Lan passed through the open gateway to a landscape locked in winter. The horse snorted at the sudden appearance of snow, pawing the white folds as though trying to rid the earth of it. Lan's breathe wisped out in front of him, slowly disappearing as he surveyed the land, well aware that there were no sounds around him.
A black dot appeared on the next hilltop so suddenly it was as though it had sprung from thing air. Lan watched the dot move closer, no emotion playing on his face though he shifted his sword out of its scabbard well aware that the ancient blade could stick, rendering his weapon less. There was nowhere he could take cover so he remained still. Mandarb knew his master well, remaining perfectly still, not dancing on the snow.
As the dot grew closer, Lan's sharp eyes made him realise that it was a horse carrying a tall red haired man. His height, burning hair and his eye like a stormy sky should have been enough to mark him as a Aiel but he rode the horse with the seat of a lad who had done it all his life and the sword in its scabbard marked him as only one man. The Dragon Reborn had come.
"Lan," Rand greeted as he drew rein, nodding to his old friend. His face was serious and harder than Lan had ever seen it before. The Warder felt soft crying in his heart as he realised that this boy had been forced to grow up too fast, had lost all his childhood innocence in the space of a single breath, never to be the same. Like Lan, the lad's heart had grown hard like stone but there was still hope for him. He had three women who he loved and was loved by. They would teach him to cry once more.
"What the blazes are you doing here, sheepherder?" Lan snapped, disguising his inner thoughts. "Where is your escort? Don't tell me you have run away!"
Rand straightened in his saddle at the rebuke, like a child desperately trying to prove his worth to an elder brother.
"I slipped away for a few hours," Ran replied indignantly, confirming Lan's suspicions that neither the Maiden nor Min knew he was gone. Yet. "Don't think that you are the only one who cares for Nynaeve," Rand continued, more coldly and spitefully than he meant.
He watched the Warders eyes flare slightly but other than that there was no dent in his steely countenance. Disturbed Rand tried again to fill the silence, his tone this time more upbeat.
"Come Lan," Rand implored. "We have always been good friends, have we not?" When Lan's expression did not change but remained as flat as a board Rand changed tactic. His face became earnest. "I want to help. She was my friend; she followed us from Esmond's Field because she wanted to keep us safe from harm. I would be ashamed if anything were to happen to her."
Lan regarded him calmly, taking in his tanned face and his eyes this time clear blue. Slowly he sighed.
"It was not your fault," he said roughly. "Light knows Nynaeve has a will of her own. I would be glad of your help, sheepherder." He extended a sword calloused hand. With a smile, a shadow of his boyish side, Rand took it in his gloved one.
"You will not regret this."
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His hand swirled the goblet of wine unconsciously, though none of the blood red liquid spilled over the side, as Mat watched Nynaeve carefully from the safety of the opposite corner. It seemed that the three of them had arrived right in the middle of a wedding celebration and Nynaeve had taken full advantage of Badru's hospitality to mix with the locals. And she had proved to be a huge hit. The men flocked to her running and fetching drinks and smiling bashfully when she whispered thank you while the women gossiped about her beauty, her long dark hair and deep brown eyes, muttering about her fine clothes. Basically Nynaeve was stealing all of Mat's limelight. At present she was surrounded by a gaggle of adoring listeners, most of whom were male, hanging on her every word. Mat watched with a disgusted expression on his face as he watched her breathing deepen, her back straighten as her laugh drifted through the merriment, her eyes twinkling. This was not the way a married woman should behave and this defiantly not the old Nynaeve. The old Nynaeve would have marched over, called this one a trollop and then would have given her a good smack with the nearest implement.
Mat tore his gaze from his companion to smile at a full bosomed girl passing, carrying several drinks. Mat knew that it was his smile that won hearts and, coupled with the mischievous twinkle in his eye, he knew he was more than average. But this girl did not look at al flattered by his attention. In fact she looked petrified, stumbling and dropping two glasses, as she swung round to look at Nynaeve, as though to check she hadn't seen it. Before Mat could step forward to help her clear up she was gone, melting into the throng of people that were getting ready to dance.
With a frown Mat's gaze went straight to Nynaeve, certain that it was her fault that every time he smiled, the object of his attention skipped away as though he had set her skirt on fire. He was just in time to see his former Wisdom lay a gentle hand on a particularly tall and handsome man's arm, looking up at him through her lashes. Mat sighed. Her behaviour was going to bring them trouble. Hurriedly he glanced at Vlad and seeing that he was involved with the buffet, Mat quickly pushed his way towards Nynaeve and her new 'friends', determined to both rescue her and get the answers he wanted.
Nynaeve watched Mat's approach out of the corner of her eye but her attention did not leave the conversation she was having with the son of the county's wealthiest landowner. Though not particularly short, she enjoyed Mat's shoving and elbowing past the taller men, who did not part easily, to get into her circle.
"Nynaeve," Mat greeted curtly. Some of the men shifted uneasily at his tone, which, to them, did not seem respectful of a woman, especially when it was polite to bow. "May I have this dance?" Mat finished, unfazed by the cold stares he was receiving for whisking away their newest companion.
Nynaeve found it very difficult to keep the charming smile on her face but somehow she managed to control herself.
"Why Matrim," she said. "I thought you would never ask." Quickly she promised to return before placing her hand in Mat's smooth one and glided towards the dance area to join the other couples waiting.
"Would you care to tell me what you are playing at?" Mat asked pleasantly as he bowed, with the instruments starting the introduction to a lively jig behind him.
"Not really," Nynaeve answered just a nicely. "But I think I'm going to have to anyway."
They both knew the dance well, each foot movement practised and precise, each turn effortless and when they met in the centre it was as though they were floating. As their hands joined once again, Mat spotted the smiling faces of the middle-aged women who ringed the dance floor, smiles that were like a proud mother over an excelling child. Grins like that always made Mat uneasy. But before he could ask Nynaeve the reason for their knowing faces, his partner has changed to a red haired girl as the dance continued.
By the time he and Nynaeve met again, he knew exactly what he needed to ask.
"What the hell have you been telling everyone," he asked as he smiled.
"I have no idea what you are talking about," Nynaeve answered with an innocent glance that made her look like guilt nailed to a door.
"Oh you know. Why does every girl I smile at turn tail and run? Why is every women looking at us like we're coming round tomorrow for dinner and wedding chats? And don't you try and get out of this by saying I'm being paranoid." Mat ranted.
"You're being paranoid."
Before Mat had a chance to scream his partner had changed yet again, Nynaeve being replaced by a girl taller than he was. As he danced with her, he kept one eye on Nynaeve determined not to let her out of his sight. Another turn and a spin found Nynaeve standing opposite him once again. Desperately he controlled his anger.
"I demand to know," he hissed venomously his frown turning to a smile when the couple next to them glanced at them curiously. "If this is going to work then I need to know what is going on so I don't put my foot in it."
It was Nynaeve's turn to look at him curiously.
"You really want to know?" He nodded vigorously. Nynaeve sighed, telling herself she was doing this to make sure he didn't blow their cover. "I told them we were married."
Mat's face twisted, contorting into a look of unadulterated rage, tongue unable to find the words he so wanted to spew at the woman standing in front of him, staring incredulously up at him.
"Why?" He gasped unable to find any other words.
"It suited my purposes," Nynaeve shrugged. "Gives me a reason for travelling with you, a reason for the separation from our group, keeps away unwanted attention for me and, most importantly," she eyed him beadily, feet moving unconsciously to the steps of the dance. "Keeps you out of trouble."
"Trouble!" Mat spluttered. "Its not me who is going t get in trouble! Have you seen yourself?"
"A little bit of flirting never hurt anyone," Nynaeve answered with an uncaring air. "And I might add that you are playing the role of jealous husband incredibly, all those scathing looks are quite frightening really."
"You are acting like a brazen hussy," Mat hissed. Immediately Nynaeve's face turned from delight at his position to an expression of outrage, for which he quietly congratulated himself.
"How dare you!" she retorted. For a second Mat thought she would slap him, but somehow she managed to control herself and with some effort her fury turned to a false smile as the dance ended. "Good evening to you Matrim," she continued icily, curtseying before whisking away in a flurry of midnight blue, not bothering to wait for a reply.
Mat stood for a second, marvelling at such a display of self-control from a woman who constantly wielded a stick and would have snapped him in half if he had even thought of calling her a 'brazen hussy'. But his marvel was quickly turned to fury, fury at how she thought she could use him as a pawn. He muttered a few words to the musicians, whose eyes seemed to pop at his request, before pursuing Nynaeve and catching her hand in his and spinning her round.
"What do you think you are doing?" she seethed through gritted teeth.
"Is it a crime for a husband to dance with his wife?" He answered, voice loud and carrying so all could hear. Her dark eyes narrowed at him as the other partygoers turned their attention to their conversation, her mind quickly calculating the scene that would ensue if the pair had a blazing argument. For this reason she did not pull away but neither did she step forward.
"Come my love," Mat said pleasantly but his mischievous eyes carried a threat. "I know you know this dance." Pulling her forward he whispered in her ear. "Lets see how much of you is left in there."
XXXXXXXXXXXXX
Lan stepped out from 'The Hangman's Noose' into the freezing night, hastily pulling on his black riding gloves and drawing his fur lined cloak further around himself. From the shadows Rand emerged, his tanned face shadowed and his cloak hanging open as though the cold did not bother him at all. The horses greeted their masters with an affectionate nuzzle and were repaid with an absent pat as the men talked.
"Well?" Rand questioned eagerly, all but ignoring his steed. "Has she been here?"
"Yes," Lan replied simply as he checked his saddle. "Along with another of our acquaintance who was lucky to escape the noose." The Warder gestured to the catastrophes in the town square. It seemed all but abandoned, with the gallows broken, the rope lying on the floor surrounded by a mass of broken boxes and the snow churned as though a stampede had burst through the unsuspecting town. "The town's folk won't touch it. Says it was witchcraft." Lan continued as his companion ran his eyes over the sight and as he unloaded the butterscotch packhorse.
"Seems like Nynaeve had to do something extreme," Rand sighed. "For who was all this trouble worth?"
"Mat."
"By the Light," Rand cursed, anger and surprise flickering across his face for a split second before his icy countenance returned. "Well that's torn it. She probably left him in a ditch somewhere and it would serve him right. They never did see eye to eye."
"On the contrary, this is exactly what we need," Lan retorted. "It shows she remembers something, someone from before." The warrior smiled to himself, a silent smile of hope and pride. "And not one but two ta'veren will be in a single place. Something big is going on."
"So what now?"
As if in answer, Lan swung himself gracefully into the saddle of his giant warhorse as the butterscotch packhorse skipped merrily into the stable, unneeded now. Rand sighed. He had been looking forward to comfortable nights sleep but now it looks as though that were but a dream, for tonight they ride.
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"I don't know what you think you are playing at but you will stop it this instant," Nynaeve hissed as she appeared to walk gracefully towards the floor, the other party goers watching them intently expecting a real show from their 'aristocratic' visitors. In reality she was trying to wrench her arm form her 'husband's' hand.
"Come, come my dear, I know you are shy but what kind of guests would we be if we did not share our traditional dances," Mat replied sarcastically, earning a polite titter from their surroundings. Then Mat's voice dropped to a volume that she alone could hear. "Behave yourself and everything will be fine. We wouldn't want any upsets with our story now would we?"
Nynaeve glared up at him, wishing she could rip his pretty little eyes out. How could a person she had 'known' for so long be so cruel?
"You'll get yours Matrim Cauthon, I swear it," she seethed. He smiled. He was laughing at her, at her!
"I don't doubt it."
Gracefully he led her to the centre with all the false gallantry he could muster, bowing to her as though she were royalty. With a sigh, Nynaeve realised she was trapped, nowhere she could run, no means of escape from what was certainly be a public mockery. Gritting her teeth in a smile she curtseyed back, left with no other option.
With a nod from her partner the musicians began to play their introduction, an eerily familiar tune that ran a cold finger along her spine and unconsciously her feet moved closer to him, her arms moving for one to grip his shoulder and the other his hand. They were so close, closer than what was publicly allowed. She could feel his breath on her face, the common twinkle of his eye and the hand that held hers was older and calloused but part of her remembered when it was small, warm and fat. A child's hand.
The music began to speed up, its rich deep sound now echoing around her, breathing of passion but she felt none for this man.
"This dance was banned in our village," Mat's familiar voice began but she could not look up at him, they were too close. Somehow their feet knew what they were doing, taking them across the floor as though on a cloud. In the background, Nynaeve could hear the disapproving whispers of the older members of their audience but Mat continued. "The Wisdom before you saw to that but still everyone seemed to know it. I especially remember seeing you one night when I was 'creeping about' as you so often put it. You were in the Fletcher's barn with a couple of friends and you were with Davey Fletcher and you were dancing this. You were seventeen" He spun her away but the she was back with him, her hands either side of his face.
Nynaeve's mind wandered a path not trodden in a long time, her eyes watching Mat's face distort and change under her hands to the face of someone completely different. She knew the contours of this man's face, Davey's face. She knew the smoothness of his tanned cheeks, freshly shaven as she liked, she knew his sandy blond hair that flopped in his dark eyes. And she knew that she had danced with him the dance her feet remembered.
The pace sped up, music drifting around her, through her but it was no longer Mat that she danced that forbidden dance with, it was Davey as her friends giggled with their sweethearts behind them, each knowing the dance also. Davey's strong arms from the years in the fields of his father's farm supported her as leant back, putting her trust in him completely, never fearing that he would drop her as they spun faster and faster in the complicated steps.
Somehow their hands were entangled over their heads, their faces so dangerously close, so intimate that a slight wind would push them together. And they spun and spun on the spot, the world rotating around them but all she could see were Davey's warm brown eyes, devoid of age, of understanding, just blissful in their youth, innocence and vibrancy, as they bore into hers unable to look away just as she could not tear hers.
Then the fiddler slowed his relentless pace and they spun slower and slower but unable to break their gazes. And then silence.
Nynaeve stared as Davey's face faded and there was the face of Matrim Cauthon, so very close to hers. No barn surrounded her now traded for a hall of celebrating people and gone was her simple farm dress replaced with fine silk. Quickly she forced herself to recover as the crowd began to applaud, trying to wipe away the shocked expression her face held but Mat had seen it, had seen the glaze that had just lifted. Slowly Nynaeve stepped away, away from his grasp and the memories he brought, curtsying gracefully as he stared at her, seeing the sadness behind her eyes, his own trying to convey his own sorrow at her pain.
With an effort, Nynaeve broke the gaze and disappeared into the gathering, her smile returned and her mask replaced after such a brief slip in that forbidden dance. ------------------------------------------
there you go another chapter what do you think
I'm really sorry it took so long. The internet broke.
Please R and R.