A Wheel of Time Fanfiction : Heir of the Shadow

In the heart of his Caemlyn estate, Naravoss sat surrounded by the tools of manipulation: maps of the Westlands, ancient texts, and coded reports from his extensive spy network. The sanctum was dimly lit, its shadows dancing with the faint glow of lamplight. This was the room where he wove his plans, the threads of the Pattern bending under his will.

On the table before him lay a series of reports coded messages from his agents embedded across Andor and beyond. His network, built with ruthless precision, extended from dockworkers in Tear to merchants in Whitebridge and guards stationed near Baerlon. These were not loyalists but compelled tools, their will bound by his mastery of Saidin. Yet even the best networks occasionally delivered conflicting or incomplete information, and Naravoss's patience for failure was thin.

For weeks, fragments of intelligence had drawn his attention to the Two Rivers, a backwater so insignificant it was rarely mentioned in Andoran court politics. But the Pattern was shifting, and the village's name had begun to surface with alarming frequency.

The reports were addressed simply to The Hand, a codename known only to his most trusted operatives. Naravoss had long since abandoned using titles like "Duke" in his clandestine dealings. The codenames maintained the secrecy necessary for his operations and ensured plausible deniability should any message fall into the wrong hands.

The first report was straightforward:

To The Hand:

A traveling merchant in Whitebridge spoke of strange happenings in the Two Rivers. Crops yield beyond expectations, and a farmer's son was saved from a wolf attack under inexplicable circumstances. The villagers attribute it to "luck," but the Pattern suggests otherwise.

S. A.

Naravoss leaned back in his chair, considering the implications. Such "luck" was often a hallmark of ta'veren, individuals around whom the Pattern wove with greater intensity. The mention of wolves was particularly intriguing, as it hinted at a connection to the Wolfbrothers a phenomenon tied to the world of dreams and the ancient mysteries of the Wheel.

The second report came from a merchant house in Baerlon, one of his key sources of intelligence in the region:

To The Hand:

Two travelers passed through Baerlon heading west, one an older man with the air of a soldier, the other younger but carrying himself with quiet authority. They asked after villages in the region, including the Two Rivers. Their identities are unknown, but their movements suggest caution.

 G. K.

Naravoss's eyes narrowed. While this report lacked definitive detail, the description of the older man suggested a Warder. Aes Sedai rarely traveled without their bonded guardians, and the thought of the Tower's agents sniffing around the Two Rivers set his teeth on edge. It was too much of a coincidence.

The third report was the most cryptic, arriving from one of his agents in Andor's merchant guilds. Unlike the others, it carried a sense of urgency.

To The Hand:

A gleeman traveling from Whitebridge speaks of three boys in the Two Rivers who seem... uncommonly lucky. A gambler among them has never lost a bet; a farmer's son fought off a wolf with no weapon; and another displays unnatural strength for his age. The gleeman insists these are just stories, but the Pattern disagrees.

 D. L.

Naravoss's fingers tapped the edge of the table, his mind piecing together the fragments. Three boys, each displaying traits beyond the ordinary. Ta'veren were rare enough that even the suggestion of three gathered in one place was cause for alarm. If the stories were true, these boys were more than a curiosity they were a threat.

Naravoss rose from his chair, pacing the room as he mulled over the reports. His black eyes burned with intensity, his thoughts racing. The Two Rivers was no longer an irrelevant backwater. The Pattern had begun to weave tightly around it, and where the Pattern wove, the Shadow's hand must follow.

He called for his trusted operative, a man known only by the codename The Shade. The operative entered the sanctum with a bow, his movements precise and disciplined.

"You summoned me, my lord?" The Shade asked, his voice calm but attentive.

Naravoss handed him the reports. "The Two Rivers. I want eyes and ears in every corner of that village. Merchants, travelers, hunters anyone who enters or leaves. No detail is too small."

The Shade nodded. "It will be done."

"And one more thing," Naravoss added, his tone sharp. "If there are Aes Sedai involved, I want to know their purpose. Send word to our agents in Whitebridge and Baerlon. Their focus is to be absolute."

After dismissing The Shade, Naravoss turned his attention to the Prophecies of the Dragon. The scrolls and fragments he had gathered painted a fragmented but compelling picture. His latest acquisition, a scroll retrieved from an ancient vault in Tear, contained a passage that had haunted him:

"Three threads will bind the Wheel. One to lead, one to guide, and one to destroy. In their shadow walks death, yet they bear the mark of salvation."

Naravoss read the words aloud, his voice low and deliberate. "Three threads," he murmured. The Pattern wove around these boys for a reason. But salvation? That was a delusion of the Light. He would twist their threads to serve the Shadow.

Another passage, older and more cryptic, caught his attention:

"When the Dragon walks again, the seals shall break, and the Great Lord shall rise."

The irony burned in his chest. The Dragon Reborn was both the greatest threat to the Shadow and its greatest opportunity. If the Dragon could be controlled or broken Naravoss could fulfill his destiny and free the Dark One.

While Naravoss plotted in Caemlyn, the Two Rivers remained oblivious to the storm gathering around it. Moiraine, Lan, and Thom Merrilin continued their search for the boys, their presence in the village becoming harder to conceal.

Moiraine sat by the hearth of the Winespring Inn, her blue-fringed shawl carefully hidden. "The Pattern is clear," she said softly, addressing Lan. "These boys are ta'veren."

Lan nodded, his gaze scanning the room. "And the Shadow knows it too."

Thom, seated nearby, leaned forward. "If they're ta'veren, why aren't they causing more chaos? Shouldn't the Pattern be unraveling around them?"

"It is," Moiraine replied. "But they are young. The Wheel has not yet set them on their true paths."

As night fell, the Two Rivers was thrown into chaos. Trollocs poured from the forests, their guttural cries echoing through the village. At their head was a Myrddraal, its eyeless face gleaming in the firelight.

Moiraine and Lan fought to protect the boys, weaving fire and steel in a desperate battle. Rand, Mat, and Perrin found themselves caught in the chaos, their latent strength and courage driving them to act. Together, they began to emerge as the ta'veren the Pattern needed them to be.