“I intend to,” Perrin promised.
“Well, if you would do this thing for me,” she said, looking to Tallanvor, “then I would be willing to speak on your behalf with Elayne. Arrangements can be made, and titles—proper titles—can be bestowed.”
“We will take your offer of speaking for us,” Faile said, speaking quickly before Perrin could. “But we will decide, with Her Majesty, whether bestowing titles is the…proper course at this point.”
Perrin eyed her. She wasn’t still considering splitting the Two Rivers off into its own kingdom, was she? They’d never discussed it in such frank terms, but she’d encouraged him to use the flag of Manetheren. Well, they’d have to see about that.
Nearby, he could see Galad Damodred walking toward them, Berelain—as always lately—at his side. It appeared that Morgase had sent a messenger for him. Galad was tucking something into his pocket. A small letter, it appeared, with a red seal. Where had he gotten that? He looked troubled, though his expression lightened as he arrived. He didn’t seem surprised by the news of the marriage; he had a nod for Perrin and a hug for his mother, then a stern-eyed—but cordial—greeting for Tallanvor.
“What kind of ceremony would you like?” Perrin asked Morgase. “I only know the Two Rivers way.”
“I believe simple oaths before you will suffice,” Morgase said. “I’m old enough to be tired of ceremony.”
“Sounds appropriate to me,” Perrin said.
Galad stepped to the side and Morgase and Tallanvor clasped hands. “Martyn Tallanvor,” she said. “I’ve had more from you than I deserve, for longer than I’ve known that I’ve had it. You’ve claimed that the love of a simple soldier is nothing before the mantle of a queen, but I say the measure of a man is not in his title, but in his soul.
“I’ve seen from you bravery, dedication, loyalty, and love. I’ve seen the heart of a prince inside of you, the heart of a man who would remain true when hundreds around him failed. I swear that I love you. And before the Light, I swear not to leave you. I swear to cherish you forever and have you as my husband.”
Berelain took out a kerchief and dabbed the corners of her eyes. Well, women always wept at things like weddings. Though Perrin…well, he felt a little water in his eyes, too. Might have been the sunlight.
“Morgase Trakand,” Tallanvor said, “I fell in love with you for the way you treated those around you as Queen. I saw a woman who took duty with not just a sense of responsibility, but with a passion. Even when you didn’t know me from any other guard, you treated me with kindness and respect. You treated all of your subjects that way.
“I love you for your goodness, your cleverness, your strength of mind and will. One of the Forsaken couldn’t break you; you escaped him when he thought you completely under control. The most terrible of tyrants couldn’t break you, even when he held you in his palm. The Shaido couldn’t break you. Another would be hateful in your place, if they had been through what you had. But you…you have grown, increasingly, into someone to admire, cherish, and respect.
“I swear that I love you. And before the Light, I swear that I will never, never leave you. I swear to cherish you forever and have you as my wife. I swear it, Morgase, though part of me fails to believe that this could really be happening.”
And then they stood like that, staring into one another’s eyes, as if Perrin weren’t even there.
He coughed. “Well, so be it, then. You’re married.” Should he give advice? How did one give advice to Morgase Trakand, a queen with children his own age? He just shrugged. “Off with you, then.”
Beside him, Faile smelled amused and faintly dissatisfied. Lini snorted at Perrin’s performance, but ushered Morgase and Tallanvor away. Galad nodded to him, and Berelain curtsied. They walked away, Berelain remarking on the suddenness of it.
Faile smiled at him. “You’ll have to get better at that.”
“They wanted it simple.”
“Everyone says that,” Faile replied. “But you can have an air of authority while keeping things brief. We’ll talk about it. Next time you’ll do a much better job.”
Next time? He shook his head as Faile turned and walked toward the camp.
“Where are you going?” Perrin asked.
“To Bavin. I need to requisition some casks of ale.”
“For what?”
“The festivities,” Faile said, looking over her shoulder. “Ceremony can be skimped if needed. But the celebration should not be skimped.” She glanced upward. “Particularly at times like this.”
Perrin watched her go, disappearing into the enormous camp. Soldiers, farmers, craftsmen, Aiel, Whitecloaks, refugees. Almost seventy thousand strong, despite those who had left or fallen in battle. How had he ended up with such a force? Before leaving the Two Rivers, he’d never seen more than a thousand people gathered in one place.
The largest portion was the group of former mercenaries and refugees who had been training under Tam and Dannil. The Wolf Guard, they were calling themselves, whatever that was supposed to mean. Perrin began walking to check on the supply carts, but something small struck him softly on the back of the head.
He froze, turning, scanning the forest behind him. To the right, it stood brown and dead; to his left, the tree cover dwindled. He couldn’t see anyone.
Have I been pushing myself too hard? he wondered, rubbing his head as he turned to continue walking. Imagining things that—
Another little strike on the back of his head. He spun and caught sight of something dropping to the grass. Frowning, he knelt down and picked it up. An acorn. Another one smacked him in the forehead. It had come from the forest.
Perrin growled and strode into the trees. One of the camp’s few children, perhaps? Ahead was a large oak tree; the trunk thick and wide enough to hide someone. Once he grew close, he hesitated. Was this some kind of trap? He laid his hand on his hammer and inched forward. The tree was downwind, and he couldn’t catch the scent of—
A hand suddenly jutted out from behind the trunk, holding a brown sack. “I caught a badger,” a familiar voice said. “Want to let it go on the village green?”
Perrin froze, then let out a bellowing laugh. He rounded the tree’s trunk and found a figure in a high-collared red coat—trimmed with gold—and fine brown trousers sitting on the tree’s exposed roots, the sack squirming near his ankles. Mat was chewing idly on a long length of jerky, and wore a broad-brimmed black hat. A black polearm with a broad blade at the top leaned against the tree beside him. Where had he gotten such fine clothing? Hadn’t he once complained about Rand wearing outfits like that?
“Mat?” Perrin asked, nearly too stunned to speak. “What are you doing here?”
“Catching badgers,” Mat said, shaking the sack. “Bloody hard to do, you know, particularly on short notice.”
The sack rustled and Perrin heard a faint growl from inside. He could smell that there was, indeed, something alive in that sack. “You actually caught one?”
“Call me nostalgic.”
Perrin didn’t know whether to chastise Mat or laugh at him—that particular mix of emotions was common when Mat was around. No colors, fortunately, spun in Perrin’s eyes now that they were near one another. Light, that would have been confusing. Perrin did feel a…rightness, however.
The long-limbed man smiled, setting the sack down and standing, offering a hand. Perrin took it, but pulled Mat into a hearty hug.
“Light, Mat,” Perrin said. “It seems like it’s been forever!”
“A lifetime,” Mat said. “Maybe two. I lose count. Anyway, Caemlyn already is buzzing with news of your arrival. Figured the only way to get in a word of welcome was to slip through that gateway and find you before everyone else.” Mat picked up his spear and rested it on his shoulder, blade to the back.
“What have you been doing? Where have you been? Is Thom with you? What about Nynaeve?”
“So many questions,” Mat said. “How safe is this camp of yours?”
“Safe as any place.”
“Not safe enough,” Mat grew solemn. “Look, Perrin, we’ve got some mighty dangerous folks after us. I came because I wanted to warn you to take extra care. Assassins will find you soon enough, and you’d best be ready for them. We need to catch up. But I don’t want to do it here.”
“Where, then?”
“Meet me in an inn called The Happy Throng, in Caemlyn. Oh, and if you don’t mind, I’ll be wanting to borrow one of those black-coated fellows of yours for a few shakes. Need a gateway.”
“For what purpose?”
“I’ll explain. But later.” Mat tipped his hat, turning to jog back toward the still-open gateway to Caemlyn. “Really,” he said, turning and jogging backward for a moment. “Be careful, Perrin.”
With that, he ducked past a few refugees and through the gateway. How had he gotten past Grady? Light! Perrin shook his head to himself, then bent to untie the sack and ease the poor badger Mat had captured.
Chapter 45
A Reunion
Elayne woke in her bed, bleary-eyed. “Egwene?” she said, disoriented. “What?”
The last memories of the dream were dissolving like honey consumed by warm tea, but Egwene’s words remained firm in Elayne’s mind. The serpent has fallen, Egwene had sent. Your brother’s return was timely.
Elayne sat up, feeling a surge of relief. She had spent the entire night trying to channel enough to make her dream ter’angreal work, to no avail. When she’d found out that Birgitte had turned away Gawyn—while Elayne sat inside, furious but unable to attend the meeting with Egwene—she’d been livid.
Well, Mesaana had been defeated, it seemed. And what was that about her brother? She smiled. Perhaps he and Egwene had worked out their problems.
Morning light peeked through the drapes. Elayne sat back, feeling the powerful warmth through the bond with Rand that had appeared there. Light, but that was a wonderful sensation. The moment she’d begun feeling it, the cloud cover around Andor had broken.
It had been about a week since the testing of the dragons, and she’d put all of the bellfounders in her nation to work on creating them. These days, one could hear a steady sound in Caemlyn, repeating booms as members of the Band trained with the weapons in the hills outside of the city. So far, she had let only a few of the weapons be used for training; the different teams rotated practicing on them. She’d gathered the larger number in a secret warehouse inside Caemlyn for safekeeping.
She thought about the dream sending again. She hungered for specifics. Well, Egwene would probably send a messenger by gateway eventually.
The door cracked, and Melfane looked in. “Your Majesty?” the short, round-faced woman asked. “Is everything all right? I thought I heard a cry of pain.” Ever since lifting her ban on Elayne remaining in bed, the midwife had decided to sleep in the antechamber outside Elayne’s bedroom to keep a careful watch on her.