Nynaeve took his hand, her grip firm. "You've spent your life paying your parents' debts, Lan. You died a dozen times over for the Seven Towers. Now, you have to do the hardest thing a soldier can do." "What is that?"
"I spent my life avenging what could not be defended," Lan said, his voice like grinding stone. "I made peace with my death a long time ago. I do not know how to live with a crown that isn't made of thorns." 125015
"The border willIt was Nynaeve. She didn't approach him with the caution one might show a warrior; she stepped into his space, her presence a grounding force that pulled him back from the edge of the abyss. Nynaeve took his hand, her grip firm
The wind howled across the blasted remains of the north, carrying the scent of ash and the faint, lingering metallic tang of a battle that had finally ended. Lan Mandragoran stood at the edge of the overlook, his heavy hadori —the braided leather cord around his brow—feeling heavier than it ever had in the heat of combat. Now, you have to do the hardest thing a soldier can do