Morning Sun
The rays of the morning sun warmed Aviendha as she walked at the front of the ragtag procession, with her long Aiel knife out, scanning the front of the road for any possible threat to the group. Now that the Last Battle was over, the Pattern was in a great upheaval. The Dark One was gone for good from their world at least, but now the Pattern fluctuated constantly, making it dangerous for wielders of the Power, males and females alike, to be able to perform more than weak flows at a time.
Behind her, on a blanket supported by numerous thin flows of Air, was first and foremost, the Car' a' carn of the Aiels, the Seafolk's Coramoor, the Dragon Reborn of the wetlanders, Shadow Killer of the wolves, conqueror of Tear, Illian, founder of the Black Tower, and was the mastermind of the humbling of the White Tower. But most importantly to her, he was Rand.
A simple name to sum up all her feelings. He was doubly royal; son of Tigraine, Queen of Andor by birthright, and of Cairhien through marriage, and his father was temporary warchief of the four clans in the Aiel War, and also chief of the Iron Mountain sept of the Taardad Aiel. She was ashamed to admit it, for Aiel rarely revealed their innermost feelings, but she knew that she loved him more than anyone could ever know.
Aside from him, of course. There was that small matter of the bond.
Fool, getting himself nearly killed -
Shouts from the surrounding Maidens hidden around the procession, and the solid thud of stiff wood on flesh alerted her to a skirmish a good way behind the last of their group. She turned on her heel, and swiftly loped toward the source of the sounds, keeping pace with Loial and together they easily overtook Lan, who had been guarding the back.
His sword was steady in his hands behind him even on the bumpy road, leaving his legs some space to push forward.
She had always scoffed at the unwieldy contraptions the wetlanders used to counter the Aiel spears, as many a wetlander could never keep pace with Aiel spears, but Aan' allein was an exception. He was a master of the sword, revered throughout the wetlands, and former mentor of the sword to Rand, too.
A familiar figure in a black hat and scarf awaited her, with a long staff in hand. Two bodies lay on the ground, and Aviendha was relieved to see the rising and falling of chests.
They were only knocked out after all.
"Mat!" The Ogier sounded surprised.
And well he should be, Aviendha thought. The Gambler was unrecognizable, his normally flippant demeanor gone, face bared in a snarl. All thoughts of warning the others were gone as he lunged at her, and with all her Power tied up in supporting Rand, she reverted to being a Maiden once more, blood pounding, muscles tensing, knife flashing in the morning sun.
--
Aviendha was stumbling under his onslaught of blows, and Mat was relieved to see her trip on a rock and fall only slightly bruised. Relieved that he did not have to kill anyone. Yet.
He quickly sidestepped Loial, and the huge Ogier was left staring dumbly at the huge dent in the ground left by the butt of his Ogier war axe. Barely dodging a kick by Lan, he took advantage of his former mentor's hesitancy in fighting, swiping his legs out from under him with a sweep of the staff. Best blademaster on this side of the Aryth Ocean, down.
He ploughed a pathway through the defenders, thanking the Aelfinn for his foxhead medallion, which protected him from the Power, and nearly reached his destination when a pair of bright eyes caught his attention. It was Min, knife in hand, and looking so similar to Tuon that day.
He could still see how her eyes had found his when she flashed out of existence.
He slowed his movements, and came to a stop. Her eyes were glinting in the sunlight with unshed tears of worry, but her grip on her two daggers was firm, and he hesitated.
"Glad to know you can be stopped by a pretty face once more...after injuring so many of your friends with no apparent reason, Toy." The voice he so desperately wanted to hear again rang out from behind him, Seanchan drawl nearly gone from months of living away from her homeland.
As he turned, he caught a glimpse of somebody mounted on a horse coming out of the trees, before something hard connected with his head, and blackness consumed him.
Bloody hell.
--
Voices echoed in the darkness. He felt cool hands upon his face, soothing him with their feather-light caresses. The painful pounding in his head caused him to groan and with gargantuan effort he managed to force open his eyelids.
His wife was squatting beside him, and her fingers were poised gracefully on his left cheek. "You're awake, I see."
Grasping her hand, feeling the real warmth emanating from it, he finally managed to force out, "How?"
"How what, Matrim? Are you telling me that the light blow to your head has addled your brains? If so, I'm going to kill the Maiden responsible for this." Her face grew hard.
"How is it that you're still alive? R...Rand, he killed you in the Last Battle."
"The Pattern churned out whomever the Creator thought was supposed to live, Matrim. I was in the World of Dreams, and I met Artur Hawkwing! He said that I had done him and the rest of my Seanchan ancestors proud, and that both of us would go to the World of Dreams when we die, Matrim!" Excitement shone upon her face.
Mat grimaced. "How many times have I told you to call me Mat?"
"But I like your name!" She protested. "Or would you like me to call you Toy?"
The ends of her lovely lips curled up in a sly smile.
So. Only she would be so easily taken in by Hawkwing's praises. And only she would have liked to have a place next to Hawkwing when she died. He would not have liked to fight on the bloody blower of the Horn of Valere's whims after he died.
Only now, he was the blower of the Horn himself. The irony of the situation made him grimace again.
As he looked around him, he saw a ring of twenty Maidens surrounding him, and he saw the tension in their eyes. Of course. They would not like for him to attempt regicide again, to try to kill the only son of a Maiden known.
Moving his hands in what seemed to him a placating gesture, he spoke as his father would to calm the beast before the kill. "Calm down now. I'm not going to kill anyone, most of all him –"
He pointed towards the figure on the blanket, now on the ground twenty paces away from the ring of Maidens. "As I've finally found out I've made a mistake. An honest mistake, which even Rand himself would forgive me for." He tried to lighten the situation. "After all, he would have tried to do the same to me if I killed Elayne, or Min. Or Aviendha." He added as an afterthought. Though it seemed unlikely anyone, except someone as crazy as Rand would fall for her, violent and unpredictable as she was.
"Perhaps if you do not rashly attempt an escape, we might let you off in a while." The Aiel woman in question spoke sharply, over the heads of the crouching Maidens. "We camp for the night. Be ready to leave by dawn." She threw the basic equipment for constructing a tent one by one to him, and he managed to catch most of them before they dropped to the ground. Most. A tent pole knocked him on the head, and the pain which had been dwindling till that moment flared up again, white hot.
Hissing like a feral cat, Tuon produced a throwing knife from somewhere – something which she seemed to have picked up from him during his kidnap of her a year ago, now seeming ages past – and Selucia, her voluptuous bodyguard, took out a long nasty dagger, looking to her mistress for the affirmative from behind Aviendha.
The twenty Aiel women stood up, and veiled themselves, a clear warning that they were preparing themselves to kill someone. Mat quickly dropped the objects he was carrying, and picked the knife out of Tuon's grasp. "We don't want to start a fight now, do we, Tuon?"
She looked at him, righteous anger on her normally passive face, and her hand inched toward someplace he knew she kept an extra knife. Mat gave her an extra sharp look, and she sighed. Selucia faded back into the shadows.
Relieved, and oddly pleased that she had finally – finally! – followed what he asked of her in their tumultuous and yet loving - how could those two words even be used together! - marriage, he grasped her by her shoulders and set about teaching the Empress of the Seanchan how to build a tent. He risked a glance, and was thankful to see that the Maidens had taken down their veils and were chatting amicably with one another.
Later, in the tent with Tuon, and feeling slightly stunned again that she was alive, he felt warm tears slide down his cheeks as she sidled up next to him. "Well, now, I'd never thought that my Toy could cry, before." She wiped away his tears with the sleeve of her dress, and he laughed at her silly nickname with which she had stubbornly called him by before their marriage.
"Real men cry too, you know."
With pure wickedness in her eyes, she slid a hand under his shirt to rest against his chest, and pressed her slight frame against him. "Well then, would the real man like some comfort, now?"