With Byar and Bornhald on one side and Aybara's wife and liegemen on the other, the parley was getting nowhere.

Galad had to work to keep the frustrations out of his manner. At every suggestion—by Aybara or himself—Byar protested, with proclamations that Aybara was a murderer and Shadowspawn. Galad was not so convinced; not after seeing Perrin Aybara deal with his own people. His wife, the Saldaean woman, protested as fiercely as Byar to her husband, and the Ghealdanian Queen fought almost as valiantly to keep him away from the Children. Even the striking First of Mayene supported Aybara.

Amidst the protestations, Galad locked eyes with Aybara. They both saw the inefficacy of the meeting. Galad almost saw a kinship of spirit with the man; of all those beneath the pavilion, it seemed they two alone knew what had to be done. Aybara had demonstrated much with his insistence on parley and diplomacy over war. At first, Galad had listened to Byar, interpreting the requests as a devious manipulation. But sitting here across from the man, looking into his wolf's eyes, Galad saw only the single-mindedness that he himself was all too familiar with.

Aybara wanted only to reach Tarmon Gai'don. He wanted his men back, and his supplies, and he wanted to leave this place—but Galad was in his way. Galad could not be sure if the man before him would fight for the Light or the Shadow, but his determination reminded Galad of his own, and it sparked… something… inside him.

It was not just frustration that Galad hid during that meeting. He glanced at the First again, hoping to disguise his flushed face, but he was certain Aybara knew. How could he know? I didn't even know until now. But Aybara saw that something in him—perhaps the same thing Galad saw in the other man—and that would be enough to give away his advantage. Galad spoke, quieting the pavilion.

"You must see we are at an impasse, Aybara. I know you cannot give yourself over before your own people. Perhaps I cannot be impartial before mine. Should you and I settle this alone, then? In my tent? I vow that no harm will come to you."

"No, husband. You will not leave that camp alive," Aybara's wife locked eyes with Child Byar. She was keen to note Byar's zeal, or perhaps just familiar. She had been in the Two Rivers. Was she really the daughter of a great captain?

Aybara studied him for a moment, placing his hand on that of his wife, who'd gripped his forearm at Galad's statement. "Peace, Faile. If this is just you and I, Damodred…" Faile opened her mouth to protest, but Aybara continued. "What's to keep you from killing me? My men were quick to inform me that you'd killed Eamon Valda. I may not carry a sword, but I know what the Heron means." His wife nodded.

"Killing you dishonorably would scar myself and the Children irreparably. Some may stoop so low—some have—but not I. You have my oath that you and your men will see tomorrow so long as you make no move against us. You can bring a retinue if you wish. These… Asha'man, perhaps, and the Aes Sedai. But I feel further negotiations must be between you and I alone."

Again, the Saldaean woman seemed eager to protest. In fact, they all did—Byar and Bornhald included. But Galad had set his mind, and he'd done it without their influence. He knew he had to face Aybara alone, and Aybara knew it too. Galad only feared what he might reveal without witnesses; there was no First of Mayene in his tent to disguise his affections.

Aybara nodded, quickly silencing the crowd. Shock, or his alleged ta'veren nature? Some Shadowspawn trick? No, not that. This was an air of command, of authority.

"I'll go." It was said plainly, with no room for doubt. He turned to his wife, speaking quieter. Galad barely heard; he thought the other Children must not have. "I trust him, Faile. Light, but I do. He's… different, somehow, from the rest. He won't break his word." The woman seemed annoyed, but she responded to his firmness. She was certainly a Saldaean woman.

"To my camp, then," Galad said, placing an edge in his voice to hide the sudden dryness he'd found in his mouth. Light, am I going to do what I think I am? Can I even do something like that?

Nodding, Aybara selected his men and women. Galad commanded all but a few Children to remain at the pavilion—he wouldn't put it past Byar to try something, even with Galad's promise; the army, too, he left in an act of faith—and they were off.

Aybara entered the tent behind Galad, a Child closing it behind him. The same Child had made sure it was lit before they entered.

Galad turned to face Aybara, standing before his bed. He had a small desk that was likely more appropriate for the occasion, but he needed the man to feel comfortable. He quelled thoughts of why else he might want to be near the bed. He cleared his throat, hoping the other man took it as a symbol of brevity and formality rather than embarrassment, and prayed that the lantern light didn't reveal the warmth in his face.

"I came here to find an agreement, and I'm not leaving until I do," Aybara said in that gruff voice. His eyes brooked no argument, and though Galad was the taller, the golden-eyed man seemed to fill the tent. Galad found himself ready to give in, to offer something to him. Was this the effect of a ta'veren? Or were these Galad's own feelings coming to the surface?

Galad rested his hand on his sword. A reminder, he told himself. He knew he was dangerous; Aybara should, too. Yet he knew there was another reason. A hand on the sword was… suggestive, to say the least. Light! This isn't me! But it was, now, Galad knew. Aybara had seen him, had known him. There was no hiding his flushed face, his nervous voice. Light, but there was no hiding his need. Galad felt a warmth within himself, felt his heart beating murderously in his chest, and knew there was no turning back. He would have Aybara in this tent.

Aybara's mouth twitched as Galad flushed further. They both knew what was happening. Galad didn't know how, but they did. He felt a twitch below his belt. He closed his eyes to steady himself, gripping the sword for support.

"I—" Galad began, his voice full of poorly masked lust, but Aybara had caught his wrist, stepping closer to him. Galad opened his eyes, releasing his sword. Apparently, he'd drawn it slightly.

Aybara was breathing heavily, a symptom of his readiness to strike again should Galad threaten him. Galad's own breath came heavy not from exertion, but from desire. He met the man's eyes, those eyes that reached into him and knew every intimacy. A wolf's eyes. Suddenly Galad saw before him not a man, but a beast. He saw in Aybara the same rawness that he now felt. His own inner beast, his own desire, responded to Aybara's.

He kissed him. It was tense at first—Aybara seemed more surprised than Galad had thought—but soon the other man gave way. He still held to Galad's wrist on one side, and now grabbed roughly at Galad's hip on the other. Galad poured his own passion and lust into the kiss, and felt Aybara's in kind. It was wet, and rough, and messy—not at all like Galad—but it was right.

Light, what am I doing!? He knew this wasn't out of the realm of what he might do—he'd thought of men often, though it had once surprised him—but this was a negotiation! The Lord Captain Commander of the Children of the Light couldn't handle matters of such import this way!

And yet now, he did. He pushed away his thoughts, allowing himself to get lost in Perrin Aybara's touch. The man's lips were insistent—not scrambling for Galad's, but playing firmly against them, their purpose plain. Aybara's hand had found purchase beneath Galad's coat and shirt, massaging his hip. Galad broke the kiss, needing a moment for breath, and met the man's eyes again.

There were no words, no actions, and yet there was a struggle. Aybara's eyes probed Galad, alert, and Galad knew his own offered no resistance, glazed over as they must be by his lust. He moved to reconnect with the larger man, only for Aybara to grip his belt, undoing it deftly. Galad's lips quirked into a small smile and he worked to remove his shirt.

Galad was down to his smallclothes before either man worked to remove Aybara's clothing, interrupted as they were by their kisses. Aybara himself still had his shirt on—only half unbuttoned by Galad, who'd had to touch and admire the man's strong chest, furred with curly hair—when he apparently lost his patience, grabbing Galad and taking him into a fuller kiss, pulling him close. Galad's slim, hard muscles met Perrin's broad chest, his bare skin pressed against the other man's shirt. Galad was the sword, slender and graceful, Aybara the hammer, strong and forceful.

They parted again, gasping for breath, yet remained close enough to feel each other's heat. Galad could feel Aybara's arousal, now, and his own erection was met with little resistance by his smallclothes. Reaching between them, he massaged Aybara's shaft, impressed but not surprised by the girth he found. Aybara let out a low groan, resting his head on Galad's shoulder, and Galad continued his ministrations.

Aybara began kissing Galad's neck, working the skin there as Galad worked between Perrin's legs. Galad could feel the damp on his smallclothes against the tip of his manhood, a sign of his arousal. He hissed as Perrin nipped at his neck, but smiled at the pleasure he found in the other man. Soon, he moved to Aybara's belt, working to remove it and the man's pants.

Perrin grabbed Galad's wrists, removing them from his belt. He stopped sucking at Galad's neck, which earned a light whimper from Galad, and looked into his eyes, breathing heavily. Suddenly, he spun Galad around, holding his wrists behind him, and bent Galad down over the bed. Galad had a slight panic at the man's force—years of combat training had made him wary—but a far stronger instinct told him that what Aybara was doing was right.

He heard Aybara fiddling with his belt behind him, finishing what Galad had started. He looked back as the man pulled down his pants and smallclothes, revealing the massive member Galad had been rubbing. Now Aybara took it in his own hand, gently massaging himself as he smirked down at Galad, face down on his own bed. Galad flushed in embarrassment, and Aybara reached forward, removing Galad's smallclothes and exposing his rear. Galad took the opportunity to spread his legs, exposing himself further to the hulking man.

Perrin bent down over Galad, his cock sliding between his cheeks and his chest pressed tight against Galad's back. He gripped Galad's hair, pulling his head back for a kiss. Galad pressed back into the man, trying to get more contact with his manhood, trying to be filled, to be complete. Aybara pushed his head against the mattress, nipping Galad's ear before gruffly whispering, "How much?"

"Wh-what?" Galad asked, catching his breath.

"How much do you want it? How much is it worth?" Aybara's breath came rough in Galad's ear, the heat from his body seeping into him. Galad moved, frustrated, trying to rock himself against Perrin's shaft, but the other man held him firm.

"Please," Galad breathed, "everything. Please. Your army can go, I just—I need it."

Perrin smiled, then drew back. Galad frowned at the loss of the man, but soon gasped in shock and delight. Aybara's tongue worked the cleft of Galad's ass, probing into and loosening him. Galad gripped the sheets beneath him, letting out a small laugh at the pleasure. Light! This was something new.

Aybara spread Galad's cheeks wide, going as deep as he could. Galad could feel the same intense passion in this kiss as he had their others, but the sensation…! It was unlike anything Galad had felt before, and he lost himself, ceding all control to the other man.

Soon Aybara slowed and withdrew, and Galad himself was slightly relieved at the break, though he felt the loss strongly. He looked back at Aybara again, and found the man staring at him, cock in hand. He massaged it slowly, back and forth, his eyes drinking Galad in. Galad reached between his own legs.

"Light, but you're gorgeous," Aybara said. "You drive women wild, I'm sure. But I can have you in a way they never will."

Galad let out a whimper, Perrin's speech eliciting it as much as his own ministrations. Aybara cocked his head, gesturing, and Galad scrambled back, his face before Aybara's shaft. Tentatively, he took it into his mouth, glancing to the other for approval.

Perrin's head rolled back and he let out another low groan, and Galad continued his work. The other man's girth was far too great to take in, but then, that wasn't his goal. He rubbed himself as he worked on Aybara, then reached further down between his legs where his entrance was still moist. He explored it for a moment before slipping a finger in, and was delighted by the experience. He redoubled his efforts on Perrin, hoping to bring the man pleasure but focusing on moisture above all else.

After losing himself in both ends of his work for a few minutes, Galad reached deeper and discovered something that forced him to remove himself from Aybara's length. He gasped at the sensation, rubbing his finger against the spot again. He could feel pressure below his manhood, forcing it seemingly to grow and leak even more, but the sheer pleasure outweighed anything he'd felt before. He withdrew his finger, breathing heavily and fighting a smile, and glanced up at Aybara.

The man was grinning down at him. He bent down, kissing Galad, before taking him in his strong arms and returning him to his prior position on the bed. Galad stretched himself against the surface, feeling the muscles tighten in his chest and back as his ground against the soft sheets, and presented himself to Perrin. He no longer felt shame in the situation; this was his most natural state, it was where he belonged: with his legs and ass spread and a stronger man above him.

Perrin bent down, giving Galad a few good licks to re-lubricate him. Galad shivered, and soon the tongue was replaced by the head of Aybara's shaft, massive against his puckered entrance. "Are you sure?" Perrin asked, and Galad rolled his hips back in response, pushing himself against the man's cock. He nodded vigorously, biting his lip in anticipation.

Aybara didn't need further encouragement. He pressed himself forward, slowly entering Galad. He was unsure at first due to the pain—his finger hadn't felt like this, nor had Aybara's tongue—but soon Aybara was deep enough that Galad felt only a vague pressure rather than the pain of resistance. It was still uncomfortable, but being filled by another man felt right.

Galad wiggled back against Aybara, trying to loosen himself and give Aybara more room. His head was low against the bed, his ass slightly raised to meet Aybara's hips. He felt surrendered, submissive; he felt free. Galad saw the world very clearly, and he rarely ceded control, but this… in this, Galad felt more himself than he ever had.

Finally Aybara reached the hilt, filling Galad completely. Both men groaned, getting accustomed to the pressure. Soon Perrin pulled back slowly, not quite pulling all the way out before he pushed in again. Slowly at first, which Galad appreciated, but steadily increasing his pace. Both men's breath came hard, now, and Galad felt the bed rocking as he gripped the sheets. There was still the discomfort, but there was occasionally a brush of that spot Galad had discovered, and that sent him into ecstasy.

Eventually Galad grew accustomed to the movements, and Aybara moved faster and harder, gripping Galad's hips. He'd have bruises later, not to mention the mark on his neck. Light, he was being branded like property! Is this how he lays with his wife? Galad thought. Best not to think on that. Both men were grunting, Perrin's the steady masculine sounds of a man in control, Galad's higher-pitched, the irregular moans of one lost in ecstasy.

Perrin released Galad's left hip, leaning forward and gripping his shoulder instead. As he moved, Galad felt him slide deeper, filling him completely. He whimpered, incoherent. He could feel the sticky webs of fluid beneath him, the pre-arousal elicited only by the other man's touch. Galad was strong, his muscles well-carved, but Aybara was a force of nature, and he was the larger, stronger man. He pinned Galad beneath him, and Galad offered no resistance.

With his left side held down and his body flush against the other man's, his hole tight around Aybara, Galad finally reached between his legs, brushing his shaft lightly. Even that was a strong sensation with the other man filling him! He took himself in hand, using the slick he'd released to lubricate his motions, and massaged in rhythm with Aybara's thrusts.

He felt the pleasure mounting, the sheer thrill of being taken by another man and knowing nothing but delight. Aybara released Galad's shoulder, taking his hips and pulling Galad against him again and again. Soon he slowed, and Galad recognized the haggardness of his breath. He was close—they both were.

Galad thrust himself back against Aybara, taking his entire length in an instant. Both men moaned—a low groan from the top, a sharp yelp from the bottom. Perrin shifted, positioning himself above Galad, his rod facing down rather than along Galad as it had before. Galad gasped, his pitch high, as he felt Aybara against that spot from before, that place where ecstasy rested. He had to release his cock at the suddenness of the heightened sensations.

"I'm—!" Galad said, barely coherent and unable to finish his sentence besides. Aybara grunted, thrusting fully into him, and Galad was finished. Thick ropes spilled from beneath him, coating his sheets and Galad's own chest in his release. Again and again, along with Perrin's thrusts, he released, until nothing but the sensations were left. Galad gasped in ecstasy, his cock twitching still, his body rocking against his bed and his seed. His hands were tight in the sheets beneath him, his face pressed into the mattress. Still he trembled, the man above him making no concessions.

Soon Galad stopped twitching, his orgasm complete, and lost himself in the feel of Aybara's length. He smiled, reveling in his joy. Aybara was close, he knew. Curious, he tightened his ass around the other man, who let out a groan to Galad's delight. Perrin slowed his thrusts and Galad readied himself to be bred, to take the man's seed. Indeed, after two final thrusts, Aybara groaned his ecstasy and released into Galad. He felt the warmth seeping into him, the other man's member throbbing and twitching as Galad's own had. Galad's hole was stretched to contain the other man, whose ropes of release were still coming. Soon Aybara began moving again, his low sultry breaths replacing the groans. Both men shuddered at the feeling, each tender from their recent release.

Finally, Aybara withdrew, leaving Galad feeling empty. He whimpered at the loss—he was still hard, if too sensitive for anything productive—but the other man lifted him up, sitting him down on the bed. Galad sat before the other man, looking up into his yellow eyes. They kissed again, less insistent now, and more tender. Aybara drew back, gripping Galad by the hair and bringing him down to his manhood. It was slick with the man's release, and semi-flaccid. Galad enthusiastically licked and sucked at the other man, cleaning him. The seed was salty and bitter in Galad's mouth—the taste was familiar these days, when the Dark One's touch rotted food and forced over-seasoning—but still it felt right to Galad.

He took his mouth away, Aybara's cock clean, if still moist from Galad's tongue, and relaxed onto his bed. He felt his own seed beneath him, felt Perrin's leaking out from his strangely loose hole. He looked to the other man, who'd begun to dress himself. Galad flushed deeply—they'd come to negotiate, and he was covered in release on every side while the other man was perfectly clean!—but he was tired, so tired, and he drifted to sleep, covered in his own seed, still longing to be filled again.

Groggy, Galad awoke. Where was he? He looked around only to find his own tent, as expected. He wore only his smallclothes, and lay beneath the sheets, which were far less sticky than they should have been. A dream, then?

It was, of course. Galad was in camp on the Field of Merrilor. Today, the world would face the Dragon Reborn and beg him not to break the seals on the Dark One's prison. And Galad had sworn to follow a man who supported al'Thor's plan!

Sighing, Galad reflected on his dream. He'd follow Perrin Aybara for good reason. The man was a good leader with a strong character. He'd almost single-handedly reshaped Galad's worldview; the world was not just black and white, there were shades of grey. Galad still believed there was always a best course of action, of course, and he still believed in righteousness, but Aybara had shown him a different way, and Galad appreciated it.

He remembered the feel of those strong arms in his dream, what it was like to be filled by another man. He wondered if his dreamself had been influenced by Perrin's ta'veren nature, encouraging him to do what he might otherwise have done one in a thousand times. But he dismissed those thoughts; it was a dream, after all. Curious, that in the dream he could simultaneously be more bashful and more forward than he was when waking. His face didn't redden upon his reflection as it had in the dream, but neither would he have consciously placed himself in that position.

Galad was glad his true encounter with the ta'veren had not gone that way, though a little wistful, as well, that it had not. Sighing, he removed his smallclothes, taking a washcloth and cleaning the stickiness from himself. His release was one thing that remained from the dream, at least, and his erection showed that the arousal persisted.

Galad sighed. In his dream, as in real life, he'd given into a ta'veren, through lust or otherwise. And today, he would meet the most powerful ta'veren to ever live! The Light send he didn't make a fool out of himself with this one. Or at least that he didn't soil another pair of smallclothes.