Author's Note:

I began work on this story one week after seeing "Fellowship of the Ring" in the theater for the first time, so I have been working on this story on and off for close to two years. I originally started it as a practice story—sort of a pre-rough draft—to explore some themes I'm working with in an original fiction, but it soon grew enough to become a story in its own right. I chose to use the Seanchan because they are depicted as very good at assimilating people, and also because I find them fascinating; I've read so many retreads of ancient Rome that Robert Jordan's choice to base his empire on Imperial China seemed downright refreshing in comparison. I'm still not completely satisfied with the story, but I've reached the point where I'm sick of working on it, so I decided to post it and get it out of the way.

WARNING: CONSIDERABLE LIBERTIES ARE TAKEN WITH BOTH LOTR AND WOT CANON IN THIS STORY. If you are a devoted Tolkien fan—or a devoted Wheel of Time fan, but in my experience Tolkien fans tend to be more passionate than WoT fans, so this warning is aimed mostly at them—then this is probably not the story for you. Don't say I didn't warn you. Those of you who are not canon hounds and are capable of taking your fandoms with a grain of salt, come on in.

Standard Disclaimer:

Most of the characters, locations, etc. contained within are not mine but are the property of their respective authors, J. R. R. Tolkien and Robert Jordan. No copyright infringement is intended or implied by their use here. Keille Sar, Maekel Etari, Eilei Katrell, Ajan Idwalle, Yisuen, Riete, Sumi Bitrou, Sheilene, Lana and Ciriel belong to this author.

The songs and poetry are also the property of their respective authors, J. R. R. Tolkien and Robert Jordan, except for material from "The Ol' Beggar's Bush" and "Rare Ould Times," which are from Flogging Molly's Swagger and Drunken Lullabies albums respectively. "Lady of Shadows" is adapted by the author from "Jak o' The Shadows" by Robert Jordan, to fit in a Seanchan context. Again, no copyright infringement is intended or implied by their use here.


"…As the gray unyielding concrete
Makes a city of my town."

—"Rare Ould Times," from Flogging Molly's Drunken Lullabies.

The First Expeditionary Force of the Ever Victorious Army was slogging. They had made landfall two weeks before and had proceeded up the branch of a nameless river, which the Others among them—there were a few, although not many, even in an army seventy thousand strong, as this was—said was called the Gwathlo. That had given way to another, called the Mitheithel, which had given way to yet a third, called the Bruinen. It was along the Bruinen that their primary destination lay, at least according to the word from High Lady Suroth, she who led the Ever Victorious Army.

"It all looks like the same bloody river to me," groused Keille, looking down from her perch on raken-back.

Below her, the Ever Victorious Army spread out in all its size along the banks of the river. It looked like a river itself in moving dull metal and bronze colors, brightened here and there by the banners and standards of those of the Blood who moved among them, flowing endlessly among the green grass and trees and foliage of these lands. Long columns of pikemen, swordmen, archers, and cavalry were flanked by grolm and lopar, hopping corlm, and riders on torm-back. Huge, bulking supply wagons brought up the rear, along with cage after cage of damane, protectively surrounded by sul'dam on horseback. Keille was glad to see them; damane caused her unease, even though she knew the a'dam made them safe, and it was a comfort to know the sul'dam were so close by. Flights of to'raken, laden either with cargo or with the female Fists of Heaven, flew with long, powerful strokes above them. Keille, as a raken-rider, flew even above the to'raken, high above the army, seated behind her der'morat'raken Briande, who controlled the beast. She stretched in her saddle, kicking her feet out, hot in her leather armor; her insectile helmet hung slung by a strap around her neck, freeing her short brown hair to glisten in the sunlight.

In front of her, Briande twisted in the saddle to look down at Keille. She was tall for a raken-rider, where weight conservation was at a premium, yet unusually slender and gracile—a fortunate thing, and even so, when physicals came around she had to starve herself for days on end to squeak in under the weight requirements. As she always told Keille, she would be very sei'mosiev to be thrown off the rakens after all these years due to failing her physicals. Now she raised one pale brow, barely visible in the shadow of her helmet. "What did you say?"

"I said it all looks like the same bloody river to me," Keille spoke louder, stretching again and shaking her head. "I'm tired of following this river. I want to see some action."

Briande shrugged. "I'm sure we'll see some soon enough," she said only, and then leaned out in the saddle to check the set of the wing of rakens and their riders gliding in formation behind them. The rakens behind them were spread out in perfect double-chevron formation, just as they should be, their riders alert and aware, watching all around, above and below; still, Briande checked them anyway, and sat back in her saddle with a small, satisfied nod. Briande was one of the best der'morat'rakens in the whole of the Ever Victorious Army, and had become so due to meticulous attention to detail, thus meriting her position as Supreme Der'Morat'Raken to this force. It was a position, she had told her back-rider privately over many glasses of kaf, that both excited her and frightened her, because if she did well enough here, on this expedition—triggered by the Foretelling of the Empress of the Nine Moons' truth-speakers—she might be tapped to head up the entire raken forces for the Return, across the Aryth Ocean.

And Keille, of course, as her faithful backrider, second-in-command, and aide, would go with her. Keille did not care much for the prospect of power—neither, she thought to herself, did Briande, actually; Keille was of the opinion that Briande just wanted to test herself—but the prospect of the loot, adventure, and the Empress's favor was enough to make her mouth water.

The land flashed past under the wings of Iraumu, green and glistening and somehow too quiet; Keille shook her head. Now she spoke again. "No, I can't wait to finish up here and go back to Seanchan. This land is too strange for me; something's wrong here. It's too quiet, the—the noises are different somehow, and the light—and all these Others! Brr…" She shivered ostentatiously. Briande looked back at her again, frowning slightly, and Keille felt guilt needle her.

"Sorry, Briande. It's just—being surrounded by them, somehow gives me the creeps."

"It's all right, Keille," Briande said graciously. She unslung her water bottle from her shoulder and offered it to Keille; Keille took a swig from it gratefully and handed it back. Briande always put lemon and sugar in her water whenever she could get them, or occasionally mint, something that Keille kept meaning to do but somehow usually forgot. "I know you didn't mean to offend me."

For a moment they flew on in silence, hovering above the rest of the army; they dropped briefly, then rose as Iraumu lost, then found another current of air. The marching songs of the Ever Victorious Army drifted up to them where they hovered in the humid air. That was another thing Keille didn't like about this area; the climate. Presently she leaned forward in the saddle again, peering past Briande's shoulder. "Do they know?"

"Does who know what?" Briande asked absently, tightening the reins slightly as Iraumu sideslipped.

"Do they know that we're coming? I mean, just randomly showing up with an army on the doorstep is the fastest way I can think of to get someone suddenly dead….."

Briande shrugged. "They should. High Lady Suroth dispatched Third Flight Fifth Talon the moment we made landfall, and she's been in correspondence by raken ever since, so if they don't know if we're coming by now…."

Keille shivered. "Frankly, I don't—" She cut herself off shortly; it was wrong to speak ill of one of the Blood, no matter how one felt about them. After a moment, she modified what she had been going to say. "Yes, I'm sure she did. High Lady Suroth is extremely methodical." She knew that Briande knew her well enough by now to know what she meant by that.

"She is," Briande spoke with a complete lack of emotion that informed Keille that the der'morat'raken agreed.

"I wonder how much longer."

"Shouldn't be too long," Briande said levelly; only Keille knew her well enough to catch the slight hint of strain in her voice.

"Briande, are you all right?" she asked now, wishing that they were facing each other so she could read her friend's expression. "You've been acting strange and subdued ever since landfall. I know being here probably feels strange to you—"

"I'm all right, just feeling the strain a little," Briande said lightly, and Keille saw her slender shoulders twitch under her leather armor as she shrugged. "You know this is the practice for the real thing, and if something goes wrong here…."

The Return. Briande didn't need to specify any more; Keille knew she worried about that almost nightly. She slapped her friend on the shoulders.

"You should be like me, Briande! Go out and roister every now and then. Sure you dice occasionally, but what you really need to do is go out, get roaring drunk, suck up a gallon or two of dreamsmoke, go back to your tent with a tall, strong man, and wake up the next morning puking into the chamber pot and regretting the whole thing. You'll feel all kinds of better afterwards, I promise."

Briande shook her head with a small smile. "No, that's not for me, Keille. It's just not my way."

Keille shrugged. "Suit yourself. What is the name of this place we're headed to, anyway?" she asked, straining to look past Briande again.

Briande was silent for a moment, until Keille looked quizzically at her friend; when the Other answered it was with her head turned away and her eyes down. "Rivendell."