Chapter Five: On the Wind
The forest was eerily quite. No wind stirred the branches, no glint of stars peered though the wooden fingers, no animals skittered in the darkness and no birds called through the night. The ground was snow covered, but an area had been cleared to reveal frozen solid ground. In the centre of this small clearing was a fire, leaping and dancing as it devoured the wood it sat on, banishing cold from the air surrounding it, denying winter itself.
The three companions were all close to this fire, taking solace in it's warmth but only one remained awake. A cloak lined with fur was wrapped around her slight frame so no flesh could be seen save her face. Dark eyes stared intently at the flames, reflecting it's light and adding to it from somewhere deep inside the woman, something alive and smouldering. She ignored the occasional stir of her compatriots but she was alert, the sound of a dead twig under foot would have been deafening.
Although Yana fingered the belt knife under her cloak, her mind was elsewhere. Yet, for once, he thoughts were not absorbed with the quarry she pursued with such vigour. No, her mind dwelled on the one person no doubt searching for her: al'Lan Mandragoran. A beautiful name that even now, in winter's icy grip, warmed her heart. It was hard to believe that she shared his name as his lover and wife. Not for the first time she begged the Creator to allow her memories to return as they once were, where she could remember the names of those she cared for, where she could remember every breath with him, every touch. She allowed herself to imagine the moments she longed for, moments that made her cheeks grow hot. Their first meeting, the realisation of love, their wedding and the wedding night. But these were daydreams nothing more. They could not replace the true events, locked deep in her mind.
Matrim shifted in his sleep and Yana's head snapped to where he lay. His eyes opened to slits as he peered at her.
"Nynaeve?"
Yana smiled sadly at the young man.
"Go back to sleep Matrim." She watched him pull his blanket around himself with soft, caring eyes.
"As you command, Wisdom," he muttered mockingly.
Yana sighed. Could she be Nynaeve al'Meara, no el'Nynaeve Mandragoran, wife of the last King of Malkier, Aes Sedai of the Yellow Ajah ever again? That life seemed so far away, as senseless as chasing the sun.
A wind suddenly whipped through the trees, scattering the snow that covered the branches and battling with the flames of the fire. But Yana didn't care; the wind was answering her silent question. Closing her eyes she felt the wind rush round her tugging at her cloak and sent her braid lashing like a cat's tail.
"Always Nynaeve," she breathed to the wind, a smile turning the corners of her mouth. "Lan."
The wind bent and swirled away from the woman, turning south to leave Kandor. The wind blew in Tar Valon, amid the breath taking spectacles besieged by the 'rebel' Aes Sedai. It seized the banners, caressing them with it's touch. The wind brushed past Dragonmount, kicking up the soil on which the Dragon Reborn gave his first cry. On the road to Caemlyn the wind danced and while the sailors heading to Tear rejoiced at the speed it brought, the travellers along the road cursed and pulled their cloaks tighter around themselves. Through Braem Wood to the magnificent city of Caemlyn, capital city of mighty Andor, home to it's sovereign, Queen Elayne. The palace dominated the inner city, the towers reaching to the sky in pillars of white, complete with balconies in every possible direction.
On one such balcony stood a man, his face as soft as a stone, his eyes as cold as mountain streams. Although grey touched his dark hair, held by a simple band of leather, no sign of age marred his face. The uncrowned king could not help but close his eyes as the breeze called to him, singing the song deep in his heart. On this air from the North he could feel her touch, ignoring the scars that criss crossed his body, he could smell her scent but most of all he could hear her voice. Enchanting him, placing under her spell. She called his name.
"I come," he whispered. "The Light blind me, I come!"
The wind died, believing his words, just as she would, and he felt empty once again. He could not imagine a time without her, to listen, to care, to love him like no other would have, could have. He knew that Egwene and Elayne whispered confused by his sudden waves of emotion, emotion never let loose before. They did not understand, Nynaeve's death had been his as well. He ate, he drank, he slept, his heart beat but it was all pointless. With her last breath, his soul had ceased.
But she breathed still, and with that she kindled a spark of hope inside him, a spark that fanned itself into a roaring fire. He had been given the second chance he had prayed for; to protect her, to serve her and above all love her, as a husband should. All his regrets could be rectified and Lan didn't want to miss a moment.