Mat grimaced as he stepped into Rand's tent in Rhuidean, rolling his shoulders uneasily and looking around – but the tent was empty, except for that gleeman, Jasin Natael, sprawled in a corner and playing quietly on a harp. After a pause, scowling, he sprawled on a bunch of pillows and pulled his hat down over his eyes. The fellow kept playing, the tune oddly mournful, almost eerie. Did the man never play anything else?
"Light, can you play something any more depressing?" He said eventually, almost explosively, looking around the tent and wondering if he was really going to wait for Rand bloody al'Thor to deign to show up when he'd asked for Mat's company in the first place.
"As my Lord wishes." Something in the gleeman's voice was so suspiciously neutral that Mat turned his head to stare, but the man's head was bent over his harp, his face calm and neutral. He scowled and leaned back, tugging his hat lower.
"I'm not a bloody Lord."
"As my Lord says." That was definitely ironic, an acidic dryness in the man's voice. Mat turned to stare at him, a bit surprised, but the handsome face gave away nothing and next to nothing. Natael finished the tune he'd been playing and began another, just as if not more melancholy. Mat let out an explosive breath.
"Blood and bloody ashes. How about something else?"
"My Lord has a request?"
"Yeah, how about 'Jak o' the Shadows' at least that's marginally more cheerful."
It was only when Natael's eyebrows shot up that Mat realized that he'd probably said something in the Old Tongue again. He grimaced as the gleeman said in a slightly odd voice, "That's a name I haven't heard in a long time. Where did you hear that?"
Mat grunted. "Some man. Somewhere. Don't remember." Natael raised his eyebrows, slightly.
"I see. A very educated man, somewhere, to know the name in that tongue, as well."
Mat hunched his shoulders and pulled his hat lower. "I'm just repeating what he said."
"I see." There was a brief silence, and then the gleeman started playing again, a very old song. Mat recognized the tune and sensed Natael's eyes on him, watching for a reaction. He slouched, hoping that his face wasn't visible. He'd have to be more careful about that, or it was going to get him in real trouble one of these days. That he couldn't weasel out of.
Jasin Natael kept playing, quietly, fingers dancing nimbly over the strings and head bent intently. He caught himself humming along, briefly, but stopped, and the gleeman didn't seem to have noticed.
"Don't you do anything but play that thing?" Mat asked, eventually, as the silence stretched out. Where was Rand? If he'd just get here…
"I sleep. Sometimes." There was almost amusement in the man's ironic voice, dry as dust again and not quite mocking. "But it is the Lord Dragon's pleasure that I play, so…" His mouth quirked in an oddly wry, bitter smile. "So I play."
"You don't dice, or dance, or…"
"I leave those vices to others. Music is mine. Personally, I find it quite adequate."
"Seems like you'd get…bored of music if it was all you did."
"Perhaps some do. I do not." Natael twitched his head, shaking dark hair back from his face, and played a chord, lazily. There was something about his…tone…that bothered Mat, vaguely – perhaps it was the arrogance, the vague air of hauteur that he gave off. Disinterested, as though all of this were far beneath him. Strangely amused at some joke that no one else was hearing. That kind of expression always made him vaguely nervous, because too often it felt like that joke ended up being on him.
"Where's Rand, anyway?" Mat asked, shifting awkwardly.
"I do not know. The Lord Dragon doesn't keep his gleeman informed of all his movements." There was almost a bitter note to the man's voice that made Mat doubletake a moment and look at him again, but the face bent over the harp showed nothing.
"Probably talking to the bloody Aiel," Mat grunted. "Light. I don't know why…"
"Who ever knows why?" Natael sounded slightly amused. "Wiser men than you or I have spent lifetimes puzzling over that very question."
Mat tugged at his scarf. "I meant, 'why does he always call me here when he's not even here when I get here?'"
Mat thought the man smirked. "The Lord Dragon is another great mystery."
"Stop saying that," Mat said, peevishly.
"The Lord Dragon? He is, isn't he?"
"Sure, that doesn't mean I have to like it. Or hear about it. He's still Rand bloody al'Thor."
The gleeman paused for the first time, in his absent strumming, and looked up. "Ah yes. You grew up with him, didn't you?"
"Yeah," Mat said peevishly, "I'm one of 'the Lord Dragon's friends,' thanks." He snorted.
"You want to be recognized?"
Mat blinked. "Light, no. I don't want to be any bloody hero." He tugged the hat down over his eyes again. "In my experience heroes usually get a pretty bad deal out of the lot, even when they don't end up in pieces."
"But you wouldn't mind being renowned, a bit, no doubt. For your own skills." The man cocked his head in an oddly nervous way, both eyes trained on Mat now. He shifted uneasily.
"Well – I guess, maybe. Doesn't everyone kind of want that?"
"I suppose everyone does," Natael murmured, bending his head and playing another chord, of another very old tune Mat knew at once. He grimaced a bit, but fortunately the gleeman didn't seem to notice. "Some perhaps just more than others."
Mat shifted, uncomfortable. "What are you-" The flap opened and he cut off, standing up quickly as Rand ducked into the tent. His eyes flicked from Mat to Natael and narrowed.
"Mat? What are you doing?"
Mat scowled and fiddled with the brim of his hat, nervously. "You asked me to come here. You weren't here when I came so I thought I'd wait a bit." Rand was frowning at Natael, eyes still narrowed and something queer in them. It made Mat shiver a bit.
"Next time I'm not here, don't lounge about in here." He sounded tense.
"Of course, my Lord," Mat drawled, sarcastically. Rand's eyes briefly pinned him to the wall before moving on.
"Light, Mat."
"Do you still need me, anyway?" Mat asked, and couldn't keep his voice from being a little short.
"Need…oh, no. I found what I wanted. But thank you." Rand flashed a brief smile that almost looked familiar, but Mat only spared him a glance, because Natael was examining him again with that oddly cocked head and intent expression.
"Good day, Lord Mat," he said in his quiet, nearly musical voice.
"Not a Lord," Mat grunted, and turned to go. He imagined, though, that he could feel the gleeman's eyes on his back even after he closed the tent flap behind him, and only back in the confines of his own did he manage to relax completely.