“They claimed to have killed Lanfear by draining her too quickly, though I think they may have been trying to make me afraid. A man was there once, when they woke me. He said I was not the one he wanted.” She hesitated, then shivered. “Sometimes I wished that they would drain me quickly and end my life.”
The small camp grew silent save for the popping of the fire. Thom looked toward Moiraine, seeming helpless.
“Do not show me such sorrow, Thom Merrilin,” Moiraine said, smiling. “I have felt terrible things, but all people know such moments of despair. I believed that you would come.” She removed her hand from the cloak—revealing a slender, pale shoulder and collarbone—and reached toward him. He hesitated, then took the hand and squeezed it.
Moiraine looked to Mat. “And you, Matrim Cauthon. Not a simple farm lad any longer. Does your eye pain you much?”
Mat shrugged.
“I would Heal the wound if I could,” Moiraine said. “But even were I still as strong as I once was, I couldn’t restore your eye.” She looked down, releasing Thom’s hand and holding up her arm. “Do you have the angreal?”
“Oh, yes,” Thom said, fishing the strange bracelet out of his pocket. He put it on her arm.
“With this,” Moiraine said. “I will be strong enough to at least take the pain away. They placed it on me to let me draw more of the Power, to make their feeding more succulent. I asked for it, actually, as one of my three demands. I did not realize they would end up using it against me.”
“They gave you your three demands?” Mat asked, frowning.
“I passed through the ter’angreal,” she said. “The ancient treaty held for both of us, though with the doorway destroyed, there was no simple return. I knew from…previous events that I would not escape unless you came for me, no matter what my demands were or how carefully I worded them. So I used them for the best.”
“What did you ask for?” Mat asked. “Beyond the angreal?”
She smiled. “I shall keep that to myself, for now. You do have my thanks, young Matrim. For my life.”
“Then I guess we’re equal,” he said. “You saved me from life in the Two Rivers. Burn me if I haven’t had a nice gallop of it since then.”
“And your wound?”
“Doesn’t hurt so much.” Actually, it throbbed. Really, really badly. “No need for you to waste strength on it.”
“Still afraid of the One Power, I see.”
He bristled. “Afraid?”
“I should think you have good reason for that wariness.” She looked away from him. “But take care. The most displeasing of events in our lives are sometimes for our good.”
Yes, she was still Moiraine. Quick with a moral and advice. But perhaps she had a right—after what she had been through—to lecture on suffering. Light! She had known what she would have to go through, and yet she had still pulled Lanfear into that ter’angreal? Maybe Mat was not the hero here, and maybe Noal was not either.
“So what now?” Thom said, settling back on a stump. The warmth of the fire did feel good.
“I must find Rand,” Moiraine said. “He will need my help. I trust he has done well in my absence?”
“I don’t know about that,” Mat said. “He’s half mad and the whole bloody world is at one another’s throats.” Colors swirled. Rand eating a meal with Min. Mat dispelled the image.
She raised an eyebrow.
“But,” Mat acknowledged, “he’s got most everybody pointed toward the Last Battle. And Verin says he managed to clean the taint from saidin.”
“Blessed Light,” Moiraine whispered. “How?”
“I don’t know.”
“This changes everything,” she said, smile deepening. “He has fixed what he once set wrong. ‘By the Dragon came our pain, and by the Dragon was the wound repaired.’”
“Mat keeps saying we should be having a festival or something to celebrate,” Thom noted. “Though maybe he only wants a good excuse to get drunk.”
“I’d say that’s a certainty,” Mat added. “Anyway, Rand’s been busy. Elayne says he’s got some kind of meeting arranged with the monarchs under him coming up soon.”
“Elayne is Queen, then?”
“Sure is. Everyone thought her mother was killed by Rahvin, but she had run away,” Mat said.
“Yes, you told me Rahvin had killed Morgase.”
“I did? When?”
“A lifetime ago, Matrim,” she replied, smiling.
“Oh. Well, Rand finished him off. So that’s good.”
“And the other Forsaken?” Moiraine asked.
“Don’t know,” Mat said.
“Mat’s been too busy to keep track,” Thom added. “He’s been spending his time marrying the Empress of the Seanchan.”
Moiraine blinked in surprise. “You did what?”
“It was an accident,” Mat said lamely, hunching down.
“You accidentally married the Seanchan Empress?”
“They’ve got some odd customs,” Mat said, pulling his hat down. “Strange folk.” He forced out a chuckle.
“Ta’veren,” Moiraine said.
Somehow, he had known she would say that. Light. Well, it was good to have her back. Mat was surprised at how strongly he felt that. Who would have thought it? Affection for an Aes Sedai, from him?
“Well,” she said, “I can see there are many tales I need to be told. But for now, we will need to seek out Rand.”
He had also known that she would try to take charge. “You find him, Moiraine, but I’ve got things to do in Caemlyn. Don’t mean to argue and all, but that’s the fact of it. You should come there, too. Elayne’s more likely than anyone else to be able to help you with Rand.”
Bloody colors. As if having one eye were not bad enough, he had those flaming visions bunching up his sight every time he so much as thought of Ran—
Burn those visions!
Moiraine raised an eyebrow as he shook his head, then blushed. He probably looked like he was having a fit.
“We shall see, Matrim,” she said, then glanced at Thom, who stood holding the packets of tea. Mat half thought he would try to boil water in his own hands, if only to get some warm tea for Moiraine. Thom looked at her, and she held out her hand again.
“Dearest Thom,” she said. “I would have you for a husband, if you’ll have me for a wife.”
“What?” Mat said, standing up. He raised a hand to his forehead, nearly knocking his hat free. “What did you say?”
“Hush, Mat,” Thom said. He did not take Moiraine’s offered hand. “You know I’ve never much liked women who can channel the One Power, Moiraine. You know it held me back in the past.”
“I don’t have much of the Power now, dearest Thom. Without this angreal, I wouldn’t be strong enough to be raised Accepted in the White Tower. I will throw it away, if you wish it of me.” She lifted out her other hand, barely staying modest. She pulled off the angreal.
“I don’t think so, Moiraine,” Thom said, kneeling down, taking her hands. “No, I won’t rob you of anything.”
“But with it I’ll be very strong, stronger in the Power than before I was taken.”
“So be it, then,” he said. He put the bracelet back on her wrist. “I’ll marry you now, if you wish it.”
She smiled deeply.
Mat stared, stunned. “And who’s going to bloody marry you?” he blurted out. “It sure as thunder isn’t going to be me, I’ll tell you that.”
The two glanced at him, Thom with a flat stare, Moiraine with a hint of a smile. “I can see why the Seanchan woman had to have you, Mat,” she noted. “You certainly have a mind for romance.”
“I just…” He pulled off his hat, holding it awkwardly, looking back and forth between them. “I just—burn me! How did I miss this? I was with the two of you most of the time you were together! When did you become affectionate?”
“You weren’t watching very closely,” Thom said. He turned back to Moiraine. “I assume you’ll want me as a Warder, too.”
She smiled. “My previous Gaidin has been appropriated by another by now, I hope.”
“I’ll take the job,” Thom said, “though you’ll have to explain to Elayne why her court-bard is someone’s Warder.” He hesitated. “You think they can make one of those color-changing cloaks with some patches on it?”
“Well, you two have gone bloody insane, I see,” Mat said. “Thom, didn’t you once tell me that the two most painful places for you to be were Tar Valon and Caemlyn? Now you’re running headlong down the hillside that will end with you living in one or the other!”
Thom shrugged. “Times change.”
“I never have spent much of my time in Tar Valon,” Moiraine said. “I think we shall enjoy traveling together, Thom Merrilin. Should we survive the months to come.” She looked at Mat. “You should not spurn the Warder bond so easily, Mat. The blessings it provides will be of great use to men in these days.”
Mat pulled his hat back on. “That may be true, but you’ll never see me bloody trapped by one. No offense, Moiraine. I like you well enough. But to be bonded to a woman? Isn’t going to happen to Matrim Cauthon.”
“Is that so?” Thom asked, amused. “Didn’t we determine that your Tuon would be capable of channeling, should she decide to learn?”
Mat froze. Bloody ashes. Thom was right. But channeling would make her marath’damane. She would not do such a thing. He did not have to worry.
Did he?
He must have made a face at the thought, for Thom chuckled and Moiraine smiled again. The two of them soon lost interest in sporting with Mat, however, and turned to a soft discussion. That affection in their eyes was true. They did love each other. Light! How had Mat missed it? He felt like a man who had brought a hog to a horse race.
He decided to make himself scarce, leaving the two of them alone. He went to scout the area where their gateway was supposed to appear. It had better. They had no supplies, and Mat did not fancy flagging down a ship and riding the long way back to Caemlyn.
It was a short hike across the meadow to the banks of the Arinelle. Once there, he made a small cairn for Noal, then tipped his hat to it and sat down to wait and think.
Moiraine was safe. Mat had survived, though that bloody socket throbbed like nothing else. He still was not certain if the Aelfinn and Eelfinn had strings around him or not, but he had gone into their den and come out unscathed. Mostly, anyway.
One eye lost. What would that do to his ability to fight? That worried him more than anything. He had put on a brave front, but inside he trembled. What would Tuon think of a husband missing an eye? A husband who might not be able to defend himself?
He pulled out a knife, flipping it. Then, on a whim, he tossed it behind him without looking. He heard a soft screech, then turned to see a rabbit slump to the ground, speared by the idly thrown knife.