"What in the Pit of Doom were you thinking, Traveling back with Taim here?" Demandred roared at Natael. Logain and Mandragoran were having a hard time physically holding him back. It was probably a good thing that the former Chosen was too exhausted to channel a candle alight. Natael was in no condition to defend himself, and wouldn't be for a while. "Of course she was going to Heal him! Of course she was bloody well going to overreach and do whatever she thought was necessary to bring him back! Don't you know her at all?" He had seen Demandred in a rage before, but this was something else entirely. The man wasn't just furious; he was afraid. Demandred, once the most fearless of the Great Lord's Chosen, was flaming terrified.
The people of this Age were full of surprises. Not only had Nynaeve Sedai somehow managed to Heal a person severed from the Source, something that had been thought impossible in Natael's days but, independently from Neya, she had discovered a method to Heal the madness caused by the taint in a male channeler's mind. Egwene al'Vere had created a weave to counteract the effect of balefire. And now…
Now Neya had brought someone back from the dead. There was no other way to put it. Taim must have been dead, judging by the look on Neya's face just a moment after Natael had returned from the battlefield. She must have felt their bond shatter.
But she had Healed him anyway. Maybe 'resuscitated' was a better choice of word, in this instance.
Against all odds, it appeared that Neya - who apparently shared in her brother's fount of improbably luck - had not burned herself out. Then again, according to Cauthon, she hadn't been allowed to Heal anyone earlier, except for Galad Damodred and a few others. Natael wasn't sure what had happened to him, but the Lord Captain Commander had almost succumbed to his dire wounds. If not for Neya… Well, given everything that had happened, it was a mere detail. Natael couldn't care less about the pretty boy.
Neya and Taim were still unconscious. Several Yellows had Delved them, but they were…uncertain. They couldn't say when they would wake, or even if they would live. Hence Demandred's present frenzied ravings. "You should have left him there, burn you!" the man went on, green eyes blazing. Natael didn't think he'd ever heard Demandred curse before, and now he couldn't seem to stop. Neya had influenced him in more ways than he'd assumed.
"You think you're the only one who's worried about her?" Natael retorted angrily. "And what if Taim had died out there? Do you truly believe that she would have sat on her arse and waited for you to come back and comfort her? After the way you treated her, despite the fact that she was bloody right all along? Do you know her at all?" he went on with a disdainful grimace. Then he did a double take. "You…you knew that they were bonded, right?" he asked with a faint scowl. It hadn't occurred to him until now.
Demandred didn't reply, but his face took on a stony look. Ah. He hadn't known. That explained a lot. Well…that was awkward.
"I once saw Neya cry because she couldn't revive a flaming bird, Demandred," Natael continued more softly. "She cares too bloody much, alright? That's her one flaw, her only weakness. But there's nothing anyone can do about that. I had to bring Taim back to her, don't you see? She loves him, Barid, no matter what fancies you may hold on to," he said quietly. He probably shouldn't use the man's first name, but at this point, did it really matter? He couldn't very well call him 'potato' now, could he? Exhausted or not, Demandred would likely punch him to death if he tried.
Demandred was silent for a long time. Logain slowly let go of the man's arm – his own strength was utterly depleted as well, and there were dark shadows under his eyes – but Mandragoran's grip seemed to tighten. Then the one-time Chosen roughly shook himself free and stalked away.
Natael sighed with relief.
The Last Battle was over. Against Natael's pessimistic expectations, al'Thor had won.
The butcher's bill was costly, however. After Taim, then Demandred, had returned to the Light, Natael had predicted an easy victory, at least on their front. Instead, Moghedien and her Dreadlords had destroyed a good part of the unsuspecting Sharan army, and the Seanchan had been hit simultaneously, as he learned afterward. The news had been slower to reach the command tent, however. By the time Cauthon heard of this attack, the Seanchan army – his army, really – had been severely damaged. In the end, it was all they could do to hold on all fronts. They had underestimated Graendal and Moghedien.
When she saw that she had the advantage, Lilen had finally revealed herself, leading a circle of forty-four Dreadlords, presumably to make an end to their weakened lead channelers. The Amyrlin Seat, the only one among the servants of the Light who still had an ounce of energy to spare, thanks to her sa'angreal, had fought the woman – the whole circle – alone. It had been a short confrontation. Upon realising that her resources were too depleted and instead of retreating, al'Vere had drawn on her sa'angreal until she literally burst with the power that filled her. The blast had destroyed not only Moghedien, but every single remaining Dreadlord besides. She had turned the battle around with her sacrifice, and saved countless lives. She had also somehow undone all the damage caused by the balefire, with what was now called the Flame of Tar Valon. The mysterious death of her Warder and husband, Gawyn Trakand, may have played a part in her ultimate decision.
Kamarile had been dealt with as well, though she still lived. It seemed that Hessalam's Compulsion had backfired and hit her instead of her designated target, Aviendha, al'Thor's Aiel woman. Natael wasn't sure where she was being held, or what would happen to her. And he did not care.
Tedronai's latest reincarnation had been brought back with al'Thor. Both men lay unconscious in a nearby tent; Nynaeve Sedai had been trying to Heal the Dragon Reborn ever since they'd returned from Shayol Ghul, but to no avail. His body was spent, she said. She doubted that he would recover. It was likely a matter of time before he passed. To be fair, it was incredible that he'd survived at all.
Moridin's condition was as uncertain as al'Thor's, although no one seemed to care much about him. He had burned himself out using the True Power, according to Moiraine Sedai. Their account of what had transpired at the Pit of Doom was foggy at best. It seemed that the Aes Sedai who had been bonded to al'Thor, Alanna Mosvani, had met her death at the hand of the Nae'blis. The Great-
Blood and ashes! Months. Natael had spent months amongst the servants of the Light, and still the name his mind chose to conjure was 'Great Lord'. The Dark One's prison had been resealed, using both saidin and saidar, but also the True Power, thanks to Elan's forced contribution. It ought to hold for a few more Turnings of the Wheel. Surely Natael would be long dead by the time the Dark One was strong enough to escape his new Power-wrought cage.
Their losses were innumerable. The young queen of Saldaea, Tenobia; Davram Bashere and his wife; Gareth Bryne and Siuan Sanche; Gawyn Trakand… Those were only the ones whose names were known to all. How many anonymous soldiers, farmers, merchants of all trades, how many women and children had died to save the world? Was their sacrifice any lesser than that of Egwene al'Vere, who seemed to be already on her way to become a figure of legend, nearly as revered as al'Thor himself?
Someone would have to write epic ballads and glorious songs about them. And who better than the only surviving musician of the Age of Legends to see it done properly?
"Who do you think you are, to bar my way?" the tall man demanded scornfully. "I must see her, old man. Let me through, or I will cut my way through," he said dangerously, fingering his sword hilt.
"You ain't going anywhere, lad," Abell repeated stubbornly, arms crossed over his chest. "I don't know who you are, but this is my daughter's tent, and there ain't no man will enter without my saying so."
That seemed to bring the other man up short. "Your daughter?" There was a light tremor in his voice.
Abell nodded firmly. "Aye. Now get out of here. She needs rest." After a brief moment of hesitation, the man finally stalked away.
Sighing with relief, Abell stepped back inside the tent. If the man had really wanted to enter, there wasn't much Abell could have done to stop him. Who were all these bloody men, anyway? This was the third one who'd asked to see Neya!
She lay as still as she had a moment before. She looked frighteningly pale. The Aes Sedai who regularly came to check on her – Delve her, they called it – had been depressingly vague. They had no idea when she would wake, or even if she would wake.
No. Abell couldn't think about that. He wouldn't think about that.
They had, however, assured him that the baby was perfectly fine.
Abell had thanked them wordlessly for that sudden and completely unexpected revelation. A baby. Neya was practically a babe herself! How could she possibly be about to become a mother?
More importantly…who in the flaming Pit of Doom was the bloody father? It could be anyone, as far as Abell knew. One of her three visitors? He certainly hoped not. They weren't the sort he would entrust with his daughter's happiness and well-being.
It had been more than two years since he'd last seen Neya. She had been little more than a girl, barely old enough to braid her hair, when she'd disappeared. She was a woman grown now, but she was still his little girl. He was lucky, he had to admit. When so many had lost loved ones, he found himself with his family whole and unharmed, including the daughter he had long ago presumed dead - and a grandchild on the way.
He still didn't understand why Neya had left Emond's Field. Mat said it was complicated, but they hadn't talked much. There had been more pressing matters; apparently, Mat was some kind of general now. A Seanchan general, of all things. Blood and ashes! Who in their right mind would put his son in charge of anything, or anyone? There was also a faint rumour that he was married, but that was truly laughable. Why not Mat becoming a father, while they were at it? He chortled at the thought.
"Abell?" someone called from outside the tent. It sounded like Nynaeve.
"Come in," he said.
It was the Wisdom, just as he had thought. She looked different. More…poised. More in control. A tall, solid man followed on her heels. That was Lan Mandragoran, the man who had called himself Andra when Abell first met him. Apparently, they were married. Abell pitied the lad.
"Abell, I'm sorry I didn't come sooner. I didn't even know Neya was here until a moment ago," Nynaeve said wistfully, sounding very much her old self. If she'd still had her braid, she likely would have tugged it. Abell wondered if it was gone because she'd finally yanked it off in frustration or annoyance.
The Wisdom made her way toward the cot and placed a hand on Neya's forehead. Abell assumed she was doing some Aes Sedai magic; he couldn't see or feel anything.
"She's been like that since I arrived two hours ago," Abell explained. "The Aes Sedai said she needed rest, lots of it, but they couldn't tell me when she'd wake up." Nynaeve was frowning; eventually, she grimaced. "Something wrong?" he asked worriedly.
"She will be fine, I think. She and the-" She trailed off, shaking her head, her lips pursed. The baby, Abell surmised. Nynaeve did not approve. Did she know who was the father? He didn't ask. Neya's health was a more pressing concern. "Considering what she did," Nynaeve went on, "it's a wonder she's even alive." She looked impressed, but there was still a faint trace of distaste in her expression. "She does need rest, Abell. There's not much I can do for her, I'm afraid."
"That's alright, Wisdom. Thanks for coming. I know you must be busy with Rand."
She sniffed. "Abell, I'm an Aes Sedai," she scolded him.
Oh. Mat had told him, he remembered faintly – or had it been Lord Perrin? – but he had forgotten about that. "Aye, that's right. Slipped my mind. Sorry…ah…Nynaeve Sedai."
"Well, there's no need to be so formal, but don't call me Wisdom. Are you hurt?" she demanded, hands on her hips. She was eyeing him up and down, and Abell could almost feel the weight of her probing gaze. He could have sworn that her husband's lips twitched slightly at her scrutiny.
No, she hadn't changed that much. "I'm fine," Abell assured her. "How is Rand, if I may ask?"
Nynaeve sighed heavily. Suddenly, she looked exhausted. "I don't think he will last the night," she murmured. "Light knows, there's nothing wrong with him. He's just…spent." She paused. "And of course, that wretched Forsaken is pulling through," she went on darkly. "It's not fair!" Lan gently placed a hand on her shoulder. Nynaeve huffed sharply. "I'm sorry. I should go back to him."
"Thank you for coming," Abell said again.
"Let me know if – when – she wakes up, will you?" He nodded in assent, and they both departed.
Abell sat back in his chair. She will wake up, he thought stubbornly.