Logain had been wandering aimlessly around camp, hoping to drain away his anger by walking it off.

All the celebrating and cheering annoyed him. Didn't they realise what the so-called servants of the Light had done, what they'd agreed to, in order to make this victory possible? Really, if they let these monsters run around freely, were they any better than Darkfriends?

Cauthon argued that, without Demandred – or rather, if they'd had to contend with him on top of everything else – they would have been hard-pressed to earn this "victory".

Logain, on the other hand, was convinced that none of what had transpired on the battlefield mattered. Al'Thor had saved their hides with his sacrifice, and that was that. Without him, they would have been doomed, with or without the newly-returned Forsaken. The sheepherder had saved the world, and barely broken it in the process.

And yet, despite his grudging respect for the Dragon Reborn, Logain would never forgive him for what he'd done – or rather, had not done. The whole mess at the Black Tower was al'Thor's fault. If he'd acknowledged their existence, bothered to check in on them once in a while, or at the very least heeded Logain's repeated warnings…

Taim may never have turned to the Shadow, if he'd been properly supervised – or better yet, if he'd never been put in charge of the male channelers. That had been a mistake. Taim may be efficient, but he'd always had an overinflated ego, and an obvious lust for power. And he was a bloody coward.

Countless innocents may have been saved from Turning, had the Dragon involved himself in the life of the Black Tower. Logain wouldn't have been tortured.

Al'Vere was equally responsible for the carnage that awaited them, now that most of the remaining Forsaken were on the loose. She, like al'Thor, had partially made up for her mistake, by Healing the Pattern of the damage caused by repeated use of balefire, but she certainly didn't deserve to be praised to the skies. The Amyrlin had made a mess of things, just like the other rulers who had agreed to this. Didn't they realise what it meant, that Demandred would be allowed to return to Shara as its king? It meant that the bloody Forsaken was at the head of a nation that covered nearly a fifth of the known world.

With the Seanchan to the west, and Demandred and his cronies to the east… Logain shook his head. Three Forsaken at large, ruling in all impunity. Blast, perhaps four of them, if Moridin pulled through. Though if he did, Logain would do his best to see that the man was executed and didn't benefit from any clemency. He would kill Moridin himself, if he had to. Light, if Ishamael, of all people, was permitted to live… No, it was unthinkable.

At least Demandred, Taim, and perhaps even Natael, were leashed by Neya. Hopefully she would keep an eye on them and rein them in. Although now that she wasn't ta'veren any longer, Logain wasn't entirely certain what influence she may have over the three Forsaken. Perhaps they would slowly wake up and realise that they'd allowed themselves to be manipulated by a girl who, all things considered, was nothing but your average village farmhand. Logain couldn't remember why he'd thought her so special. She was a formidable Healer, yes, but she was hardly the only one. Without her ta'veren-ness, Neya al'Kane was really nothing more than an ordinary peasant turned Aes Sedai – no, she wasn't even a proper Aes Sedai, just a wilder.

If Logain could avoid Aes Sedai for the rest of his life, he would be quite content. The very idea that he'd now have to keep in touch with the White Tower, with Cadsuane Melaidhrin at its head, of all people… The thought made him shudder.

He'd shared Gabrelle's bed for months, it was true, but he now realised how foolish he'd been. It was never wise to let oneself be ruled by base needs. Gabrelle had obviously been manipulating him – or trying to. Logain supposed that he did care for her, on some level; he'd gotten used to her, after so much time spent in her company. But he doubted that he would ever come to love her.

He had severed their bond before the battle. No matter how they truly felt about each other, it was too dangerous. If either of them had gotten killed, it would have destroyed the other. Logain hadn't felt like sacrificing himself unnecessarily, not for an Aes Sedai and, despite her own feelings – she did love him – Gabrelle had seen the sense in his words.

Logain had not seen her or heard from her since she'd urged him to break the seals. He hadn't tried to find her.

Perhaps Neya was right. He should care more. He just couldn't let go of his anger and resentment, and they took most of his emotional capacity at the moment. Was he truly mad? Was it a result of the taint, or the Turning…or both? He kicked at the ground in frustration.

"Oi, what's that clump of dirt done to you?"

Logain whirled. "Min?" Min Farshaw – whom he'd called Serenla for a long time; a name he'd thought more than appropriate – was taking care of a familiar shaggy brown mare. Logain had made his way to the other end of the camp, to the stables, without realising it. "That horse again? Light, she follows everywhere we go, doesn't she?"

Min patted Bela fondly. "She's the bravest of us all." She glanced at Logain sideways, her brown eyes twinkling.

Logain wasn't in the mood for company, let alone conversation. Then again, al'Thor had just passed away – as expected – which meant that Min had lost her…lover? Husband? Rumours about the Dragon's numerous relationships abounded. No one knew for certain the extent of it, but it had always been obvious that Min cared deeply about al'Thor.

She didn't appear particularly distraught, however. She wasn't wailing in grief, like several women and men Logain had encountered on his trek across the camp. Min Farshaw seemed her usual blunt, snarky self.

"I thought you'd be with the Seanchan," Logain muttered eventually.

Min snorted. "I never intended to stay with them." Logain had guessed that, but he'd also believed that the Empress – may she perish soon in atrocious pain – would never let go of her magical pet Truthspeaker.

"Pity," he said. Min scowled, her eyes glinting dangerously. "I mean, with you working from the inside, maybe you'd have managed to make them see sense about their…mores." About their outrageous practices. "Abolish slavery, free the damane..." To be fair, Logain wasn't exactly against the idea of Aes Sedai being controlled by non-channelers. They'd always held far too much power and leeway over…well, everyone. The Seanchan were taking it a bit too far with their collared women, however. If that was how they treated female channelers, Logain dared not even imagine what they did to the men who had the spark.

Min studied him silently for a minute, the brush frozen mid-motion on Bela's flank. "Mat will take care of that," she declared eventually.

"You've…seen it?" He still wasn't sure how her viewings worked. He certainly didn't understand the one she'd had about him. There had been no glorious moment for him. He'd only done what was expected of him – as he always did. And what did he get for his trouble? A blasted title and forced leadership of the bloody Black Tower! Light knew, he'd be much happier if he never had to set eyes on that cursed place ever again, with its eyesore of a palace. The familiar rush of rage flooded him as flashbacks of his captivity surged in his mind.

Min was watching him cautiously, as though she could see what he was seeing, but she wisely decided not to remark upon it. She shrugged with exaggerated nonchalance. "I can't see anything anymore. That's why I quit. I'd be quite useless as a seer now," she explained.

Logain did his best to control his emotions, to push back the memories and bury them in an abandoned corner of his mind. "I'm sorry," he said flatly. "I didn't know."

Min rolled her eyes, as though this was the stupidest thing she'd ever heard. "Well, how could you? I haven't told anyone yet."

"Then how do you know that Cauthon will do this?"

She smiled sweetly. "Because if he doesn't, I'll smack him so hard, his senseless head will fall off."

Logain chuckled despite himself. She hadn't changed a bit. He found that he was glad about it. Min was…refreshing. "I'm sorry for your loss," he murmured. He may hate the Dragon, but Min didn't deserve to be hurt.

Was it his imagination, or did the corners of her mouth twitch slightly? "Likewise," she offered.

Logain frowned in puzzlement. "Why?" Blood and ashes, was Gabrelle…?

"News travel fast. I hear you lost what remained of your sanity," she said with a smirk.

Anger flared. "I...am…not…mad!" he growled.

Bela neighed softly, and Min gave her comforting pat. She raised an eyebrow. "Clearly not. Maybe you should take an appointment with Nynaeve, though, just to be safe." She was still smiling, but she sounded quite serious.

"You're the second person to tell me that I need Healing in less than an hour," he grumbled sourly.

"Great minds think alike," Min said smugly. Her smile faltered somewhat. "Um, though it depends who that person was, of course."

"Neya."

Min nodded approvingly. "I nearly passed out when I tried to read her, but she seems to have a good head on her shoulders. Despite, you know, bedding several Forsaken and all that." She resumed her gentle brushing of the mare. "Though I'm hardly one to give advice about relationships," Logain heard her mutter under her breath. "Isn't she a Healer, too?" Min added after a moment.

"She is," he confirmed, "but she almost died. She's not fit to channel right now. And I doubt Nynaeve has much energy left to spare."

Min considered for a minute. "What about Damer Flinn?"

Logain huffed. "You seem quite intent on having me Healed as soon as possible," he said hotly. "What is it to you?" Min stopped what she was doing and turned to face him, biting her lower lip. "What?" he barked.

"Logain," she said quietly, "your hands are literally on fire."

Logain looked down. He'd clenched his fists in anger, but he hadn't realised that he'd seized saidin. Threads of pure Fire wove deadly bracelets around his wrists, and small blue flames were bursting from his hands at irregular intervals.

Blood and flaming ashes! He hastily released the Source. "I…um…" He closed his mouth, at a loss for words. How had he not noticed?

Min put her brush aside and unceremoniously wiped her non-fiery hands on her pants. "Let's see if we can't find Master Flinn," she announced in a tone that brooked no argument.