Born in Darkness

Disclaimer: I own nothing in Wheel of Time. Robert Jordan does, and I make no money off the stories I
write in his world. Buy the books! Buy alll the books! (<---- little sales pitch in case RJ ever reads this story. Like that is ever going to happen... but they are great books. Terribly addictive.)

Chapter 4: Leaving Home

Rhiannon checked the straps on the saddle and the pack horse’s gear for the third time that morning.

“It’s brand new, Rhiannon. You don’t have to worry about that. I still don’t understand why you won’t just let me gate you back to the mountain.”

“I told you, father, I’m not going back to the mountain. Not right away. I want to travel a bit.”

“Whatever you do, just stay the fuck away from Caemlyn. Our poet has already stirred up enough trouble with Lord Gaebril.”

“Really?”

“Bleeding idiot decided to confront him in front of the whole court.”

“Seriously?”

Her father nodded, gravely. “Threw him down two flights of stairs before
Gaebril got the better of him. I guess he forgot that one does not need the Power to beat him half to death.”

“He never has been a physically oriented person.”

“He was trained to be a courtier and a court musician, not a warrior. He forgets that sometimes. If I hadn’t intervened, there’s no telling what may have happened.”

“You...”

“Yes, and I did it for you and I won’t do it again. I understand what you’re going through, and unlike some of them, I understand that it has to happen. You won’t be any good to us unless we let you off the leash. It’s a chance that must be taken.”

“I will be careful, Father.”

“See that you are. You should take one of my grooms.”

“I can handle it myself.”

“Here,” he handed her a pouch full of coins. “It’s not much, but it will be enough to get you through until we meet next month. You will meet me, at our training grounds the day before the New Moon. Each month.”

She nodded. It was out of character for him to act so paternally. She detected a hint of frantic energy beneath his business like demeanor.

“Watch your back around those bloody Whitecloaks. No telling whose side they’re on from moment to moment.” He reached up and pulled a wrapped bundle off the back of the horse. The bundle vibrated in her hands as he passed it to her. “I kept this for you. Never was quite sure why. It will identify ours. “

She unwrapped the sword, for a sword it was. Unassuming, and simple - a relic from an age before angreal and s’angreal were more garishly adorned. The hilt felt uncomfortably warm to the touch, and vibrated constantly against her side as she strapped it on.

“Remember our meeting times. Don’t be late,” he held out his hands to help her mount. Unnecessary, but a touching gesture.

“I will remember, Father,” she replied as she swung her leg over and settled into the saddle.

“It’s a big world out there. Don’t get lost in it. And, Rhiannon, ”

“Yes, Father?”

“Watch your back.”

“Always,” she said, nodding as she picked up the reins and looped the pack horse’s lead around the horn of the saddle, tucking the ends in to keep them in place. As soon as she was out of her father's presence, the sword ceased it's buzzing against her side. Urging the horses into a slow trot, she left Illian behind her. Rhiannon, daughter of the houses of Nindar and Aellinsar set out to discover the ways of the shining world of mist and light beyond the Black Mountain.


Several years passed. Each day turned into the next, and Rhiannon found herself a stranger in each town she visited. Strange accents, beliefs and customs surrounded her and she drank them in as she drank in the touch of clear water, and the smell of dark freshly turned earth on the breeze.

Everywhere she traveled, she could feel the Shadow’s touch, and with each passing year, it grew stronger. She heard rumors of False Dragons, first in Tear, and later in Saldea. She laughed when she heard the tales, because one of her earliest tasks had been to memorize the Prophecies of the Dragon - both versions. For the Shadow had its own volume of Prophecies, and they told a very different story.

She channeled very little during her travels, and living without the One Power became a matter of pride and a challenge to her ingenuity. She had inherited a love of song and jest from her beloved poet and took to frequenting inns, seeking out those with the best entertainment. At times, she could almost forget the place she had once occupied in the world.

Yet the Wheel weaves as the Wheel wills and Fate had no plans of abandoning the prodigal Daughter of the Mountain to her own whims. Her peaceful time of reverie was shattered abruptly while passing through a small town on the outskirts of Camlyn.

She had just left her horses at the stables, after paying what she knew to be a hefty fee. In time of war, the people must find sustenance where they could, and she could always find more gold. The market street was crowded with folks of all sort, though perhaps not as crowded as it could have been. A feeling of barely veiled paranoia ran high among the locals.

She wore the dress popular with minor Tairen nobles at the time which meant fancy embroidery. She had chosen it because of the higher necklines and the fact that in Tear, men wore lace and ruffles. Two fashion accessories which she despised. She wore a long full cloak of plain wool, dyed a traveler’s brown which would not show dirt easily.

As she wound her way through the market square, she saw a crowd of people gathered around a scruffy looking man standing on a barrel. He held a small earthenware pot in his hands and as she came closer, she could hear him shouting. He was quoting from the Prophecies of the Dragon.

“...women shall weep and men quail as the nations of the earth are rent like rotting cloth. Neither shall anything stand...”

She pushed through the crowd easily. Most seemed to be moving away from the scruffy man. When she was close enough, she raised her voice, and declared, “Twice dawns the day when his blood is shed. Once for mourning, once for birth. Red on black, the Dragon’s blood stains the rock of Shayol Ghul. In the Pit of Doom shall his blood free men from the Shadow.” She hesitated before adding the last phrase, “...or bind them eternally in the Dark Lord’s Shadow.”

The man’s eyes met hers, wild and feral, and he backed away, losing his footing and falling to the ground, spilling the contents of the flask, drenching his clothing. He sprang up with a speed his appearance would not have suggested, and shook the rest of the flask over his head, and snatched up a torch which had been lit nearby, set flame to his clothes, still shrieking words of death and destruction.

Her jaw dropped, as everyone in the square turned their backs and walked away from the man. The smell of burnt flesh filled the square. She siezed ahold of the Power and wrapped the man in tendrils of Water, drenching him in the process.

The man glared at her from the ground as she approached him and extended her hand to him. “If it is your wish to die, milord, I can imagine many easier ways to do I. Perhaps not quite as dramatic...” she trailed off. The man’s eyes softened, just a bit, and he seized her hand.

“You should get off the street, Aes Sedai,” he whispered, awe filling his voice.

“I am not Aes Sedai,” his eyes widened. “But I think someplace to sit down would be good. And a glass of wine perhaps.” She wrinkled her nose. “You need a bath and something unscorched to wear.”

“No inn in this town will serve you now, milady. The Whitecloaks...”

“Enough gold bridges many such misunderstandings. As to the Whitecloaks, I have dealt with them before, and I shall deal with them again.”

“Not you, lady, the inn. They may allow you to leave, but the inn that serves you...”

“Will be under my protection. Trust me.”

Several hours later, they had booked a room, and were sitting in a corner of the common room sipping the best wine the inn had available. Rhiannon found it barely palatable, but her new acquaintance, whose name was revealed as Tyrus, claimed it was the best he’d ever tasted.

As they talked, she could hear whispers across the room. Aes Sedai, they thought.. Let them think so. For now. These so called Aes Sedai certainly had the populace neatly under control.
The conversation inevitably returned to their fiery meeting.

“You know the Prophecies. Are you not afraid.”

“I have little faith in Prophecy. One is dealing with interpretations of works that were not clearly understood when they were written several thousand years ago. As to fear, I had the fear beaten out of me as a child. Someday I will find something which strikes fear into my heart. Until now, I have not.”

“You have never seen a Fade then, milady.”

She laughed. “I have killed Fades. They fight well, but as created beings, it is impossible for them to think outside of the programming they are instilled with at creation. Familiarity with the program means knowing where the weaknesses are.”

She could see the man’s eyes starting to glaze over as he struggled to understand her explanation. She sighed. “I know how to kill them.”

“You must be a great warrior.”

“Among other things.”

“Are you then, a Hunter for the Horn? One who was not taken to the Tower. Why?”

“There is nothing anyone within the White Tower can teach me which I had not learned by the time I left my Father’s house.”

“That is quite a boast, milady. But I do not doubt you. I only wonder, in my simplicity, how such a thing is possible.”

She raised her head and looked him directly in the eyes, feeling a shiver run down the back of her spine.

“Why did you wish to die, Tyrus? I don’t much care for liars.”

“Because...” he dropped his eyes. “I...I cannot speak of it, milady. Forgive me.”

“Let me tell you then. You channel. Or you have channeled. You are a man who can channel and you are afraid. You are not the first, and you will not be the last. Not every man who channels is destined to become a false dragon, or to murder those he loves.”

“You know this, and yet... you are not afraid.”

“I am not afraid of you. In fact, if you know anything about horses, I think I should like to hire you.”

He stared at her in shock.

“I cannot teach you how to channel; only another man could do that. But I can help you deal with some of the consequences. If you like. And,” she paused and grinned at him, “no more human bonfires. The smell of burning flesh turns my stomach.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will, in time. You will need courage. But I believe it does take courage to stand in front of strangers and set oneself ablaze. A strange sort of courage, but courage nonetheless. Will you do it.”

“Yes, milady, and grateful to you,. I know horses passing well.”

“I can teach you anything you don’t know. Personally I prefer horses to people most of the time. They don’t talk back and they act consistently according to their own particular logic. Which is more than can be said for most men.”

“An honor to serve you, milady,” he said, and affected a bow.

They stayed at the inn that night, in spite of the warnings about the Whitecloaks, and Rhiannon knew they would be safe. She could feel the Wheel turning somewhere deep within her bones. She knew that she was being moved, slowly and inexhorably into the path of the one man she knew she could not avoid. The one man she wished to avoid more than anyone in the world - even Rahvin.

The Dragon Reborn.