#few problems cannot be solved with duct tape or a sharp object

[neuxue]

Wheel of Time liveblogging: The Gathering Storm ch 44

Balefire: the solution to every problem! (Except those it causes)

Chapter 44: Scents Unknown

Huh, with a title like that I’d have expected a Perrin chapter, but we’re back with Rand. This is the Book of Rand and Egwene, it would seem. Which is fitting, given where we are in the story—this is the beginning of the end, and the Dragon and Amyrlin are taking their places, two of the greatest forces on the side of the Light. Of course those storylines parallel each other. In their own particular ways.

Oh wait we’re actually with Nynaeve, but Nynaeve is with Rand so it’s almost the same thing except she feels things like a functional person.

“Tarwin’s Gap,” Rand said, shaking his head. “No. The more I think about it, the more I realise that we don’t want to fight there. Lan is doing me a favour. If I can coordinate an assault alongside his own, I can gain great advantage. But I don’t want to distract my armies with the Gap. It would be a waste of resources.”

He named you friend…

At the same time, this makes sense from a strategic point of view, if we accept that Rand is in fact heading straight for Shayol Ghul. Which comes with its own massive host of strategic…complications…but sure. Fine. I guess we’re doing this.

Does that mean next book is going to be mainly catching up all the other timelines? We’ve touched on a few of them this book but it’s mostly been focused on Rand and Egwene, so it does seem like there’s a fair bit of catching up to do before we’re ready to actually start in on Tarmon Gai’don.

He seemed so emotionless, but she had seen the beast get free and roar at her. It was coiled inside him, and if he didn’t let his emotions out soon, they would devour him from the inside.

Emotions are like dogs: you need to let them out at least twice a day so they can do their business and not wreck the house.

Not that I would know, given that I have neither emotions nor dogs.

(‘But Lia,’ you say, ‘you had an emotion just last chapter, on this very blog.’ Lies and slander).

Each day brought Lan one step closer to a fight he couldn’t win.

Are you sure about that? If there’s one character I’d bet on in that situation, against those odds, it would be Lan Mandragoran. In part because he doesn’t look at it as a fight to be won. It’s a fight he has to fight, but he has always expected it to claim his life; he’s not holding anything back, and he’s not looking for a way out, and he has nothing left to lose.

If Lan was going to fight an impossible battle, then she longed to be at his side. But she stayed. Light take Rand al’Thor, she stayed. What good would it do to help Lan, only to let the world fall into Shadow because of a stubborn sheepherder’s stubborn…stubbornness!

Ah Nynaeve. It’s a quiet sacrifice, but not a small one for her. She has almost the opposite problem to Rand: she cares so deeply about so many people. But she can’t just go where she wishes she could; she knows she can’t go to Lan any more than Rand can. It’s a strategic decision on her part as well, even as it hurts her to have to make it. But she’s right; helping Lan does nothing if the Dragon Reborn fails. And so they come to the same conclusion but from entirely different directions.

This, also, avoids the thing I hate most in fictional romance: when it gets in the way and causes problems by making characters do absurdly stupid things In The Name Of Love. I have many issues with the WoT romances, but on the whole that at least is not one of them. Characters are mostly able to put aside their pants feelings when needed, and I appreciate that. Instead, we mostly see the more…plot-positive sides of those relationships, in how they provide support or an anchor or a source of comfort and strength for those involved.

Well, except for Gawyn. But he’s not in this chapter (yet, anyway) so I don’t have to talk about him.

Don’t worry, Nynaeve; Lan is at least not alone. You did well. If Malkier is to die, it will die thoroughly and finally.

“We cannot let the enemy dictate our battlefield. The last thing we want to do is fight where they want us to, or where they expect us to.” He turned his eyes northward. “Yes, let them gather. They seek me, and I shall not deliver myself. Why fight at Tarwin’s Gap? It makes the best sense to jump most of our armies right to Shayol Ghul.”

Um.

Sorry, run that by me again? You can’t let your enemy dictate the battlefield, and you can’t fight where they expect you to, so you’re going to drop yourself right into the epicentre of the Shadow’s power? That makes sense…how, exactly?

Nynaeve’s still trying to convince him to move on Tarwin’s Gap instead, but it all touches too closely on strategy, and that’s…not going to work. It’s too easy for him to dismiss her arguments, to look at Lan’s possible death and a Trolloc invasion as just part of what must be done, as pieces on the gameboard that he can use. It’s too easy for him to retreat into emotionless analysis of the battlefield. You’re going to need to find a different angle of attack, though I’m still not sure what. But something that can appeal to who he was, to the few things he still cares about, as much as he cares about anything. To something he can’t actually let go, no matter how much he’s convinced himself otherwise.

“Rand,” Nynaeve said, her anger fading to horror. “Lan will die!”

“Then who am I to deny him that?” Rand said. “We all deserve the chance to find peace.”

Oh.

I…the worst part is, Lan would not even disagree. He has been functionally suicidal for…his entire adult life, at least, if not longer. His whole life has been wrapped up in his death, in the death of Malkier, in this war he knows he cannot win and has been bound away from by various means but to which he always, always returns in his thoughts. There is no peace for him until he can meet that destiny. He and Rand share that now, more than ever, but that doesn’t make them right.

(You fell off a roof knowing it would mean imprisonment rather than let go when he looked you in the eye and told you to, Rand. But now…now he understands that desire to just fall. To stop fighting and let gravity and destiny take you where they may, and to know the relief of finally letting it all end…)

He actually believed that! Or he was convincing himself to believe it, at least.

Some of both, really. In part it’s just that he can’t let himself hope, so he has resigned himself to death because that way he can let everything else go; if there’s nothing to save it doesn’t matter what he does. But some of it is just that he’s so tired and in so much pain and has been trying to do far too much for far too long, and just desperately wants it to be over. Prophecied hero jobs should at least come with some serious mental healthcare, is what I’m saying here.

“My duty is to kill the Dark One,” Rand said, as if to himself. “I kill him, then I die. That is all.”

Yeah that…still sounds like a terrible idea in approximately every way I can think of. What of balance? What of choice? What of the Pattern, because surely destroying the Dark One in this Age would break the cycle of the Ages past and to come. This is not the sort of series where killing a god is going to end well.

But it suits his current mindset perfectly. A focus so narrow that this looks like victory, a desperation for an ending, a loss of any sense of why, a willingness to let everything else be destroyed in the service of this one purpose. Ending the cycle forever rather than facing this battle again and again (because like his supposed enemy, he now just wants it all to be over). Destroying the Dark One, just as the Dark One plans to destroy the Pattern. It seems like at some point those come down to more or less the same thing. (A world without entropy is just stasis).

Is it really his own conviction? Or is it born of his strange link with Moridin? A path to an absolute ending, rather than one that preserves the endless cycle of time…’When you are victorious, it only leads to another battle. When he is victorious, all things will end’. Is it true reversed? When all things end, is the Dark One victorious? Even if that ending is brought about with his own destruction?

This should have been a place where farmers didn’t need to turn good lumber into quarterstaffs, nor watch strangers with eyes that expected attack.

But the storm is coming, and they must go north. There isn’t anywhere that can hope to remain truly untouched by what is to come, but that doesn’t stop Nynaeve from hating the thought. They need people like her, just as they need those who can accept that price in the name of victory. It’s a balance, of sorts. Someone has to care, and at least try to preserve what can be preserved, and spare pain where possible, and keep in mind that these are the people and the lives they are fighting for, so what good does it do if all of that is lost? Change is one thing, collateral damage is one thing, sacrifice is one thing. But to be willing to write off everything for a scorched-earth victory that leaves nothing behind to rebuild from is…beyond that. Because who does that victory serve, in the end? Except perhaps the one who wants the destruction of everything, that it can be remade in the image of chaos.

The Dragon is one with the land but the Dragon cares nothing for himself, is using himself up and just waiting to die and so why would he treat the land any differently, but to drag it behind him into this same all-consuming battle, with no hope of survival and nothing to save, to claim victory at the cost of everything?

(Self-care is realising that your wellbeing is literally linked to that of the entire world? Man, this hero business sucks).

Nynaeve is still not pleased with Cadsuane’s secrecy regarding her plan for Rand—she could learn something from Egwene, there—but is still trying to work out where Perrin might be.

Wait, she went back to the Two Rivers? That’s…the first time since EotW, and given how much that once meant to her, and how much it has shaped who she is, I’m kind of surprised we don’t get more than a throwaway line implying a visit. That seems like an important thing, for her. Even if it is just to realise how far she has come from Wisdom of Emond’s Field (and how much of that she still carries with her).

Wow, asking Rand? A character asking another character for information? I’m shocked.

Though to be perfectly honest it didn’t even really occur to me that that might be an easy way to find out. I suppose that says something about these characters and transparency.

Of course, it’s too much to hope that Rand would actually tell her.

“I am worried about him, Rand al’Thor,” she said. “He has a peaceful, unassuming nature—and always did let his friends push him around too much.”

There. Let Rand think about that.

“Unassuming,” Rand said musingly. “Yes, I suppose he is still that. But peaceful? Perrin is no longer too…peaceful.”

Wow okay yeah this is fine. That didn’t hurt unexpectedly or anything.

The way he says it so calmly, like it’s little more than discussing the weather, like the changes in his friend don’t affect him at all. He, who once tried to drive both Perrin and Mat and the rest away to avoid hurting them, and then tried to tell himself he wouldn’t use them, and then smiled like a boy when Perrin found him again in Lord of Chaos despite everything else that was happening and just wanted to talk of home. But now…nothing. No worry, no resignation, not even something like amusement or puzzlement or even self-hating satisfaction. Perrin has a beard now and also is no longer peaceful. Those two things carry approximately equal weight.

The Aiel learned, and adapted, quickly. Surprising, really.

Not at all surprising if you’ve been through the glass columns of Rhuidean. Their entire history is one of change, of adaptation, of becoming at every step something new, something further from what they once were, yet holding all the while to some core of identity to keep from being lost.

(‘Lia, you really cannot deny you have emotions when it comes to Rhuidean at least.’ JUST WATCH ME).

This particular crossroads hadn’t been important in years. If Verin or one of the other Brown sisters had been here, they’d likely have been able to explain exactly why.

TOO SOON.

Yes, go talk to Narishma. We haven’t seen nearly enough of him, given how promising his introduction was.

Also, where is Logain these days? I don’t think we’ve seen him since…Semirhage? Why is he not with this group?

“I was a cobbler’s son, Nynaeve Sedai. I know not the ways of lords and ladies.” He hesitated. “Besides, I’m not a Borderlander anymore.” The implication was clear. He would protect Rand, no matter what other allegiances tugged at him. A very Warder-like way of thought.

A Warder-like way of thought, maybe, but if so it’s one with a distinctly Lan-shaped exception.

Also, at least we’re finally dealing with that whole Borderlander situation. Even Narishma doesn’t get what could possibly have brought them here.

“A Borderlander’s place is guarding the Border,” Narishma said. “I was a cobbler’s son, and yet I was trained with the sword, spear, bow, axe and sling. Even before joining the Asha’man, I could best four of five trained southern soldiers in a duel. We live to defend. And yet they left. Now, of all times.”

SAME, NARISHMA. SAME. Seriously, how much of this current clusterfuck could have been avoided if the Borderland rulers—or at least their armies—had stayed put on the Blight like they’ve been doing for the past several centuries? They’d better have a good reason for this but I cannot for the life of me work out what it might be.

So the Borderlanders were told to bring no more than two hundred and instead they sent…one. Everything about this situation is just bizarre.

Hurin!

On second thought, delete that tone of excitement. Rand is not who he was when Hurin knew him and this seems unlikely to go well.

“Why, Lord Rand!” Hurin called, voice uneven. “It is you! Well, you’ve certainly come up in the world, I must say. Good to—”

Oh man wow that one line brings back such a strong memory of…everything about Rand in TGH. Rand when he was still young and uncertain and trying to find his way, Rand when all he wanted was to protect his friends, and counted Hurin as one of those simply because he was there and looked to Rand for help. Rand who tried to tell Hurin he was no lord, and when Hurin didn’t believe it, did his best to act the way he thought a good lord should. Rand when he joined the hunt because he just wanted to help Mat. Rand, afraid of his power but willing to use it for the sake of those he loved and cared for. Rand when he told Ingtar that to abandon Egwene would be to damn himself. Rand when he offered Ingtar redemption and then calmly defied Ishamael and—

It feels like a different character entirely, and this small reunion is such an effective way of forcing that contrast, by evoking the memory of who and what Rand was then and having to place that alongside who and what he is now.

Hurin still calls him ‘Lord Rand’. At one time, Rand was shocked at the title. Now…how long has it been since he’s been called anything but ‘Lord Dragon’? Now, ‘Lord Rand’ sounds almost informal, almost like an odd sort of endearment. Like an appeal to the person he was.

I think part of what makes this work is how…innocent Hurin’s greeting is. As if he doesn’t know everything that has changed since he last saw Rand—which he probably doesn’t. And so he comes into this scene with the assumption that Rand is the same as he was, which forces the reader to, just for a moment, share that perspective, or at least be jarred out of the present by it.

He cut off as he was raised from the ground.

Well that didn’t last long.

Though I can’t blame Rand for asking him a question only he would know the answer to, to verify his identity. And for treating him with uncertainty until then. After the disaster with Semirhage masquerading as Tuon, that’s only common sense really.

But once that’s been established…well, it would be far too much to expect of Rand, as he is now, to be friendly. To share a moment of simple reunion. Or, apparently, to even treat Hurin with anything resembling civility.

Nynaeve felt a stab of pity for the man. He was absolutely devoted to Rand.

Once, that would have meant something.

Poor Hurin. He was so good, and he didn’t ask for any of this, hasn’t done anything to deserve this, and now the man he came to idolise simply because that man was a good person to him is…well. Not.

And while someone like Nynaeve, who has been with Rand for some of the intervening time, at least has the context to understand what has changed and why, Hurin has none of that. He can’t know why Rand has suddenly become…this, or why his Lord Rand is so cold to him or any of it.

Anyway, it’s all incredibly effective use of basically an NPC to evoke a sense of…pain and loss and an even clearer, almost shocking moment of understanding just how much has changed, and what that means. Well done.

“Now that…that’s strange. Never smelled that before.”

“What?” Rand asked.

Probably just the Eau d’Indifference you’ve taken to wearing lately…

“I don’t know,” Hurin said. “The air…it smells like a lot of death, a lot of violence, only not. It’s darker. More terrible.”

A halo of darkness, a scent of violence and darkness, a ta’veren effect that twists things to the darker side of chance, a warp in the air around him…it’s been perceived and described a number of different ways at this point, but it is undeniably there. This aura of death and violence around him, this darkness, this… ‘death and betrayal. It is HIM.’ I think it’s quite likely this is, at least in large part, an effect of his touching the True Power.

Rand is not distracted by this revelation that he smells like death and violence—why would a hero be bothered about that, after all?—so we just get straight to business. Hurin’s here as a messenger to set up the real meeting, but oh wait nope Rand’s not quite done being disturbing.

“I no longer feel anger, Hurin,” Rand said. “It serves me no useful function.”

That’s…fine and normal.

Oh. They want to meet in Far Madding. Somehow I don’t think that suggestion is going to go over too well, for, oh, about a thousand different reasons.

“Well, last time you were in Far Madding, there was—”

Pain? Pain is the word you’re looking for, Hurin. Lots and lots of pain.

(Also a desire to help Lan, which he seems to have misplaced somewhere along the way, so maybe a trip to Far Madding’s Lost and Found could be of use, actually…)

“You’ll have to come inside the protection of the Guardian, you see, and—” Rand waved a curt hand, cutting off Hurin. A gateway opened immediately.

I have such a very bad feeling about this. He doesn’t even respond. Because that’s right, he doesn’t feel anger anymore. Why waste words arguing when he could be moving? But there’s no way in hell he’s about to walk into Far Madding, so…what exactly is he doing? And that’s where said bad feeling comes in.

(And when I say ‘bad feeling’ I mean…uh…feeling that this could go very badly but in a way that I am anticipating with something that is far closer to excitement than dread because as I’ve said, I like this Rand. Don’t judge me).

Rand stopped Tai’daishar, looking across the open meadow toward the ancient city of Far Madding.

Ah, yes, because Rand looking out on population centres has worked out so well in the recent past. This could go very, very wrong.

“They will know we’ve come,” Rand said softly, eyes narrowed. “They’ll have been waiting for it. They expect me to ride into their box.”

“Box?” Nynaeve asked hesitantly.

I get the feeling Nynaeve is also remembering watching Rand look out on a different city from afar. She’s clearly on edge here, afraid to say the wrong thing but also afraid of what Rand might be thinking, of what Rand could do.

“They want me where they can control me, but they don’t understand. Nobody controls me. Not anymore. I’ve had enough of boxes and prisons, of chains and ropes. Never again will I put myself into the power of another.”

Oh how Moridin would laugh, to look upon where the Fisher piece stands, and which side it currently serves. You can’t just…step out of your context like this, Rand. He sees it as being free, never realising that he is just binding himself more tightly and to all the wrong things, trapping himself, letting himself be manipulated into doing exactly what his enemy wants him to do and all the while believing it his choice. He’s trying to force control; a long time ago, he realised the futility of that, recognised that by accepting his fate and his role he could find some modicum of control. He told Mat, then, to stop running. But now…this is just another form of denial. He tells himself he accepts who he is and what he must do, but still he finds ways to fight it.

It doesn’t help that he has been imprisoned and caged too many times; how could he trust? How could he willingly walk into another’s power, when so many times before it has brought him pain? And yet he has to, somehow.

Is that what this is about? Is that, somehow, what the Borderlanders are trying to force, or test?

Still staring at the city, he reached to its place on his saddle and removed the statuette of a man holding aloft a globe.

No. Oh, no.

“Perhaps they need to be taught,” Rand said. “Given encouragement to do their duty and obey me.”

No no no.

(Yes? Maybe? I am a terrible person).

“Rand…” Nynaeve tried to think. She couldn’t let this happen again!

Oh, Nynaeve. How utterly terrifying it must be to watch this with that horrifying sense of déjà vu, and with the knowledge that if he decides to do it again there is absolutely nothing she can do to stop him. Because she’s seen him do it, she’s seen what he is now willing and able to do, she knows how far this could go and knows how close they are to that edge again, knows there is nothing truly holding him back. And yet she has to stop him, because this cannot be allowed to happen, this cannot happen again, and there is no one else here who stands a chance of talking him down.

The access key began to glow faintly. “They want to capture me,” he said softly. “Hold me. Beat me. They did it once in Far Madding already. They—”

“Rand!” Nynaeve said sharply.

He stopped, looking at her, seeing her as if for the first time.

“These are not slaves with their minds already burned away by Graendal. That is an entire city full of innocent people!”

It’s like watching him cross a line and believing it to truly be the last one, and then realising that no, he could still fall even further. Natrin’s Barrow was an atrocity but it could, just, fall under the category of ‘collateral damage’. This…these aren’t slaves to Compulsion, and they’re not even his enemy. These are his own allies, his own people, and here he stands calmly considering their destruction. Because while there apparently are still some lines he has yet to cross, he doesn’t see it that way, and so there’s nothing holding him back. And so this seems like a perfectly reasonable option—quick, effective, certain to make his point.

To see this through Nynaeve’s eyes, watching almost in slow motion as Rand stares at the city (again) and the access key begins to glow (again) and Rand is cold and unreachable (again) and she is desperate.

And somehow, because she is Nynaeve and because, perhaps, she has always felt so deeply and always worn her heart on her sleeve and never been able to make herself not care, because Rand knows this and has entrusted to her the duty of caring where he cannot…something in that manages to reach him. At least enough to get his attention.

She is his conscience, in a way. One last, tenuous check. Because she does still see those lines he has not yet crossed, those lines he is approaching all too quickly, those lines he no longer sees because in his mind he has already crossed the last and is now just in freefall.

What a position to be in, for her.

“I wouldn’t harm the people of the city,” Rand said, voice emotionless.

You say that like it’s obvious but at this current point, it really is anything but, Rand. And it’s not because he has any…aversion to it. It just wouldn’t serve his purpose.

(I have such a weakness for that in a character—that wholly amoral pragmatism that looks like moral limits purely because there are things that don’t make tactical or strategic senseThings that seem to be off the table because ‘even I would never do such a thing’ but really are just off the table in this particular situation because they bring no advantage).  

(But it’s not how Rand should be).

“That army deserves the demonstration, not the city. A rain of fire upon them, perhaps. Or lightning to strike and bite.”

This from the man who despaired at having to strike some of his own at the gates of Cairhien, to keep the Shaido from reaching the gate. This from the man who all but wept, sitting in the rain and mud, after Callandor caused him to kill his own army and the Seanchan indiscriminately. This from the man who begged Lews Therin, when he was controlling the weaves, to take a few seconds from fighting Trollocs to put out the fires that were killing his soldiers. Hell, this from a man who didn’t even try violence to put down a rebellion. And now he speaks so calmly of what these allies of his ‘deserve’. As a ‘demonstration’.

“They have done nothing other than ask you to meet with them!” Nynaeve said.

She could not get through to him about Lan, not when strategy and Lan’s own choices were against her, but here…this is different and she knows it, and she desperately needs Rand to know it, and to understand. Or at least to listen to her, and to…trust that she understands something even if he doesn’t. He trusts her to feel for him, to dream on his behalf, to care on his behalf. And so he needs to trust her to do that now, trust her to act as a check on his power. To listen to her and hold back, not because he sees any reason to but because she does and he trusts her to feel the things he cannot, and therefore to know that this is something he should not do. It’s an odd sort of dynamic, but it could just work. Maybe.

Most of what she has going on her behalf here, I think, is that she’s not trying for persuasion or ‘reasoned arguments’ or manipulation of any sort. She’s literally just…begging him. She is desperate, and more empathetic than most could tolerate, and it’s just a raw, naked plea born of that desperation and empathy. Not just for those people, but for Rand himself; even if he refuses to acknowledge what this would do to him, she doesn’t.

That ter’angreal sat like a viper in his hand. Once, it had cleansed the Source.

Wow, that was…an unexpectedly impactful line. Okay. Uh. That came out of nowhere. Damn.

“Rand,” she said softly. “If you do this, there will be no turning back.”

“There’s already no turning back for me, Nynaeve,” he said, his eyes intense.

(Okay, fine, I admit it, I have emotions. Maybe one or two. At most four.)

A few things here. The first is the way Nynaeve’s words imply that it’s a simple fact that there is still a way back, as far as she sees it. She doesn’t even bother to make that point, because it doesn’t need to be made; she takes it as a given. Even after what he has done, he has not yet gone too far. There’s a certain…grace, almost, in how she gives him that implication without even thinking about it, without being asked for it. She does not for a moment think he is beyond forgiveness.

Yet.

And then, combined with Rand’s response, it makes the point I was dancing around earlier: she can still see gradations where all he sees is darkness; she can see lines he has not yet crossed, where all he sees is that last one behind him. She fears for him, because he is approaching the truly unforgivable, while he believes he already is.

The ‘freedom’ he has found is the belief that nothing matters now—that there is nothing left for him to hold on to, that he is already beyond forgiveness or redemption, that he can’t make it worse because he’s already crossed over the last line where those gradations matter, so there’s no point holding back because nothing makes a difference.

Except that morality is relative and Nynaeve does not see those lines the same way Rand does, and so Nynaeve is watching him move closer and closer to the edge of the cliff and is trying desperately to keep him from falling, while in Rand’s own view, he already has.

And so the fact that he believes himself past that point is itself what would enable him to truly cross it; it’s a terrifyingly sharp contrast in just two lines of these viewpoints, and of what it really means that Rand sees himself as beyond the point of turning back. That, almost more than what he’s actually done, is the truly frightening part, and I think this is where Nynaeve really sees that.

“My feet started on this path the moment Tam found me crying on that mountain.”

It’s the issue of agency versus destiny again; Rand is now in a place where not only does he think he’s crosssed all the lines and therefore is free to act as he may because he’s damned anyway, but he’s also in this weird place where, for all that he does consider himself damned by his actions, he almost absolves himself of all responsibility for them.

Or, no, that’s not quite it. He just…absolves himself of all agency and all self at all. He has the freedom to do anything he chooses, anything he deems necessary…and he also has no choice at all, no self he is allowed to claim. It’s a paradox and it makes my brain hurt but it also makes perfect sense, from where he’s standing. It’s like he looked at ‘shoulder all the responsibility’ and ‘take no responsibility’ and ‘find the freedom to act as you will’ and ‘chain yourself to destiny’ and somehow managed to find that one central place in the venn diagram of all those circles where it just maximises pain.

Also…the moment Tam found him crying on the mountain. Could that be what ‘stand on his grave and weep’ is about? I suppose it’s possible but that would feel a little…cheap, somehow, given that we’re only getting that line of the (Seanchan versions of the) prophecies now, and there’s so much else pointing at Dragonmount, but…maybe. Or maybe I was right earlier and this is a form of foreshadowing, which would be fitting.

“You don’t have to kill anyone today. Please.”

He turned to look back at the city. Slowly, mercifully, the access key stopped glowing.

A much more accurate use of ‘mercy’, all things considered.

She’s just…all she has is her desperation and the last threads of a connection to him and she’s pulling him back from the edge of a cliff he can’t even let himself see, and the fact that she manages it, that she manages somehow to reach him, is remarkable. She’s not trying to manipulate, here. She’s not even shouting at him or angry at him or scolding him. It’s just stripped-down desperate pleading, and from Nynaeve, the one he trusts to carry his dreams and his caring and to some extent his conscience, it reaches him.

Maybe because she so easily offered him the forgiveness he no longer lets himself seek. Without even saying as much—just by saying that this would make it impossible, thereby implying that as things stand, it is possible. He may not believe her, but perhaps that was enough to reach some part of him, still. Enough to make him go along with her, to let her hold on to that dream a little longer (to let himself, even if he cannot admit it?)

Anyway, the result is that Rand is now using his words rather than his balefire, to dictate his own terms. Terms that amount to ‘go to the Blight like you’re supposed to or else your great-great-great grandchildren will call you cowards’, but still.

Hurin stayed behind. He still looked shaken. His reunion with ‘Lord Rand’ had obviously been far from what he expected.

Poor Hurin. He did absolutely nothing to deserve this (except be Rand’s friend, once. And now he pays the price for that, as Rand always feared his friends would pay the price for his existence and friendship).

So much for that. We still don’t’ know why the Borderlanders are here, and here they still are, and it’s another negotiation or treaty or whatever you want to call it that he’s just…walking away from.

As Nynaeve climbed off of Moonlight and handed the reins to a ruddy-faced stable worker, Rand walked past her. “Look for a statue,” he said.

“What?” she asked with surprise.

He glanced back at her, stopping. “You asked where Perrin was. He’s camped with an army beneath the shade of an enormous fallen statue shaped like a sword stabbing the earth.”

‘Just look for the giant beacon of symbolism and you’ll find him’.

It’s so…surprising, though. And yet it’s very, very Rand. To unexpectedly offer her this, something she asked for a while ago but now feels out of context, freely, because that’s how his sense of honour works.

It reminds me of that scene between him and Egwene in LoC when just about everything else goes straight to hell but then he answers her questions about Travelling, honestly and directly and with no other motive but that she asked and he knows the answer.

Add to that the fact that he didn’t tell Nynaeve this the first time she asked, and it’s as if he’s thanking her, in the only way he really can at this point, for holding him back. He can’t let himself feel, but he has delegated that to her and she’s doing it and this much, he can give her. Maybe it will help.

Mostly though, this just gets to me because it feels so like how Rand used to be, even for just a moment. Trusting. Helpful. She asked him a question and then all kinds of other things happened but he made a point of remembering it and giving her the answer. There are remnants, still, of who he was and they show up at these odd points and it’s…lovely and so very sad.

Ah. She sees it too.

“Why tell me?” she asked, walking alongside him across the yard of packed earth. She hadn’t expected him to give up the information—he had gotten into the habit of holding onto whatever he knew, even if that knowledge was meaningless.

“Because,” he said, striding toward the keep, voice growing almost too soft to hear. “I…have a debt to you for caring when I cannot.”

I’M FINE.

I could have saved myself some words by just turning the page, because Rand straight-up says what I was thinking, but me being pleased with myself is being crowded out by ‘dream on my behalf’ and ‘I have a debt to you for caring when I cannot’ and Rand still having that strange sense of honour and recognising exactly what he’s doing even if he can’t stop it and yet listening to Nynaeve and knowing how deep his debt to her runs because she does care, and it matters to him that she does, and he knows what he’s lost and what he’s become and I am completely okay with all of this. Totally fine. Entirely unaffected.

It hurts.

But in the best way.

There was a wet scent to the air, the smell of new rain, and she could feel that she’d missed a sprinkle. Not enough to clear the air or muddy the ground, but enough to leave wetted sections of stone in shaded corners.

I see what you did there. The Land is one with the Dragon, after all, and Nynaeve’s weather sense has long since moved into the realm of the symbolic.

I really like this particular example, though. Soft and barely enough to make a noticeable change, not enough to ‘clear the air’, but it’s something. Rand telling her where Perrin is, after he’s destroyed one fortress with balefire and nearly destroyed a city and still thinks he is beyond redemption and therefore beyond limits, is…a small step, and perhaps not even a step, but it’s something.

Also, for all that in my head Rand is linked with the wind because that’s what we start every book with, and it is itself linked to the notion of beginnings and endings and something pervasive and all-reaching, we do see Rand linked to rain as well at significant moments. Bringing rain to the Waste as he declared himself, and water to the fountains of Rhuidean before he leaves. Letting the rain fall on him as he recognises his failure outside of Ebou Dar. ‘I am the storm’. But here it’s not a storm, nothing dramatic, just a barely-noticeable fall of new rain.

Time to report to Cadsuane.

Cadsuane herself was speaking quietly to Min, whom she had all but appropriated in recent days. Min herself didn’t seem to mind, perhaps because it wasn’t easy to spend time with Rand these days. Nynaeve felt a stab of sympathy for the girl. Nynaeve only had to deal with Rand as a friend; all of this would be much harsher on the one who shared his heart.

And that Min of all people has reached that point, that even she who has stayed by Rand’s side through just about everything in the last several books is finding it painful to be near him, is telling.

Yet it’s Nynaeve who Rand relies on to care when he cannot. His friend, not his lover. It’s a different sort of bond, and a different sort of anchor, but in this case no less…strong, or valuable. Or maybe that’s just me projecting.

Cadsuane manages the sort of dismissive compliments only she can, and still doesn’t want to talk about her plans. Maybe she and Egwene should have a chat about the values of transparency.

“You’d hold this knowledge back, even if it means the lives of those you hold dear?”

Really, Cadsuane, one could ask you the same thing. But secrecy and evasion are hard habits to break.

“Did he take it well?” Nynaeve repeated flatly. “That depends. Does pulling out that blasted ter’angreal and threatening to rain down fire on the army strike you as ‘Taking it well’?”

Min paled. Cadsuane raised an eyebrow.

“I stopped him,” Nynaeve said. “But just barely. I don’t know. It…it might be getting to late to do anything to change him.”

And what it must cost her to admit that. Nynaeve, who will do anything and everything to protect those she loves, but how can she protect him from himself? And what can she do when it is the world that needs protecting from him? But it’s not in her nature to just give up, and to do so with Rand would mean ceasing to protect him, ceasing to try to Heal him, and she cares too much to do that, but what else can she do? She’s caught in a place where no matter what she tries, there will be pain for someone.

Meanwhile Corele puts way too much stock in prophecies. You’re missing a crucial piece, Corele: for prophecies and visions to work, the world has to exist.

“If Rand loses, there is no Pattern.”

As readers, we know that there is a Fourth Age, at least, from some of the epigraphs. But the point here is something I talked about recently—it’s not so much about whether Light will win against Shadow; it’s not about whether the world will survive or perish, but instead is about what it will take to get there, what it will cost, how they can possibly bring about that success from this point and what it will demand of them. How much farther they can fall and still have a chance of survival. What kind of survival that will be.

To the characters themselves, there is no guarantee. But I think this serves a secondary purpose as a sign to the reader that even if there seems to be evidence that everything will be okay—for a given value of ‘okay’—there is still so  much at stake here, and it’s not a simple path. It’s not going to be easy, and it may not come without a price, and it’s not a simple guarantee.

It’s a focus not on the ‘what will happen’ but on the ‘how’, and it’s a reminder that whatever you think you know about how this ends, it is not so simple.

As far as Nynaeve is concerned, that adds up to needing to tell Cadsuane what she knows of Perrin’s location, even if she’s annoyed at Cadsuane’s secrecy. This is not the time to hold anything back. And yes, that could easily be said of Cadsuane as well, but the point is more that someone has to take the first step. Nynaeve can’t afford a power struggle with Cadsaune over information right now, not with the entire world at stake.

“In answer to your question earlier, child, Perrin actually isn’t important to our plans.”

“He isn’t?” Nynaeve asked. “But—”

Cadsuane raised a finger. “There are people with him who are vital. One in particular.”

TAM?

I’m not sure if that’s in capslock out of excitement or total dread but…let’s just go with both.

Because given Rand’s entire…*waves hands at everything*…it seems all but impossible for this to go well, which means it could go so, so badly, but on the other hand, TAM. AND RAND. IT’S BEEN TWELVE BOOKS.

I HAVE BEEN WANTING THIS REUNION FOR LITERAL YEARS.

But like this?

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