Chapter 14: The Looming Threads

The group traveled through the dense forests outside the Two Rivers, the sounds of birds and rustling leaves their only companions. Moiraine Sedai, Lan Mandragoran, Rand al'Thor, Matrim Cauthon, Perrin Aybara, Egwene al'Vere, and Thom Merrilin moved cautiously through the dense forests outside the Two Rivers. Unbeknownst to them, Nynaeve al'Meara followed their trail in secret, using her exceptional tracking skills to stay hidden. She kept her distance, ensuring she was far enough to avoid detection by Lan, but close enough to confirm their direction. Her determination burned fiercely as she sought to protect her people., the weight of recent events heavy on them all.

Moiraine rode her white mare, Aldieb, her serene expression concealing her thoughts. She knew the stakes; the Pattern was tightening, and the Shadow's hand reached farther than ever before. Rand's ta'veren presence burned brightly to her senses, a beacon that could not go unnoticed for long. Beside her, Lan's warhorse, Mandarb, moved with the quiet grace that mirrored its rider. The Warder's eyes scanned the surroundings, ever watchful for threats.

Behind them, Rand struggled with his newfound responsibilities. He could feel the weight of Moiraine's gaze on him, her unspoken expectations heavy. Mat, walking with his bow slung over his shoulder, wore a forced grin, but the unease in his eyes betrayed him. Perrin's broad shoulders were hunched, his hammer dragging slightly as if the burden of his path was physical. Egwene rode silently, her mind alight with questions about her training and future. Unseen by the group, Nynaeve trailed behind, her sharp gaze scanning for any sign of danger. The Wisdom's determination to protect the villagers who had left with Moiraine fueled her every step, even as her mistrust of the Aes Sedai simmered beneath her thoughts. Thom brought up the rear, his keen eyes flicking between the trees and his companions, assessing their vulnerabilities.

"We must reach Baerlon before the Shadow's agents find us," Moiraine said, breaking the silence. Her voice was calm, but there was an edge of urgency.

Lan nodded. "The Myrddraal won't stop hunting."

Rand looked up, his face pale. "Why us? Why now?"

Moiraine's gaze softened slightly. "Because the Pattern has chosen you, Rand al'Thor. And the Pattern does not make mistakes."

Nynaeve trailed behind them, careful to stay out of sight. She watched their movements from afar, noting the interactions between the villagers and Moiraine. She would reveal herself only when the time was right, not at the whims of the Aes Sedai.

In his Caemlyn estate, Naravoss stood before a large map of Andor, his black eyes scanning the terrain with calculated precision. He sipped a goblet of red wine, his thoughts focused on his growing influence. The military academy, his investments in infrastructure, and his network of spies gave him significant power, but it was not enough. If Andor were to fall under his control, he needed an army, an army loyal not to Andor's queen but to him.

He had already planted seeds of loyalty within the academy. Promising officers were subtly compelled, their ambitions tied to his success. Merchants and tradesmen who supplied the academy owed their fortunes to his patronage.

"The queen may sit on her throne," Naravoss murmured, tracing the map with his finger. "But her kingdom is already mine."

He could not shake the certainty that one of the Chosen would come to Andor. It was too valuable to leave untouched. But who would it be? He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes as he recalled the personalities of the Chosen.

Ishamael, the Betrayer of Hope, was the most likely. His subtle manipulations and philosophical bent made him a master of grand schemes.

Lanfear, the Daughter of the Night, was ambitious and dangerous, her obsession with Lews Therin often clouding her judgment.

Demandred, the brilliant general, might see Andor's strategic value as a key to controlling the Westlands.

Graendal, with her penchant for enslaving the minds of the powerful, could infiltrate Andor's nobility effortlessly.

Sammael, ever prideful, might view Andor as a prize to bolster his ego.

"Any of them could come," Naravoss mused. "And they would be foolish to think I will bow."

The halls of the White Tower were alive with murmurs. Aes Sedai from every Ajah moved with purpose, their shawls marking their allegiances as clearly as their expressions marked their tensions. Though united in purpose to serve the White Tower, the undercurrents of division between Ajahs simmered beneath the surface.

In the Amyrlin's study, Siuan Sanche sat behind her desk, the weight of the world resting on her shoulders. Before her lay a sealed letter from Moiraine. Its coded contents had revealed what Siuan had long hoped and feared: confirmation of ta'veren in the Two Rivers. Rand al'Thor, Matrim Cauthon, and Perrin Aybara, boys whose very existence could shift the balance of the Pattern.

Leane Sharif, Keeper of the Chronicles, entered with a quiet knock, her face impassive but her eyes sharp. "The Hall is restless," she said. "The Blues push for intervention in the west, citing increased Trolloc movements. The Reds are demanding more focus on hunting male channelers."

Siuan leaned back, her fingers steepled. "The Reds will not have their way in this. Not now. The Shadow stirs, and we must act with subtlety."

Leane arched an eyebrow. "They are gathering support. Elaida is vocal, as always."

Siuan's lips thinned. "Elaida sees enemies everywhere, but her suspicions are a blade we can ill afford to dull. Let her focus on Andor. She's too preoccupied with Morgase and her court to interfere here."

Leane nodded, though her expression betrayed a flicker of unease. "What of the Forsaken? The Blues whisper that shadows grow in the Blight."

Siuan's gaze darkened. "Let the Blues investigate, but tell them to tread carefully. The Hall does not need to know more than what is necessary. Moiraine's mission must remain secret."

As Leane left the room, Siuan opened Moiraine's letter once more, her eyes scanning the familiar script. She trusted Moiraine implicitly, but even trust had its limits when the fate of the world hung in the balance. The Amyrlin tapped the parchment thoughtfully, her mind already racing through the next steps. The ta'veren boys would have to be guided carefully, and the Tower's divisions only made the task more precarious.

The halls of the White Tower buzzed with quiet urgency. Aes Sedai in their colored shawls moved through the corridors, their expressions unreadable. In the Amyrlin's study, Siuan Sanche sat behind her desk, the weight of her responsibilities etched on her face. Moiraine's private report lay before her, the coded message revealing the presence of ta'veren in the Two Rivers. Siuan alone knew the full truth of the matter, and she intended to keep it that way for now. "This report," she said, her voice resonant, "confirms unusual movements of Trollocs near the Mountains of Mist. The Blue Ajah believes it warrants investigation."

Alviarin Freidhen of the White Ajah raised an eyebrow. "And yet, no mention of the Forsaken's movements. Are we chasing shadows?"

Siuan Sanche, the Amyrlin Seat, silenced the room with a glance. "Shadows or not, we cannot ignore the Pattern's shifts. The ta'veren, if they are what we suspect, must be found."

Siuan read over Moiraine's words again, her brow furrowed. She had trusted Moiraine with this task for years, knowing her discretion and capability. The Hall of the Tower must not know of this yet. The stakes were too high, and the Shadow's reach too pervasive. "The Blues will continue to monitor the situation," Siuan said to herself, setting the parchment aside. "I need more information before I act.""

Alviarin's lips tightened. "If they are ta'veren, the Shadow will not wait idly. And Moiraine is acting alone?"

Siuan nodded. "She has Lan with her, and Thom Merrilin, a gleeman of some repute. That will have to suffice for now. We cannot risk sending more Aes Sedai, not until we understand the full scope of what we face."

The White Tower continued its discussions on Trolloc movements and whispers of unrest, but none could guess at the true depth of Siuan's knowledge. Alone in her study, the Amyrlin weighed her next move carefully, her thoughts lingering on the Pattern's delicate balance.

The halls of the White Tower buzzed with quiet urgency. Aes Sedai in their colored shawls moved through the corridors, their expressions unreadable. In the Hall of the Tower, the Sitters debated recent reports of strange occurrences. Among them, whispers of the ta'veren in the Two Rivers had begun to circulate.

Leane Sharif, Keeper of the Chronicles, entered the Hall with a stack of scrolls. "This report," she said, her voice resonant, "confirms unusual movements of Trollocs near the Mountains of Mist. The Blue Ajah believes it warrants investigation."

Alviarin Freidhen of the White Ajah raised an eyebrow. "And yet, no mention of the Forsaken's movements. Are we chasing shadows?"

Siuan Sanche, the Amyrlin Seat, silenced the room with a glance. "Shadows or not, we cannot ignore the Pattern's shifts. The ta'veren, if they are what we suspect, must be found."

The room fell silent as the weight of her words settled. The White Tower's influence was vast, but even they could not predict how the Pattern would weave around the ta'veren.

Queen Morgase Trakand sat on her throne, her golden-red hair gleaming in the morning light. Beside her stood Elaida do Avriny a'Roihan, the queen's Aes Sedai advisor, resplendent in her red-fringed shawl. Elaida's piercing gaze was fixed on the queen, her posture rigid.

"This Duke Naravoss," Elaida began, her tone clipped. "His investments in the military academy and the city's infrastructure are... unusual. He gathers power quickly."

Morgase's lips tightened. "He has done nothing but benefit Andor. His wealth and influence bolster our economy."

"Wealth is power, Your Majesty," Elaida countered. "And power unchecked becomes a threat."

The queen's eyes flashed. "Do you suggest I confront him without evidence? The people adore him, Elaida. I will not alienate one of Andor's strongest allies on a whim."

Elaida's jaw clenched. "I do not trust him. No man rises so quickly without purpose."

Morgase leaned forward. "You are of the Red Ajah, Elaida. Your suspicions of men are well-known. Until you bring me proof, I will not act against Naravoss."

The conversation ended, but unease lingered in the room. Elaida's suspicions would not be easily silenced.

In his sanctum, Naravoss considered the queen and her Aes Sedai. He knew Elaida's reputation; her mistrust of men was legendary, and her sharp instincts made her dangerous. But Morgase was pragmatic, bound by the constraints of her throne.

He turned to a map of Andor, his fingers tracing the routes between Caemlyn and the neighboring regions. His spies were already embedded in the court, the city's guilds, and the army. Layer by layer, he was building a network that would ensure his dominance.

"Let the Chosen come," he said softly. "Let the queen suspect. They will all play into my hands."

He returned to his desk, where reports from his network awaited. Each piece of intelligence brought him closer to his goal: the complete subjugation of Andor. Whether the Pattern willed it or not, Naravoss would see Andor fall into his grasp.