The dream had come again, unbidden. It had been so long; Neya didn't think she'd relived the scene once since Lanfear had released her, almost a year ago. It seemed like another lifetime.

She saw herself come out of the small cottage, basket in hand, so young and carefree. In a moment, she would reach the sheep pen, and then she would hear her mother scream in terror. And, as was the way of nightmares, she would witness the entire scene in painful detail. Unable to close her eyes or look away, Neya braced herself.

"You don't have to watch, you know," said a voice close behind her.

Startled, Neya spun around to face the owner of the voice. He was a youthful man, as tall as Rand himself, with black hair and piercing blue eyes. He was beautiful, except for a distinct cleft in his chin. Neya had never seen him before, but Bao had described him to her: she stood before the Nae'blis, Moridin – Death itself made flesh.

Around her, the dream retreated. The farmyard that had been her childhood home and the nearby woods made place to smooth black walls. They were standing in a dimly lit room, with no furniture that she could see. The ceiling appeared to be made of flames, although no heat reached her.

Neya knew that she should have knelt; a few months ago, she would have. Now she simply stared at Moridin, the upstart Chosen. "What do you want?" she asked coolly, placing her hands on her hips. Bao would be furious when he found out about this.

"Such fearlessness," the Nae'blis retorted with a twisted grin. "You haven't changed at all, pet."

Neya's eyes widened in astonishment. "Elan?" He didn't answer, but his smile softened. "How long have you–" She cut off, shaking her head. Bao had told her that some of the Forsaken Rand had done away with had been reincarnated in new bodies, but he had made no mention of Ishamael. And yet Neya didn't doubt for a second that her husband had known exactly who Moridin was from the beginning. She would have a word with him when she returned. "Why did you wait so long to find me?" she whispered.

"I wasn't going to come at all," Elan muttered darkly. "Yet here I am, against my better judgement." He summoned something out of thin air. "I thought you might want to have this, before the end." It was Tsorovan, the Power-wrought yatagan he had given her when she was with him. "Although I'm afraid you won't have much time to enjoy it."

Neya took it, gripping the familiar handle, admiring the violet-blue edge of the blade. "It has begun, hasn't it?" she asked quietly. Elan nodded. "So this is it. The Last Battle."

"An end to it all, at long last," he said wistfully.

"It doesn't have to be the end."

"I want it to be," he said, almost too low for her to hear. "I need it to be," he went on, more forcefully this time.

"Elan, you don't have to be alone. I'm here for you. I can help."

He chuckled softly. "Always the same. You're too caring for your own good, little girl." He looked thoughtful for a moment. "To think you managed to ensnare Barid Bel, of all people," he said eventually, a grin slowly spreading on his face.

"Ensnare?" she repeated incredulously. "I did nothing of the sort! Light, I don't even know how it happened in the first place."

"Ta'veren," Elan murmured.

"I knew it!" Neya cried out with a triumphant smile. "He is, isn't he? That's how he became the Wyld and brought the whole nation to heel so quickly," she went on smugly.

Elan was shaking his head, however. "Not him," he said, fixing his sparkling blue eyes on hers. "You."

Neya was speechless for a moment, until she realised she was gaping at him quite stupidly. "But…I haven't done anything! Bao's the one who accomplished all the Sharan prophecies, not me. He's the Wyld, the king."

"You have done more than you know," Elan told her. "In a way, your ta'veren nature is stronger even than al'Thor's. He, as well as Cauthon and Aybara, have a determined purpose: to insure the victory of the Light." As he spoke, he sat down and gestured for her to imitate him. Neya hadn't noticed the two armchairs that were now in the room; likely, he had just summoned them with saidin, as he always did. Or were they still inside her dream, somehow? Was this what Elan called Tel'aran'rhiod, the World of Dreams? She didn't know if he could use the Power in this place.

"Your role, pet, on the other hand, was ever a puzzle," he went on after she took a seat. "Which is why I captured you, by the way. To keep you away from the world. I didn't know what your purpose was, whether you would work for or against us. It soon appeared obvious that you would not willingly forsake the Light, but I saw no point in Turning you by force. It was simply safer to keep you away from the main chain of events, so you could not influence anything - or anyone. But then I died, and Lanfear, senseless Mierin, released you into the world, without even bothering to leash you properly. She was always too arrogant, that one, overconfident – it is what killed her, in the end. She didn't see you for who you were, she assumed that you were just another pawn. Though she did keep an eye on you, at least – that Aielman you liked, what was his name? Ah, it doesn't matter," he said dismissively before Neya had a chance to speak. "He was Lanfear's puppet, and he was supposed to dispose of you, should you prove treacherous. Which you did, of course, but what did the man do? Instead of killing you, he protected you with his life, and fought the Trollocs and Friends of the Dark who were his allies!"

Neya could only stare in perplexed silence. At this point, the fact that she'd shared her tent with a Darkfriend did not particularly perturb her, but what in the Pit of Doom was Elan trying to say?

"You are a completely random piece in this game. The Chaotic One, the One Who Lived. I had a feeling it was you, all along, which is why I removed you from the game board, but I never imagined how unpredictable you would turn out to be, or the consequences of your actions, of your mere presence around my own puppets and subordinates."

"That sounds like a title, what you called me," Neya pointed out. "The Chaotic One? Do you really take the time to give everyone a code name like that, not just the Forsaken?"

Elan didn't smile. "The Great Lord names the Chosen, I've told you this before. And I didn't come up with these, pet. You were mentioned several times in the Prophecies."

"The Karaethon Cycle?" Neya asked, bewildered. "I think that if I were part of them, Rand would have kept me around. He's read them a thousand times over, studied them. Surely he wouldn't-"

"Not the Karaethon Cycle," Elan cut her off. "Our Prophecies. The Prophecies of the Shadow, as they are dubbed by certain scholars of your Age. You are mentioned subtly, mainly at the end, sometimes in random parts I could not fit in anywhere. To sum it up, it says that everything that's prophesised – the issue of the Last Battle, the Light's ultimate defeat, the end of time – may all be reversed if you make the wrong choices. Or the right ones, depending on where you stand, I suppose," he added with a nonchalant shrug.

Neya didn't even know that the Shadow had its own prophecies, let alone that she was a part of them. It was a lot to take in. She didn't know what to say.

Elan went on, oblivious to her bafflement. "I assume the Eelfinn did not expect to see you."

That shook her out of her thoughts of prophecies and ta'veren. "How did you know?" The blasted Foxes had repeated quite a few times that she was not supposed to be in their realm, which had surprised her. Mat had assured her that they knew everything.

"I've encountered them several times," Elan replied. Neya thought people were not allowed to visit the Finn more than once, but perhaps that didn't apply to the Nae'blis. Or perhaps being resurrected meant he was allowed a second visit? "You see, pet, it seems that you cannot be killed so easily. There have been numerous…attempts. You were meant to die as a child, but survived. You had several close encounters with death afterwards, all narrowly escaped, although you might not have noticed. A horse that might have run you over, a fall that could have twisted your neck. Every time, something happened to counter these events. A glitch in the Pattern, though the more devout might argue that the Creator and the Great Lord themselves were fighting over you. Your ta'veren nature was activated long before the other three, or perhaps you're something else entirely. Of course, your brother died twice, but that's different, because-"

Neya's heart skipped a couple of beats. "Mat is dead?" she croaked in a strangled voice.

Elan waved indifferently. "Oh, he's very much alive. Despite my direct orders that he ought to be killed," he added with a grimace. "As I was saying…"

"You ordered the Forsaken to kill my brother?" Neya cut him off indignantly.

Elan huffed with mounting exasperation. He hated being interrupted. Well, she hated to know that her brother was in mortal danger! "Evidently. He could prove a nuisance in the battle to come, despite his…" He frowned, searching for a fitting word, but failed. "Let's just say that Matrim Cauthon is not the person I would have picked to protect the Light's champion and see him through to the Last Battle. But that's beside the point. Unlike you, Cauthon was supposed to die and be revived. You were meant to die, period. That was one part of our Prophecies that fitted nowhere that I could see. 'Should the Child not die, she shall upend the course of fate.' I wasn't even certain it was part of the Prophecies, until I learned of that…incident with your father." Incident. Neya snorted. That was one word for it. Elan glanced at her. "'The Girl Who Lived shall plunge the world in disarray,'" he quoted again. "That's another extract. It's always more of the same. It seems you're meant to be the chaotic element in an otherwise neatly ordered chain of events."

"But that's not right," Neya protested. "Your Prophecies are the opposite of ours, if they proclaim the triumph of the Shadow… The Karaethon Cycle and your Prophecies are mutually exclusive. They can't both be accurate."

"The Karaethon Cycle doesn't claim that the Dragon will triumph," Elan remarked. He had a point. It was never mentioned anywhere, only assumed. Hoped for, really. "Our Prophecies assert that the Great Lord will be victorious, that he will destroy the world and break the Wheel. Unless you alter the course of fate." He didn't seem angry about it. But why hadn't he simply killed her? Neya asked him just that. "Because it also says you could become our most valuable ally. It all depends on the choices you made in the past, pet, and on the ones that you will make in the days to come, I suspect." He paused, eyeing her thoughtfully. "You have come to love him, haven't you?" He meant Bao, she knew. She didn't respond. "I know you have. What will you do, pet? Try to save him? Kill him before he has a chance to crush the ones you call your allies? You know how destructive Demandred can be. You know his mind is set. Even you cannot change that, I think. Although I wouldn't put it past you…" he muttered.

"There was no point in trying to kill you," Elan went on after a pause. "The Pattern either affects you more than anyone else, or it doesn't affect you at all. Or perhaps you're truly protected by the Creator himself," he added with a smirk. "You're a wild card. Nothing regarding you can be predicted. No one reacts to you the way I expect them to. Lanfear should have blasted you to oblivion. Asmodean should have despised you. He should have died that day in Caemlyn, when Graendal attempted to murder him. But you were there. Graendal could have killed you as well, but she opted for caution, which is unlike her. Taim was never supposed to become your lover. I genuinely believed him incapable of caring about anyone. But you changed him, you gave him hope. Then you disappeared and did the impossible – or so I thought. You found your way into Barid Bel's heart. Of course that woman had a part to play in this, that…Shendla? I'm not sure what she is, or what she does. Perhaps she's an emissary from the Creator – she certainly doesn't belong to the Shadow."

"Neither do I. Isn't it obvious that I serve the Light?" Neya asked quietly. "I will never serve the Dark One, Elan. You must know that by now. You took a great risk, allowing me to live." She regarded him without blinking. "What now, then, Nae'blis?

He was silent for a moment, apparently lost in thought. She watched as black specks swirled in his eyes. What in the Pit of Doom were those? "You'll never know how close I came to kill you, that first night, as you lay peacefully asleep in your bed, surrounded by your sisters. Thankfully, I thought better of it. Killing you so early in the game would have been a disaster."

"Well, I'm sure glad you kept me alive for so long," Neya said conversationally, "but the end is nigh, is it not?" Light, but she sounded like Bao, when she talked like that. "You can't possibly hope that I will have a last-minute epiphany and decide to…what? Turn people to the Shadow just by being near them?" She snorted. It was ridiculous.

Elan stared at her. "You do realise that this is exactly what you have been doing, yes? In reverse, but still. Joar has refused my offer to join our ranks. Barid married you. If you'd used your…powers, abilities, whatever they are, you could have Turned al'Thor and the others to our cause."

"But I didn't," she remarked unnecessarily. Of course she didn't. Why would she do that? Neya couldn't help but notice the blatant omission, however. "What about Mazrim?" she asked in a low voice, dreading the answer. The bond hadn't magically resurfaced. She had no way of knowing if he was alright. If he was-

"Taim is dead," Elan announced flatly.

Neya closed her eyes. Light, he couldn't be! He'd been fine just a few days ago! Blood and flaming ashes! The tears came unbidden; she couldn't blame her pregnancy for those. She had spent months worrying about him, unable to help him when he was obviously feeling miserable, unable to comfort him. And now…

Neya opened her eyes again. Had Elan killed Mazrim himself, or had him killed? He certainly didn't seem to have a problem commanding his minions to murder the people she loved. "Why did you seek me out, Elan?" she demanded. "Are you here to kill me, or not?"

"The Last Battle has begun," he said. "I suppose this was my last chance of seeing you."

He said it so offhandedly. Oh, by the way, the prophesised battle that will determine whether we all live or die has begun. Blimey, the weather is awfully stuffy today. He didn't address the matter of her potential murder, so she assumed he would take the chance of letting her live, again, despite everything that had happened. "Well, if Tarmon Gai'don is upon us," Neya said, getting back on her feet, "it might be best for me to return to my husband." If this was true, their time together was coming to an end. She had to make the most of it, while she still could. Elan scowled at her from his seat. Clearly, he had expected her to stay a while longer. Well, why would she? He clearly wanted the world to end, and he hadn't bothered to let her know he was alive for Light knew how long. Why was he being so…sentimental, all of a sudden? Was her nature affecting him, too? It seemed too good to be true.

Elan stood up and moved closer to her. Why did she always end up facing men who towered over her? It did put a terrible strain on her neck. "Very well," he murmured. A gateway opened, but now that he was right there in front of her, Neya couldn't help herself. She threw her arms around him as the tears started to leak from her eyes, for the second time in as many minutes. Elan held her for a long time, not quite as awkward as he used to be, and stroked her hair softly.

"I liked you better before," she whispered eventually, taking a small step back and wiping her tears with her sleeve. "You look so…pretty. Not in a good way."

"I'm terribly sorry about that. I'll be sure to petition for a body that's more to your taste, next time," he said wryly. "Although I'm not sure what you're complaining about. I've received quite a lot of admiring glances," he went on with a small grin.

"You know me, I'm picky. I couldn't settle for less than the most beautiful man alive," she said, returning his smile.

"You are entitled to that opinion, I suppose. I must point out that I'm taller than Barid, however."

They both laughed, and Neya realised how much she had missed him. She couldn't let him go without trying once more. "Elan, please. You really don't have to do this. If you join the Light now…"

His face hardened, all trace of mirth vanishing abruptly. "Don't be a fool," he said sharply. "There's no going back for me. There never was." He fixed her with those incredible blue eyes of his. "And if you think you can convince Demandred to follow you over, you will be equally disappointed. He is too far gone. He cares only for Lews Therin. As soon as he reaches the battlefield, you will vanish from his mind altogether. It will be as though you'd never existed." The words hurt more than they should have. Neya knew very well what would happen once Bao left, but that didn't mean she liked hearing it uttered out loud. "Your world is about to end, and there's nothing even you can do to prevent it from happening."

Neya smoothed her face as best she could. "Take me back to my husband," she demanded with all the regal imperiousness she could muster. She was a bloody queen, after all.

"As you wish," Elan retorted scornfully. The gateway sprang back to life beside her and she stepped inside her bedchamber. "Enjoy your final moments, pet," he called after her.

Neya turned back to look at him one last time, but he was already gone.