Title

by Millia

Summary: "Colors spun in Rand's head, twin rainbows swirled in water. He knew how to suppress them, now, but this time he did not try. One resolved into a brief image of Mat riding through forest at the head of a line of mounted folk. He seemed to be arguing with a small, dark woman who rode beside him, taking his hat off and peering into it, then cramming it back onto his head. That lasted only moments…" KoD, p. 387

Disclaimer: Wheel of Time is the property of Robert Jordan. I am making no profit from this, etc.

A/N: This is pointless (what else is new?), and also the first time I've written from Mat's point of view. Je m'excuse. The setting is right before the chapter in KoD when Mat and company have left Luca's show (you know the one, yes?).


"You're humming again, Toy," Tuon said quietly.

He grunted, the long-dead melody dying as quickly as it had come to him, and tore his eyes away from the unremarkable sight of the same bloody trees. He focused instead on his half-wife who had just ridden up beside him. He was pleasantly surprised to see that Selucia was, although as always at Tuon's side, at least impeded every once in a while by trees in her path that would not allow three horses abreast, thus providing them some semblance of privacy – an illusion, only, but that seemed to be all Mat had with Tuon anyway.

"What was the song, Toy? I've never heard one like it. Something from your village?" Tuon queried, quirking an eyebrow; her tone was amused, her voice filling the silence between them. Mat realized with slight surprise that he had been staring at her, saying nothing, for several moments now.

"Not from a village, no," he said, turning his eyes forward again. A song from the court bard of a long-dead country, centuries ago; his ma would never have sung that to him as a child. He wondered what Tuon would say to that – no doubt that a blow to the head would cure him of his foolishness. If only it were that easy, he thought wryly. He would welcome the flaming change.

"Toy seems to be thinking deeply today, Selucia," the small woman said after another few moments of silence. "Perhaps we are boring him?" Despite directing the comment at her maid, Tuon's voice was pointed. She was not looking at him, either, he saw from the corner of his eye, but rather staring straight ahead, her back rigid. Picking up on his mistress' swift change in mood, Akein was stepping smartly, her ears flicking back and forth in disapproval.

Bloody women, he thought as he pulled at the scarf around his neck. But despite the thought, Mat didn't want her to leave; it was rare enough that she approached him with an actual desire to engage in conversation, especially conversation that seemed devoid of tactical maneuvers he could only begin to guess at, let along defend himself against. And so he pulled his thoughts back to the present, to the dark woman riding beside him, and managed a smile from somewhere inside himself, somewhere from just a few years before.

"I am simply admiring the marvelous scenery," he replied extravagantly, gesturing with a sweeping arm the same forestry they had been traversing during the days after leaving Luca's camp. He grinned at her again, and unless it was his imagination, her full lips might have curved briefly in response.

"I would say that your knowledge of scenery is very limited indeed, Toy, despite your remarkable travels." Her tone was teasing, he was delighted to find. "In fact, no where quite compares to the beauty of Seandar in the spring, especially at the Imperial Palace."

Selucia nodded vehemently from Tuon's other side, glaring at Mat as if he had called her a liar. What did he care about flaming Seandar? Other than that being the home of his future wife, that is. He supposed he should muster interest to avoid upsetting her; it was rare enough that Tuon spoke of anything personal without incessant prodding on his part anyway.

Tuon, however, had apparently expounded enough personal information for the day, and decided to change the topic. "Are you not worried of coming across someone here?"

They had had no trouble avoiding notice, so far. But still he rolled his shoulders uncomfortably; he didn't like to be reminded that he really had no plan. "I guess we'll take it as we come," he muttered quietly.

"Perhaps if you take off your hat you can think more clearly," she murmured just as softly, Selucia laughing next to her. Light, but the maid loved any remark that insulted Mat in the slightest way possible.

"What? Is there some kind of bloody omen in my hat?" he muttered, annoyed now that there seemed to be some joke he was not privy to.

"Perhaps if you took the time to look in it. Really, Toy, but I wonder if you will ever learn. Go on."

He pulled the hat off his head and glared at it; nothing was there. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tuon and Selucia smirking at him, delighted that he had followed Tuon's orders. Of course there was no bloody omen, and of course bloody Tuon wasn't just having an innocent conversation with him. It had turned into another bloody game when he had been distracted by her eyes and that small curve of her mouth. Refusing to look at her, he crammed his hat back onto his head.

"It says there's a good chance there are some flaming trees up ahead. How's that for a bloody omen?" He tried not to grind his teeth as his response triggered a series of small laughs from the women.

As they came into a clearing, he turned to Vanin, a few paces behind him, who froze in the act of spitting between his teeth. "Scout ahead; we'll break here for a while for some food and to water the horses by the stream over there."

He dismounted, and the others behind followed his lead as Vanin set off. Tuon was still smiling with the self-satisfied air of a cat having snatched a canary, but Mat avoided looking at her, intent instead on checking Pips' hooves for stray rocks.

"Don't pout, Toy; sulkiness does not become you," she said, patting Akein's nose gently.

He deliberately ignored her, instead ordering some of the Band to find some food – he was bloody famished. It wasn't that he was pouting, damn the woman; he just didn't want to talk to her until he could find his footing again. Light, but she attacked quickly, as quickly as those old memories, as quickly as death in battle. And the grimness of that thought suited the woman just bloody fine.