What Comes After (Fanfic)

[Jack]

OOC: This fanfic follows the aftermath of the death of Novice Bryn Riverstone Walker, Jerid Walker Asha'man's daughter in the thread The Road Ends Here. It also chronicles the First Seeker's decent in sorrow and his obsession for revenge. Enjoy reading!

Chapter One: Splinters Jerid's gold-green eyes stared out the window at the sun-drenched Indigo courtyard beneath his study. The study was spacious enough for an Ajah Head, and bore the Indigo's personal touch, from carved wooden panels adorning the walls to decades worth of research on book shelves.

The massive wooden desk he stood behind was covered in maps of distant lands and scraps of papers with encoded messages from a dozen different cities or remote areas.

However, his mind was far from the scenery beneath him or his study.

Instead, they were distant, reflecting back into the past.

A pair of gold-green eyes met a similar set belonging to a beautiful young lass as tall as the Indigo Asha'man. Her hair fell in waves of curly fire to her waist, an indicator of her Aiel heritage. But she spoke with the fire of a Ghealdan-raised lass.

Dressed in Novice white, she curtseyed as appropriate for a person of her rank when in the presence of the Indigo Asha'man. Bryn Sevia Riverstone Walker may have been in the presence of her father, but tradition still demanded respect.

As she straightened, she found herself face to face with the man. Jerid smiled and murmured, “My daughter.”

Those gold-green eyes danced brightly at the acknowledgement.

“Brother,” a voice called, pulling him back from the past. It had been months since that moment, and since Bryn's death at the hands of a cabal of Black Ajah.

Since then he had committed much of his spare time to tracking down the person who gave the order.

He turned to see two people standing to either side of the desk. One was a young-looking Aes Sedai with auburn hair dressed in an indigo gown and the other was a tall, broad-shouldered Asha'man wearing Asha'man black and a grey cord over one shoulder.

Zae Rowe Sedai and Balen Ashe Asha'man were among his most trusted associates, ones he kept council with above all others except his Warder and wife Lysira. She was in the Yards at the moment, or so the knot of emotions in the back of his mind told him.

Both channelers were helping to track down whoever was responsible for this. All he had been able to glean after months of searching was a name: The Scarlet.

And that had come at the cost of the lives of a dozen contacts.

“What news?” Jerid murmured, looking back out the window. He missed the look Zae and Balen exchanged between one another.

“We lost word from five people in Caemlyn, another three in Tanchico,” Balen said somberly. “Between all of them, the news was only tidbits, and a name: Ayradon.”

Zae pursed her lips. “It's a village ...”

“I know where it is, Zae,” Jerid murmured. “It's on the edge of the Caralain, just beyond Andor's borders. Send word to Zorah to visit and see what she can find out.”

“Brother, with respect, how many more people will you send to their deaths before you find another scrap,” Zae said. Zorah was her informant, and a very loyal one at that.

She was about to speak again when Jerid turned and looked at her. His gold-green eyes stayed her tongue.

“As many as necessary until I find out who is responsible,” Jerid said sharply. “I will not allow what happened to a Novice in this Tower happen to another at the hands of this Dreadlord.”

The other two channelers stiffened slightly and Balen took a step forward.

“She was your daughter, Jerid, so don't try to pull the wool over our eyes, because you're doing this for her, and we respect that,” the Grey said. “But you're risking your entire network … our network to hunt this person down.”

“You're a fool.” Zae's words were blunt. Right now, they were needed, it seemed.

Jerid turned about and met Zae's gaze. “You didn't lose a daughter, Zae. You didn't lose your daughters or your grandchildren to the Shadow.”

Bryn's death was the last straw. He would not allow this crime to go unpunished. He wouldn't put his son Cade at risk either.

Zae winced at Jerid's words. “No, I lost a husband the night a man he and I trusted summoned us to rescue an en'Damier from a circle of thirteen Dreadlords,” she said simply. “I lost one man I loved to follow another that I cared for, and you ask more blood.”

Jerid almost sighed. Zae had lost her husband and bondmate Alec Asha'man so many years ago when they had gone to rescue a flaming Green First Sitter from a circle of thirteen meant to turn her to the Shadow. Most would have hated Jerid for that, but Zae remained loyal to him.

Balen spoke up, seeing an opportunity to drive home a point. “Zae is right, Jerid. You ask too much blood when you should be seeking to put this to peace and tend to matters …”

Jerid's eyes fell on his former protege and the latter fell silent. The broad-shouldered Andoran Asha'man met the First Seeker's gaze though, defiant.

“I will not let this Dreadlord live one moment longer than is necessary, Balen, and if you cannot understand that, then you are not the man I thought brave enough to stand in battle,” Jerid said simply. Then his eyes were on the missives at his desk.

Balen flinched and when Zae placed a hand on his shoulder to ward off any reaction, the Grey shrugged it away.

“And you are not the man I thought you were, Jerid Walker,” Balen said sharply. “I followed you into fire and Shadow and back so many times, but this is the final straw. I'm done.”

He turned on his heels toward the door.

“Balen, you ...” Zae called after him. The door slammed behind the Grey Asha'man.

Jerid lifted his eyes and looked at the Indigo Aes Sedai, as if waiting for the same thing of her.

The auburn-haired Aes Sedai shook her head. “You ask too much, Jerid Walker, but I will not let you walk alone in this.”

Jerid frowned and murmured, “In certain things, Zae, one must walk alone, or as alone as one must.”

Zae moved closer and laid a hand on the First Seeker's. “In Jerid Walker I trust,” she murmured. “I will not abandon you in this crusade, my friend.”

Jerid smiled briefly before he pulled his hand from Zae's. “Thank you, but if you must help, please send Zorah. She is the closest and best person available to find out information.”

Zae smiled weakly and inclined her head. “Yes, my friend,” she said. She motioned toward a sideboard and a pot and set of tea cups. “But in the meantime, at least let me prepare you a cup of tea. You've been on edge all day.”

Jerid sighed and turned his head back toward the window. “Very well,” he said. His eyes were already on the courtyard below, not watching as Zae removed a small pouch from one of her pockets and poured its contents into one of the cups, and then promptly poured heated water.

Jerid took the cup when it was offered to him and sipped it, tasting the lemon scent. His mind was already elsewhere when Zae departed.

He returned to the last moment he saw Bryn. He sighed and closed his eyes.

[Jack]

OOC: This chapter falls right after the departure of Miahala Ives Aes Sedai and Sojin Majere Gaidin for Saldaea in the beginning of “Things Fall Apart; The Center Cannot Hold."
Chapter Two: Whispers of the Mind Two sets of missives were on his desk. One regarding a certain Dreadlord he was tracking and the other concerning matters of the Tower.

Jerid couldn't figure out which one angered him more. One letter was from an informant in a small mountain village informing him of two people traveling north toward Saldaea. Specifically, he Amyrlin Seat and his son, Sojin Majere.

Oh, he could intercept them, strongly encourage Miahala to return to the Grey Tower, but he knew it was futile. She would ignore him, or worse, pull rank and tell him to return to the Tower.

He sighed and, with a brief grasp of saidin, burned the missive to ash.

The Indigo First Seeker reached for a nearby cup of lemon tea that came from a batch Zae had provided him. It had helped ease his mind of late while they searched for traces of the Dreadlord responsible for his daughter's death.

That thought turned him to the first missive, a report from Zorah. It had been a week since she had last made contact, precisely the age of the report.

“She's dead, another victim you sent to the grave,” a voice echoed. Jerid lifted his eyes, looking at the room around him. He was alone in his study.

But the voice was all too familiar. It was that of Trae Elien, a mediator and friend who died long ago.

He frowned and sipped his tea, before setting down the cup. Hearing Trae's voice was occurring more and more frequently, but he managed to dismiss it as a figment of his imagination.

However, it appeared to be getting worse. He didn't tell Lysira about it because she had her own worries. Her translator had recently been found dead and was investigating the matter. The last thing she needed was to be distracted from that hunt.

And while she showed concern, especially after hearing about the fallout between him and Balen, she didn't push too much. Perhaps because he kept her out of the loop and didn't hint at what he was doing.

No, this dance was his, and the enemy he sought his to dispatch.

“And this was what drove a wedge between her and you in the first place, old friend, Trae's voice echoed again. He lifted his eyes to see a flicker of an image, and he rose, reaching for saidin.

Nothing. Not one thing stirred in this place aside from himself and whatever dust popped up. He felt a slight tingling on the back of his neck, as if he were being watched, but it was gone in an instant.

He sighed quietly before sitting back down and took another sip of tea. He tried to focus on other things.

“Jerid, she is dead. Leave it there and remember her for what she was: bright, boisterous and the best part of you.” This voice was different, bearing an Amadician accent. It was a voice he knew very well. It belonged to Aden Cole Asha'man of the Yellow Ajah, a Healer of legendary skill, a man who was his friend. And a man who died ten years ago at the hands of Seanchan assassins.

He clutched his head and once more that feeling of being watched entered his mind. He looked up and saw that faint image of his long dead friend before it evaporated.

A knock sounded at the door then and it opened. Jerid nearly lashed out with the One Power then and there when he stopped at the sight of a young Soldier. Morgan Cade, his current aide.

“Asha'man,” the man said cautiously, as if ready to draw the knife always concealed under a sleeve. In the other hand, he held a sealed piece of parchment. “A letter came by rider just now, with instructions for your eyes only.”

The Soldier dropped it into the First Seeker's hands. “You may go, Morgan,” Jerid murmured. “And Morgan, you are not needed and dispensation has been granted for you to see Drin'far'ji Natlya.”

The Soldier stopped in his tracks. Before the boy could ask how much time, Jerid waved a finger.
“I do not tolerate my aides sneaking around," Jerid said. "And I'd rather see a Soldier of your potential focused on his studies rather than fretting over when he will next see his … companion. Your studies come first, but what friendship you share with the Drin'far'ji is no longer restricted, so long as it doesn't break Tower law or rules.

Morgan blinked and opened his mouth, but the Indigo waved him away in dismissal. Once Jerid was alone, he cracked the seal on the letter and read its contents.

The sparrow nested at Ayradon is dead. Another bird chirps in Hama Valon but has gone flying for fear of a black cat. B

It was Balen's handwriting. Jerid would have smiled but for the fact that his worst fears had been confirmed. He would have to inform Zae.

But the note proved one thing: Balen at least was investigating the matter, if on his own accord. The Grey was a shrewd and skilled investigator.

Jerid's eyes narrowed slightly, however, and he soon prepared a letter. If there was an informant in Hama Valon, and the Black Ajah was chasing her, she needed to be brought in for her safety. She had information he needed about the identity of the Dreadlord responsible for his daughter's death.

"How many more lives must you risk, Uncle Walker,” Trae's voice asked. The Indigo sipped his lemon tea, finishing the last bit. For some reason, it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

[Jack]

Chapter Three: Bitter News This chapter falls several weeks after the end of the “Things Fall Apart” thread

Several weeks passed before he even heard a peep from his network inside Hama Valon. While the First Seeker's network of eyes and ears was wide and vast, a person who didn't want to be found could vanish into the city surrounding the Grey Tower and remain hidden for months, or even years.

Very little slipped past the Asha'man, but even he had limits. He needed to find that informant.

The weeks passed and the duties of his Ajah temporarily surpassed those of his obsession for revenge. Oh, that obsession still lingered burned in Jerid's soul much of the time, but his other duties called.

And then word came from Balen at the Blightborder. Leaving their son Cade in the trust of one Sebrina Calin Gaidar and a few trusted channelers, Jerid and Lysira Traveled from the Grey Tower with a contingent of a dozen Asha'man and Aes Sedai and their Warders.

The Amyrlin Seat, in her infinite wisdom, and along with the First Seeker's son, decided to collapse the cave around a Waygate inside the Blightborder that just happened to be near an important Saldaean outpost. When they arrived, scouts informed Jerid and the outpost commander of a Trolloc horde chasing the two fools back.

That was weeks ago. The Amyrlin Seat had a new Warder, the Blightborder was secure for the moment, and Jerid had apologized to Miahala personally for the way he had spoken to her at the outpost. While the Amyrlin Seat was one of his dearest friends and he could be … overzealous toward protecting her, she was still the Amyrlin Seat. That demanded a certain level of respect.

Then the day came when his aide dropped the letter on his desk before rushing to his lessons.

Jerid opened it. His heart nearly skipped a beat.

Balen Ashe was dead.

His body had been found nearly burned to ash just outside of Caemlyn. Based on the journals he kept safe at Walker Manor in the Caralain Grass, Balen was investigating the death of Bryn Walker on his own for some time. He had come close to discovering who was behind it and was scheduled to meet with someone when he died.

The letter crumbled to ash as Jerid burned it with a flow of Fire. A moment later, the Seafolk porcelain teapot that resided on his desk crashed against the far wall, the cup following it.

How many lives, Uncle Walker. Trae's voice was strong inside his mind.

A second later, Jerid's massive desk crashed onto its side, papers and books flying spilling to the floor. Jerid sank into the chair behind him and wept for the loss of a very dear friend.

[Jack]

Chapter Four: Revelations in the Shadows This chapter comes around the same time as a the events of “Winds of Chaos” MRP.

Weeks passed and blurred together. If Jerid Walker had been called reclusive before, he had moved past that into a shut-in now.

Balen's death was a powerful blow to Jerid's already fragile state of mind. He recessed deeper into his obsession to find this Dreadlord who caused not only his daughter's death, but also of a man who was like a brother to him.

Lysira knew Balen was dead, but Jerid had not informed her as to how it happened, or why. It was obvious that it tore into him and he made no secret about tat fact.

Now, he sat in dim candlelight in his study, reading over recent reports. Seanchan were at the border of Hama Valon's sphere of influence, and the Blightborder was falling under renewed assault by Shadowspawn.

Members of his own Ajah were questioning his ability to lead. Zae had taken over day-to-day responsibilities to give him time to recover from the shock o Balen's leadership, but his Sitters were demanding more of him.

They wanted the man they rose high to their Ajah to return.

He ignored all those concerns now as his eyes landed on a new missive.

The sparrow has come forth and has been re-nested below where the ancients lived. She would sing for you.

Jerid sat up straight, reading the rest. It was in the hand of someone he knew well enough and trusted to some degree. His bird had been found and secreted to the Tower's lowest levels, to the tunnels that led to the remains of the original Grey Tower. Furthermore, the note gave a time and place to meet, and the guarantee that this bird had the knowledge he sought for so long.

~ ~ ~

It was simple. Jerid would not inform Lysira.

He knew that his wife and Warder would be in the Yards leading a training session. Cade would be sequestered in the Library, as usual, shadowed by Sebrina Calin Gaidar and one or two Asha'man close to the Walker family.

As he reached the stairwell that led to the Tower's deepest levels, he masked his bond.

This could be a trap, and while he knew it was foolish not to proceed without a Warder, he wanted blood. He would rather leave Lysira out of the possible ramifications that his target could be a member of the Hall of Sitters, or the Administration itself.

The climb down the ancient stairs was long and dusty. Jerid held the torch in hand but even the darkness seemed to swallow the area. I

Now … well, now he wove down the stairs, alone and nearly ready to grasp saidin. A long knife was at his side and the green jade ring angreal he always possessed was worn around his neck. Should danger present itself, the First Seeker would prevail.

Like so many times before, Jerid Walker walked into the unknown and would survive. At least that was his mentality this day.

And if things turned out different, plans were made in secret. If he died in the bowels of the Tower, the bond with Lysira would pass to Zae to prevent insanity or a need for fatal revenge.

Zae agreed with the covenant, but only after strong arguments that Lysira should be informed, involved or otherwise prepared. It was an argument to which eventually she conceded defeat.

Down spiraled and crumbling stairs he went, far beneath where even most older channelers knew not where to traverse. Soon he was in the oldest parts of the current Tower, the vestiges of the old. He made his way to a prearranged room.

He entered the ancient room carefully, saidin already storming through his body. Torch in hand, he was very well aware of the figure cloaked in grey in its center.

“I come seeking the sparrow who would sing her song,” Jerid said by way of prearranged greeting.

The figure nodded in response, her back still turned to the First Seeker. It was the agreed upon response. Jerid slowly made his way toward the center of the room. Nothing was detected that could otherwise signal a threat.

“Mistress, you would have information I seek regarding the one who was responsible for the death of someone so dear to me,” Jerid murmured. “If you so, please who is this person?”

The cloaked figure turned, as tall as Jerid was, and unveiled her cowl.

Jerid dropped the torch. The face staring back at him in the dim light was one that haunted his every sleeping moment.

Bright gold-flecked green eyes stared out at him. The hood dropped to reveal red hair and a beautiful young face. And a contorted neck, as if it had been snapped.

The face that looked back at him belonged to his daughter Bryn.

“You did, father,” she murmured, so perfect in the voice. Jerid took a step back in shock.

The mask around the bond with Lysira dropped. Jerid nearly lashed out with the One Power but couldn't bring himself to harm her. He felt a tingling sensation crawl up his neck, almost as if someone had walked on his grave.

The image that was his dead daughter stepped forward. “How could you? I was supposed to be safe here, safe from the Black Ajah, from others. But he … attacked me, and then I was broken like some castaway toy … why!”

“Bryn … I ...” Grief consumed him as other voices entered his head.

“You left her to die?” said another voice from behind Jerid. It was so familiar. “It seems fitting, like you did with me. I followed you into fire and shadow and I died.”

Jerid turned. And he saw the handsome face of a young Green, now deformed. Alec Asha'man, Zae's dead husband and bondmate, the man who died so long ago in a rescue of the Green Ajah's then-First Sitter.

Another voice. “You should have been there to protect us!” It was female. Jerid turned to see a haunting image from so many years ago. A beautiful face of a woman in her early forties stood before him, lidless gold-flecked green eyes staring out at him. Her naked arms were scarred with swirled cuts.

His daughter Angel, who died so long ago by the hand of the Fiery Serpent. The Dreadlord had had killed her while he wore Jerid's face as an Illusion.

“You killed us all. Why, Father?”

“Angel … I”

Other shadowed forms appeared, Aden, Balen, Trae Elien, all bearing the scars of their deaths.

He turned about, back to Bryn. Her eyes shone brightly. “Father, you swore to me I would live peacefully .. swore no danger existed. You lied.”

“I didn't lie. I thought ..” Tears rolled down Jerid's eyes. And all of them revealed the sins of Jerid Walker's failures.

And then the barest hint of something gave itself away. A slight slip of the tongue from the man who bore the face of Aden Cole of the Yellow Ajah, something that didn't pan out. “The man who taught me my first Delving weave failed to warn me of death's sharp and bitter ...”

Jerid spun, releasing a weave of Fire and Air at the man who looked like Aden. The man screamed as he burned and the Illusion faltered to reveal a face the First Seeker didn't even know.

"I taught Aden Cole his first Healing weave," Jerid said sharply.

Before he could react, before he could reach the long knife at his side, the shield slid into place. Saidin was cut off. Steps could be heard behind him and Jerid spun, knife in hand and slicing toward the source of the sound.

He stopped short of impact, Bryn's face staring at him. He couldn't harm her. Not his daughter, even if it was unlikely that it was her.

“You were responsible and now you must atone,” she murmured. And she thrust a knife into him.

The knife slipped so perfectly between his ribs that he almost never felt the pain. The blade hit no organs but sliced major arteries. Again, it slid into him, and once more. Jerid's knife fell to the ground and he soon joined it.

His body was on fire as the poison entered his blood stream. He looked up and saw the face that was his daughter evaporate as the figure replaced her hood. A set of blue-green eyes peered from beneath the cowl.

“Your watch has ended, my dear Jerid Walker,” a very familiar voice echoed as his sight began to blur.

How … why …

He attempted to claw for the One Power, but the shield remained in place, strong and without an edge to speak of for him to exploit.

The hooded woman knelt down and smiled softly. And slid Jerid's long knife out of his reach.

“You die here for all the pain you caused me and for the Great Lord's benefit," she murmured. "No one will come for you, and if they do … no one beyond those here now will be allowed. The way is Warded against those who would speak Jerid Walker's names — all of them — with reverence, love or respect on their lips."

She leaned down to place a kiss on his lips. By now, he found it hard to move, the poison taking its toll on his muscles. “Farewell, Jerid Walker.” She rose and her parting words were simple. “Watch him die, and make sure he does. If he should move, kill him.”

And so Jerid Walker felt his life slip away bit by bit. How could this happen, with a person he trusted for so many years? How could he be so blind?

You wanted revenge, and risked everything, a small voice said. Bryn was the tipping point and now you die.

It was then a figure appeared from him after what seemed an indefinite amount of time.

She appeared apart from the cloaked figures who were to be his silent executioners. Draped in Novice White, she came so gracefully, so peacefully. And she leaned down over him.

That face … it was the face of his daughter Bryn. It was her real face, with a light so proud and stubborn in her gold-flecked green eyes… and so very much full of love and mercy.

Bryn Riverstone Walker was here to take his father back to the Pattern and be respun into a new life. Or so he thought.

“Bryn, I am so sorry,” he croaked.

“Da,” she whispered, her hand touching a shoulder. He felt nothing but swore she was there. Nothing marked an injury, but a soft light surrounded her. “You are not to fault. I was killed, but it was not by your doing. Please accept it.”

He moved to speak, in his dying moments, but she stopped him with a smile. “This path ya lead .. the one bent on revenge for me … don't let it consume ya or it will be the end of ya. It already nears that.”

Tears escaped his eyes, perhaps the only thing he was capable of at the moment other than a weak attempt to move.

“You died because …”

The figure of his daughter shushed him. “I died proud, Da. I was loved. I met the man who was my da and he loved me. I met my brothers and they are magnificent, but they need ya, not the memory of ya. Yer Warder needs ya, for she loves ya more than words could ever know.”

For brief second, he felt a tangible feeling grip his hand. He would have responded, but the poison now flooded his veins.

“Da, if ya must do anything for me, then live. The best of ya lived in me and that part must flourish … it must look after my brothers,” she whispered. And then she was gone.

The figured began to move in on Jerid Walker, but so too did something else. It echoed in his mind like an oncoming storm bent on vengeance.