Chapter One A New Wind
The Wheel of Time turns, and ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legends fade to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the fourth age by some, an Age yet to come, an age long pass, a wind rose in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings or endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.
Laerum al'Miros was a man known throughout Watch Hill. He was a farmer but not just any farmer, he was the steward of King Perrin Aybara. A man cannot be in two places at once and the King had Saldea to run. So when the King asked Laerum, a simple wheat farmer and cattle herder to become his steward, how could he refuse? It really was an easy thing to gain the support of Daise Congar and her Women's Circle in Emond's Field. A little bit of free steaks. Then there was Brandelwyn al'Vere and all that took was a large investment in the interests of Emond's Field. He had enough money at that point, through farming, to make a hefty investment. With these two in favor with him, all it took was recommendations from Jerinvar Barstere and Edelle Gaellin, his village's mayor and wisdom respectively and the support of Bran al'Vere and Daise Congar and the King had little choice. The King always did put a little too much trust in those two but who was he to fault him for that. He was a farmer who became a king. Something Laerum has only dreamed of being.
He felt like a king, sitting on Perrin's seat. Gilded and silk. "My lord," Cenn Buie spoke as if there was something to be embarrased about, "Without Abell Cauthon or Tam al'Thor here people are beginning to worry about another trolloc attack." Laerum nearly laughed.
"Tell them that Tarmon Gai'don is won. The Dark One is sealed once more and the trollocs were all killed by Egwene al'Vere." This was at least what the legends had spoke of. The one's passed through the Two Rivers by tourists travelling to see the ruins of Rand al'Thor's childhood home. "And even if they were to attack His Majesty Aybara would be here with an army and Lord Matrim Cauthon would be soon behind." Both were men who made themselves kings, Mat was an emporer, or at least thats what the stories said. He was only a dreamer. Jealousy heated his blood. "Now go, Cenn Buie, I will come by for a drink later and we can talk more." The old man had a lot of pull in the Two Rivers and he does not quite have the influence that Perrin did before leaving the Two Rivers to him.
"My lord," Bran al'Vere was standing in front of him. The man looked proud. "King Perrin," he paused for a second as if trying to wrap his head around the idea of Perrin as king, "Left you in charge of the Two Rivers and you have shown yourself to care about our people a great deal. Because of this, though I know this is not custom in the Two Rivers, I offer you my daughter's hand in marriage." Then suddenly Loise al'Vere was standing next to him with a longing look on her face. "She begged her mother to let her marry you and then proceeded to beg me to bring it up with you." Marrying an al'Vere, the power it would give him and she was extremely easy on the eyes, which helped.
"I could not break custom so. Let us wait the year." Laerum was not sure that this was what he wanted but if he started breaking custom the citizens of the Two Rivers may start to see him like they do the tourists searching for some way to get to know the Dragon Reborn after his death.
"My lord, King Perrin gave me permission to marry you as soon as possible. He said that he and Faile did not wait the year, though they knew each other long before their betrothal, and that custom did not apply to those in his court. And you sir are in his court." He was in his court. The court of Perrin Aybara, friend of the most powerful man in history. The closer he gets to power the more he craves it for himself.
"That I am." He finally returned Loise's longing smile with one of his own. "Then how about tomorrow at first light?" Bran gave a start. Perhaps he was not expecting it to be so soon. But he needed someone to sit next to him in Faile's chair. And Bran needed someone in his family to fill that seat before another did. Or maybe he was reading too much into it.
"It would be my honor." Bran told him before turning to walk out.
"Master al' Vere," Laerum called after him and he turned around slowly, a sad look on his face as if he knew what this was about, "How are you holding up?" Laerum did not actually care but would like this man to think that he did.
"It has been nearly a year and it has not gotten any easier." Tears gathered at the edges of his eyes. "She had so much left in her to give the world."
"Perhaps she will be reborn. Those with much to give the world often are." Brandelwyn's face grew grim but then softened again.
"Perhaps." Was all he said before turning to walk away again. The woman they spoke of was Egwene al'Vere, Bran's youngest daughter and the former Amyrlin Seat, who gave her life to the light during Tarmon Gai'don.
That night he barely slept. The thought of how much power he would secure in the morning was overwhelming. A light suddenly burst through his closed eyes before they could adjust, he was being pulled up. When they finally did adjust he noticed that he was standing in grass, his bare feet wet from the dew. In front of him stood a magnificent structure. Black and tall. Small building surrounding its base. Like the White Tower, it is slowly being built by ogier and other workers and few male channelers. Standing in front of him was a tall man with long black hair. Dressed all in black. His face pale as snow. Hand on his sword he had an appraising look on his face.
"So you are him?" He asked skeptically. He turned to look at the man beside Laerum. Another man dressed in all black with a bald head and a blank look on his face like a warders. "He is King Aybarra's steward?"
"Yes, M'Hael. He is Laerum al'Miros." The man told him.
"Then off with you, we have something we must discuss." The man told the bald man. The black haired man walked toward Laerum as the bald man walked away. Laerum met the man stare for stare. He knew what this place was, who this man was. He was Logain Albar. "My name is Logain Albar. The M'Hael of the Asha'man."
"Wasn't that," Laerum swallowed, his fear may not have showed on his face but he definetly felt it, "Wasn't that a name of one of the Forsaken."
"I thought you country folk did not know much." Logain said in surprise.
"We used to not even know what Andor was. Recently we have been getting more and more visitors. Some even took part in Tarmon Gai'don. They tell us stories. Legends really. Many I assume are exaggerated, like the statue left by Egwene al'Vere after her death facing M'-" He cut himself off before he said the name.
"It is okay to say the word. It only means 'leader' in the old tongue. The only reason, Taim used it as his name after turning to the Dark One was because he thought he would find glory at Tarmon Gai'don over the Lord Dragon. Over me. When we defeated him he lost the right to retain the name. As the Dark One lost his right to ever lay his hands on the world again. The Creator will see to that." Logain sounded so sure of himself. "But I did not bring you here for talk of Tarmon Gai'don but of something further in the past. Do you remember our oath Artain?" Oath? What in the light is this man talking about?
"Oath? What in the light are you talking about?" Laerum repeated his thought.
"Ah, so you do not remember." Logain smiled coldly. "The Dragon is not dead." He said, unblinking.
"How do you know this?" Laerum asked. "And who is Artain?"
"I met with Elayne Trakand after the battle. She was grieving but not over Rand al'Thor. She kept playing with her Aes Sedai ring. She smiled at al'Thor's name. Tears touched her eyes but so did her smile." He let out a sigh. "A knowing smile."
"How sure are you that he is not dead?" Laerum asked.
"The Dragon was born in the Age of Legends and reborn in the Third Age. It is the Fourth Age now and I doubt the Creator's champion will leave the world in the state that it is in before dying."
"It is all speculation?" Laerum asked, becoming impatient. Who is Artain?
"No, not all. The Dragon will not be reborn in our age. I believe he will live until the wheel turns back to the First Age again." Logain explained. "Many from the Age of Legends believed this. Precisely one hundred and thirteen did." Logain smiled, full of mirth. "Some even believed that he was the Creator in the flesh. Able to weave the Great Pattern directly." Logain's face became colder. "You were one such person. As was I. As were the eleven others who were stilled when we sealed the Bore and escaped the Pit of Doom with Lews Therin's help. Lews Therin was, is our god and now we must find him."