-fatal rescue pretty much useless – she would have died soon enough at the hands of the Finn. And now she'd been brought back to life?

Oh…but it made sense. If she'd died in Sindhol, the Great Lord would not have been able to reach her. They'd been sent to punish her and give her that last chance at the same time.

How twisted.

"Elan won't let us murder you…" Cyndane went on. "And he won't tell us why…but we all know why. He has grown soft with age. Softer… He was always weak. The Great Lord's champion?" she scoffed. "Bah! But in this world, it seems that one must be male, to be anyone's champion… Which is why I decided to be my own champion."

"Mm-mm," Taim said sarcastically. "And how did that work out for you, Cyndane?" he added with plenty of emphasis on the name, which he must have translated as well.

Don't taunt her, Natael begged with his mind. She's not allowed to kill me, but did Elan say anything about Taim? "Why?" he said out loud. Cyndane turned her baleful gaze upon him. "You said you knew why Elan wouldn't let me die. Why?" he repeated.

They would not like the answer, Natael guessed, but at least they'd know for sure.

"Everyone knows that he dumped you in a vain attempt to protect you, you idiot," she replied scornfully.

"That is a lie," Natael rumbled. "He made it abundantly clear that he doesn't care about me."

Cyndane rolled her eyes. "If you'd known what he was up to at the time, you would have tried to stop him, wouldn't you? Before he could betray them all. Who knows what would have happened then? No, he had to get rid of you. Permanently, though he picked the option that would leave you alive…"

This was ridiculous. Was she implying that, if Elan had not so brutally and convincingly broken up their relationship, Natael would have…changed the very course of history? That Elan would not have become the Great Lord's puppet-in-chief?

That his love for Elan would have saved the day, as if they lived in a cheesy, romantic theatre play?

Ridiculous. Risible.

"He didn't want to corrupt your obnoxious soul any more than it already was," Cyndane went on. "He wanted to give you a fair chance, should he fail in his task. Which is precisely why he shouldn't be anyone's champion. Is he even trying to succeed? Or does he merely want to die?"

"I think it's more complicated than that," Natael murmured. "Elan sees the end of the world, the end of time itself, the Great Lord's victory, as an inevitability. It didn't happen three thousand years ago, and perhaps it won't happen this time around, but it will happen. He doesn't want to die. He doesn't want the vindication of knowing he was right all along. He wants it to be over. He's tired. He's insane. He just wants to rest, to be left alone. He doesn't want to be ta'veren any longer, a puppet to the Great Lord and to the Pattern itself."

He had spoken only briefly to Elan since the end of his multimillennial slumber, and never in depth. Yet he knew this to be true – because he knew Elan, and because he had never stopped caring about him, no matter how much he wanted to.

"Well, I'm more than happy to take over from him," Cyndane said briskly. Yes, so was Demandred. So was every Forsaken still alive.

"What are Elan's orders regarding Taim?" Natael asked. "He wants me alive, but-"

"Ah, yes. Your new pet, is he?" Cyndane eyed Taim up and down. "Your taste in men has somewhat improved… Elan will not murder him in a fit of jealousy, if that's what you're worried about. He might decide to have one of us kill him, though, especially if you keep interfering in our business."

"We're not-"

"I helped Aybara with the Dreamspike, Joar," Cyndane said. "I know exactly what you're up to. I just don't care at the moment. Besides, why would I do anything that would benefit dear old Barid? You're his problem, for now. As soon as Elan and he are distracted by the battle to come, however, I'll be back for you."

"He's not restrained by your shield any longer," Taim said menacingly. "And he's not alone."

Natael had been about to remark that he had not intended to stick a knife in her heart, that Elan had made him do it, but it was a moot point now.

Cyndane snorted with laughter. "Seriously, did you use Compulsion on this one? Or is it possible, somehow, that you've managed to find a second person, in all of time and space, who genuinely cares for you?" She observed them both pensively for a minute. "I doubt that the latter is even an option… Unless he's gone mad. Why, if Elan weren't utterly bonkers-"

"I imagine that's what Lews Therin said, when you started dating Barid Bel in the hope that it would make Lews jealous. Or was it Barid who hoped to accomplish that?"

Natael stared at Taim open-mouthed. That was part of the song about Demandred…but neither Lanfear nor Demandred was ever meant to hear it.

On an unrelated note: was he trying to get himself killed?

Cyndane's relatively pretty face was contorted with rage, and it was terrifying to behold. (Relatively pretty because she used to be stunningly beautiful – and tall, and perfectly well-proportioned. Oh, how it must grate her, to have been stuffed into this second-rate body. No wonder she was mad at him for ruining the original one.)

Suddenly, Natael was struck by a curious thought: "Was it Elan who told you that I killed you?" If Elan was trying to protect him…well, this would have the opposite effect.

"It was Shaidar Haran," she replied curtly.

Taim and Natael exchanged a look. Natael could see that Taim had translated the unfamiliar name to the Common Tongue: Hand of the Dark. A new Forsaken, perhaps?

Logain's new alias?

No. Taim was right. He had to trust Logain. Had to.

Stop being paranoid! he scolded himself. You heard Taim. You have no right to go mad now. At least trust him; trust in his instincts.

"Well, I'm bored now," Cyndane announced. "I'm going to find Perrin. See you later, Joar." She vanished without a trace.

"Do you think she really helped Aybara with the Dreamspike?" Taim wondered a second later. Then, without waiting for a reply: "Why would she do that?"

Natael eyed him with a scowl. "Is that the first thing you-" He chuckled softly. "I assumed we would address the elephant in the room…"

"The what in the room?" Taim repeated, confused.

Peace! He didn't know what an elephant was? Where had all the weird animals gone, honestly? Natael sighed. He was exhausted. "I thought we'd address the…Elan thing."

Taim shrugged. "Cyndane's answer confirms what I'd already guessed."

"How could you have guessed that?" Natael exclaimed. "I would never have guessed that in a million years! I mean, I told you how things ended between us…"

"Yes, you did, and you also told me that it happened a few days before Ishamael…well, became known as Ishamael. To end such an apparently loving relationship, for such an unexpected reason, completely out of the blue…" Incongruously, he smiled. "Remember the day we tracked down Lanfear in Sindhol?"

How could Natael forget? They had just discussed it with Lanfear herself a few minutes past…

"You were unconscious for some time, after we got out. Moridin never spoke a word to me until you came to, but he did watch you… The look in his eyes, Nate. When you told me about you two, I remembered that look, and then again when Demandred said that he was forbidden to harm you, because of Moridin's orders."

"So you are jealous," Natael said.

Taim shook his head. "I'm really not. I understand him. And I think the reason why I'm still alive is that Moridin hopes I will protect you, just as he did. Because he knows how I feel about you. He knew it before I did, I think." His smile widened a fraction. "He knows how infuriating you can be, but he also knows that it is just one of the things that make you so endearing, to the people who know the real you. The one who's vulnerable, who feels inferior and weak, even though he's the opposite. The one who uses arrogance and sarcasm as shields in the face of adversity, or in times of trouble. Or simply when he refuses to acknowledge his own feelings."

"You're one to talk," Natael muttered. His cheeks had heated up with every word Taim spoke.

Taim nodded sagely. "The more romantic part of me will say that we were meant for each other, partly because we're so alike, but mostly because we complement each other so perfectly."

Natael would have laughed, had anyone told him, months ago, that Taim was, deep down, a romantic. Though he rarely let it show, he really was. If word got out, it would ruin his reputation as a powerful, fearsome False Dragon even more than if people learned of their relationship.

When people learned of their relationship. If they somehow survived the Last Battle, Natael had no intention of hiding it. (Not that he put much effort into concealing it now, despite Taim's half-hearted insistence. Besides, everyone at the Black Tower was already aware of it, no matter how discreet they were.)

Taim was looking at him, he realised. Not angrily, nor worriedly, but with great sufferance. "Inner monologuing again, am I?" Natael said in a sheepish voice. "I'm really sorry. I'm too tired to speak up, I think, so I talk to myself instead. Let's…" He paused to take a good look around, to make sure they wouldn't be interrupted a third time. "…go to bed." He quickly glanced around again, to see if the rest of the sentence had somehow conjured someone else.

Taim smiled in agreement. "The good news is that we can Travel right into our bedroom."

And, best of all, for once, there was no real bad news to undermine the good one.

Well, except that Lanfear was alive again and intent on killing him sometime in the near future, and that Demandred would come punish them soon enough for removing the Dreamspike.

Oh well. They were snuggled up in bed and Taim was already snoring. The light, steady sound, as usual, helped lull Natael to sleep, driving away all the troubles of the day.