A/N: I love you all. So much. Fluff in a way. But not really. Review. And I will give you…Neapolitan ice cream. Or cookies.
Anyway.
Min woke to Rand's voice.
That happened a lot, lately. Sometimes she lay awake, just listening to him recite his list of names. He thought she did not know, but she did, and she ached with him, for every name – not for their sake, but for his. She could hear the pain in his voice for each name, each woman, remembered forever. She was sure that he had never forgotten one. She had heard him so often, lying awake and longing to put her arms around him and tell him to stop, to tell him that she forgave him, that all of the women on his long, long list forgave him. She had some of the names memorized, now – Colavaere, Moiraine, even, sometimes, toward the end in a voice weary and ragged, Ilyena…
That last frightened her – reminded her of the madness that hovered at his shoulder, even if saidin was clean. She would not care if the Dark One took the world, not if Rand died. Perhaps that was silly, a flipskirt thing to think, something more fitting of her given name Elmindreda – but that did not keep it from being true. He thought she did not know how much he worried over her, but the bond could keep nothing from her. And would not. Yet, however much he worried for her, she worried for him more. Every night she heard him reciting his long lament, she recited her own prayer with him, silently, for as long as he continued.
The Creator protect him and shelter him, keep him from harm.
But tonight, now, it was too hard just to listen and recite prayers. She sat up and rolled over, slipping her arms around his hot, bare torso, slick with the sweat of keeping his fretting quiet. "Shhh, Rand," she said. "I can't sleep."
She heard him take a deep breath, calming himself, gathering himself. "Sorry, Min. I can't, either." He started to roll over, away from her. To continue his list silently. But Min would not allow that, not tonight. They were going to have a talk that was long overdue.
"Rand," she said, in her most dangerous tone of voice. "We're going to talk. Now. You need to stop this. You're hurting yourself. Don't deny it – I can feel it. I forgive you. They forgive you. The Maidens love you. They die for you of their own free will. I would die for you. It is not something you need to take responsibility for. Death is not your fault, Rand. Let it go."
He was silent for a long time, and she began to worry that he was ignoring her, but then he opened his mouth again. "Min," he said. "I'm afraid. What if I'm not strong enough to do what has to be done?"
Min drew him close, kissed the top of his head and smoothed his hair. "You're strong enough," she said. "You need to let yourself cry. You need to let yourself let go. You feel like stone – in the bond, I can't feel anything, except little things. You don't feel normal emotions. You don't let yourself. You're just winding yourself tighter and tighter. If you don't let go of your need to hold things in, you're going to kill yourself. Your aura looks sickly, Rand, bruised. You're hurt, and you need to let yourself be tended." She could feel his shoulders shaking, almost crying, but not. Her heart ached. She felt her eyes fill and spill over with the tears that he would not cry. "Shhh, Rand," she said. "It's okay. Just sleep. Just for tonight. Don't talk. Don't think. Do you want me to call Nynaeve to give you something?"
He shook his head. "Min…"
"And don't worry about me," she said. "I can take care of myself. I love you, Rand. If I die, I'll die for you, and I'd be happier to die for you than if you try to protect me at the expense of yourself. You've worried enough, Rand al'Thor. Now let me do the worrying for both of us." His breathing was steadying, gaining control of himself. She would rather have had him almost crying. She held him close and rocked him back and forth until his eyes closed and his chest rose and fell slowly. Even then, she continued to hold him, singing lullabies under her breath and whispering her litany.
And as she sang, Min wept for Rand, all the tears that he would not, or could not cry. They slid down her cheeks, small pearls of perfect sorrow, and fell into his hair, lost without a trace.
