A/N: Another Wheel of Time fic! I feel like I'm on a roll. This fic is primarily humor with some romance tossed in. …not much to say, so here is the fic – please, if you get through this, drop a review by. Not so hard, is it? Beslan, Mat, and Birgitte wandering the streets of Ebou Dar during…that one festival that I can't name right now. Feast of something. But anyway.
The dice were rattling around in Mat's skull and giving him a killer headache. That was worrying, but so was the fact that Beslan was squinting around looking for anyone with a knife that he might be able to fight. He had thought that those Cairhienin were touchy, but they had nothing on Ebou Dar-ans.
But why was he worrying, anyway? Since when had he worried about the well being of anyone but himself? Before, if Beslan got in a fight, Mat would have cheered him on while staying out of the way. But now, it seemed that all he did was worry. Maybe all he needed to do was relax for a day. He looked over at Birgitte, attracting every male eye for one hundred yards around in her skimpy feathers. Though, perhaps these two weren't the best pair to attempt relaxing with.
Mat moaned slightly. He wished those bloody dice would stop using his skull as a dice cup. They felt like they should be some sort of help, but he never knew what they were warning him of until it happened. It did him no good to have premonitions he couldn't understand. Somebody whistled rather conspicuously at Birgitte, but she ignored him, glancing at Mat. "Not my type," she murmured at Mat's raised eyebrow. The man was handsome, but that was Birgitte. She had an odd fetish for ugly men.
She nudged his elbow and pointed at a plump woman wearing less than herself. "That's a nice one," she said. Birgitte was always doing that – pointing out women that were attractive as though she were another man. He looked over at her. She noticed him looking and grinned. She brought the feathered mask up to her face and began to sashay over to their posse. Mat would normally have been interested, but his head hurt too much right now. He did not feel like fraternizing with women. Well, Birgitte was a woman, but she hardly counted. She was just a friend. In fact, considering her tastes, Mat thought that he would have been offended if she found him attractive.
"I need to go get a drink," he muttered to the pair surrounding him. "Coming?" He ducked into the nearest tavern and hoped that the hopeful woman wouldn't follow. He walked over to the bartender and was about to ask for wine, but then he thought better of it. "Ale," he said. "Your strongest." The bartender glanced at him crosswise for some reason and then hurried off. Moments later he returned, shoving a mug of dark brown liquid over the counter. Mat picked it up and drained it in one swallow, then put it down on the counter expectantly. The man stared at him but poured him another mug. Mat felt someone behind him and twisted to see Birgitte leaning over his shoulder.
"I'll take the same thing he had," she said. The bartender, shaking his head, walked away and returned with another mug. Mat looked around for Beslan and didn't see him anywhere.
"Where's Beslan?" he asked Birgitte, his speech already slightly slurred. That ale was good.
"Wandering the streets," Birgitte said after draining her mug and asking for another. The bartender looked impressed in spite of himself. It seemed like Beslan should have worried Mat, but already he was feeling somewhat beyond concern. The dice were still rattling all too audibly, however. He drained another mug. The bartender already had two more ready and shoved both of them at Mat. He drained the first in one gulp, but the second one took a little longer. His eyes were getting a bit unfocused. Birgitte shifted back and forth slightly as she drained another mug.
Mat lost track of the next three glasses. He got up and danced a little bit with some of the girls. He twirled the last one away, stumbling slightly – he was very dizzy – and found himself with his arms around Birgitte's waist. Her feathers were slightly askew. "How are they stuckon?" He slurred at her, tugging drunkenly at one of them. Birgitte giggled. The sane part of his mind wondered at that. Birgitte! She never giggled! But the larger part of his brain, currently extremely muddled, enjoyed the feeling of her skin as she pressed up against him, her eyes level with his. That was nice. Mostly, he had to look down at women, though he was short as men went. He hadn't held a woman like this, except for bloody Queen bloody Tylin, since he had become her "duckling."
She leaned her head over, resting it in the side of his neck as she whispered, "Glue." Her voice was even more slurred than his. Birgitte did not have a very large tolerance for beer – well, smaller than his anyway, though that was not saying much. He laughed drunkenly, swerving slightly as he dragged her off the dance floor over to a corner. He was too drunk to dance.
"Do they come off?" he asked flirtatiously, toying with one of them as he pulled her closer. There was something odd about that, but he couldn't remember what it was. He waved at the bartender for two beers and swallowed down one of them before handing the other to Birgitte.
"I don't know," she responded as she sipped her beer delicately. "You could try and find out." Mat laughed again, reeling slightly. The room swayed and tipped.
"Come here," he said. "I'm too drunk to walk." He reached out and grabbed her hand, pulling her close. She giggled and ran her fingers through his hair.
"You would look better if you grew your hair out," she said. "And you should take a shower. You stink."
He laughed again and kissed the side of her neck, impulsively. She giggled and pressed up against him. "Showers are for dandies," he whispered in her ear. Then, on another impulse, he moved his head around and kissed her as hard as he dared. She seemed surprised for a moment, then returned the kiss. When he let go, she giggled and grabbed his hand, panting as he was, only partly from exertion. He followed her without a fuss, up the stairs and into a room. Birgitte slammed the door behind her. The last thing he remembered coherently was that Birgitte looked very fine with her clothes off.
Mat woke up sharply. The first thing he noticed was the light. It pierced through his eyes like barbed spears. It burned like thousands of forge fires. It ached like like hell. He closed his eyes again, firmly, but it didn't stop the light. It was still there, burning into his brain and making his head pound fiercely. He felt like a drum that had been stuck through with arrows after being played all night.
It took him a while to realize that he had been drunk. Very drunk. Light, he hadn't ever gotten that drunk on beer alone! He didn't even remember getting into bed. Mat swore as he realized he wore not a stitch under the blankets. It must have been that bloody Queen Tylin. She had probably undressed him, too. Light! He felt his cheeks flaming furiously. Then he swore again when he realized that he wasn't in his bed at the palace. The mattress was rough and scratchy. Mat felt a vague presence and heard a long sigh as someone shifted opposite him. He rolled over cautiously and gaped at the woman next to him. It was Birgitte. He almost screamed, but not a sound came out. Besides, the effort made his head hurt. He wanted nothing more than just lay down, close his eyes, and forget about Birgitte. But his memory was beginning to come back, and heat crept into his cheeks.
He felt like an utter idiot. Birgitte was his friend, not…a lover, or something. It was indecent. Light! He couldn't believe himself. And the dice were still there, pounding around full force and not helping his headache. He scowled and rubbed at his temples before slowly wrapping the sheet around himself and starting to swing out of bed. Maybe he could get dressed and out of the room before Birgitte woke up. Maybe she wouldn't remember anything. Maybe he could escape the embarrassment of this.
That was a lot of maybes.
Mat swore a couple times, under his breath. He looked around the room for his clothes and found them on the floor, in a heap with Birgitte's. Light, how drunk had they been? He flushed with embarrassment. He would remember this next time he was tempted to get drunk. Well, maybe not. But he hoped he would.
The sheet pulled taut as he attempted to edge over to the pile of clothes. Mat swore. He was going to have to release it. Normally he wasn't modest, but since Tylin – the bloody woman was as immodest as one hundred tavern maids – he had suddenly gained a sense of modesty. And he really didn't need any more embarrassment right now. Slowly, he released the sheet, bolted over to the pile of clothes, and yanked on his breeches faster than he ever had. It was several moments before he realized that they were on backwards. He started to yank them off again, but Birgitte stirred with a small noise and turned over. Mat froze. When she did not move again, he began to move again, more slowly.
"Blood and bloody ashes," he muttered several times. He pulled them off carefully, turned them around, and had them halfway on when he realized that Birgitte's eyes were open, and she was staring straight at him, her eyes still bleary.
He hadn't believed that his cheeks could get so hot without burning up. She was still naked, and the blanket had slipped down as she sat up. He opened his mouth to spew excuses, could think of nothing to say, and closed it again. "Good morning," he muttered at last, turning around and pulling his breeches the rest of the way on. He could feel Birgitte staring at him. He turned around finally, grateful to see that she had pulled the blankets up again. She stared at him for a few more seconds, then let her head fall back on the pillow.
"My head," she moaned. "I need a drink."
"It won't help," said Mat, trying to keep his voice casual.
Birgitte glanced at him, not sitting up. "Of water. How drunk were we?"
Mat winced at the similarity to his own thoughts. "Fairly," he said lightly, hoping to keep the embarrassment out of his voice, but his face gave his mortification away.
Birgitte moaned again. "Stupid, stupid, stupid," she muttered.
Mat felt his face burning up, but now he felt guilty as well as mortified. "Look, Birgitte. I'm sorry. It didn't mean anything… I was stupid, and…well…we're just friends, right?"
Birgitte muttered something.
"What?" Mat asked.
"Wasn't just you," she said more clearly. "Friends. Sure." For some reason, she seemed to be voicing the doubt that Mat felt. "Turn around, okay? I need to get dressed. And get some water. I should remember what being hungover feels like, but I've never felt this bad before."
Mat turned around obligingly and pulled his shirt on over his head. He tried to ignore the sounds of Birgitte dressing, but it was all too hard to forget how pretty Birgitte had looked with her clothes off. He flushed. "Light, man! Keep your head out of the pigsty," he muttered.
"What's that?" Birgitte called.
"Nothing," he muttered. "Are you decent yet?"
"Go ahead and turn around, Mat."
He did so and just as quickly wheeled again. Her shirt was still hanging open generously. She laughed. "Light, don't do that to me, Birgitte. I'm embarrassed enough as it is." He practically heard her smile.
"All right, I'm dressed."
"Really?" Mat turned around slowly and was relived to see Birgitte fully clothed. "I'd better get back to the palace. Nynaeve and Elayne are probably tearing the place down looking for me." He smiled slightly. "I'm joking. They probably haven't even – what's the matter?" Birgitte's face was ashen suddenly.
"Elayne!" she choked. "The bond – what did she think I was – I have to go." She hastened to the door. She reached out to open it and stopped as someone knocked. Very firmly.
"Dammit," Mat muttered. He'd forgotten all about Elayne and the bond. In fact, he'd forgotten almost everything. He thought of Elayne's face and her nose always in the air. His face went as pale as Birgitte's, he was certain. "Hide me," he moaned.
"Get under the bed," Birgitte hissed urgently. "Quick! Oh, what on earth am I going to say?"
"Well, think of something quickly," Mat moaned, feeling slightly nauseous. "Just say you were drunk and leave it at that. And don't mention me," he pleaded. "I'm not here."
"Definitely not," muttered Birgitte, fiddling with her hair. "I should have this braided. Ah well. No time for that."
"Thanks, Birgitte," Mat muttered. Birgitte straightened her clothes, and he saw her shoot him a look of pleading. He felt extremely sympathetic, but glad that it wasn't him.
"Birgitte, I know you're in there!" shouted Elayne's muffled voice. "Come out right now or I'll –"
Birgitte took a deep breath and opened the door. Elayne's fists were raised, and it took her a moment to realize that the door was open and Birgitte was standing there. Just Elayne, thankfully. If Nynaeve had been there too, Mat would have feared for Birgitte's life. Elayne marched inside, hands on fists, squaring off with her Warder. "How dare you!" she almost shrieked. "How dare you get drunk, and then, then, have – do – that with a man. You had me acting like a total fool, blushing and falling all over myself, and tipsy besides. What do you have to say for yourself?"
"I got drunk and did some stupid stuff," Birgitte muttered, her cheeks reddening. "Now stop shouting, okay? I've got a headache."
Elayne looked darkly around the room. "Where is…he?" she said in tones as though speaking of a murderer. Mat winced and cowered deeper under the bed.
Birgitte shrugged, trying to look nonchalant and succeeding better than Mat himself could have. "Dunno. He wasn't here when I woke up. I don't even remember who he was." Thank you, Birgitte, Mat thought gratefully as he breathed a sigh of relief.
Elayne scrutinized her Warder for several more moments before seeming to accept this explanation. "Fine. Come back to the Palace with me. Have you paid for this room? No? I thought as much. Well, I've got money. At least let me give you Healing for your head. Light, you're giving me a headache." She scowled, seizing Birgitte's head – none to gently. Birgitte shuddered and swayed slightly. Elayne didn't even look at her, snatching the hat that had fallen off as she entered and stalking out of the room. Birgitte relaxed slightly and waited several moments after she disappeared.
"Okay, I think she's gone," Birgitte muttered to Mat. He climbed warily out from under the bed. The dice were still rolling, and his head was still pounding. "I'd better go," said Birgitte, grabbing her bow. "Elayne is angry enough at me without adding tardiness to my list of crimes."
Suddenly, she walked over to him and kissed him firmly, then walked away. "See you later, Matrim Cauthon."
Mat flushed at her kiss, and even harder at his full name. Almost no one called him that anymore. He was thoroughly confused now. "Never again, right, Brigitte?" he called after her, not sure what he hoped for as an answer.
"Certainly not," Birgitte said, almost too lightly. "Although," she said, hesitating at the doorframe. "I must say, you look even better than Gaidal did with his clothes off." She ducked the shoe he threw at her and hurried out the door and downstairs. He waited until he was sure she was gone before retrieving the shoes and flopping down on the bed, putting his head in his hands.
"What have I gotten myself into?" he muttered, and sat there for a long time, attempting to sort out his feelings futilely until he shut off all thoughts of Birgitte with a bucket of water that also help his headache. He walked out of the hotel the back way, ducking through the kitchen and a surprised gaggle of maids, wearing his hat low, his black scarf firmly tied around his neck and the foxhead beneath his shirt. He tried to keep his thoughts on the absent Bowl of Winds, but Birgitte was still there, laughing at him in the back of his head and wearing not a stitch.