Disclaimer: I own my OC and the alternativeness of this plot. Everything else belongs to Robert Jordan.

Author's notes are at the end of the chapter.

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CHAPTER EIGHT- R.E.M.

It took less self-control than Rand had expected to hide his flinch at the look Sora Grady gave him as she herded her son away to the farmhouse. A woman's eyes cut deeper than a knife was the saying in Two Rivers, and he was reminded that nothing any Aes Sedia, or Forsaken, or courtier could ever teach him could render his heart impervious to the faces filled with hurt, betrayal, and hopelessness that would soon look upon him as their loved ones passed away for the sake of a prophecy; even if he acted callous and unchanged- told himself countless times he must be callous and unchanged- it ate at him. With a grim air about him, Rand stepped through the gateway and into a tent decorated in rich, mind-boggling patterns of the Tairien style. Maidens stalked ahead of him, attentive to anything that might possibly harm the car'a'carn.

The camp of the eclectic, ever-divided army of Tairens and Cairhienins sprawled before and behind him and, somewhere amidst the chaos, Aiel too had laid down their encampment. If today's meeting was to be anything like those in the past, Rand knew he would be asked over and again by the army's collective leaders why they idled just short of the border of their targeted country: Tear. They were obediently, albeit impatiently, awaiting Mat Cauthon, who was by now a battle hero of almost legendary status, to lead the army forward into action. As much as Rand understood the others' desire for haste, he was becoming annoyed by such redundant complaints. This was another reason for irritation, as he had hoped to bring Loran with him in hopes that the younger man's unexplained presence would at least befuddle the nobles enough to give Rand the ability to steer conversation as he pleased. It had been a disheartening surprise when Loran wasn't able to pass through the gateway- something he would have to discuss with him later on.

His attention was redirected as he stepped out into heat that made Caemlyn seem refreshing and an Aielman, Roidan, leader of the Thunder Walkers, greeted him solemnly from his place guarding the usually empty tent.

"I see you, Rand al'Thor. May you find shade this day."

"I see you, Roidan. May you find shade this day," Rand replied formally, adding, "Is the High Lord Weiramon about?"

Upon receiving an affirmative answer, Rand began to steel himself against what he knew was going to be a very long, very stifling day.

ooOO00OOoo

Loran appeared once again, alone, in what seemed liked an eerie reflection of the living world. He stood and exited the tent. The environment of his dream was fairly unchanged, and he remembered how, for the first time during his last dream, he'd realized that the strange heat-wave motions of the air were actually people flickering in and out of the dreamscape. It was a disconcerting sight for sure, and he briefly wondered if therapy would be a good idea once he returned home…if he ever found a way home.

For a moment he considered staying put, but just thinking about waiting for the Wise Ones- if they even knew what do to about this…this problem- made him extremely bored. So he set off at once. He found himself at the edge of one of several walls that cut into the hilly ground like a set of stairs and realized at once where he'd brought himself in his mindless walking. In the royal gardens of Caemlyn, there was a portion that was tucked between a corner of the castle and the back of some random multistory building. The green hill seemed to move up the sides of the buildings as if holes had been dug out of the landform for the structures to be inserted, and levels of the hill had been sectioned into large steps with strips of red stone; by sitting on the terrace walls, Loran found that he could look over a good portion of the royal city. It was a good way to pass the time and an even better place to think. He'd tried to find the same hill once he'd woken up, and found that it was nearly humanly impossible to get to where he was, much less get back down. It was when he'd first learned how to slow his falls using saidin, though it had taken him nearly two hours of crying out for help and all in all looking like some pathetic wimp before he'd remembered that, unlike in his own world, he had special powers here.

"My world," he mumbled to himself. That was one thing he often thought about while sitting there. While it seemed more and more knowledge of his world slipped out of his mouth when he wasn't thinking on the issue, the more he consciously tried to remember himself, the more confused he became. Snippets of memories kept trying to force themselves together like misplaced pieces in a jigsaw puzzle, and there were times when he almost wondered if some of those memories were even real. He worried at his lip in thought. How long had he been here? Several months at least. Surely he had family and friends who wondered where he was, if his memories were real. They probably thought he was dead by now.

He groaned in frustration, propelling himself backwards so that he somersaulted onto a grassy part of the terracing, stood, and began pacing; his movements and posture revealed the anxiety he harbored behind his sincere goofiness. As much as he enjoyed being here without a care in the world, he could only cope for so long not knowing who he really was. He didn't even know if the way he acted was really himself, or simply a personality his mind had fabricated in response to the situation he was in. Someone in this world must know a theory on how to return to- well- wherever it was he came from. Someone must know why he could use saidin without being poisoned by the taint, and why he could see what only women who channel should be able to see.

Despite his desperation, there were two things that kept him from just up and leaving to find his answers. The first thing, or rather, person, was Rand. To be completely honest with himself, Loran had relatively few friends in this world. Sure, there were people that admired him, people that thought of him as someone interesting to observe, people that blatantly used him for nothing more than their entertainment- One of these days, the Maidens'll see who gets the last laugh, he digressed- and then there were people (a very large group of people, in fact) that absolutely despised him. But Rand was one out of a miniscule group of people with whom the boy interacted on a daily basis and with whom he shared a mutual liking. And to be completely honest, Rand probably would have never gotten through the day without his charge to keep him, at the very least, entertained; Loran quickly labeled that reason as more or less prideful delusion. Rand had also commanded him, requested of him, implored him- he could not think of the right verb- to stay and for reason, Loran had always been compelled to follow Rand's orders since he first arrived here.

The second thing was far less complex than the first: there didn't seem to be a way home at all. Nobody in this world seemed interested in what happened outside of their country, their city, their street. Those that did, well, they didn't seem right in the head to begin with anyway-

Movement on the far end of the garden caught Loran's attention. At first, he though it to be more of the strange flickering produced by the ether but instead of wavering out of existence, the figures continued to solidify, their features blurred at such a distance. It was his first time to ever encounter others in thi-…wherever this place was and he wasn't certain he felt like chatting at the moment. So he ignored them, looking anywhere but directly ahead in hopes that they might not notice him, or even if they did, that they would leave him alone.

"YOU STUPID- STUPID BOY!" Loran's heart seized in terror as Amys was suddenly leaning over him, face redder than was probably healthy, screaming for what was now the second time he had ever seen the woman act with so much emotion. He was hauled up by his shirt collar, the Wise Woman's grip making him gasp with a lack of oxygen.

"What did I do?" he sputtered, his voice obviously close to hysteria. While he didn't want to die in this world, he especially did not want to die in his sleep, and by the strength of Amys's grip, Loran could tell she was about ready to kill him.

"You never enter tel'aran'rhiod physically! Never! Do you have any idea how much danger you're putting yourself in?!"

"But I- what is- what are you talking about?!" The white haired woman's grip loosened slightly, but only so she could yank Loran around, making a sweeping gesture with her free hand at the gardens- and everything else- before them.

"This! This is tel'aran'rhiod: the world of dreams."

" It is entered during sleep," Bair explained, "though many only touch it for seconds before returning to their resting minds. Through great skill and caution, we enter tel'aran'rhiod in spirit-"

"But you! You entered it completely, which is extremely dangerous! You could have been killed, or worse!" Loran, who had been leaning further away from Amys with each scornful syllable, landed on the ground with a grunt as Amys released her death grip on him, crossing her arms and sighing in exasperation.

"Don't go yelling at me about something I don't understand! I never even knew that such a place existed until just now," the red-haired boy retorted, having regained some of his composure now that he was out of the direct line of Amys's wrath.

"Perhaps. But you should have told someone about this long ago if you had noticed something strange about your 'dreams'," Melaine replied sternly. Amys turned to Loran once again, her posture wary and rigid.

"How often has this occurred?"

" Uh-"

"Quickly! We may have time to reverse any permanent damage done to you if we know how long you have been exposed to this place."

"…since I first came here?"

The three women's eyes widened, their faces paled, and they all stepped away from Loran as if they'd been bitten. Loran felt a numbing sensation on his face as he too paled at their reaction. Was it really that bad? Could people really die here? And what was the 'worse' part Amys had referred to? What lay beneath the quiet surface of this dream world that snatched away the souls of unexpected sleepers? His breath quickened and his heart thudded loudly in his ears. He suddenly felt very alone and very exposed. For the past several months he'd been waking up here, never knowing that he might be in danger. It was like finding out that the nice store clerk you always bought coffee from was a serial killer…while you were the only one in his shop.

Then he noticed the Wise Ones were no longer staring at him, but above and beyond him. Their faces had become stony and grim, and they continued to back away from where he stood. That's when he heard it: a deep growl, like a sound that rose from the deepest, most desolate of crevices in the earth. Slowly, slowly, he turned and looked up. He wasn't sure what it was. It black, big, and it emanated a lust for blood that rooted Loran to his spot in fear. The monster was crouched almost directly over him, its skin writhing in a way reminiscent of insects climbing over each other, reeking with decay. It was peculiar in that it lacked any facial features, but it saw him all the same. He couldn't be sure, but he didn't think he was breathing anymore. Bair's quiet, even voice floated into his mind from somewhere he could not see.

"Loran…Loran. Listen to me. It isn't real. It's only there because your mind put it there. Believe it isn't real and you can destroy it." Loran would have loved to think that the ten-foot tall creature ready to disembowel him wasn't real, though he would have liked to be able to think at all. His mind was trapped in a dizzying circle of terror and helplessness, the fight-or-flight mechanism in his mind a broken loop as he couldn't think passed the personification of death in front of him.

"Loran!" This time it was Amys's voice, stern with urgency. It did not help, though; he could not move, though he was most likely trembling. Maybe that's why everything's shaking.

Suddenly a pinpoint of awareness formed in the back of his mind, shooting outward through the fog like a thousand lighthouses in a hurricane. A voice he knew so well struck the back of his mind with resounding clarity. And he found that he was able to do exactly what the voice said.

"Run!"

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I know it's been such a long time since the last chapter, college is busier this semester than ever before, and even though that isn't much of an excuse, it's true. I'm trying to juggle free time between all the stuff I want to/said I would do, and every time I try to work on this, my brain just wouldn't connect with my fingers. I could have just BS'ed my way through, but I hate it when other authors do that so I tried to work on it only when I knew I was going to it justice. Next chapter will come up much sooner this time I promise!

It was kind of weird, while writing the last bit: I actually started feeling scared (not that what I wrote was actually scary or anything). I often end up feeling the emotion I'm trying to convey in a story or piece of art, though I've never really done anything with fear before. Maybe that's why it feels so odd…

Constructive Criticism is appreciated!