Gwilym lay on his bed, looking up at the ceiling and counting how many cracks there were in the roof.
He had been looking after Saphire’s mixed collection of trinkets, mainly ones that her mother had collected. He started to fall asleep; the journey had been really long and the fact that he had been working as hard as four men together meant that he was tired.
He fell asleep, rolling onto one of Saphire’s trinkets.
An unknown time in the future
Gwilym looked around the small hall; the smell of burning wood and other things lingered in the air. He looked at some of the pictures and recognized it as the training yard’s main hall.
He turned, listening to Sedai, Soldiers, and Gaidin trying to give input on a plan to hold out the attackers. Gwilym turned looking out the window that looked over the Grey Tower, its smoldering rubble burning off in the distance. Light, what’s happened here? he thought to himself as he turned back to the table.
"We need to set up here, here and here. Get Dagor to command group one, Meer to command group two and I’ll command group three," Gwilym commented. "What numbers are we looking at on the attacking side?" he asked, trying to figure out exactly what was happening.
The group all looked at him, surprised. Saphire was the one to speak. "Gwil, Dagor and Meer are dead. Along with almost sixty percent of us – we are barely holding the Dark One’s forces back."
She looked back to the others. "Do as Gwilym says, but get Lars on group one and Johon on group two."
The group broke up and Gwilym approached Saphire. "How did this happen?"
She looked at him and smiled. "Do you remember the attack on the Grey Tower all those years ago?" Gwilym nodded. "Remember my auntie – how she left me that message?"
Gwilym shook his head. He seemed unable to remember much, but Saphire continued, "It’s apparent that she was successful in gaining enough support to do this." She pointed to the Tower. "Now me must go outside and fight them off."
He stepped out the door and approached the fighting line in time to see the first wave of Trollocs rushing in to attack. A blur of fighting surrounded Gwilym, his sword slicing the way through those who approached him. The smell and sight of blood, smoke and screaming men filled every sense.
"Fall back! Fall back!" came the shout of someone high on the wall. He looked down at his sword, noticing the blood dripping off the curved blade, his hands splattered with the blood of both men and Myrddraal alike.
He turned his attention to the gate – Saphire approached him from behind. Her multicolored shall showed that she was indeed the Mother of the Tower, her jewel glittering with the sun. But even through the blood on her clothing she had not aged a day.
"We must go, Gwilym!" She looked panicked. "We must fall back to the yard!" She started to pull him along.
Gwilym held the sword down, confused. "Why am I here?" he simply asked as he looked up to see a Trolloc rushing him. His height put the Trolloc at a disadvantage as the curved blade sliced through the animal.
He turned to see Akilah, fighting like a true warrior, moving seamlessly between thrusts and blocks with the beautifully carved staff. She looked older, with a slight bit of gray in her hair. He noticed a flash of light out the corner of his eye and then a black object fired something at her.
Saphire turned as she used a battle weave to kill a small group of Trollocs attacking her. They fell back, small holes running through their bodies. Gwilym knew this to be a special type of battle weave that used Air. She looked in control but at the same time fighting with everything she had. She failed to pay attention to the Trolloc that now stood behind her.
Gwilym dived to save Saphire, taking the Trolloc in the back, the blade slicing along the animal’s width. The Trolloc turned as Gwilym’s blade sliced straight through the body of the animal. The Trolloc went down screaming in pain, blood dripping down the blade and onto his hands.
He turned to see Akilah fighting a Myrddraal; she moved with skill. He was proud of her, his wife of many years – the staff’s point was sharpened and made contact with the Myrddraal’s head. She continued her attack, beating and stabbing the now screaming Myrddraal to death.
She stood up and turned to attack her next opponent and walked straight into a Trolloc’s blade. Gwilym stood in shock, watching the life drain from his wife’s eyes, her clear blue eyes that loved so much and expected so little, turned and looked straight into his.
Gwilym picked up his sword and rushed to meet the Trolloc, whose blade was still in his beloved. He reached the vile animal just in time to take its head from its body.
Gwilym dropped his sword and bent down to pick up his fallen love – she was still alive, blood coming out of her mouth. She tried to speak, but smiled as she collapsed, death encompassing her beauty.
He didn’t have time to do much as he felt a pain rush through his body. He watched a blade come out in front of him. He looked back to see a Trolloc with a type of smile on his face.
Gwilym felt darkness washing over him and felt the ground.
Waking up
Gwilym woke up, sweating, and in a somewhat disordered state of mind. He looked at the ter’angreal and sighed.