The Blazing Dawn
Prologue
A/N:
Pretty much disappointed by the quality of the fanfics here. The writing style or RJ/BS was very specific and enhanced the storytelling. I want a similar feel so that you're transported right back to the same world you experienced reading the canon series. Please leave me any feedback or CC on how I can better procure this experience for you, my beloved fellow WoT fans.
The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. It was a sunny, winter day when Matrim Cauthon was watching the waves pass several feet below him, peering over the edge of a Seanchan ship, when he had the feeling he was being watched. The waters had all but melted back into normalcy, no ice to be found miles from the ship's lookout. Returning back home after what felt like ages regaining the Crystal Throne for Tuon should have felt like homecoming. The Dragon's Peace upon the land meant that there would be no war, no need for delving into all those blasted men's memories in his head to ensure a victory over the chaos that had been wrought in Seanchan with the prior Empress's death. "May she live bloody forever," Mat muttered under his breath. The Seanchan officer to his right near him grimaced before catching himself. The Prince of the Ravens was not one many wanted to upset. Not to his face anyway. Mat turned around, leaning back on the railing in what he hoped looked like a leisurely pose, but the way his eyes scanned over the ship to identify where the feeling had come from was anything but leisurely. It was then that he caught site of what gave him the feeling, and his jaw dropped. "Bloody and bloody ashes, mother's milk in a cup," he sputtered as a man seemed to appear out of thin air. There are no beginnings or endings to the Wheel of Time, but it was a beginning.
"That's no way to greet an old friend, is it?"
All the Seanchan guards and officers laying around the ship were suddenly on high alert and had weapons raised, but Mat quickly raised his arm and his voice, "No. Stand down, burn you. Stand down." The surround Seanchan immediately did as he asked, but one or two still gave Mat a look wondering what he was about.
Mat stood up straight and almost moaned when he heard the dice in his head start the rattling he thought he'd never have to hear again after the last of Seanchan had been secured. "Rand?" He asked incredulously. The man in front of him did not look like Rand. He didn't hold himself in that tense way Mat had seen him like for what seemed ages. There was no mistaking it, though. This was the Dragon Reborn. As sure as the Creator was good. "How did you-"
Rand waved his hand, as if to signal that it was nothing, before pulling a coin out of thin air. He watched Mat carefully. There was definite mirth in his eyes.
"Can you still-" Mat started loudly, but stopped. He eyed the soldiers near him who had returned to their posts but were staring too hard out over the waves. Who knows what kind of eyes and ears were still out there for what factions. With those blasted dice still rattling in his head, he wasn't going to take any chances. "Why don't you come into my quarters with me and have a drink. We have some very good wine." Mat said loudly, but not too loudly.
Rand looked at him with amusement plain on that stranger's face. "After you, Prince of the Ravens," Rand intoned. Not a hint of mocking was in that voice, but Mat knew Rand better than that.
"Bloody right."
Mat walked across the familiar planks of the ship towards the stern where his quarters were located. It was a large ship, they were taking a great deal of gold across the ocean, and the damane were otherwise preoccupied in Seanchan at this time. Apparently, someone had decided to send a letter to every sul'dam and every noble of the High Blood that damane and sul'dam were one in the same: women who could channel. Tuon had her hands full dealing with the consequences of that, so Mat had gladly taken the opportunity to help oversee things back in his homeland.
"Matrim," Tuon had told him, "You must go. The people will take more kindly to one of their own blood, and nobles will listen to you for planning the logistics of the Last Battle." He had tried to argue with her, but she had given him only a silent stare with those dark pools for eyes boring into him. And that had been that. Truth be told, Mat wanted to be back where people didn't prostrate themselves every bloody instant and play some good old fashioned dice in a tavern with wine and song. Yes, it had been too long for Matrim Cauthon to be away from home.
Once inside with the door closed, Mat sat down on one of the plush chairs nailed down to the floorboards. It was a large cabin. A Seafolk porcelain washbasin stood a foot away from his large bed, near the huge window looking out the stern of the ship, and big enough for him and Tuon to fit comfortably, had she been there with him. A large wooden table with a glossy, smooth top was near the door with four of the comfortable chairs on their respective sides of the table. Rand seated himself across from Mat and a pitcher of wine punch, at least it smelled like wine punch, Mat thought, appeared out of the air, along with two cups. Rand poured them each a glass and took a sip of his, staring at Mat over the tip of his cup, clearly waiting for him to speak first.
Mat smelled the liquid in his cup, and the scents of stawberries and what he thought must be the sweetest wine he'd ever smelled wafted over him. He took a sip, and it was even better than it smelled. He looked at Rand and went to take another sip, not realizing he had drank the whole cup down. He poured himself some more from the silver pitcher Rand had seemingly conjured. Mat had wondered what he would have said to Rand if he had gotten to speak to him one last time. Often, he remembered him more and more as his old friend who would stare at Egwene every Beltine as she anxiously looked forward to the day she could braid her hair. He would remember him as the friend who would go out climbing faces of cliffs that grown men would have made grown men balk. He remembered the man who gave his life for the world. But Rand Al'Thor sat in front of him. Rand Al'Thor was alive and well. The Dragon Reborn lived on.
"What happened after Tarmon Gai'don?" Mat said, taking another gulp of the wine punch. Rand opened his mouth to reply. Mat would get to that appearing wine next, but he had to know what had happened, what had really happened first. "We thought you had died. The world- me! I thought you had died, burn you," he continued on. Rand closed his mouth and arched an eyebrow at him. Mat muttered something very vulgar to himself and grabbed a chunk of cheese and a half loaf of bread out of the woven bag at the far end of the table.
"Moridin- Ishamael, but he was brought back by Shai'Tan- and I battled, but we... we switched bodies. I cannot tell you how or why only that it happened. And I cannot channel anymore." Mat sputtered a bit on his wine.
"But how-"
"It appears I have a gift now that has nothing to do with the One Power or the True Power for that matter. Tell me, Mat, what do you know of the world of dreams?"
Mat shifted, looking uncomfortable. He looked down at the wine. "I know that Egwene used to go there with the Wise Ones. That they could travel anywhere they wanted and look at things without even needing to Travel or use the One Power."
Rand nodded. "That's right, and in the world of dreams, one only need to be strong in will power, not in channeling, to affect its reality."
Mat felt as if his jaw would drop again. The dice stopped rattling. "You mean- You just will things into being?"
Rand nodded, and Mat stared at him. It was all he could do. The implications of this flooded his mind all at once and in a neverending stream at the same time. "Are you the Creator?" he asked at last, feeling as if his mouth were suddenly the driest thing in the world, reaching for more of the wine punch before stopping and frowning.
Rand laughed, a hearty, mirthful sound. "Not that I'm aware of. No, Mat, I wouldn't say that."
"Well, it sure sounds like it. Or he's given YOU the gift of creation," Mat retorted. Rand went still at that and looked at Mat.
"That is something I have thought, but what do I do with that, if that's the case, Mat? After Tarmon Gai'Don, I traveled the world, to see the things I had never seen before, even as Lews Therin. I had a lot of time to think, to learn, and Mat, what am I supposed to do with such a gift? Will people to do things? I can't do that, I chose free will for all when I fought the Dark One. I fought and chose and willed our free will in the last battle."
For several beats, Mat just stared at Rand Al'Thor, in the body of Moridin, the reborn Ishamael, with the memories of his rebirth as Lews Therin in his head and repeated everything he'd just heard back in his head. Mat was never one to just want to ponder the implications of power, but time among the Seanchan had forced him to use every bit of wit he had. It had become almost second nature by now, to weigh all sides of things.
"If you gave us free will, Rand," Mat said, quietly, slowly, "Then you must see... if you willed our Free Will to us in battle against the Dark One, then you must realize, you are the Creator in that, you have created us a new age. You have woven the wheel for us. You gave us time and future and choices. You may not be The Creator, but Rand, you are a Creator."
