A little cuddling

A few reasonable words

And boom! Barid's back

"Hello again," Natael greeted Shendla and Mintel. The former ignored him and went straight for Demandred, pulling him away from the rest of them to talk in private.

Was it only two days ago that they'd met the stern-looking woman and her elderly interpreter? So much had happened since then… So many improbable things. So much loss and pain and fear.

And now here they were, in Demandred's Sharan camp…in Shara. As guests, not captives. At least Natael hoped so.

The camp lay in a man-made meadow, in the middle of a dense forest filled with exotic trees and plants. A jungle, one might call it. The atmosphere was humid and there were mosquitoes – er, bitemes – everywhere. Natael wished there was a weave to keep them at bay as he slapped yet another bug, which had decided that the back of Natael's neck smelled appetising.

Mintel grinned at him. "There is a saying among the abrishi, Ghraem: 'When the biteme lands on your private parts, you will learn to resolve all future problems without violence'."

Taim snorted laughter. When Natael glared at him, he seemed puzzled by his own reaction. "Sorry. Took me by surprise." He smiled at Mintel. "I like the philosophy behind this saying."

"Right, mosquitoes are the key to world peace. Let's send a swarm of them to the Bore and hope they find the Dark One's…private parts," Natael said, rolling his eyes. "Instead of mocking me, can you do something about my face?"

He hadn't seen it, but he imagined he must be horribly disfigured, following Gorman's repeated blows.

Taim seized saidin and lightly touched Natael's temples to better Delve him. "A split lip, a loose tooth, and your nose is broken… It's nothing too serious, Nate. You'll live." Well, that was never in question. It didn't change the fact that it was atrociously painful. "I'll do what I can, but you know that Healing is not my specialty."

Natael felt the cool, cleansing wave of Healing engulf his face, then his whole body. When Taim was done, Natael decided that the man was selling himself short: not only was everything mended, but he felt energised and refreshed, as if he'd slept an entire day. Aches he had put on the back burner had also dissipated, like the soreness in his arms and shoulders due to being shackled for so long. He was ravenous, but that was a common side-effect of Healing. And of not having eaten for more than twenty-four hours prior to said Healing.

"We should find you something to eat," Taim said. Sometimes Natael wondered if the other man could read is mind. In this case, however, it was possible that Taim had simply heard Natael's belly rumble.

Taim wasn't even finished speaking when Mintel began rummaging through his knapsack. "Here," he said, proffering a leaf-wrapped package. "It's just banana bread, but it was baked this morning. It's still fresh."

Natael unwrapped it and took a dubious sniff. His stomach gurgled loudly in response to the delicious aroma of the bread. He took a bite, then almost ate the whole flaming thing before he remembered that Taim hadn't eaten all day, either. "Here, take the rest."

"You're too generous, darling," Taim said wryly as he accepted the few remaining crumbs.

Natael flushed. He was still quite selfish, wasn't he? Always thinking of himself before others…even before Taim. He felt an uncharacteristic pang of shame. "Sorry," he muttered, eyes downcast.

"I'm only teasing, Nate," Taim said in a gentler tone. "I'm not that hungry, anyway." Contradicting his own words, he devoured the last of the bread.

"Hopefully there'll be time for a proper meal, before we depart," Mintel said.

"Yes, about that… What are we doing here?" Natael asked. "I thought we were going to find al'Thor." He looked at Demandred insistently, willing the man to notice him, but the Chosen had eyes only for Shendla.

Mintel failed to provide an answer. Instead, he squatted nimbly and put a hand on Logain's forehead, his face growing serious. "This one is lucky to be alive," he murmured. "Such turmoil inside. He needs rest, but I'm afraid there's no time. Rest has become a luxury none can afford, even the mighty and the wealthy."

"Well, he'll have to rest until he's conscious, at the very least," Natael noted. "Can't bring him to the battlefield in his present condition. Moving him was risky enough. Who knows what damage he's suffered?"

Mintel closed his eyes and muttered unintelligibly for several seconds. "The damage will not be permanent," he said, looking up. "He is strong. Our shamans will see to him at once." He stood and shouted in isleh. Two middle-aged women and a young man, who looked barely old enough to shave, hurried to answer Mintel's call. He spoke to them in their mother tongue and they started working on Logain as soon as he was done.

"A shaman is some sort of Healer, I presume?" Natael asked.

Mintel nodded. "My apologies. I did not know how to translate the term in your language. Before the Revolt, the shamans were a subdivision of the Ayyad, female channelers who cured the various ailments of the rich noblemen and noblewomen of our nation, for a costly fee that fed the coffers of the Ayyad. Now that our male channelers have been liberated, the shamans have taken on apprentices, and Bao has decreed that they shall Heal all who require their services, for free."

Natael glanced at Demandred, who was still absorbed in his conversation with Shendla. This Bao he was impersonating had some honourable (though a tad unrealistic) ideas, no doubt about it. "Did he choose this name for himself?" he wondered aloud. "What does it mean?"

Mintel smiled, and there was fondness in his eyes as he watched Demandred. "He did not. He came to us posing as a slave, and slaves have no names. Had no names – Bao has decreed that the Freed are now permitted, and even strongly encouraged, to name themselves. Bao…is not really translatable. It is a term of endearment for one's son…and he is like a son to me." He chuckled. "I do not think he realises it. He does not know what it means, he never asked. He was content to have a name that would lend credibility to his disguise, and that was all that mattered to him."

Mintel considered Demandred like a son…but did Demandred think of the older man as a father figure of sorts, perhaps as a mentor, or was it all an act? Did he genuinely care for these people? Was it even possible for him to care about something that did not involve in any way the brutal murder of his arch-rival, Lews Therin Telamon?

Given recent events, Natael was tempted to say…perhaps.

Given the way he looked at Shendla…perhaps indeed.

The Sharans had accomplished the unthinkable, and may very well have saved the world in the process. With Demandred on the side of the Light, it was virtually impossible for them to lose the Last Battle. Wasn't it?

Natael did a quick count: to his limited knowledge, the Chosen were now reduced to six – Moridin, Cyndane, Moghedien, Semirhage, Aran'gar and Mesaana. It depended on these Chosen's individual plans for Tarmon Gai'don, of course, but Natael did know for certain that Demandred had a large army at his back, including many channelers and one of the most powerful sa'angreal in the world – second only to the Choedan Khal, if memory served.

If al'Thor had somehow vanquished the madness that had assailed him until recently, and if Logain recovered… They would at least be a match for the Shadow. Provided that the forces of the Light – all the various nations of the West, including the White Tower – were united under the Dragon Reborn's rule. And preferably the Seanchan, the Aiel and the Sea Folk as well.

That was a lot of ifs.

Demandred was finally coming back to them. "Shendla tells me that we must not delay. The battle is about to begin, and we must catch up to al'Thor before he enters Shayol Ghul."

"He's going to enter Shayol Ghul?" Taim repeated, both eyebrows raised. "That's not exactly a sign in favour of his supposedly improved mental health."

Demandred shrugged. "That's what I would do. What I intend to do, in fact, regardless of al'Thor's plans." He added something in isleh, addressing the shamans. They replied in the same language.

Just as Natael opened his mouth to request a translation, Logain regained consciousness. His eyelids fluttered open and the first person he saw was Demandred. "I'll die before I serve you!" he shouted, with more force than Natael would have thought, given his weakened condition.

Taim crouched at Logain's side and put a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, he's with us. Don't exert yourself."

"With us? Demandred?" Logain scoffed. "Light help me, he's Turned you already."

"No, it's true," Natael insisted. "He killed Hessalam's henchwomen, and he let Taim kill Hessalam herself." That had been a very satisfying moment, and the grandest romantic gesture of all time, in Natael's humble opinion. "We were just about to visit al'Thor. The Last Battle is underway."

"Can you stand?" Demandred asked briskly. "We must depart at once."

Logain was squinting at the Chosen. "This is obviously a trap," he snapped, though he did stand up. He pushed Taim away when he tried to help. "One does not simply turn their cloak like that, for no reason. Why would you-?"

"No trap," Shendla asserted. "Bao…" She went on in isleh.

Mintel was about to translate, but Logain cut him off. "Who in the Pit of Doom is that?" He took a good look around him, taking in their alien surroundings. "Where are we?"

Right. There hadn't been any time to fill him in about the whole Sharan business, or anything else, for that matter. Hessalam had interrupted their reunion. "This is Shendla. She's the one who gave us the Binding Rod. She's Demandred's…" Confidante? Paramour? Concubine? Well, it wasn't Natael's place to put a label on their relationship. He cleared his throat. "…adviser. She's a sort of Sharan Aes Sedai, and a Dreamer." He gestured at the camp and neighbouring jungle. "We're in Shara."

While Logain absorbed that new information, Mintel summed up what Shendla had said. "She made Bao feel guilty about his selfish motives and appealed to his common sense. And it worked." He grinned, displaying his few remaining teeth. "Though I suspect there was something else involved, another sort of compelling argument, last night in their tent…" he added with a mischievous wink.

A guilt-trip and a little cuddling? That was all it had taken to convince the man to change his mind about…everything? His entire outlook on life, his one and only goal, his reason for forsaking the Light in the first place? Blood and ashes, this Shendla was something else, uh?

Demandred didn't blush, and neither did Shendla. Still, Logain wasn't buying it. "Is that really what she said?"

Demandred exhaled sharply. "We don't have time for-"

Shendla said something in her language and gestured to Mintel. Demandred pinched the bridge of his hooked nose in annoyance, but he didn't protest as Mintel translated. "This is what Shendla said to Bao after our visit to the Black Tower, after we explained to him what we did and why: 'All the good you've done for my people – for our people, you've done for the wrong reasons. You've freed them, you've given them hope and a reason to live, but only so you could use them as cannon fodder in the end, in your private war against the Dragon. Against a man who died eons ago. You would endanger the entire world and sacrifice the people who love you to get revenge for a crime you imagined, for a perceived slight that hurt nothing but your fragile male ego.'"

She'd told Demandred that…and she had survived? Blimey, he must really care for her. Then again, the exact same thing had happened to Natael, thanks to Taim… Taim was his Shendla.

Or Shendla was Demandred's Taim, more accurately. Taim had done it first.

And after all, Demandred had converted to the Shadow on a whim, had he not? Why should his return to the Light be any different? Only idiots never changed their minds, and whatever else he was – a self-important jerk; a devious, manipulative fiend; a bitter, resentful, envious zealot – Demandred was not an idiot.

Taim was holding back laughter, Natael could tell, and he actually smiled when he caught Natael looking at him. "Fragile ego indeed."

"Humph! That was uncalled for," he grumbled.

"Are you satisfied now?" Demandred asked Logain.

The Ghealdanin didn't answer right away. His gaze went from Demandred to Shendla. "Well, she must be one hell of a woman," he remarked after a moment, echoing Natael's earlier thought. He stretched his back then cracked his knuckles. "Alright, what's the plan?"

"You will return to the Black Tower and assemble the men," Demandred said. "In the meantime, I will seek out al'Thor with these two…" He paused, gesturing vaguely at Taim and Natael. "…with these two."

Natael didn't want to know which terms he'd considered and discarded during that three-second pause.

"Why do we have to accompany you?" Taim enquired. Demandred wouldn't be able to tell, but there was a world of implied questions in his tone – which were better left unspoken. Was Demandred afraid of facing his nemesis alone? Did he need them both to hold his hand while he begged for a chance to redeem himself? "Natael and I are the official co-leaders of the Black Tower. Shouldn't we-"

"Logain has proven to be a capable leader," Demandred said without missing a beat. Logain glared at him, as if an insult were somehow dissimulated behind the compliment, though Natael couldn't discern one. Demandred was merely stating a fact. "Your men trust him, they're loyal to him. Besides, I will require your…" – he nearly choked on the word – "…assistance. Al'Thor will likely not balefire you on sight, but I doubt he'll let me approach without attacking, when he recognises me. You will shield me and request a private audience with him."

Demandred was willing to let himself be shielded? He really was committed to this course of action. Natael was more and more curious about Shendla. Such a miracle worker. He would have to invite her over for tea, when this was all over. Mainly so they could gossip about Demandred – Natael was also curious to learn more about Bao's adventures in Shara. How had such an arrogant man passed himself off as a slave for any amount of time without raising suspicion? Demandred had never been known for his acting skills.

Speaking of acting… "You could just use the Mask of Mirrors," Natael ventured. Al'Thor may not balefire any of them on sight, but Natael would rather be a safe distance away – say, a thousand miles or so – when the Dragon Reborn learned what had happened at the Black Tower these past few months, including but not limited to the Regrettable Aes Sedai Mass Suicide of 1000 NE.

"According to Shendla, al'Thor and Lews Therin's…consciences have merged, which means that the boy knows everything Lews Therin once knew. Including how to spot a channeler wearing the Mask, and what I look like, even though I've never encountered al'Thor personally. He won't be easily fooled." He said that last part with all the reluctance he could muster.

"I trust Logain to see to our men," Taim told Natael. "We should go with Demandred." Again, his tone implied more than his words let on: …so we can keep an eye on him, and make sure he doesn't betray us and try to murder al'Thor.

"Bao," Shendla said forcefully. They all turned to her. "Bao, not Demandred."

She had a point; Demandred was his Chosen name, and he was no longer one of the Chosen. Well, technically he was, but al'Thor would sever his connection to the Dark One as soon as possible.

Unless he decided to execute him. His name wouldn't matter then.

In any case, Natael wasn't comfortable calling him Barid Bel, so Bao was a good compromise. "We'll go with Bao," he acquiesced. He turned to Logain. "Will you be alright?" The man was known for his resilience, but still, he'd just been horribly tortured and had barely survived the ordeal.

Logain nodded, as expected. "We'll meet you at Merrilor. What about…" He hesitated, pointing at the men who lurked at the edge of the jungle, in the shadows. Gorman was staring blankly at a cart, while several bitemes fought for a spot on his face. There were already many small bumps on his forehead and cheeks. Natael felt itchy just looking at him – and quite heartbroken.

"They will do as they're told," Demandred – er, Bao – assured them. "But if it upsets you to give them orders, they can stay here, and Shendla will lead them with the rest of our army."

Our army. Interesting. Would Shendla be in charge, after Bao left for Shayol Ghul? But that was a question for later. "Shouldn't we kill them?" he asked instead.

Taim scowled at him. Logain looked absolutely outraged. "Kill them? Why? What is wrong with you? Burn you, I though Gorman was your friend."

Natael had not expected such an outcry. "He was our friend, yes. And he's suffered a fate worse than death," he said, trying to clarify his point of view, "from which there's no coming back. It would be a mercy."

"Everyone thought that gentling could not be Healed and that I was a dead man walking," Logain countered. "Yet here I am. Al'Meara will fix them. She can Heal anything. She'll come up with a weave to Heal death itself, if you give her enough time."

Natael highly doubted both assessments, but he let it slide. There was no time to argue. "Either way-"

But Logain wasn't done. "And we believed that poisoning the men who were going mad was also a mercy… But if we'd given them just a few more weeks, they would have been alive when al'Thor cleansed saidin."

"That's unfair," Taim argued. "We couldn't possibly have known that al'Thor intended to do that, let alone that he would succeed… And besides, these men were a danger to themselves and to others. We've lost innocent people because of the madness, Logain. The mercy-kills were a precautionary measure, and I'm confident that they contributed to saving lives."

"Regardless-" Logain attempted to pursue his initial point, but he was interrupted.

"Even if they cannot be Turned back," Bao commented, speaking slightly more loudly than the other two to cut their bickering short, "they can still be useful in combat, at least." How pragmatic, and utterly heartless. A perfect combination for one of the Chosen.

Or any efficient general, really. The Light certainly had its own share of ruthless commanders, otherwise it would have lost the eternal war waged between Light and Shadow long ago. No one had ever won a battle by being overly compassionate.

No one contradicted Bao, which was nothing short of miraculous, given Logain and Taim's proclivity to debate and argue, and especially given how controversial his statement was.

"I'll be on my way, then," Logain said. He opened a gateway but looked over his shoulder before stepping inside it. "If you see Gabrelle… Tell her I'm alive, would you? We decided to remove our bond as a precaution before the battle, but…"

A sensible decision, but now he didn't know if she was alright, and it obviously worried him. He cared deeply for the Brown, didn't he? Ah, the Last Battle, bringing people together in their doom. Logain and Gabrelle, Demandred and Shendla… Taim and Natael. So many improbable couples had formed during these trying times. But would they survive the battle's outcome?

Don't think about that, he admonished himself. He'd nearly lost Taim once already. He wouldn't let it happen again.

Demandred groaned with impatience. "Enough with the sappy feelings. The overwhelming time pressure?" he reminded them. "We can't miss al'Thor's departure for Shayol Ghul."

Logain sighed heavily. "Anyway. Try not to die, you twits." Leaving them with that judicious advice, he disappeared inside the gateway, which then promptly vanished.

"You, too," Taim murmured after he was gone. Natael, once again, divined more meaning behind the two simple words: I won't allow that adorable insult to be the last thing I ever heard you say. You twit.

At least that was what Natael wanted to say.