"For every man there is a purpose, which he sets up for his life and which he pursues. Let yours be the doing of all good deeds."

Shendla sat down on the ground across from Bao, her legs crossed in the Sharan way. The Wyld was meditating, or he appeared to be. She had hoped that Mintel would be there, but she hadn't seen the old man in a while. The girl had really done well - the Queen had done well. She had wormed her way inside Bao's heart as surely as a maggot crawls inside a rotted corpse's flesh.

This might actually work.

Her visions about the Last Battle had been frighteningly unclear. Shendla was not used to them being so unreliable, but she had expected it. Nothing about this moment was fixed. Anything could happen.

"I hope you don't intend to plan your next move solely on the fact that your pride was pricked," she said brusquely.

"Why do you think I am meditating for, woman?" Bao was never rude to anyone unless he was truly upset. That was a good sign. The Wyld took a long, calming breath, but didn't bother to open his eyes. "How long have you two been conspiring against me?" he asked again. He sounded hurt. Good. That meant that he cared.

"Oh, we never discussed it," she said dismissively. "It was all your wife's idea, just like she said. Did you really expect her to stand idly by? She has often tried to persuade you to turn your cloak."

"Indeed," he concurred softly. "I thought I had finally convinced her that my way was the right one."

"Nobody thinks that," Shendla stated matter-of-factly. Bao opened his eyes at that and scowled at her. Good grief! It was worse than she had assumed. How deeply did his delusions run? "What?" she asked him crisply. "Did you truly believe that your people were happy to find themselves fighting alongside these creatures of nightmare?" she went on, gesturing toward the area where the Shadowspawn had temporarily set up camp. Bao didn't answer. His mouth was set in a tight line. "They follow you because you are the Wyld, their saviour, their king. They execute your orders because they assume that, ultimately, you will reveal your true intentions, which would ideally involve fighting against the monstrosities. The fact that they're still here, despite their uneasiness, is a testimony of the faith and loyalty they have in you. They are your people, Bao. They depend on you. Do not disappoint them." With that, Shendla got back to her feet. The Queen had played her part in this little scheme, and now Shendla had played hers. The rest was up to Bao. This was the moment of truth. Would he become their saviour, or would he doom them all?

Without another word, Shendla left Bao to consider his next move.

M'Hael had always hated waiting. He could be very patient when he needed to be, or at least appear to be, but waiting for Demandred to return with an answer was getting on his already-frayed nerves.

He wanted to talk to Neya, but he wasn't sure what to say, or where to begin. In the end, she saved him the trouble.

"Are you alright?" she asked him worriedly. "Does it still hurt?" The bond flickered between guilt, frustration and concern.

He wanted to be angry with her. He wanted to hate her. It would certainly make everything much easier. Instead, he directed his rage at Demandred. It was all the bloody Chosen's fault, after all. None of this would have happened if he hadn't kidnapped Neya. Whether or not the bloody man surrendered, M'Hael would see Demandred dead. Even if it meant hurting Neya. She would be better off without him. Peace, everyone would be better off without him.

"I'm fine," he assured her. He wasn't, not by a long shot. She could tell, too, but she didn't comment on the obvious lie. "Neya, do you really believe it's a good idea to send both Demandred and myself to Shara, if he decides to return to the Light?" Like that will ever happen. It took some effort not to scoff aloud. Just saying the man's name was enough to make his fists clench. "I can't help but think the man isn't particularly fond of me," he added wryly. Not to mention that he, M'Hael – or should he call himself Mazrim now? Yes. Neya would prefer that, certainly – hated the other man, if only for ever touching Neya.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I think it's a grand idea." She sounded so serious. Didn't she realise that she would have to choose one of them, at some point? And that the loser – in Mazrim's version of things, Demandred – would likely make their life a living hell? "Shara's vast, you know. Almost as vast as all the Westlands together. You could both live there for hundreds of years and never once run into each other." Yes, she'd mentioned that before. But if they were forced to live within the same borders, even vast as Shara was… Especially if Demandred was king and believed he could order Mazrim about… He just couldn't fathom this insane idea of hers. What did she expect would happen? That the three of them would live happily ever after? "But that's beside the point. I have projects for the land, and for you, if you're interested."

"Projects?" he repeated with a frown. Peace, she'd really given this a lot of thought. Why, and most importantly, when? She'd believed Mazrim dead until an hour ago! How long had she been planning this? "What kind of projects?"

"I won't go into details now, but we have plans to improve life in Shara. And you're just the man to help with that," she told him earnestly.

"We? As in…you and Demandred?" Neya nodded. Her cheeks didn't colour, but what Mazrim sensed through the bond felt like she was blushing internally. "What have you been up to all this time, exactly?" Judging from the way she'd addressed Demandred earlier – even if he hadn't understood the words – Mazrim could tell that she was holding something back from him. Their relationship seemed even more intricate than he'd initially assumed. It was a wonder that no one else had picked up on it.

The bond sent out a wave of sudden apprehension. Neya lowered her eyes, biting her lower lip. Burn it all, was it somehow even worse than Mazrim suspected? It seemed impossible, and yet… "I've been crowned Queen of Shara," she muttered eventually.

He could only stare at her. His mind couldn't process the words – and what they implied. "You're Queen." His voice was completely flat. Neya nodded slowly. "Demandred made you his Queen," he repeated. He was having trouble thinking clearly. Neya closed her eyes, obviously bracing herself. "But if he's the King, and you're the Queen…" Mazrim trailed off. No, she couldn't mean…

"We're married, yes," she told him softly, finally looking up at him. His heart skipped several beats. Mazrim wasn't sure if it'd started beating again, or if it ever would. The blood must have drained from his face, judging by Neya's crestfallen expression.

What was the point of going to Shara with her if he couldn't be with her? She was the only person in the world he cared about, and now she belonged to another man. Not just any other man, either. Mazrim felt like the very fabric of the world was dissolving around him. Neya – the only woman he'd ever loved – was married to bloody Demandred.

Neya's face turned ashen, probably in response to what she was receiving through the bond. She swallowed audibly. "Mazrim, I know how it sounds, but there's more than that." She put a hand on her belly. He'd caught her doing that a few times already. Was she pregnant, on top of everything else? Rotten Trolloc balls!

Obviously, Neya had picked up that particular thought through the bond, or maybe it was plain on his face. "It's not his. It's yours, Mazrim," she said quietly.

Mazrim didn't realise he'd sat down on the ground – or fallen on his arse, more accurately – until Neya knelt beside him, her face drawn.

He stared at the muddy ground in astonishment for a moment before he found his voice again. "How do you know it's mine?" he asked her, perhaps more harshly than he'd intended. He couldn't seem to control it. The burning rage he felt toward Demandred was threatening to overwhelm him.

It wasn't enough for Demandred to take away Mazrim's woman, no. He'd stolen his child, too.

It felt as if the taint had returned, twisting his guts, tearing at his brains. It was all Mazrim could do not to lash out, to destroy everything in sight, to balefire the entire world. If Neya hadn't been sitting so close to him, with her hand on her abdomen…he didn't think he could have stopped it.

She placed a soothing hand on his arm, obviously worried. Mazrim wondered how his current state of mind translated through the bond. Would it drive her insane too, if he succumbed to the madness? That thought alone was enough to startle him back to sanity – or what passed for it, in Mazrim's head. "It couldn't possibly be anyone else's, Mazrim." Her eyes took on a dark cast. "Or do you believe I was bedding someone else when I lived at the Black Tower?" she demanded dangerously.

The thought had never even occurred to him. "I know you weren't," he said. "I'm just… Neya, it's a lot to take in. I don't know how I feel right now." Even less so than usual.

"I know, I'm sorry," Neya said more gently. "Burn me, I wish I could just…" She trailed off, pointing to Mazrim's forehead, then shook her head in frustration. She was desperate to Heal him. That was understandable; bonded as they were, it couldn't be easy for her. Why had she declined to let him sever the bloody thing when she'd had the chance? At least she wouldn't have to deal with Mazrim's chaotic mind, on top of everything else she was obviously worrying about.

Gingerly, hesitantly, Mazrim placed his hand over hers. Light, how he'd missed her. His fingers trembled slightly at the touch of her soft skin underneath his calloused hands. "I know. But al'Vere is right. You have to save up for the actual fighting," he told her. "If I were to lose an arm or a leg in the battle, I would like to know you were not too exhausted to attend to that," he went on, attempting a lighter tone.

"Like I would let that happen," she told him fiercely.

He grinned at her. Then he remembered what they'd been talking about. Peace, she was carrying his child! He felt the smile slide off his face. "What a flaming mess," he muttered.

"That's one word for it," Neya agreed. "Mazrim, did you send the girls away after I left?"

Burn him, he'd almost forgotten about Karys and Ilawen! "No, of course not. Not away from the Tower, anyway. I told them to stay away from me and my…Asha'man." His mindless puppets. The men he'd ruthlessly murdered. "I told them to keep close to Logain's men. Well, they weren't his men back then, but they were clearly not mine. I suppose they were still yours. I figured they'd be safer that way. I hoped they would be. Mishraile and Lothbrok sort of adopted them, eventually. They seemed happy enough about that. I haven't seen them since I was…deposed." Suddenly, he felt very tired. He sought Neya's gaze. "Neya, I…I Turned Vinchova. I killed him. I killed Nalaam, too. And Kajima. And–"

She cut him off by placing a finger on his lips. "I know, alright? You've done horrible things, and I know you feel awful about it. I can feel it, Mazrim. And when I'm finally allowed to Heal you... I suspect your guilt will only get worse. We can talk about it later, we will talk about it, but not now. I can't talk about this now. Please?"

"Alright," he agreed. There may not be a later, but it didn't matter. Neya was here, now. They were together, perhaps for the last time. Mazrim had to make it count, without adding to her pile of concerns.

Casting about for a lighter topic of conversation, his eyes fell on Asmodean, who was studying them, although he stood too far to hear anything. How had Mazrim not realised…? Well, to be fair, the demoted Chosen didn't exactly look like one of the Chosen. Though he was certainly obnoxious enough to rival even Demandred.

"Were you…involved with him?" Mazrim asked curiously. The bond gave off a wave of annoyance. "I mean," he added hastily, "I have no idea what happened to you before we met. I assumed you'd just arrived from that ta'veren-breeding village of yours." He knew better, now. When he'd had his spies follow Neya's trail, after Demandred took her, Mazrim had expected news of her current whereabouts. Instead, he'd received confusing information about where she'd been before her arrival at the Tower – Cairhien, Caemlyn, even the bloody Waste. But Mazrim had no idea what she'd been doing there.

"I'd love to discuss my previous romantic relationships with you, but can we maybe do that another time? It's hardly the time or place," she said dryly.

"So it was a romantic relationship," he murmured. Another one. Neya rolled her eyes irritably.

"What about you?" she asked abruptly. Mazrim frowned, perplexed. What about me? "Have you been with someone else while I was away?" she asked with false detachment.

That made him laugh, though the sound was completely devoid of mirth. It had a near-hysterical quality to it. "Why, yes, of course. So many people, you wouldn't believe," he told her sarcastically. She gave him a hurt look. "Honestly, what do you think?" he demanded, more roughly this time. "Just because you bed every man you encounter, that doesn't mean I do the same." The words were barely out of his mouth that he wished he could swallow them back.

He expected her to be angry, but she just looked sad; he could feel it through the bond. That was even worse. Anger, he could deal with. But he couldn't stand to see her like this, especially knowing it was his fault. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I just… I don't know what to do. What to think. How do you feel about me, Neya? About Demandred? How do we…?" He trailed off, unsure what to say. Where do we go from here?

"The situation is what it is, Mazrim. I'm ta'veren. It can't be helped. I know how it looks, but we'll work something out. Somehow, we'll work it out," she repeated softly, almost to herself.

Bao closed his eyes once again as Shendla retreated inside the tent. He sought the Oneness, but for the first time in his life, it eluded him. Darkness within! How could they do this to him? How dare they betray him? He had trusted them, allowed them to see the part of him he never revealed to anyone else.

He could only blame himself. 'You cannot trust anyone': that had been Elan Morin's motto, even before the Collapse. Bao, however, firmly believed that greatness could only be achieved if you trusted the right people, if you handpicked your loyal followers. That was why he had eventually decided to settle down in Shara, despite its off-centre position. These Westlanders were backstabbers, only aiming at personal gain, lost in their manoeuvres as they attempted to play Daes Dae'mar. In short, they were useless. Of course, the female Ayyad were not much better, but they were still more sensible and practical than these so-called Aes Sedai. They reminded Bao of his contemporaries of the past age: hypocritical, obsessed with their status, always competing to find out who was the most renowned of them all.

Everyone in those days had been so certain, or perhaps they had convinced themselves, that they lived in a flawless world. Bao had seen the truth of that during his many travels. In the end, Elan had had the right of it. Bao had thought him mad even then, but he'd been right all along. They had needed the change brought on by the drilling of the Dark One's–

Bao opened his eyes, startled. He had not used that phrase since he had pledged his soul to the Shadow. Or had he? He could not remember. Just the previous day, he had thought of himself as one of the Forsaken. Perhaps it had been a mistake to allow Neya to utter these terms so freely after all.

His mind kept wandering; it seemed unable to focus on anything, or instead focused on every little unimportant thing. There would be no meditating for him today, not until he made up his mind. He stood up and found Mintel sitting cross-legged in a nearby tent. The abrishi was simply resting, however, not meditating. His one good eye opened the moment Bao lifted the tent flap. "Trouble, my son?" he enquired.

"Were you aware of their ploy, old man?"

"If you are referring to the fact that your wife decided to cast her lot with the other side, you will forgive me if I do not sympathise. Even a blind man would have seen it coming," he said with a chuckle.

"So you did know," Bao muttered. Blast the man! He thought it was amusing?

"Why does it upset you so much, son? It makes perfect sense to me, to everyone here. Only you fail to see it. It was meant to be," Mintel said. "The Prophecies demand that you save us, and the Tapestry has brought you the person you needed to accomplish your destiny."

"Don't give me that nonsense, old man!" Bao roared. He rarely let his anger get the better of him, but it seemed that everyone had decided to try his patience this day. "I don't care for your Prophecies, for Kongsidi, for all that biased drivel of yours! Don't you see? I have been using you, Mintel. I told you that before, I told Shendla, but you wouldn't heed my words. Heed them now! I have come here for one purpose: to destroy the one who calls himself the Dragon Reborn. Nothing else – nothing! – matters to me."

Mintel looked at him impassively as he spoke. There was a hint of a smile on his lips, but he said nothing. That infuriated Bao even more. "Do you have any idea what she's asking of me? I have dedicated the last years of my life to make this happen. I abnegated everything for this very purpose. And she wants me to forsake it all? I will not give up now, not for her, not for anyone," he went on scornfully. "I will never surrender to Lews Therin."

"And what about what Neya gave up for you?" Mintel asked quietly. "Do you think it cost her nothing? How do you believe she felt at placing her life in your hands, when she knew exactly who you were, what you would do, what you would ask of her?" Bao opened his mouth to retort, but Mintel raised a hand. "You act like a child. Think, son, think! Is this really all you want from life? To exact petty vengeance for a crime you cannot even define, and which was perpetrated by a dead madman? What do you hope to find, when you finally accomplish this, Bao? Whatever it may be, I can assure you, you will not attain it. Vengeance will not quench your anger, it will only inflame it. There is a saying: 'Hate cannot drive out hate. Only love can do that.'" The abrishi directed a stern look at Bao. "You have a responsibility toward us, and toward Neya – our queen, your wife. You have committed yourself to her in the most sacred of manners." Abruptly, he stood up. It always amazed Bao how spry the old man was, despite his advanced age. "I trust you will make the right decision. I have faith in you, son." Before Bao could think of something to say, Mintel lifted the tent flap and sauntered away.

He had to clear his mind. Usually, he would seek Neya's help for that, but given the circumstances…

Bao made his way to the female Ayyad's camp instead. Saseko would be there.

The Two Rivers, modern-day Manetheren, certainly produced fine women, Lan reflected as he listened to Egwene discuss battle plans with Mat. How they had changed since Moiraine and he found them in Emond's Field, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

And Neya… She reminded him of his wife. Nynaeve was so incredibly caring, though she sometimes went to great lengths to hide it.

Lan was uncertain, to say the least, about Demandred's potential defection from the Shadow, but if it could be done… He had been considering taking on the man himself ever since Demandred had started calling out for al'Thor to face him, but if it could be avoided altogether, Lan would gladly accept it.

He might not like it, but he recognised himself in the Forsaken. Lan knew what it was to be consumed with something so completely that you would put aside everything and everyone else. He would forever be grateful to Nynaeve for showing him that he was still capable of feeling, of caring. Well, for that amongst other things.

Could Neya truly have managed to accomplish the same feat with Demandred? Could she have broken through the Forsaken's armoured shell and rekindled a fire in his cold, long-unused heart?

If anyone could believe it possible, it was Lan.