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Something jolted him from his sleep. With a rush of awareness that had been honed to a keen edge by many years on the road in an instant he was upright and alert despite his exhaustion. Reflectively one hand went to the hilt of his sword and was drawing the power wrought blade a hand breadth from his scabbard in readiness as he cast about searching for what had woken him.
There was nothing.
The cold night air this far north in the Borderlands had his reluctantly accepted men huddling closely around their camp fires, their slow and regular breathing steaming as they still slept. The camp was quiet apart from off in the distance one of the men on watch was singing quietly to himself in an attempt to keep himself awake. Even with his senses sharpened by the courtesy of the Warder bond he could only barely make out the words.
My home is waiting there for me,
and the girl I left behind.
Of all the treasure that waits for me,
that's what I want to find.
Her eyes so merry, and her smile so sweet,
her hugs so warm, and her ankle neat,
her kisses hot, now there's a treat.
If there's a treasure greater, it lies not in my mind.
The words from “Coming Home from Tarwin’s Gap” made something in his chest twist painfully. Nynaeve He thought sadly. It was a favourite song amongst soldiers but he’d never liked it because mostly likely they would never return home again only to the Mother’s final embrace. In a way he was coming home from Tarwin’s Gap only his home with in the blight and he would most likely never see Nynaeve again. That mixture of pain and regret was an ever-present ache in his chest. How many days had it been since she had left him at World’s end?
After the Trolloc attack at Lord Algarin’s estate he had stood staring out of the window in the bedroom that he and Nynaeve had shared, staring without seeing at the destruction and a far harsher war had raged within him. He could feel the taint of the Shadowspawn moving through the lands that had once been Malkier like lice burrowing through his clothes pricking and itching at his skin. The duty that had been bred into him to defend and avenge the loss of his nation had demanded that he return to finish what had been started so long ago pulled him northwards. Yet… and yet he had duties here too, ones of equal importance to him as the oaths sworn in his name. How could he leave her? The question cut into him bone deep as he wrestled with what to do.
Twice before, once in the Blight and then in Tear he’d been torn between his oaths and his love for Nynaeve. His wife. The Heart of his heart. How could he leave, when his place is also here with her?
“You have to go.” She’d said softly, sadly and even as the fetters that had placed on him fell away, he’d seen how much it had cost her to let go and the depth of her love and faith in him. Light, she’d looked like she’d wanted to weep and, in that moment, humbled he’d known what it was to be wholly and completely loved.
He should have been surprised and suspicious when Nynaeve, who’d never enjoyed public displays of affection especially with the proposed final farewell night in Shienar had kissed him so fiercely in the stables as they’d waited for Mandarb and Loversknot to be saddled. For days afterwards he’d been furious with her for leaving him on that cliff’s edge, the tang of salt heavy in the air just about as far as she could get him from Shienar. Begrudgingly even to himself he’d had to admit that she had kept entirely to her word of taking him to the Borderlands. Some Aes Sedai tricks she had learnt entirely too well in his opinion. Only a few days apart had made his anger had subsided and he’d just missed her with a continuous ache in his suddenly heavy heart especially when he’d realised it had been their goodbye kiss.
Returning his attention to the present he cast about searching for whatever had awoken him but there was nothing amiss. No warder’s sense of the evil of Shadowspawn creeping towards them. No sounds other than the snoring of his men and the cold lonely hoot of an owl searching for its mate. None of the bubbles of the Dark One’s taint corrupting the world around his men. But still something had changed.
No. Something had changed within him.
The small knot of emotions in his mind that had been the part of Moiraine and then Myrelle in him had changed. He’d felt something like this change before when Moiraine had died. Suddenly the small knot of emotion in his mind that had been her had altered. The new unfamiliar emotions emanating from them had changed to what he knew now was Myrelle taking his bond. Unwelcome and unwanted he’d taken to ignoring them and the woman associated with them so it had taken him a moment to notice the change.
Had Myrelle died? It didn’t feel like before. It was not the same as there was no sudden tearing sensation like something had been ripped from his mind. No overwhelming rush of enraged loss that spun him into madness and rage. The emotions he felt there now where just different and yet somehow so, so familiar to him. Frowning he considered that fiery passion that was tempered with kindness.
It felt like he’d been struck hard between the eyes and for a moment the world wavered before him as a film of tears welled up in his eyes unshed. Nynaeve? He thought disbelievingly to himself not expecting an answer from the small knot of emotion in his mind that he was almost certain was her now. Myrelle had promised Moiraine that she would give his bond to Nynaeve and surely, she would not have passed him to anyone else. The three oaths prevented it.
Do you hold my bond now, my Love?
The was no answer for him but surely it had to be her. No one else in the world in any turning of the Wheel would have that sense of passion and kindness. If it was indeed Nynaeve that held his bond now she was too far away for him to able to tell anything other she was alive and a vague direction she was but he knew that he could find his way to her as straight and as fast as an arrow. The sense of her suddenly shifted as she travelled further away and further south where his internal map told him was where Tar Valon should be.
What would it be like? To feel her so close? To touch her with the bond between them? If they were ever together again?
He should be more concerned after all his death causing her grief had been the main driving reason he had initially refused to marry her but all he felt now she actually held his bond was an overwhelming amount of relief. He was no longer alone. They might not be close in a physical sense but she was with him now in his head and in his heart and wherever she went and he was with her.
Lying back into his blankets with his head propped up on one crooked arm he wanted to laugh and weep, she’d always been both his salvation and his damnation. Now his death would cause her a year or more of pain and yet he couldn’t bring himself to care they were finally joined together so deeply they would never been alone again.
As he drifted off back to sleep in the distance he could just hear the man on watch singing again.
Oh, I have seen stark Tarwin's Gap,
and the Trollocs' raving horde.
I have stood 'fore the Halfman's charge,
and walked on death's cold border.
But a winsome lass, she waits for me,
for a dance, and a kiss 'neath the apple tree.
If there's a treasure greater, it lies not in my mind.
In his dream whilst he had never set foot inside Nynaeve’s home in the Two Rivers in the way of dreams he was certain that the cottage he was standing in had belonged to her. Fascinated, he stared around the cottage that had been her home. It was small but brightly lit with a small garden of potted plants filled the little space with life while neat bundles and baskets of herbs hung from the roof and walls at different stages of drying, the work benches and shelves cluttered with different poultices and balms that filled with air with the bittersweet smell of herbs. A small fire burned merrily in the hearth filling the little cottage with warmth and the scent of wood smoke. He wanted to ask her so many things, what each plant was and how did it help her heal? Why had she chosen to keep this item or that one? There were so many things he wanted to know about her, a lifetime would not have been enough and yet there was so little time left.
She was staring out of the round window with a troubled expression as dark grey almost black storm clouds hung oppressively over the land and thunder rumbled in the distance. It seemed that even in dreams there was no escaping the gathering storm of Tarmon Gai’don. Glinting in the light in defiance of the gloom outside his golden crane ring lay in the hollow of her throat and beside it was a twisted stone ring both flickered in the firelight. Her beloved face didn’t change as she listened to the wind but she clutched her yellow Ajah shawl with the white flame of Tar Valon on the back more closely around her like she was cold despite the warmth of the fire.
Nynaeve had always been a blaze of fiery determination and power. Always seeming much larger than her small stature spoke of. But here in the soft firelight of her home that heat had been banked into embers. But for once she looked strangely small to him; much too young for the weight of Tarmon Gai'don for her shoulders to carry and she look exhausted from the weight of the cares she carried. Despite that the iron strength in her posture hadn’t been dimmed; she was still brave in that strong, unyielding Two Rivers way that always made something deep and restless in him ache desperately to reach for her.
Suddenly he is reminded that they have not been apart for so long since Caemlyn and they would never have that night in Shienar.
Wordlessly and watching her carefully for any sign for him to stop he let his fingers slowly caress the curve of her shoulder. A small tremor, barely perceptible if it hadn’t been for their closeness, threaded through her and he saw her clenched fists loosen. Her wavering reflection in the glass of the window before them told him the rest: lips parted, her eyes going dark with something that thundered straight through him, dizzying in its intensity as she leaned back against him with a sigh as his fingers found the edge of her shawl and with infinite care, he slid the shawl from her shoulders inhaling the warm scent of her hair. She stepped out of the circle of his arms disappearing off towards her low bed. He let her go, the warmth of the fire pale in comparison to the warmth of her skin. They’d undressed each other many, many times but in this dream, there is an uncertainty about her her in the dream that reminds him of the early few days of their marriage when she had been uncertain of how to responded to him.
“I thought you’d be angry with me?” she said quietly when she returns wrapped up in warm woollen robe and strode to sit of a low stool next to the fire where she regarded him solemnly the light of the fire and the lanterns catching flashing in her dark eyes. “It tore me apart to let you go.”
“And it tore me apart to leave you.” He agreed softly, drinking her in and she nodded her understanding. “I was angry.” He admitted holding her gaze as he knelt before her on the hearth rug so their faces for once were more or less level. In the firelight he saw that her eyes had the slight shimmer of tears in them, and the sight made his heart twist. “For a while at least, you did not have to trick me. But I’m not anymore.”
“Would you have agreed if I had asked you too?” That made him hesitate. Only once has he ever refused her something that she had asked of him. The first time when she had asked him to marry her. As decision he still stood by and yet deeply regretted. He’d never wanted to led men into the blight to their deaths and would have never raised the Golden Crane to fly again but she had rallied what remained of his people all to give him a fighting chance to survive the Last Battle.
Lightly he rested one hand on her knee he kissed her temple, her cheeks and felt the butterfly shimmer of her lashes against his cheek. Her dark eyes were shining; he’d always thought that a man could drown in her eyes and be happy with his fate. “The wheel weaves what the wheel wills, my Love. Now I just miss you.”
Their lips found each other again. Her hands fisted in his shirt, pulling him closer, closer. Abruptly she pulled back teasingly a slight smile tugging up the corner of her full lips as he followed her to his feet. It’s a privilege to see this playful side of her that very few people ever saw. There was a challenging gleam in her eyes.
Wrapping an arm around her waist he felt the warm weight of her settle against him and he burns in every place her skin meets his, cradling her head, burying his face into the riotous curls of her hair loose from its braid and just breathes her in. The tight knot in his chest loosening but no matter how much air he inhaled, it isn’t enough. One corner of her robe had slid off her shoulder, exposing an expanse of her smooth skin. Mesmerised lightly he stroked her exposed skin with his fingertips. Soft, his eyes slid close as a wave of longing washed over him, it might be just a dream but her skin is so achingly soft and so achingly real.
She chuckled softly and turned in his arms her smile impossibly wide, but before he can make a move, she’s kissing him, her lips desperate on his as her hand cups his cheek. His fingers wind their way into her hair, and his kiss becomes a little heavier, a little more insistent and she’s pulling at his face as if she can somehow take more, as if she can take everything he has. Her eyes stayed locked on his mouth dark, unfocused, and so wanting he nearly hauled her back against him to kiss her again. There’s no pretence, no soft build up like there sometimes in between them only desire, their mouths open wide, searching, taking as they stumble back towards the bed. They were now tangled together, breathless and laughing softly into each other’s mouths. The branches curled above them and the firelight all still glowed with low, honeyed light.
*
Dawn comes too soon as it always does with his dreams but when he wakes, he can still feel her and now carry her with him always.
Arinagleb66 Sun 14 Dec 2025 10:46AM UTC
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