Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He did not like the way Rhuarc looked at him as if he had never seen him before. He had left his discomfort with the Aiel of this age behind, but the confusion in the clan chief’s face was unsettling.

“I could have sworn you were dead, Master Natael,” Rhuarc told him with a puzzled voice and a shake of his head.

An involuntary shudder hit him and not just because of what Rhuarc had said. For a moment the hint of a melody met his ears, certainly more than just a few notes. Except for Rand al’Thor, he hadn’t heard more than three notes when listening to another person, not since that fateful day in another age. The day he had buried so deep in his memory that he usually didn’t remember.

His unease grew when he realized that Rhuarc was not the only one who was surprised to see him. There were quite a few who gazed at him with the exact same amount of astonishment. There was only one possible explanation. Balefire.

He had been dead. Really dead. Rand al’Thor must have used balefire to kill Rahvin. He wondered if he should be grateful to the Dragon Reborn.

He wondered if his death had changed anything. He reached for saidin and the source came to him easily. He was careful not to draw too much lest the shield dissolved. Lanfear’s shield had given way under his constant battering during the battle at Cairhien. But al’Thor would not trust him more if he knew that. So, he had shielded himself again, until he was as weak as before and inverted the weaves. The difference was that saidin was fully his in an emergency. So, that was in place.

He wriggled his toes in his boots and kneaded his finger knuckles. It felt the same as always. His fingers were still the same, long and slender, ideal for playing the violin.

He hummed a few notes, that had popped into his head. He was in a few beats when he recognized the tune and stopped himself. The second leitmotif of the third movement of Ungosta sene Velina’s violin concerto in A major. He could almost hear the echo of the motif as it was picked up by the orchestra in his head.

He still remembered the criticism the concerto had gotten. The performance did not lack talent, although the composition showed a disregard of the rules that soured the experience of the more traditional passages. How the fingers of the violinist danced across the instrument at the merrier parts of the piece clearly proved that he was aptly named. Yet, at the dramatic parts he mauled his violin as if he wanted to saw through it. 

A loud scoff escaped him. That imbecile critic. That was the beauty of a violin. It was not only for sweet music.

He shook himself. He should not think about violins nor about Ungosta sene Velin. Ungosta sene Velin was no more and the music he had composed was forgotten, only living on in the mind of the man who had been his doom. And this uncivilized age knew no violins.

He violently shoved away any thoughts about violins.

He fingered his sleeves. The threads at the seam had loosened and the rim of the cloth had been caught on the embroidery on the lower half. It looked almost as if someone had tried to turn the sleeve inside out. He needed to have that repaired.

He wondered what Rhuarc’s melody had meant. The core of his melody had been overlaid with something else, a dissonance.

He shook his head. He didn’t need to figure that out. Right now, he needed wine. Surely, a man who had just escaped death had earned himself a decent wine. With some wine in him, he might even tell the Dragon about the shield. He scrunched his face and discarded the idea. He had not heard his death in Rand al’Thor’s tunes yet, but that did not mean that the man would not kill him in a fit.

His hand hovered over the knob of a door that looked like it could lead to a pantry. He almost missed the faint sounds in his head.

He stopped with the knob only half turned. This was the second time today, but other than with Rhuarc the meaning came to him easily. Whoever was behind that door, their intent was not benevolent. So, finally one of the Chosen had decided to kill him off. Maybe this malevolence was why he heard something. He heard grey men as well after all, even if they were not more than a high screeching.

In the blink of an eye, he decided to take it as a good omen and take a chance. It might mean a respite. Opening the door and snatching at saidin was one smooth action. The shield unravelled in less than a heartbeat and he took as much as he could hold, preparing to cut the person behind the door from the source. Anyone but Demandred would have a hard time to overcome him now.

Graendal. She had not even bothered to disguise herself. Or to dress practically for that matter. As always, her dress looked like her breasts would fall out at the slightest provocation.

“It’s you.”

She looked at her left hand where a huge sapphire had flared up in an intense light. A ter’angreal. One that showed saidin being held in the vicinity. There was only a hint of dismay on her face, just enough that he could see it – which meant that she probably wanted him to notice.

“It seems I was misinformed about your strength,” she gave him a rueful smile.

He didn’t smile in return. “You should know better than to trust Lanfear.”

“Fair point.”

They stared at each other for a time. The tingling of his skin told him that she held saidar. Probably close to bursting.

Her attempt to attack was only half-hearted though. He sliced her weaves easily without using much power. Too much power would alert al’Thor.

“You should know better than to try Compulsion on me.”

She shrugged. “You understand I had to check.”

“Are you here on orders of the… Great Lord?” Hopefully she hadn’t heard his slight hesitation. Al’Thor and his insistence that the Great Lord was the Dark One! He cursed the man in his thoughts. “To kill the traitor?”

The shake of her head was barely noticeable. Another gesture he was meant to see.

He nodded. “I thought so. You might wonder why he didn’t give such an order.”

He was certain that no such order existed. That the Great Lord did not want him dead yet. If he wanted him dead, he would be dead.

Graendal gave a short gasp as if he had caught her unguarded. As if the thought had never occurred to her. Did she honestly believe he would fall for that?

What had been her reasoning then? She probably had been close enough to witness Rahvin’s death. And the balefire. The perfect opportunity to dispose of him and blame it on Rahvin. Or al’Thor. Just in case anyone ever asked. Not that this was very likely. He’d never had many friends and those he’d had were long dead.

Just because the Great Lord had not called a hunt for his head did not mean that he would punish anyone who killed him. But with luck he could make Graendal believe that the Great Lord might do just that.

The few notes he heard from her changed. She couldn’t fake that. She had dropped the intent of killing him or enslaving him, at least for now.

He lessened his grip on the One Power. Just a bit. The ring on her hand would dim a fraction. He did not need to look at it to know that. He could play the same game as she.

“Are you claiming that you did not switch sides?” She scoffed. “You always were a coward.”

“And it was Lanfear who told you that I switched sides.” He shrugged. “Of course, some sacrifices had to be made to ensure a small measure of trust from Al’Thor.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Cutting yourself of from the Dark One was a rather drastic measure.”

He drew in more power again, just in case. It felt good.

“The Great Lord wants Lews Therin to learn more.” He was certain of that. Just as he was certain that there was no order to kill him.

“You’re hardly a good teacher.”

“I said ‘more’, not ‘all’. And his talents do not always align with mine.” Al’Thor was very strong and still growing, but he probably would never match him in dexterity when it came to water and air. He refrained from saying more. Graendal should think that her conclusions were her own.

“Even with him being only half-trained he’s been good in reducing the Chosen. If I’m lucky I might see the day, he kills Demandred.” He could safely say that. Every one of the Chosen knew he would go out of his way if it meant Demandred’s life. Unfortunately, there was little chance al’Thor would kill Semirhage or Mesaana with his strange reluctance to go against women.

He flashed his teeth in a smile. “And he is not a complete moron when it comes to music.”

She rolled her eyes. “I doubt the Great Lord wants him to become Ungosta sene Velin reborn.”

He did her the favour to glare at her and covered up his involuntary wince by waving his hand as if to shoo her away.

“Isn’t it time for you to leave? You’re done with checking on me.”

She did not move.

“I’m tempted to do something drastic,” he said. “That will draw attention you might not want.”

“You would let al’Thor kill me.” She pursed her lips in a show of false hurt. “Even though you claim you are still true to the Great Lord.”

“Of course, I would, but it must not come to that. You’d better hurry.”

He wove several weaves in a row that folded reality to open to Tel’aran’rhiod, small weaves that would escape al’Thor’s notice. It took longer than just to open it in one broad stroke of course.

Graendal saw the shimmer to her right. She’d know what this was.

She stepped to the side, never taking her eyes of him. He understood perfectly well. He wouldn’t have turned his back on her either.

Her eyes glittered. “One day the Great Lord will open the hunt on you. You’ll be cut like a ribbon between a pair of scissors, Asmodean.”

She did not wait for his reaction but destroyed the weaves he had used to bend reality with a single stroke and vanished.

“Asmodean.” His name hung in the air. He wondered what was really left of Asmodean, the Chosen. Maybe Asmodean really was as dead as Ungosta sene Velin.

Maybe Jasin Natael was who he was now.

He wove some small weaves to prevent Graendal’s return before meticulously shielding himself again.

Only then did he release saidin.

His face twitched from the oily taste. He would never get accustomed to that. He longed for a clean saidin. As useless as longing for a violin.

He shook himself and took some wine on his way out.

He braced himself for telling al’Thor about his encounter and rehearsed his choice of words. He had made a habit of telling al’Thor the truth after all. All the truths might be enough to hide what Jasin didn’t want him to know. The truth Rand al’Thor would likely kill him for if he ever learned about it.