Natael found himself in the Ansaline Gardens. The place looked exactly as it did during the Age of Legends, except that it was empty of elegantly dressed people and eerily silent. But the exotic flowers decorating the terrace, the stream of clear water filled with colourful fishes, the large oaken bar and the multitude tables were there, complete with silverware and pristine tablecloths, as if waiting for the patrons to show up.
Natael was not alone, however. There was a man sitting on a high stool at the counter, holding a crystal glass that contained a turquoise liquid. The man had his back to Natael, and he didn't turn around when Natael spoke. "What is this?" he demanded. Few people could control the World of Dreams, let alone bring people there while they were asleep. Natael's voice didn't tremble, but he felt trapped. He'd never had any skill at controlling Tel'aran'rhiod.
"The Ansaline Gardens," the man replied. "You of all people ought to recognise the place."
He didn't bother to introduce himself, which Natael considered very rude, given that the man had just brought him here against his will in the middle of the bloody night. "Let me rephrase," he said irritably. "Why am I here? Who are you?"
"You of all people ought to know that, as well." Only then did he turn to face Natael. He stood up, abandoning his drink on the counter. He was about twenty, tall, and beautiful. Natael had never seen him in his life.
"I don't believe we've met," he said impatiently. "What do you want with me?" If he'd been sent by the Chosen to murder him in his sleep, Natael wouldn't go down without a fight. He didn't know how to manipulate the World of Dreams, but he had recovered his full strength and, by all accounts, he was one of the most powerful channelers alive, only a tad weaker than al'Thor himself. The youth was in for a surprise, if he expected Natael to be able to channel only a trickle of saidin. He wondered which Chosen had sent him. Couldn't they even be bothered to kill him themselves?
"My name," the lad said quietly, "is Moridin."
A bit late for the introduction, but never mind that. So this was the man Semirhage had mentioned. "Death," Natael translated with a sneer. "How…tasteful." Still, it sounded like a name fit for one of the Chosen. Was he a new recruit? Some brazen lad of this Age who had somehow ascended to the highest rank? Natael scoffed. "It makes sense," he went on, almost talking to himself. "You've suffered heavy losses. The Great Lord must be truly desperate, however, to recruit children."
Moridin smiled, showing teeth. His blue eyes blazed… Wait. What was that? As Natael watched, tiny black flecks wandered in the man's eyes. Natael couldn't suppress a shudder. Few people had ever been given access to the True Power, and even fewer had dared channel enough of it for so many saa to be visible in their gaze. No one could channel the True Power for very long without it affecting their brain. Saidin may have been cleansed, but this was a different sort of madness altogether.
"Who are you?" Natael muttered. "The Great Lord would never allow…" He fell silent, unable to form a coherent thought.
Once again, Moridin chose to address Natael's concerns in disorder. "The Great Lord never despairs. He doesn't feel emotions. You should know this. You were once one of his most prominent servants, Nessosin."
Natael's eyes widened in abrupt realisation. No one ever called him that, except… "Tedronai?" he murmured uncertainly. "It can't be. Al'Thor killed you." Did he, though? The Dragon had seemed quite certain of Ishamael's demise, and so had Lanfear, for that matter… And yet.
As the seals weakened, the Great Lord's influence became stronger. Could it be that He had the power to bring back the dead? This had never occurred before, to Natael's knowledge, but many things that had never happened before did happen in this cursed Age. The cleansing of the taint, al'Meara Healing severing… Surely the Shadow must have its own accomplishments to rival with the Light's. The Pattern was all about balance, after all, never favouring Light or Shadow, always brutally impartial. That was something Ishamael – then known only as Elan Morin Tedronai – had taught him, a long time ago.
"I liked you better before," Natael said lightly, in an attempt to conceal his shock and uneasiness.
Tedronai – Moridin – snorted. "So did I." He picked up his glass. The liquid turned an alarming shade of crimson, thick as blood – another viewing come true, Natael mused – but it didn't appear to bother the Chosen. He gulped it down in one and set the glass back on the counter. Then he turned his attention back to Natael. "How rude of me. I forget how grossly inept you always were at manipulating this place," he said without inflection. "May I offer you a drink?"
Natael resisted the urge to embrace the Source. He didn't stand a chance against the older man. He never did. What in the Pit of Doom did he want? Why had he come now? Had he only just come back to life? "I'll pass," he replied. "Is she alive, as well? Mierin?"
Moridin didn't answer right away. He indicated a table set for two and invited Natael to sit down with him, which Natael did, albeit reluctantly. He nearly fell off his chair when someone suddenly materialised at his side.
A zomara. The genderless creature's empty eyes stared blankly at Moridin, awaiting orders. The Chosen was smiling in amusement at Natael's reaction. "Two glasses of ice wine." He glanced at Natael. "For old times' sake."
Well, at least Natael wouldn't have been here for nothing. He loved ice wine.
The zomara came back with their order and faded in the background. Natael dismissed it from his mind. "Well? Has Lanfear come back?" he asked again. He doubted it. She'd most likely died in Sindhol, and Natael didn't think that even the Great Lord's touch could reach the Finn's accursed realm.
Moridin took his time to reply, so Natael decided to take a sip of his drink. The taste brought him back thousands of years ago, to happier days. Days when he'd been a young, insouciant musician trying to break through. Simpler times.
He didn't stop to consider the fact that Moridin may have poisoned the wine. If that was how he was supposed to go, Natael could think of few better ways to die. Poison had never been Ishamael's weapon of choice, however.
"That is of no concern to you," Moridin said eventually. If that was all he was going to say on the matter, he might as well have said nothing at all. Natael thought he would have just said no, however, if Lanfear were truly dead. She must have died at some point, though, otherwise Natael's shield wouldn't have vanished.
So. Some of the Chosen – at least one, likely two – had been reincarnated in new bodies, bodies that no one else would recognise. This was…troubling. Natael wondered if he should mention this to al'Thor when he got back, then realised he might not be going back. He still had no idea what Moridin wanted with him.
The Chosen sighed, muttered under his breath, then apparently came to a decision. "Lanfear is dead, Nessosin. She's not coming for you." The way he insisted on the name likely meant she'd been given a new pseudonym, as well. "You're quite safe, I assure you." Natael scoffed. "Have you not wondered why you were still alive?"
"The question may have crossed my mind," he admitted.
"You're alive because I commanded them to leave you alone," Moridin explained matter-of-factly.
He'd commanded them? Since when did the other Chosen obey him? Ishamael had often been considered their unofficial leader – that is, he'd considered himself their leader – but to claim that the others actually complied…
It could only mean one thing: the man was still insane, still convinced that he was the Great Lord incarnate. He did appear more lucid than before, but appearances could be deceiving.
Moridin laughed, though the sound held no mirth. "Don't be fooled, Nessosin. I may be insane, but when wasn't I?" he asked rhetorically. Natael didn't think he'd been mad as Elan Morin. He'd been an eccentric genius, yes, with insane theories, but his mind had been hale. "I know what I'm saying. I'm not delusional. The Chosen obey me, because I have been made Nae'blis."
In hindsight, that was even worse. The Great Lord had actually put him in charge? Officially? Blood and ashes, as the youngsters said these days. They were all doomed. Natael was almost amazed that the world was still intact, with Tedronai leading the armies of the Shadow and ordering the Chosen about.
On the other hand, he couldn't help but imagine the look on their faces when Moridin had announced his new title. Demandred… Oh dear. The man must have suffered a stroke. Hopefully, the shock had killed him.
"Congratulations," Natael offered offhandedly. "But I assume you brought me here for a good reason?" He was glad for the revelation, but he wished the other man would stop beating about the bush. He was afraid that Moridin was being generous with the information because Natael was as good as dead.
"Close as you are to the Dragon Reborn, I suppose you are aware that we've suffered several losses in the past few months," Moridin ventured, swirling the contents of his glass with what had to be the True Power, because his hand wasn't moving and he hadn't embraced saidin. The man was insane, to use it so nonchalantly.
"Indeed," he said. "And now I'm also aware that they've been brought back," he added.
Moridin shook his head. "Not all of them. Even the Great Lord couldn't do anything for those who were burned out of the Pattern." In other words, the ones who'd been struck by Balefire. Natael tried to remember who had suffered that fate. Only Rahvin and Be'lal, according to al'Thor, although the Dragon wasn't responsible for the latter's demise. Only two of them, then. They had to assume that the other dead ones had been brought back: Balthamel, Aginor. Possibly Sammael. Had al'Thor used Balefire against him? Natael couldn't remember. What he did know was that no body had been recovered. For all they knew, the Chosen had escaped.
The Dragon would be angry when he learned of this. If he ever did. Even if Natael somehow made it out of here alive, he wasn't certain he wanted to share that information. How could he possibly explain this sudden knowledge without it sounding suspicious? Al'Thor didn't trust him as it was.
"We've suffered more casualties than I expected at this stage of the game," Moridin went on with what looked suspiciously like a pout. Natael couldn't help a smirk. He looked so pretty. How was anyone supposed to take him seriously as Nae'blis, especially with such a ridiculous name? But Natael imagined that was the point – most likely, that was the Great Lord's way of punishing Ishamael for impersonating Him. He had a twisted sense of humour, the Great Lord did.
No matter how successful al'Thor had been at decimating the Chosen, there were still quite a few of them at play, including Ishamael, Lanfear and Demandred – the three most dangerous ones, in Natael's opinion. Not that the others were much harmless, but those three were the worst of the worst, so to speak.
Natael realised that Moridin had been talking while he ruminated. "…which is why I would present you with the opportunity to come back to us." He gave Natael an expectant look.
Huh. He hadn't seen that coming. After all these months, stranded, alone, with no allies… Now they wanted him back?
He should have just said yes, he shouldn't have hesitated. He ought to be grateful, he knew. Moridin expected him to be relieved and beg to join the team. "And if I refuse?" he asked instead. Moridin wouldn't let him live to spill the Chosen's secrets to their sworn enemy, that was certain, but there seemed to be no harm in asking.
Moridin shrugged. "It matters little to me, Nessosin. But can you look me in the eyes and tell me that you've converted to the Light, that you're fully committed to al'Thor?"
"I wouldn't say I'm loyal to the boy," Natael said disdainfully. "But honestly, what's in it for me? I was always despised. The Chosen think me useless. And you've already been named Nae'blis. What could I possibly gain by joining you, Tedronai? A slower, more painful death, should we fail?" he sneered.
"It doesn't matter whether you fail or not," Moridin said with some irritation. "The issue of Tarmon Gai'don is already known. The Great Lord shall triumph, and break the Wheel."
If he was arguing for Natael to ally with his former colleagues, he wasn't using the adequate arguments, far from it. "You realise what you're offering me," he said blankly. "Death."
"Well, you're bound to die anyway, whether you serve the Light or the Shadow." Natael often wished he didn't have to serve either. He wasn't a servant; he was Joar Addam Nessosin, greatest musician of all times! He was his own man, not a pawn of the Pattern. He didn't bow down to anyone. Unless your life is threatened, a little voice in the back of his mind pointed out. Natael shushed it irritably. He was not a coward! He simply valued his own life. There was a difference. "What use does al'Thor have for you? Wouldn't you rather be doing something? I have plenty of available tasks. And I trust you to see them through. Does the almighty Dragon trust you?" Moridin asked with an arched eyebrow. "You've been with him for months, Nessosin. Has anything changed at all in the way he treats you?"
Oh, things had changed, alright. Natael could probably have disappeared for a month without al'Thor noticing. The boy had dismissed him entirely; he took Natael for granted. That was a mistake, one Natael could have easily acted upon, but if this was the alternative…
"You were never useless," Moridin crooned. "You were always able to see the bigger picture, unlike the other Chosen. They are self-centred, focused on settling their vain bickering, their petty vengeance. You… Well, you certainly never lacked an ego, but your sense of self-preservation made you more valuable. Unlike the rest of them, you remained realistic. You knew we weren't invincible. I could use your rationalism, Nessosin. Your paranoia."
"Not to mention that I've been following al'Thor closely, that I'm present when he has important strategic conversations, and that I know him better than any of you," Natael added wryly. Of course. Moridin and his cronies believed al'Thor to be Lews Therin reincarnated. Well, he was, but the two didn't have that much in common – unlike Egwene al'Vere, for example, who was the spitting image of Latra Posae Decume. The two women could have been twins, and their personalities were quite alike as well.
Moridin was after information. The Dragon outmatched him. He'd already done for more than half of the Chosen – including the ones who'd been brought back from the dead since their initial demise, but still.
Natael should have known that this wasn't a social call, or even a professional meeting. Moridin needed something from him. That was likely why he'd left Natael at al'Thor's side for so long. Natael had been left to gather information, and Moridin had come to reap it.
Natael was trapped. He didn't feel particularly loyal to al'Thor, and he certainly didn't owe the boy anything, but he was also quite averse to joining the Chosen at this point. Bowing and scraping to Ishamael? No, thank you. He wished he could just retire from the world and leave them all to sort Tarmon Gai'don on their own, but he knew that wasn't possible. Moridin would find him wherever he went – and so would al'Thor, for that matter.
Natael sighed. "How about you simply leave me alone to enjoy whatever time I have left in peace?" He wasn't altogether hopeful regarding his chances of surviving the Last Battle.
Moridin actually appeared to consider this. "This is a one-time offer, Nessosin. Don't expect me to take you back when you come crawling to me, begging for mercy, in a few weeks," he warned Natael.
"I would never insult you so," Natael shot back at him. He looked into Moridin's deep blue eyes, searching for any indication that Tedronai was still there, somewhere. "Are you not going to kill me, then? Am I free to go?" he asked uncertainly.
Moridin held his gaze but remained silent for a long time. "You may go," he murmured eventually. "I will not harm you. But you do realise that the end will be the same, no matter what side you pick, don't you? There shall be no victors. Only death awaits."
"I like to believe that you're wrong about that," Natael said, though he had a sinking feeling that the Nae'blis was right. Al'Thor's mental health was not improving, far from it.
"Sometimes, I wish I were, too." Moridin exhaled a long breath. "I wish you'd never been involved in all this. You deserved better. You had such a promising career…" He trailed off, eyes lost in contemplation of the past.
Natael stared at him in disbelief. Moridin seemed as prone to jumping from pillar to post as Ishamael had been, but that wasn't what shocked him. "A promising career?" he repeated, dumbfounded. "You said… You told me… You said I was worthless! A waste of space! You mocked me, ridiculed me, and denigrated every piece of music I ever created, you…" He cut off in a huff. Those were the very words that had led to their infamous break-up at the Ansaline Gardens.
Moridin shook his head. "I thought I was doing you a favour. I knew what was coming. The end of our Age, the end of all things. I knew my role in all this. I thought it kinder to let you live your life. I was trying to protect you, Nessosin."
"Protect me? You ruined my life!" Natael spat at him. "I gave up my promising career after that nasty episode. I gave up everything! Why do you think I ended up becoming one of the Chosen? I didn't care about anything anymore! I didn't have anything!"
"I never expected you to harbour such bitterness and resentment towards me, or to take my words so seriously!" The saa swirled wildly across Moridin's blazing blue eyes. "You never cared about anyone's opinion!"
"I cared about your opinion!" Natael shouted. "By the blood falls, Elan. I cared about you." His tone had gone from shout to whisper in less than a second.
Moridin's face went blank. "How many times must I tell you? That is not my name."
Really? That was what he was fixating upon? His bloody name? It was hardly Natael's fault that he kept changing it! As he opened his mouth to utter a witty retort, however, the grandiose décor of the Ansaline Gardens faded, then disappeared altogether.
Moridin was gone, and Natael was back in his previous dream.
Natael woke up with a start as a commotion broke out. He dressed quickly and ran in the hallway. People were milling about in a frenzy. One of the servants, looking frantic, explained what happened.
Natael decided to get some fresh air. He doubted that al'Thor would want to see him right then. It wasn't Natael's place to protect the Dragon Reborn, but he was sleeping in the next room. He should have been present. He could have helped. Moridin must have planned this diversion in Tel'aran'rhiod while an accomplice broke Semirhage out. The Nae'blis would be furious when he found out what had happened - another Chosen blasted away and, by all accounts, al'Thor had used Balefire. There would be no coming back for Nemene. Natael wondered if he would receive a second visit. Would Moridin kill him out of sheer spite?
He wandered aimlessly for a while, until he heard muffled sniffling. He hesitated, but finally moved toward the sound.
It was Min. She was sitting on the ground, hugging her knees, her hair a tangled mess. Her eyes were red-rimmed and puffy from crying. She glared at him when he approached – with much caution. She was fierce even when in a good mood, and that was certainly not the case now.
She wiped her eyes angrily. "Where were you?" she demanded, stumbling to a standing position.
He hesitated. "I was…asleep. Are you alright?" Stupid question, he realised too late.
"Of course I'm bloody well not! Nothing is alright!" She punched the wall, and Natael took an involuntary step backward.
"No, I suppose you're not," he said soothingly. "We…um…may have another problem."
Min snorted. "Only one?"
"Ishamael lives," he announced heavily.
"We know. Rand told me. Just before…" She shuddered. Then she frowned, eyeing him suspiciously. "How did you find out? How long have you known?"
Blood and ashes, he was tired of being wrongly accused. "I only just found out! Ishamael…that is, Moridin snatched me while I slept. We had a little chat in Tel'aran'rhiod."
"And you escaped…how? You told Rand you had very little skill at controlling the World of Dreams."
"I didn't escape," he admitted reluctantly. "He let me go."
Min regarded him dubiously. "Why? What did he want?"
"He offered to take me back. I refused," he quickly assured her when her brown eyes flashed dangerously.
"And he let you go anyway? Just like that? Why would he do that?" She sounded understandably perplexed.
Truth be told, Natael wasn't sure why. Moridin had relapsed into being Elan for a brief moment, but the Nae'blis didn't seem to care much about Natael, not really. Min already knew that Elan and he used to be lovers, in the Age of Legends, but she didn't know the extent of it, and Natael didn't feel like recounting their conversation. After pondering for a minute, he finally settled for a reply. "Because he thinks we're all doomed, regardless of my position when the Last Battle comes."
All suspicion and doubt fled her pale face. She looked worn out, miserable, more vulnerable than Natael had ever seen her. "I'm beginning to think he may be right about that," she murmured despondently.