Chapter 14- Treesinging
Loial bent, placing his hand to the ground, and began his throaty, deep song. A sapling sprang up in that spot, and quickly grew into a full-fledged tree. He had been doing this for the past three days, adding to the forest he had begun to create a few months before.
Tarmon Gai'don, the true battle, had finally passed. It had swept them up over two weeks earlier, and ended five days ago, leaving Tar Valon, the last city standing in their civilization, in ruins. The *Avendoraldera* that had grown secretly in the gardens of the white tower was destroyed. It had been the last.
He had known the day would come when it would all be over, and their last city would be lain to waste. Not to be phased, Loial had created the small forest outside of the city, close to where he knew the Trolloc army was camped. His one talent that he felt proud to be proud of was his ability as a Treesinger. It was all he had left to offer the few- very few- survivors of the final collision with the Shadow.
Turning in his slow, melancholy way, Loial surveyed these survivors. Rand was there, tall, hard, and with a face that showed his determination to find a new life, even after all hope seemed lost.
Perrin loomed, as large as ever, his shining yellow eyes observing countless details, taking in every aspect of everything they saw. The wolves he had once been connected with were gone, taken by the war. Perhaps there were more in some far-off land. Who knew? None of those among them had ever been beyond the Aryth Ocean or the Aiel Waste. How could they guess what lay where maps did not show?
But sadder than the absence of the wolves, which Perrin had treated as brothers, was the woman he carried with him. She was just barely alive, and Loial thought it cruel to keep her so. She could not eat or drink, or barely move, on her own. Perrin waited on her, refusing to leave her behind or let her die. From time to time, late at night when Loial could not sleep, he heard Perrin whisper, "Faile…my Faile…"
Egwene's eyes, which had been so full of life were now dulled. She had been hit hard by the loss of the White Tower. She felt as though she had failed the people of Tar Valon by letting it fall. Though the others spent many hours attempting to convince her that she was not to blame, she seemed to have lost any desire to live. She had told him once, when he had asked, "I do not deserve the comfort of death. My punishment for letting our last remaining home die is to have to live knowing I would have rather died with it."
By some stroke of chance, which Mat cursed continuously, Tuon, the Daughter of the Nine Moons, had survived the apocalypse. "Why, why in the name of the Light, must I be cursed with this oddity of a human being?" He continuously asked. As always, Tuon seemed oblivious to these comments. She stayed with Mat now because there was nowhere else for her to go. Indeed, there was nowhere for anyone to go.
Gawyn, Egwene's Warder, was alive and fighting still. Loial had been disbelieving when the man dragged himself off the battlefield, bloody and delirious, and stumbled to where Egwene sat. She had enough skill in healing that she was able to help him, enough to keep him alive. Loial was convinced that it was a simple matter; he refused to die if she was still alive to protect.
There were two Loial had not known before, a robust, middle-aged man with a thick moustache named Jamin, and a girl of no more than fourteen. The girl was slender with delicate features, and went by the name of Ilhandra. Both were exquisitely subdued, and barely talked, though they were always willing to do whatever chore needed to be done. Loial supposed they were simply lucky to be alive.
The last of their party was, to Loial, the most surprising. As steadfast as a stone, sadder than the death of the groves, was Lan. Thrice a Warder, once in love, millions of times battle-hardened, but only once left so empty as the night Nynaeve had died.
After returning to Tar Valon when Lan and Nynaeve had been rescued, somehow Lan's bond had been transferred from Myrelle to Nynaeve. From what Loial could gather, Nynaeve had threatened the other until she agreed. In the short time they were allotted, Lan and Nynaeve became completely inseparable. He would not leave her side, and she did not seem to want him to.
That fateful night, the last night of the Last Battle, Nynaeve had allowed Rand to take control of her power. Lan at her side protected her with his blade when she could not do anything for herself. Rand retained some of the power she leant him after she died, long enough to rid the world forever of the wielder of Shadow, Shai'tan. But alas, Nynaeve passed.
Lan had not seen the Fade that snuck his tainted blade into her ribs. The Myrddraal had come from nowhere. It was not lost on him, however, when Nynaeve gasped in pain, and crumpled to the ground. He caught her, and he was with her during the last moments of her life.
As had been said by so many, Lan courted death, but he was never the one death chose. It was always the ones closest to him that were claimed when it was time for someone to go. Longing to be taken, he would not be. Not for a long time.
"Loial. Can we continue? If you hurry with the last three, we can be back at the camp before night falls."
Their camp had been moved that day, for the third time in two weeks. They were making good progress through the wasteland as he slowly cultivated his forest. Every night they had to return to the camp, instead of traveling on. There were two reasons. One was the weariness which never failed to set in after a day of walking and creating trees, and the other was the fog, which descended every night to cover them in a moist, white blanket.
Loial straightened once again, sighing sleepily. "That is the last I can manage today. Let's return to the camp."
As they had done every day for the past five days, they all turned slowly to face the direction they would soon walk in. They trudged to their makeshift shelter, climbing into the comfort of thin blankets and roots that poked into your back, no matter how often you changed position.
The next morning, Perrin was the first to notice that Lan was nowhere to be seen. They searched all the area they could, but found no sign of him. He had disappeared. Loial knew he wanted to. He knew, somehow, that the night before, Lan had kept walking.
End of Story
Thank you all for reading!! I want to especially thank White-wolf and Psycho Goddess, who had reviewed frequently with positive feedback. I love you guys.
*Sprinklings of One Power for all!*
If you have any questions about the story, feel free to e-mail me or IM me if you see me on. I'll be happy to answer, if I know the answer myself.
Loial bent, placing his hand to the ground, and began his throaty, deep song. A sapling sprang up in that spot, and quickly grew into a full-fledged tree. He had been doing this for the past three days, adding to the forest he had begun to create a few months before.
Tarmon Gai'don, the true battle, had finally passed. It had swept them up over two weeks earlier, and ended five days ago, leaving Tar Valon, the last city standing in their civilization, in ruins. The *Avendoraldera* that had grown secretly in the gardens of the white tower was destroyed. It had been the last.
He had known the day would come when it would all be over, and their last city would be lain to waste. Not to be phased, Loial had created the small forest outside of the city, close to where he knew the Trolloc army was camped. His one talent that he felt proud to be proud of was his ability as a Treesinger. It was all he had left to offer the few- very few- survivors of the final collision with the Shadow.
Turning in his slow, melancholy way, Loial surveyed these survivors. Rand was there, tall, hard, and with a face that showed his determination to find a new life, even after all hope seemed lost.
Perrin loomed, as large as ever, his shining yellow eyes observing countless details, taking in every aspect of everything they saw. The wolves he had once been connected with were gone, taken by the war. Perhaps there were more in some far-off land. Who knew? None of those among them had ever been beyond the Aryth Ocean or the Aiel Waste. How could they guess what lay where maps did not show?
But sadder than the absence of the wolves, which Perrin had treated as brothers, was the woman he carried with him. She was just barely alive, and Loial thought it cruel to keep her so. She could not eat or drink, or barely move, on her own. Perrin waited on her, refusing to leave her behind or let her die. From time to time, late at night when Loial could not sleep, he heard Perrin whisper, "Faile…my Faile…"
Egwene's eyes, which had been so full of life were now dulled. She had been hit hard by the loss of the White Tower. She felt as though she had failed the people of Tar Valon by letting it fall. Though the others spent many hours attempting to convince her that she was not to blame, she seemed to have lost any desire to live. She had told him once, when he had asked, "I do not deserve the comfort of death. My punishment for letting our last remaining home die is to have to live knowing I would have rather died with it."
By some stroke of chance, which Mat cursed continuously, Tuon, the Daughter of the Nine Moons, had survived the apocalypse. "Why, why in the name of the Light, must I be cursed with this oddity of a human being?" He continuously asked. As always, Tuon seemed oblivious to these comments. She stayed with Mat now because there was nowhere else for her to go. Indeed, there was nowhere for anyone to go.
Gawyn, Egwene's Warder, was alive and fighting still. Loial had been disbelieving when the man dragged himself off the battlefield, bloody and delirious, and stumbled to where Egwene sat. She had enough skill in healing that she was able to help him, enough to keep him alive. Loial was convinced that it was a simple matter; he refused to die if she was still alive to protect.
There were two Loial had not known before, a robust, middle-aged man with a thick moustache named Jamin, and a girl of no more than fourteen. The girl was slender with delicate features, and went by the name of Ilhandra. Both were exquisitely subdued, and barely talked, though they were always willing to do whatever chore needed to be done. Loial supposed they were simply lucky to be alive.
The last of their party was, to Loial, the most surprising. As steadfast as a stone, sadder than the death of the groves, was Lan. Thrice a Warder, once in love, millions of times battle-hardened, but only once left so empty as the night Nynaeve had died.
After returning to Tar Valon when Lan and Nynaeve had been rescued, somehow Lan's bond had been transferred from Myrelle to Nynaeve. From what Loial could gather, Nynaeve had threatened the other until she agreed. In the short time they were allotted, Lan and Nynaeve became completely inseparable. He would not leave her side, and she did not seem to want him to.
That fateful night, the last night of the Last Battle, Nynaeve had allowed Rand to take control of her power. Lan at her side protected her with his blade when she could not do anything for herself. Rand retained some of the power she leant him after she died, long enough to rid the world forever of the wielder of Shadow, Shai'tan. But alas, Nynaeve passed.
Lan had not seen the Fade that snuck his tainted blade into her ribs. The Myrddraal had come from nowhere. It was not lost on him, however, when Nynaeve gasped in pain, and crumpled to the ground. He caught her, and he was with her during the last moments of her life.
As had been said by so many, Lan courted death, but he was never the one death chose. It was always the ones closest to him that were claimed when it was time for someone to go. Longing to be taken, he would not be. Not for a long time.
"Loial. Can we continue? If you hurry with the last three, we can be back at the camp before night falls."
Their camp had been moved that day, for the third time in two weeks. They were making good progress through the wasteland as he slowly cultivated his forest. Every night they had to return to the camp, instead of traveling on. There were two reasons. One was the weariness which never failed to set in after a day of walking and creating trees, and the other was the fog, which descended every night to cover them in a moist, white blanket.
Loial straightened once again, sighing sleepily. "That is the last I can manage today. Let's return to the camp."
As they had done every day for the past five days, they all turned slowly to face the direction they would soon walk in. They trudged to their makeshift shelter, climbing into the comfort of thin blankets and roots that poked into your back, no matter how often you changed position.
The next morning, Perrin was the first to notice that Lan was nowhere to be seen. They searched all the area they could, but found no sign of him. He had disappeared. Loial knew he wanted to. He knew, somehow, that the night before, Lan had kept walking.
End of Story
Thank you all for reading!! I want to especially thank White-wolf and Psycho Goddess, who had reviewed frequently with positive feedback. I love you guys.
*Sprinklings of One Power for all!*
If you have any questions about the story, feel free to e-mail me or IM me if you see me on. I'll be happy to answer, if I know the answer myself.