Breaking and Re-making

By Ian Farmer

            Rand al'Thor, He Who Comes With The Dawn, The Car'a'carn, The Cooramoor, The Dragon Reborn;  lay on the ground, bleeding from a score of wounds that covered his all-too-mortal body, as pain ploughed through him like a team of horses. All around him lay dead, dying, bleeding and moaning Asha'men, all shielded just as he was. Forsaken and dreadlords laughed. Rand cursed. All he and his Asha'men could do was lay there in the grassy, blood-soaked field, the clear blue sky above them seeming unnatural for a day such as this. Lay there and watch the horde of Trollocs and Myrddraal closing in on them. The horde sped towards them, bellowing bestial cried in the harsh Trolloc tongue. There were only a thousand yards away, and growing ever-closer.

Nine Hundred yards. Rand thought of Eylane, Min and Aviendha, the women he loved.

Eight hundred. Rand thought of Tam al'Thor, the man who he still considered his father, though he knew it not to be true.

Seven hundred. Rand thought of all his friends of the past. Those he had grown up with, and those he had made since leaving the Two Rivers.

Six hundred. Rand began going over the list of women who he had killed, who had died for or because of him.

A darkfriend who's name he didn't know… Liah… Somara… The girl in the stone of Tear… Ilyena, Lews Therin's long-dead love…

The list was endless, but he went through every name.

Four hundred. The Trollocs grew ever closer.

Three hundred. A small glimpse of light caught Rand's eye. He turned his head to see a massive gateway opening, nearly two-hundred paces wide and ten paces tall. The light knew how many linked channelers it took to open it. Then they came.

Thundering out of the gateway, hooves pounding and hearts more-so, armour and lances gleaming in the sunlight, determination on every face. Banners and uniforms told of all the nations. Illianers, Tairens, Cairhinins, Andorans, Sheinarans, Sealdeans, Kandori, Domani, Taraboners, Arafellians, Amidicians, Murandians and Mayeaners. All the nations of a world Rand had broken. Still the soldiers poured out of the gateway, a seemingly endless stream of horses and lances. All of those nations, and yet they did not give the battle cries of their homelands, nobles, houses or kings. No. They shouted one massive, unified battle-cry. It ripped from every throat as the heavy cavalry slammed into the trolloc lines. Rand had broken the world, but it seemed he had re-made it as well, as long-running hatred and feuds seemed forgotten as Illianer, Tairen and Carheinin fought side-by-side. One cry, seeming of one voice, but really that of hundreds of thousands. No countries. Just one roaring cry.

"For the Light and the Lord Dragon!"