(A/N – Hullo. Owing to glorious reviews from Lolli and VercisIsolde, I've shunted the customary comments section to the end of the chapter. Unfortunately, you'll have to wade through this lot to get there. Or, you could skip right to the end. It's really up to you.)

Disclaimer - WoT is a many-splendoured thing – and I don't own it.

Chapter Nineteen

Cackles and drink-soaked song racketed in the darkness as two men, bottles clenched in fists and faces smeared with grins, wove across the vacant square. Mat watched their shadows seep into the night before he crept from the alcove. Sputtered torches grazed the yard with amber light. A thick pole jutted from the centre of the square, its head a mass of limp ribbons, and garlands festooned crusted buildings like choke-weed on dying wood.

The place was prepared for some sort of festival. He had seen candles on every sill, a token of calm and reflection before the celebrations. The dawn would rouse spirits intent on revelry but tonight Laybridge held its breath.

A hunch of wooden struts, slatted and squat like the skeleton of a huge beast, gave him enough shelter to check the street was clear. Judging by its size, the half-built platform looked to be a stage of some kind. Whatever it was to become, Mat was grateful for its cover.

He ducked into a wide lane, dodging splashes of torchlight and panes ghosted with movement. The smell of roasting flesh was a greasy fog and slicks of blood, naphtha black in the moonlight, glossed gutters where the night creatures feasted. A glut of livestock had been slaughtered for tomorrow's feasting. Likely the place would stink of rot and spoil for weeks.

He batted at a swarm of bitemes then paused as something rustled the silence. A mange-patched dog slinked from an alleyway and darted from sight. But it wasn't the dog that made his heart fail a beat. He stared at his right palm. It was empty.

He was a fool for trying to draw the dagger in the first place, twice a fool for forgetting to tuck it in his sleeve besides. Unnerved, he bent to check his boot-tops. At least he had not neglected to squirrel his blades there.

Not that he would need them. Mai had eventually confessed where he would find the mapmakers den and Mat had no intention of cutting through swathes of Whitecloaks to get there. Eren Baine was dead, she had murmured as he saddled Pips, but rumour held that another scribe maintained the practice.

'Be on your guard.' She had been close, so close her lips had grazed his cheek. 'Or I might not care to fix your hide when you return.' A smile in the dark, a sighed whisper, and then she was gone.

Don't leave me alone. Her parting words were like a beacon even as the torchlight dimmed around him. Soon, he was searching the streets with only the guide of a waxing moon. A kissing moon they had called it at home, where silver-lit harvests provided ample opportunity for the pursuit.

Sunburst banners, starched and proud, swung from doorways and sills like countless cold dawns. Mat tried to ignore them as he headed deep into the danker heart of Laybridge. Windows gaped black in this fetid quarter of the town, those inside eager to save precious tallow or rebellious of the ritual of a festive-eve.

Here, sharp eyes watched from odorous alleyways where dice-sups chattered and whispers broke into cawed laughter. Taverns were dark and shuttered although hidden doorways spilled the odd drunkard to whistle a plaintive tune between swigs of ale. A young girl, her skirts stitched to expose a black stocking, cooed as she plucked coin from an eager palm and Mat kept his head low as she pulled the man into pitch-shadows, a doll's smile on her painted lips.

He was close to his destination when something hurtled past his ankles, something dark and panicked. Mat stared at the speeding cockerel then staggered as a body dived onto the bird, thudding both to the cobbles with a respective squawk and grunt.

'Sorry 'bout that.' The young man managed to scrabble to his feet while wrestling the bird into the crook of one scrawny arm. 'Couldn't let him get away. He's my prize feather.'

The bird, its scrawny neck awry as it croaked and pecked at its captor, wouldn't have won any prizes in Emond's Field. Then Mat saw the wicked hooks and barbs meshed with its talons, the wide-lipped gouges and clotted feathers on its breast. Despite himself, his knuckles bunched into fists.

'Fancy a flutter?' The boy drawled, grinning at his own lightening wit.

'Won't you get in trouble for that?' He ground out.

'Nah. Ain't birds they're interested in, mate. Your loss.' The fool touched his cloth cap and hurried to his rowdy comrades.

Mat watched him toss the cockerel into a well of matted straw then stomped on before the bloodied feathers began to fly.

He remembered to tread more carefully when he turned the next corner. Silence. He hurried to the cracked, grey-washed building hung with notched ivy, the first scrap of green he had seen in this fleapit. The faded sign was lit by feeble torchlight; upon it was a painted scroll and long, curled quill.

He planted a foot on the lichen-crusted step and rapped the doorframe. He heard movement, scuffed footsteps on creaking boards. The cracked window was suffused with bobbing light and a bolt rang free. The door opened to a slice of candlelight and a pair of wide eyes.

'Good evening, my lady.' He backed a pace, not wanting to alarm the woman. 'I'm sorry to trouble you at such an hour, but it's very important.'

'Not to me. Come back in the morning.'

'Please.' He resisted stuffing a foot in the doorway as the chink of light narrowed. 'Allow me a little time. I just need a map and I'll pay you well for it.'

'You're of the camp outside town.'

It was more observation than question but Mat nodded.

The door cracked wider. Suspicious eyes raked him from hair-tip to toenail. 'I expect to know the name of one who enters my home.'

'Forgive me. My name is Thom. Thom Grinwell.'

Another shrewd look and the door swung wide. He had barely got his rump over the threshold when the door snicked behind him.

'I am Arli.' Her hands snapped from one bolt to the next. 'Sit, Master Grinwell.'

'Thom, please.'

'My husband is chopping wood out back.'

His smile wilted. 'I mean you no harm.'

A rough-hewn cradle squatted before the fire and the woman glided to it, her feet expertly dodging the furled edges of an ember-pocked rug. 'Sit.'

Mat skirted the villainous rug and eased into a hard chair. The woman proceeded to rock the cradle and ignore him save to arrow a dark look when he drummed a quick rhythm on the scratched tabletop. He reached instead for his hat then remembered he had left it at the camp. A curse earned another glare from his stern hostess.

He risked another smile. 'Madam….'

'Arli.'

'Right. Arli, do you suppose you could help me find that map?'

'I don't see why not. Tea?'

'I wouldn't want to intrude.'

'Too late for that.' Arli had already swept to the hearth. The stove was a huge, wicked thing that licked the nearby wall with black flames. Despite the heat, he welcomed the homeliness of the spitting, cherry coals.

'Can't spare the milk, I'm afraid.'

'I'll be fine without.'

He rubbed damp palms on his breeches and glanced around the snug kitchen. A large, oaken dresser propped the opposite wall, its shelves laden with crockery and painted cups. They looked at odds with the dull boards, heavy beams and sparse furniture. Mellow beeswax scented the kitchen, as though the floors had recently been polished, but the place had an underlying aroma; baked bread and new-churned butter, cloves and tart apple pies and milk warmed on the hearth, so different from the reek of oiled iron and steel, of damp earth and sun-scorched canvas.

Arli was still puttering about the stove. She smoothed an apron over generous hips, fetched two delicate cups from the dresser and poured tea from the piping kettle.

'Thank you.' He grasped the saucer, wondering at how unfamiliar such luxuries felt.

A cloying fog of lavender assailed him as the woman settled at the table. 'It's not often I receive a guest. Much less a midnight visit from a mysterious stranger.'

Unsure how to respond, Mat sipped at the tea. It was good, smooth and sweet despite a whirl of bitter leaf.

'And in search of a map. Of all things, you do not strike me as the adventurous type.'

Mat imagined how he must look; face tanned and artfully guileless, hair mussed, scuffed boots and breeches of the plainest weave – a sprig of straw in his teeth and he could have just finished a stint in the cowshed. 'I suppose not.' He assumed a rueful grin.

'Indeed? Still, you must have travelled from somewhere.' She leaned closer. 'Tell me, what news is there from outland? I have heard talk of a Dragonsworn—'

'I don't know much of that.' His drawl had slipped into pure Two Rivers brogue. It pained that he hadn't even realised his tongue had lost that soft burr. 'Rumour doesn't interest me. I just want a peek at the world before I settle my da's land.'

'Then you have the right of it. Do not get let time pass you by, Thom.' She smiled, wistful and small. 'See all you can.'

'That's sort of why I need this map—'

A wail sounded from the direction of the hearth. Mat drained the cup and let it clatter to the saucer as Arli hurried to the crib. She returned, jouncing the child on her hip, and shot Mat a measured look.

'His father passed away last autumn.'

'I'm sorry.'

She nodded. 'Folk around here don't like newcomers. By the time we realised, Eren was already sick, too sick to uproot again.'

Mat looked to the babe staring at him through dark, damp lashes and found that he felt nothing. Light, what had he turned into?

'Laybridge does not trust strangers, you should heed that.'

The baby breathed a fluting sigh and Arli stroked his cheek. The tenderness in her eyes was unsettling.

'What map do you seek?' She asked finally.

'Any one with a Farwell on it.'

'Is the place nearby?'

'I think so. I spoke to someone who said that folk in Laybridge went to its aid once. But it no longer exists. I need older maps, if you have them.'

Arli placed the dozing child in its cot then walked to a small porch. 'Come.'

Bobbing candlelight guided them to the cellar where their long shadows loomed in the huddled space. Dust and mildew replaced the comfort scents of the kitchen, cobwebs billowed and tiny creatures scuttled from the meagre light. Mat's stomach dipped to his boots; row upon endless row of tight, yellow scrolls buried the far wall.

'Don't worry.' Arli assured as she trotted towards the mass of parchment. 'Eren made sense of all this before—' She turned quickly, her hands deft as she foraged through the scrolls. When his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he saw most of the maps had been marked with numbers and coloured seals. Arli gave a watery smile as she heaped a pile of scrolls into his arms. 'These should be enough for now.'

With a sense of rising doom, Mat tramped up the stairs and into the kitchen. Light, he was anything but a scholar. How was he supposed to wade through all these?

By the time Arli trotted into the kitchen, he had already sunk his head to the table.

'Oh, don't be such a fusspot.' She unrolled a grimy parchment and thrust it at him. 'Soonest started, soonest finished.'

Her pose and tone were horribly familiar; Light, the last thing he needed was a dose of Nynaeve. Arli took one look at his face and retreated to her knitting.

Mould clung to the parchments and they carried a distinct whiff of decay. Some of the edges crumbled at his touch and others were stained to ruin. The first batch yielded a bounty of sneezes but no mention of Farwell. Mat trudged a second trip to the cellar, his mood as dark as the grimy little room.

He was flailing a belligerent earwig from his sleeve when he spotted a golden crest.

'Oh, don't mind those.' Arli barged him aside to snatch the wax-sealed papers but not before Mat had glimpsed the sunburst sigils.

'Eren agreed to be their record-holder, not that he had much choice.' She dropped the parchments into a dark corner, her lips thin and white. 'The sooner they're from under my roof, the better.'

Insect-free and back before the crackling hearth, Mat unfurled the next parchment and sighed. Arli left him brood, content to watch him from the comfort of an old rocker. The steady eek of the boards made his cheek twitch.

He was cursing over an impossible parchment – one where a greenish blot ruled half of Andor and Tar Valon had fallen foul of a peckish paper-mite – when a warm hand covered his own.

'I added something stronger. You look like you need it.'

He managed a smile as Arli set a steaming cup on the table.

'This must be very important to you.'

'I made a promise.'

'And you would do anything to honour it.' She sat and propped her chin in her hand. 'Eren was the same, forever making debts he could ill afford to honour. But he always did. My Eren never let anyone down.'

Unnerved by the dewy look in the woman's eyes, Mat gulped from the cup and almost spattered the choking mouthful over an etched, gulls-eye view of Cairhein.

Arli laughed, a rich, deep sound. 'I'm sorry. I should have warned you Eren's distils can be a touch potent.'

He managed a grin between coughs. The drink was a snug coal in his belly, draining the tension from his limbs. Arli was still smiling at him. Wisps of her wheat-coloured hair had feathered about her rosy face. He realised she was young, big-eyed and prettily plump; all things he usually found appealing. He rubbed his nose against another waft of lavender and tossed the useless scroll aside.

'Let me try.' Arli flattened a small map and bent until her nose grazed the tabletop. 'What was the name of that place again?'

'Farwell.' He replied, gloomily.

Her finger jabbed at the map. 'Thom, it's right here.'

Dashing to her side, Mat peered at the small, reddish dot. Above it, scribed with meticulous care, was a familiar, innocuous little word.

Arli matched his delighted grin. He jammed a candleholder to mark the spot and flung his arms about her soft waist. She giggled then crooned when he doubled over his creaking ribs.

'You're a wonder. ' He gasped, shrugging off her concern. 'Thank you.'

He blinked as her warm hand cupped his face.

'Dust.' She blushed and fussed at his cheek.

'I have to go.'

Her panicked grip stopped him reaching for the map.

'You cannot. If you leave now, they will find you.'

'Hardly.'

'Listen to me. Their numbers are always greatest before dawn. You have to stay until the mounted guard break watch. I'll help sneak out unnoticed in the time it takes them to change.' She tugged him from the door. 'You cannot leave yet.'

'Arli, calm down—'

'They will find you. No word of a lie, Thom.' Her eyes searched his face. 'They hate people leaving this town, but they hate newcomers more. They only spared Eren for his trade.' Tears glistened in that frantic gaze.

Don't leave me alone. The whispered words surfaced and shivered on a tide of sudden fear. Just a few more hours. Cal would look after her. And no one cared for the girl more than Cal. No one?

'I really should go.' He raked his hair, hating the lack of conviction in his voice.

'We time our lives by their watch-changes, know when it's safest to be abroad. If you leave now, they will kill you. If you're lucky.'

He remembered the glint of sunlight on gold spurs and shivered.

The baby began to whimper. Arli glanced to the cot, fear plain in her gaze.

'Light, why didn't you tell me? Why let me in if it put you in such danger?'

He knew before she spoke, knew it by her flush, her sudden touch.

'It gets cold here. So cold, Thom.'

Her hand slid from his chest, lingered on his belly. Her cheeks were round and rosy, her eyes a soft, cornflower blue, not the chill blaze of a winter sky.

'Bloody Light.' Mat shook free of her grip and jerked the door wide. The street was a pool of shadow, the air still and empty. But there was movement in the darkness. The faint strike of hooves on stone. More than one set of hooves. Sucking a deep breath, he pulled the door behind him.

Arli looked up as he shut out the night. Her eyes were brazen as the fire when they met his.

'You're right. It is cold out there.'

In the fitful glow of hearth-light, Arli smiled.

In the dream she walks. Bare feet pillowed by damp moss, hips caressed by tawny grass, she moves, silent as a cat. Snails crack underfoot and she rubs palms to skirts already damp with cuckoo-spittle and midnight dew. Night blooms unfold their dark, secret hearts at the merest shiver, daubing her naked arms with stains that snare thistledown and gossamer like silken trophies. And all the while the moon burns, throbs to the murmur of cicada song....

Mai jolted upright. She sat and studied her shaking hands in the candlelight, still feeling the slick stains upon her flesh, the rasp of wet grass against her ankles. But it was not the dream that troubled her.

Something was wrong, a warning pulse like a spider-thread pricked by some minute creature.

She was not alone.

Outside the awning, something moved, rustled below the steady reek reek of cricket-call. The candle guttered as a breeze slid into the tent and a sliver of darkness split the canopy.

Clothes whispered as he entered. A swirl of wine and tabac spiced the humid air.

His shirt was unlaced and candlelight gleamed on his sweat-slicked chest.

'What is it?' Her words were slow and thick with sleep. She rose on unsteady feet, walked to him. 'Is something wrong?'

He kissed her.

Cold, the numb, desperate cold of plunging into ice water with no knowing when the next breath would come. Her sigh melted into moan as hands slid to her waist, their grip warm and strong and eager. He tasted of moonlight and embers and the softest summer breeze. Breath came in spiked gasps as his lips relinquished hers to trail down her flesh, sinking to the hollow of her throat.

She snaked bare arms about his neck, clasping him closer still as he whispered his secret words into her hair. Her mouth pressed frantic kisses against his throat, kisses fevered by the ridged scar marring his salt-sweet flesh.

She barely felt the ground beneath her arched back, was conscious only of his warm weight, the rasp of his unshaved cheek.

It was the exquisite agony that finally made her cry out. She shuddered as he kissed her, tasting her before abandoning their locked embrace. He stood, eyes dark and glittering, and reached for the knife jutting from her breast.

Her own hand stuttered to grasp his, now hot and slick with blood. Panting with pain, she blinked through tears and saw him smile. Their hands twined on the hilt before he drew away, sliding the dagger to weep blood on her juddering body. Her heart was a vice as Mat blew a tender kiss.

Weep, my little Sorrow….

--oOo--

....she wailed and her mouth was suddenly filled with grass and dirt. Mai pushed onto hands and knees and gagged. Tears dripped to the mossy ground. She rubbed at cheeks still damp from being mashed against the dewed earth and fell on her haunches, rolled her eyes to the black sky. Stars glittered, winked as though they shared the cruel jest. Blights and thistle-ruff clung to her eyelashes and skin stained with petal juices and crushed row-leaves.

'Don't leave me alone.'

The cry had her gasping until tiny, swirling motes swallowed the spiteful stars.

She had walked here, struggled to fight sleep and the dreams that lurked behind her weak defences. Fought and lost. The memory of midnight wings had her staggering to the camp. She ran, her feet tripping on stones and knotted roots, instinct a guide to her fear. Great, dry sobs racked her as she fell into his tent. Moonlight led her to a nest of cold cushions and empty blankets.

'Don't leave me alone.' She grasped the pillows to her breasts. 'Please. Don't leave me alone.'

Something glittered in the frosted light. Her hand trembled as she plucked it from the ground. It was cold to the touch, its hard lines sleek and forbidden. Mind a rage of terror, Mai clutched the knife and plunged into the night.

Dawn. Its frail light crept across a tangle of sheets, over the still forms of the lovers and finally fluttered open a pair of sleepy brown eyes.

The owner of that troubled gaze moaned and kicked his feet from the knotted blankets. A mirror threw his reflection as he pushed onto his elbows; two straggled, haggard and thoroughly miserable Mat Cauthons blinked at one another in the cold light.

His companion stirred, sighed and smiled. A hand touched his back.

'I was just about to wake you.'

Her eyes were soft and warm. He had dreamed of winter skies.

'The watch will change soon.'

Nodding, he reached for his clothes. He could feel her gaze upon him.

'Who is she?'

'She?'

'The ghost in our bed.'

He turned. Arli had wrapped the blanket about dusky flesh almost the same hue as his own skin. Hurt was stamped in her eyes but not enough to overwhelm the glow of gratitude. He didn't know which repelled him the most.

'Nobody.'

The shirt rasped over tender flesh in his hurry to cover his nakedness. A glimpse at the mirror told him the woman was studying the fresh scores on his back; her blush may have been chagrin but that smile was pure triumph.

After hoisting on his breeches and boots he managed a wan grin. 'Any chance of breakfast?'

'Find what you want in the kitchen.'

The stairs creaked in his haste. He could hear her padding about the bedchamber. Strange that she had not called for her husband. He had expected it. But there was no mistaking her urgency, her desperation for something other than the cold comfort of strangers. His bloodied back was testament of that.

The babe wailed as he trudged into the kitchen to cast a dubious eye over the myriad cupboards and shelves. He managed to root out a loaf of bread and pat of near-liquid butter as well as some dried winter fruit and berries. The child's complaints were an echo of his mood. He chewed on the stale bread and crept to the cradle. The babe quietened when he stroked its cheek. The blotched flesh was warm.

'Colic.' Arli bustled into the kitchen and scooped the infant from the cradle. She plucked a small jar from the shelf. He recognised it as grippe-water, a common remedy in his family's kitchen after Bode and Eldred arrived.

'He's a sickly one, is my Gariell.' The babe gurgled and wailed as she rubbed the stuff onto its gums.

Mat patted about his belt. In his haste he had left any decent coin in his tent. Arli blinked at the small bag he placed on the corner of the table. 'For medicine.'

He thought she would protest but, despite her thinned lips and puckered brow, she managed grudging thanks that served to make him feel all the more wretched. The woman had scraped her hair into a neat bun and the apron made her full hips prim in place of pleasing. In the cold light, he could almost believe he had dreamed their shadowed encounter.

Arli looked on as he rolled the map in oiled hide, jammed it in his belt and strode for the door.

'Follow the road to the square. The mount will change to foot-watch at the bell. Try to stay from the main streets and you should avoid them.'

Mat nodded and hesitated by the threshold. 'Thank you.'

'Tidings, Thom. Give the girl my regards.' The door slammed in his face.

He was back on the doorstep before the bolt had been latched. 'Arli.' He rapped, hard. 'How do you know—?'

The bell tolled.

Cursing, Mat fled into the maze of alleys, the map now clutched to his chest as though to protect him from the Whitecloaks themselves.

Sunrise was a sullen gash on the hills, but heat still pulsed from the ground in shivered waves. Mat let his horse loll a slow trot into the camp. Apart from a glimpsed guard, he met no one. Later, the peace would drown in a mess of bodies and ropes and all the organised chaos of moving on. But for now, the camp was quiet. It suited him fine.

He ached for a bath. No time for that, even though grit clung to him from the raw breeze and the stink of lavender seemed melded to his skin. As soon as the sun clawed itself above the valley, he would be Farwell-bound and back in good time to haul camp. He hummed to himself at the thought of moving on, finding decent towns where common rooms bustled, girls always smiled and old, oak kegs brimmed with the finest red. Heartened by the thought, Mat slid from the saddle, tethered Pips and headed for his tent.

He stopped his tuneful hum when he heard it; a song, lightly sung, but raw with sorrow. Mat knew the voice well.

What was she doing, taking a bath at this hour? Guilt nipped at the thought. She probably hadn't slept, not while he had the foxhead looped about his own throat. He pushed blame from his mind. It was not as though he had intended to stay away the whole night.

Still, he couldn't just leave her here. For all he knew, she might have whiled the night away worrying over his stupid hide. Wincing at the thought, Mat parted the canopy.

The bathing tent was aglow in the netherlight, its air warm and damp. The first batch of tubs were empty.

'Mai?'

Her soft, tired song ceased.

White sheets hung from taut lines. He pushed them aside, felt them cleave to him as he drifted past. One billowed in the morning breeze and he saw her.

The tub was full, the water still and clear. Pale arms hung over the sides while long fingers trailed the dark wood with slow caresses.

'Another visit, my Lord?'

Mat gaped at her. The dawn heat melted as a new fire took hold.

'Have you brought anyone this time? Not Menna, I hope.' Her voice throbbed to a whisper. 'I confess I don't look forward to her visits.'

Her hair was a dark mist. Tendrils snaked over her drenched shirt and slices of her silken flesh. Fire liquefied his middle and hardened to dread.

'Mai.' His voice cracked into a whisper. 'What's the matter?'

He knew the answer, knew it by the dark hollows scored beneath her eyes. Guilt sparked to anger. Light, I am not your keeper.

Pale hands clutched the sides of the tub. Water cascaded from her hair as she raised herself, slithered down her skin. The shirt clasped her breasts, its pallor galvanised by the marble flesh beneath.

'Very convincing.' Her teeth glinted. 'Any other surprises, my love? Knives? A spear, perhaps?'

Her words were like blows to his stunned mind. Love?

Realisation cut through the fog.

'Mai, it's me.' He spread his palms. 'Just me. You're awake now.'

She laughed, a sound that brought ice to his blood.

Her lips and eyelids had a bluish cast to them. Beneath the water, her body shook.

'You're going to get sick. Come to me.'

'Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly,' Her eyes rolled, as if to search beyond the canvas skin. Something glittered in the water, sleek as a sliver pike. 'For I have a little something, here.'

Fear seized his gut. He stepped closer. A white arm darted into the tub, wrenched that silver into the light. It glinted in her grasp, sharp and eager.

He froze. 'Put the knife down.'

'I've been thinking. If you can hurt me, maybe I can hurt you.' She ticked the blade back and forth. 'Would you like to play a little game?'

He took another step. The knife stabbed higher, levelled with his heart.

'You're going to get hurt.'

'Oh, I think that's unavoidable.' Her lip trembled though the blade held firm. 'You're a gambling man, Mat. What are the odds that I will wake up from this dream?'

'I left you alone. I'm sorry.' Another step. A fourth. 'Mai, I'm sorry.'

Her arm tensed. The blade edged closer.

'Enough.' His roar startled her to drop the knife. It splashed into the tub as he lunged, pinned her slick arms against him. A stunning pain in his shoulder loosed his grip. Her hand flashed into the water and steel pricked his breastbone, drooled ice tears on his chest.

Full lips peeled from bloodied teeth. 'I am half sick of shadows.'

'Seiera.'

She blinked at that. The dagger trembled as he cupped her chin.

'Mi'aan'Tai, I won't hurt you.'

Tears jagged down her pale face. 'Mat.' Her voice trembled. 'Mat?'

The knife thudded to the ground as he pulled her against him. Her skin was cold and slick even as hot tears burned his stinging shoulder.

He heaved her from the chill water, fell back with her slight weight upon him and held her close, stroked her cheek, her hair, until sighs replaced her shivers.

She nestled into his arms. 'I bit you.'

'I had noticed.' A laugh forced from him as he rubbed her back. 'You know, this seems strangely familiar.'

That brought the image of her naked flesh, porcelain white in his embrace. He quashed the vision even as Mai leaned back to watch him with her wide, winter gaze. Strange how ice could make him feel so warm. His foot nudged something. The knife glittered by his boot. His knife.

'I found it in your tent.'

'Oh?'

'It was just lying there.' She muttered with some of her characteristic defence. 'And I was frightened. I thought…never mind.'

'What?' He pressed, pleased to see some colour in her cheeks at last.

'I thought I could fight the dreams in a different way.'

'That's a pretty rotten idea.'

'Be nice.'

She rested her head on his shoulder. He was glad of it; guilt rioted through him and he was sure she would see it in his eyes.

Don't leave me alone. Promise made, promise broken.

Fingers curled into his hair. Her breath was hot and shallow on his throat.

'Come on.' He lurched afoot and hauled her upright. 'You'll catch your death.'

The sun had paled the sky to a sickly mist. Mat squinted at the baleful orb as Mai stumbled beside him. He would have to find Per, ask him to watch the girl while he was gone.

After guiding her to a smouldering fire, Mat turned to investigate the cookpot. The porridge erred on the wrong side of edible.

'Perhaps we'd better wait for lunch.' He prodded at the fly-specked gloop. 'Listen, I have to go somewhere. Only for a while. I'll be back before you even know I'm gone.'

He felt a hand on his back, a cold caress on torn skin. A finger traced a bloody runnel in his flesh.

'They caught you?'

Mat closed his eyes.

Yes, they caught you, chained you to a post and flogged your back raw. Say it. Say bloody anything.

He turned. 'No.'

For a moment, her blue eyes, wide and uncomprehending, locked with his. And then something flickered. Flickered and grew cold.

'I understand.' Her smile was small and bright and terrible. 'Would you like me to poultice them?'

'Mai, stop it.'

'Stop what?'

'It wasn't meant to happen.'

'Then I'm sorry I've forced you into any unwelcome situations.' She refused to look at him now. 'I'm sure it was deeply unpleasant for you.'

'No, it was bloody wonderful.' He spat. 'Light, you have no idea, do you? Always too busy moping, expecting everyone to jump every time you squeak.'

'I never asked for your help.'

'Because you don't want help. You want a lapdog. Well go find Cal. I'm sure he'll be only too happy to oblige.'

'You're wrong.'

Hurt pulsed from her. A snarl burned his throat. 'And here come the tears. Wonderful. Why not try wailing about some stupid, bloody dreams while you're at it?' He pressed closer, hating the sheen in her eyes. 'Here's a better idea. Find someone who isn't sick of your bloody whining.'

Her hand lifted, faltered.

'What's wrong? You can bite me but not hit me? That's fits your twisted logic just right, doesn't it, Mai.'

A tear slid down her ashen cheek. He welcomed the ache in his gut, let it feed his malice.

'Who was the mystery visitor this time anyway? A little girl? No, that would be far too easy. One of the Forsaken? No, wait, the bloody Dark One himself, right?'

'You.' Her eyes fixed him, colourless. Empty. 'It was you.'

The whisper was crueler than any blow. His fire dulled to ashes, Mat watched her flee.

(A/N (pt.2) - Feels odd to be doing this at the end of a chapter but I don't want to make cross by having a sprawling author note at the start. Huge thanks to Lolli and VercisIsolde for the reviews. They made me so gleeful that I even altered the trusty A/N section in your honour:-

Lolli – Gosh. When I saw your first batch or reviews, I admit to being doubtful that you'd continue to critique the entire fic. And yet, lo and wonderment, you have. I am privileged and amazed. And such insightful reviews too. Just a sample of my many (glowing) thoughts:

Adjectives, Adverbs and PoV - My love of those dreaded 'ad' words verged on obsession for a while. In fact, I cringe when I read anything prior to chapter sixteen. And I never before realised how many times I switched PoV during scenarios :( Your advice would have been very handy back in 2002. Where were you, gosh-darnit? [sulks]

Birds and Bees (and Plants) – There does seem to be a lot of birds, bugs and flora in this fic. Abundant greenery exists in Iolo-land, so I suppose plant and bird names have filtered through my consciousness. I've never really thought about it, to be honest. I'm glad you feel it adds to the piece, though.

Porridge and Rabbits – mmm, porridge. Especially good with a dollop of jam. I never got that 'odd' rabbit scene either. It actually started as a dream and, like any hopelessly amorous writer, I was inspired to set it to paper. Regrettably, Mary Shelley I ain't, so now I wish I'd left that bunny bit in the land of nod. Still, there is some character development in there. Somewhere.

Humour – Always hit and miss and always a complete bugger to write. I hope the humour adds a dash of rapport and airiness to the fic., sort of a way of compensating for wading through all these chapters. I'm very glad I managed to raise a few smiles and possibly even a chuckle. I loved your emotive feedback on this!

Nightmares and Dreamscrapes – Very, very pleased you liked the description of Mai's nocturnal visitor. I'm an avid horror fan so I'm chuffed I could scribble a little homage to the genre.

Cal the Changeling – A result of poor plotting and lack of insight, I'm afraid. In the first few chapters, I flitted from chapter to chapter in a 'Hmm, and then that could happen, and then that, and then what happened was…' fashion, which really isn't conducive to a taut, linear plot. Cal is a by-product of this, so apologies for his mercurial nature. Still, he is a touch bonkers, so I'll use that as a feeble excuse also.

Mai v.2 – Nope, I didn't find the prospect of a made-over Mai appealing either. But then I didn't plan on a bunch of Tinkers storming the camp either. Ever have a story run off with you? Most irksome. Plus, Cal transpired to be most enamoured by Mai's new (and unimproved) look, whereas Mat was less keen. Ever have characters develop minds of their own mid-scene? Even more irksome.

And Then What Happened Was….- I've got an ending in sight, although the path has been, ahem, a trifle convoluted, and I really, really hope you continue to review. Your critique has been very constructive and valuable and I've thoroughly enjoyed your feedback. That's what I'm writing this thing for after all : ) What does bother me is not finding a WoT fic. in your repertoire. I love reviewing as well as writing, so let rip with the Jordan fics! And thank you for commenting that my writing has improved. That's the biggest compliment of all [grin].

VercisIsolde – Hope you had a good trip. Thanks for the astute and wonderfully in-depth review. Here are a few rejoinders:

Saucy Antics - Did anything happen between our alliterative protagonists? Well, they spent the night together but that's about as far as it went. Mat's never been one for simply sleeping with women (in the literal sense) so I suspect this restraint would be odd and perhaps a tad revelatory for him. Hopefully more significant than a quick fumble in a tent anyway ; )

Bearded Banter - Ferrell was indeed the one who stopped the bitchy confab. He is a decent sort, isn't he? Haven't seen the last of him yet, btw.

Undecipherable Pap - Yup, I pillaged the OT dictionaries for any phrases I could pinch. I like your idea of individual interpretation so feel free to translate the words any way you wish, although I am very curious as to your construal….

Mice and Men - Ah, Perrin. He's such a good boy. I felt I should pepper the fic. with a few Rand/Perrin refs. and I'm glad you think I managed to capture a little of the trusty blacksmith's nature.

Tinker Tomfoolery - The section with Thea was going to be cut, but I decided to leave it in last minute. Basically, Thea realised she behaved appallingly towards our heroine and wanted to make amends. Thea is silly and selfish and shallow, but she isn't bad. I don't want anyone in this fic. to be bad or good, just flawed and human.

Baby Blues - Leilan's child – he is certainly alive and I have some plans for this special chap. I hope to write a possible post-T/G fic. about Vyren (yep, that's his name). Chapter one should be up by 2009 :D.

Quips and Asides - There are numerous accidents in this fic., but Mat's 'memory' line wasn't one of them. He can be an ironic sod at times so I thought the retort fitted him well.

Fistcuffs - I enjoyed writing that fight scene – it was the section that came easiest to me. I'm very glad you enjoyed the tiff. I was smiling the whole time I wrote it. : )

Nalesean (R.I.P.) – I believe this was the second instance I referred to the poor man having a 'sore throat'. Pretty sick, I know, but I'm like that sometimes.

Scar-fetish – Hmm. Not sure about the answer to this one. Possibly the tantalising combination of youth and mischief juxtaposed with such haggard, world-weary battle scars? Mai certainly seems to be a sucker for them.

That Delaine Fellow - Cal was a result of a panicked eep!-I-need-a-secondary-character-now moment. This blond bloke popped into my head, lurked around a few chapters and started muscling in on my story. Pretty soon, I knew all about his weakness for blue eyes, his arranged initiation with a courtesan at the age of fifteen, that his favourite colour is green (leaf, not turquoise) and lots of grisly details from his chequered (and sticky) past. Medication might help curtail these visitations from fictional people, but I've grown sort of fond of them.

Pink Ribbons – Wait, that's the next chapter….only jesting ; )

Ideas for more WoT fics. - Tricky. Post Tarmon Gaidon might be a thought, or pre-EotW (tried my hand at a Two Rivers piece a few months back – straight to the recycle bin). Apart from that, and a series of random vignettes, I'm at a complete loss also. But you must write more soon. It was a joy to read your fic., although I do wish it had been longer [grump]. Really, really hope to see more from you. Take care, cariad, and thank you for the cracking review.

Well fellas, thanks again. Sorry about the gloominess (angst, altercations, misery, etc.), but it was a necessary evil. And I swear to write shorter author notes in futures. Please let me know what you think and look forward to seeing you in chapter twenty [crosses fingers and beams a cheesy-grin].