Chapter Text
Mat’s memories of Whitebridge were vague at best, and mostly related to Thom and the Fade. That was certainly a white bridge, he thought as he cast glances around, but for the most part he was paying more attention to the people than the architecture. Nobody looked Seanchan…it could be hard to tell until they spoke, though. And anybody could be a Listener. As for Seekers, Mat probably wouldn’t know one of them was on his tail until they had him captured.
He lowered his eye to the ground and did his best to appear like an unremarkable traveler going about his unremarkable business. He had one sizable pack strapped to his back, and his most precious cargo strapped to his front. Enough belongings that he didn’t look like someone fleeing in haste, but not so many that it drew attention. His clothes were the same—perfectly average.
Well, except for the eyepatch. Not much he could do about that. But at least injuries like that were commonplace now in the wake of the Last Battle; Mat’s eyepatch and the scarf around his neck didn’t cause stares and curiosity like they might have once. These days, everybody had scars to hide.
He’d had to leave his hat behind, and his ashandarei. It had hurt, but if Tuon found them missing, then she would know for certain he’d left on purpose, and he couldn’t let that happen.
Throughout his planning, something Selucia had once told him had kept coming back to him. There is only one way to stop being the Prince of the Ravens, and that is to find your neck in a cord. So, he’d decided that Mat Cauthon had had to die—but he had plenty of experience in surviving cords around his neck.
A fire in the nursery. Spread so fast that the Prince of the Ravens and the Daughter of the Nine Moons had already been burned to a crisp by the time help arrived. Terribly tragic. There were two bodies left behind, burned beyond recognition but matching their size (Mat and Min had gotten those from a graveyard; they weren’t murderers) and around the adult’s neck was a silver foxhead medallion. One of Elayne’s copies—Mat had the true one with him. It was a risk, but that was one thing he just couldn’t leave behind. The fox signet ring on the corpse had been the real one, though.
That had been the plan, but Mat didn’t know how it had actually turned out. He’d gone in to visit his daughter and sent the nursemaids out—wanting privacy with his baby was an oddity for which he’d already been well known in the palace. Min, disguised as a da’covale, had come in with a cart of dirty bed linens she was collecting and replacing with clean. She’d hauled the already-dead bodies out of that cart and smuggled the two living ones out the same way, after they’d started the fire and made sure the corpses’ faces and distinguishing features had been burned off. A gruesome plan, but the best they’d been able to come up with.
Would Tuon be fooled? She’d faked her own death once, maybe she would easily see through it. Maybe she already had seen through it, maybe she’d already sent Seekers after Mat and—and had Min executed as a traitor to the Empire.
Mat had asked Min a dozen times to come with them, but she’d said it would be too suspicious if she “died” too. And besides, maybe there’s something I can do to fix things here, help the damane and da’covale. I’m the only one Tuon listens to. I have to use that influence for good. I have to try.
And so Mat had left her behind, like a coward.
You have to get her out, Min had said firmly. That’s your most important job. Being her father. You do that, and let me deal with the rest. It hadn’t made him feel any better.
Mat felt a little movement against his chest and glanced down, but to his relief, his daughter was still sleeping soundly. He didn’t try to hide the fact that he had a baby with him if she made noise—acting shifty would make him memorable—but he breathed easier when she slept through an entire town safely hidden in the bundle that might look like regular luggage if someone didn’t examine it too closely.
Leading his unremarkable horse, Mat strolled through the streets at an unremarkable pace (if a bit too slow and limping, as his hip had been giving him trouble thanks to long days of riding) until he found the most unremarkable inn Whitebridge had to offer. Neither seedy and full of shady characters, nor well-to-do and full of noteworthy ones. He was walking up to the door when he heard a voice.
“Mat?”
Mat’s heart shot into his throat. He kept his pace and posture casual, but his free hand moved to grip one of the knives hidden in his coat. Maybe the man was calling someone else. Mat could be a common name, couldn’t it?
“Mat Cauthon?”
Quick as a flash, Mat had the caller pinned against the inn’s wall in the dark alley between it and the building next door. He pressed the flat of his knife against the man’s throat. It would be safest to kill him straight off, but first he had to find out whether anyone else was on his tail. “How do you know that name?” he demanded in a whisper.
“Mat, it’s…I…” The man swallowed, throat bobbing against the blade. He lowered his voice to an even softer whisper than Mat’s. “It’s Rand. I’m Rand.”
Mat stared at him. Whoever this man was, he was clearly not Rand al’Thor. His face was completely different, vivid blue eyes and a square jaw, and his hair was black. Although, he did seem about the same height and build as Rand, and Mat knew that Illusions worked best if the channeler stuck to their own proportions…but no, even with Illusions their voice remained the same, and this man’s voice wasn’t Rand’s. But he was pretty sure there were also weaves to change your voice…
Mat reached down to poke the man’s left hand. Solid. Real. If it had been an Illusion, Rand wouldn’t have been able to make his missing hand feel solid.
Mat cleared his burning throat, furious with himself for entertaining the foolish hope for even a second. “Nice try,” he said. “Whoever you are, give me one good reason why I shouldn’t slit your throat right now.”
“When we were ten years old, we climbed up into one of Cenn Buie’s apple trees,” the man said, and Mat’s stomach turned over. “He chewed us out something fierce when he found us, and sent us to Wisdom Barran for a strapping. But she just laughed and said she was glad we were playing outside and getting some nice fresh air. I don’t think she ever liked Cenn very much.”
The man grinned, and—and something about it, something about the particular way his mouth moved, the particular light that came into his eyes—it reminded Mat of Rand. Blood and ashes, that was Rand’s smile. And his accent, the cadence of his voice, that sounded like Rand too even if the voice itself was different.
Mat’s hands started to tremble, and he tightened his grip on the knife. “And what were we doing up in the tree in the first place?” he said.
“Well, in the first place, you wanted apples and dared me to climb up and get you some,” the man said. “So I did, and then I said the view was nice up there, and you climbed up to join me. We ate half a dozen apples between us, just sitting there and talking. Eventually the conversation got around to girls—mostly Egwene, since you didn’t like anyone at the time—and we were wondering what kissing was like. So you kissed me, just to see.”
Mat took a steadying breath. Some of his childhood memories were hazy or missing altogether, but this one—this one, he could still recall vividly. And this man was telling every word accurately, even though Mat and Rand had been so embarrassed afterwards that they’d sworn never to tell another soul about that kiss, not even Perrin. Nobody in the world but the two of them should know about it, unless Rand had blabbed at some point in the next decade. Mat never had.
“How did you react, when I kissed you?” Mat asked.
The man laughed. It sounded like Rand’s laugh. “I fell out of the tree,” he said. “That was how Cenn knew we were there. Then once we were on our way to the Wisdom, I was so embarrassed I couldn’t even look at you, and we swore we’d never tell another soul about that kiss, not even Perrin.”
Mat felt dizzy. He stared into those blue eyes, unfamiliar, entirely different than the grayer ones he’d known, and yet—and yet the same, somehow. The soul behind them was the same.
And he knew. He could see him, behind those eyes.
He exhaled, slow and shaky. “Rand?”
The name slipped out barely above a whisper, and as soon as he said it Mat knew it was right while also fearing it was wrong. He couldn’t be wrong about this, it would break him—he’d thought he’d finally made his peace with Rand’s death, and if he let himself hope now only to be crushed—
“Yeah,” Rand said, tears welling up in his eyes. “Yeah, Mat, it’s—it’s me. It’s me.”
Mat took some deep breaths, trying to keep tears of his own at bay. “But how…? You died, we saw you die—”
“I switched bodies with Moridin.”
“What? How?”
“I’m not sure,” Rand said. “But he was the one on that funeral pyre. His soul in my body. My old body.”
Mat wouldn’t know. He hadn’t attended the funeral. He cleared his throat and pushed the thought away. What did it matter whether Mat had gone to the funeral if Rand wasn’t even dead?
Still, the echo of that old guilt lingered.
Mat was certain now, but he quizzed Rand on a dozen other things that only the real Rand would know. Most of them he got perfectly, but for a few he rolled his eyes and asked how he was supposed to remember such a random, obscure conversation from when they were seven, which felt more convincing than if he had been able to answer every single question with perfectly-rehearsed answers.
“Are you going to put your knife away now?” Rand said, and Mat realized he was still holding it to his neck.
He stuffed it back in his pocket and pulled Rand in for a fierce hug. Although he’d forgotten to account for the baby strapped to his chest; she woke up and made an indignant noise upon finding herself being crushed.
Mat hastily stepped back, and Rand glanced down, looking startled. “Who’s that you’ve got there?”
“My…my daughter,” Mat said, after a slight hesitation. He knew this really was Rand now, and he trusted Rand with his life, but it was hard to trust anyone with hers.
Rand’s eyes widened, and then his whole face went soft. Mat remembered seeing that look on his…old face, every time he met someone’s new baby in Emond’s Field. “She’s beautiful, Mat,” he said, and Mat nodded in agreement. She was, of course, the most beautiful baby who’d ever graced the world. “What are you two doing here?”
Rand’s expression was more serious now. He’d guessed they were in trouble. “It’s a long story,” Mat said. “Can we go somewhere private to talk?”
“I have a room at this inn,” Rand offered.
“Lead the way. Wait, but first, can you weave a disguise for me?” Mat said. Nice to have a channeler on hand. And that was something he never would’ve thought he’d say.
Rand bit his lip. “I can try,” he said uncertainly. What did that mean? Did he not know the weave? Surely he had to. “But it won’t work if your medallion is touching you.”
Take the medallion off? Mat shivered a little. If there were sul’dam and damane here…no, Tuon would send Seekers to find him, not channelers, and a disguise would be far more protection against them than the medallion would. Mat took it off and stowed it in his bag and tried not to show his nerves as Rand’s brow furrowed in concentration. Saidin was clean now, it was silly to worry about it touching him. And…and he trusted Rand.
“There. It worked,” Rand said, smiling. And looking more relieved than the Dragon bloody Reborn should be over a little disguise weave, in Mat’s opinion, but he didn’t know anything about channeling. “Should I disguise her too?”
“No,” Mat said a little too quickly. Letting himself be channeled on was one thing, but letting his daughter be channeled on was quite another. “No need for it. It’s hard for most people to distinguish one baby from another, and she’s grown so much since we left, no one who saw her as a newborn would recognize her now.”
Rand conceded the point, and they led Mat’s horse around back to the stables and then entered the inn. The innkeeper greeted Rand and asked Mat if he’d like a room for the evening, and Rand waved her away with a smile and a claim that this was his husband and daughter (she was still making fussy noises and drawing attention to herself) who’d been out enjoying the sights earlier when Rand had stopped by to get them a room for the evening. Mat blushed fiercely, for some reason, and more fiercely still when Rand slid his arm around his waist and kissed him on the cheek.
The innkeeper smiled fondly at them. “It’s nice to see young, growing families, after how many were torn apart by war,” she said.
Mat nodded. “She was a war orphan,” he said. “Tairen mother, died of famine, and her father fought alongside us at Merrilor. He didn’t have any other family, so we promised we’d take her in if he didn’t make it.”
A deceased Tairen mother was Mat’s usual backstory when his daughter was noticed, seeing as she didn’t look anything like him. She mostly looked like Tuon, with dark skin and tufts of tight curls. She did have Mat’s eyes, though. He was sure of it. Tuon had scoffed whenever he said it and insisted that newborns didn’t look much different from each other and it was impossible to determine any family resemblances when she was only a week old. But she had Mat’s eyes. She did.
They chatted with the innkeeper another minute before bidding her goodnight and heading up to Rand’s room. “You’re good at backstories,” Rand remarked.
“Trust me, I could do much better if I wasn’t trying to keep them as average and unmemorable as possible,” Mat said with a sigh.
Rand closed the door behind them and warded against eavesdropping. There was only one bed, which Mat sat down on.
She was starting to cry in earnest now, so Mat freed her from the carrying sling and cuddled her against his chest. “Shh, I know, soraya, I know,” he said. “You must be hungry, huh? Let’s see what we can do about that.”
Shifting her into one arm, he rummaged around in his pack for the bottle he’d found in a shop the first day of their flight, a round clay thing with a spout small enough for a baby’s mouth. Mat had been giving her cow and goat and sheep milk, whatever was available as they traveled, and he wasn’t sure if that was as good for her as milk from a human would’ve been, but it was the best he could do.
Every moment of every day he wondered if he was going to end up killing her. If he could be enough for her. If he’d made the right choice.
He set the bottle down on the nightstand and produced a half-empty jug of goat’s milk, which he tried to open one-handed. “Let me,” Rand said, and before Mat could protest that he didn’t need help, Rand was taking the jug from him, opening it, and pouring some into the bottle, which he then passed to Mat.
“Thanks,” Mat said a little grudgingly. He put the spout by her mouth, and she latched onto it greedily. It had taken some time to get her to accept the bottle instead of a breast and she’d fussed something terrible in the beginning, but she was used to it now.
Mat murmured soothing little praises to her as she drank, like he always did, except he felt a bit silly about it now with Rand watching him. “Soraya,” Rand repeated. “Is that her name? It’s pretty.”
Mat blushed and kept his eye focused on her. “No, it’s just something I call her,” he said. He paused. “Although…maybe it should be her name. Can’t exactly use her real one now, too dangerous. And I always hated it anyway.”
“I don’t suppose Tuon let you have much say in choosing it,” Rand said.
Mat let out a bitter laugh. “No, she did not. But I figured it didn’t matter much what I thought about that initial name since she would’ve gotten a new one when she was older. Bloody Seanchan.” He looked down at his daughter, considering. “Soraya…” He smiled. “Yes, that does suit her better.”
They were quiet for a moment. “So?” Rand said. “What’s going on? Are you in trouble?”
“I would be if anyone in Seanchan found out I was here,” Mat said. “So far the journey’s gone smoothly, though.”
“You ran away?”
Mat nodded. “After she was born…Soraya…” He did like that name. Felt right. “…they did some tests of her health and told us that she can’t hear very well, maybe not at all—hard to tell exactly how much a baby can hear, but they saw that she wasn’t reacting to sounds like other infants do.” Mat had seen her react to the colossal thump of a heavy crate being accidentally dropped on a dock, but only with a curious glance, whereas he’d been startled half out of his wits and another baby nearby had burst into tears. And most sounds quieter than that, she never seemed to notice. “Right away, Tuon started talking about having another child because Soraya was—was too weak to be her heir, too vulnerable against the rivals and assassins that would come for her. And after everything I’d heard about Tuon and her siblings scheming against each other and even killing each other to win their mother’s favor…”
“You were afraid Soraya would end up dead by one of your other children’s hands,” Rand said, looking so sad.
“Like the runt of the litter all the bigger ones pick on,” Mat said quietly. “That thought scared me well enough, but then a week later, Min had a viewing for Soraya. She didn’t tell Tuon, but she told me. Two viewings, flickering. Min said that meant either could come true, depending on which path her future went down. And she said which path her future went down would depend on an important choice being made at some point in her life. One viewing was a curved vine made of gold, with a rose at either end. And the other…it was an a’dam.”
Rand inhaled sharply. “Light,” he said.
“Yeah.” Soraya finished drinking, so Mat put the bottle down and rested her against his shoulder to pat her back until she burped. “Maybe she’ll be able to channel,” he said as he did so. “Tuon can learn, so maybe Soraya can too. Or maybe she’ll be like you, someone who doesn’t have a choice. Maybe she would’ve been tested and made damane, and that was what the viewing meant. Or maybe it meant that she would sit on the Crystal Throne someday and condemn thousands of other women to the collar. Either way, I couldn’t—I couldn’t let it happen. I couldn’t.”
“So you took her and ran,” Rand said. “To get her out of Seanchan. Away from Tuon.”
“I don’t know if it’ll work to avert that viewing, but I couldn’t do nothing, and this was all I could think of. Min helped us fake our deaths, so, Light willing, nobody will realize we ran away and try to look for us. But I just don’t know.” Mat sighed. “I told Min to come with us, but she wouldn’t. She said she had to stay in Seanchan and work to fix things—or destroy them, if they can’t be fixed—from the inside. I should’ve stayed too, I should’ve done something—”
“You had to protect your daughter,” Rand said softly. “If you thought she was in danger in Seanchan, then you were right to take her out.”
“That’s exactly what Min said,” Mat said with a wry smile. “Still, I…maybe I was too cruel to Tuon, taking our daughter from her and making her think we were dead. But…I did ask her once, when she was pregnant, what she would do if our child could channel. She looked me right in the eye and said that they would be collared just the same as any other channeler would be, as the Empress couldn’t make exceptions to her own laws. Not even for her own family. And the way she said it—so matter-of-fact, like the thought of collaring her own child didn’t bother her at all.” He shivered. “But maybe she would’ve felt differently when confronted with the reality. Maybe I should’ve at least given her a chance.”
Rand made a noncommittal noise and said nothing. Mat knew he didn’t much like Tuon, so he probably didn’t sympathize with her in this situation. Maybe he was right not to. But Mat had always been…weak, around her. It was a miracle he’d found the guts to take Soraya and run.
That was part of why he’d done it. Because he’d known that the longer he stayed, the weaker he would get. Because he’d been terrified that when the day came for Soraya to actually be tested, if she was found to have channeling ability, if she was taken away and collared, by then he might simply let it happen. Whether from feeling helpless and too afraid to intervene, or—or from being genuinely apathetic.
Light knew he’d let Tuon get away with so much, even in only the two years, less than that, since they’d first met in Ebou Dar. Had turned a blind eye to so much.
“Do you think Min will be all right?” Rand asked.
Mat’s shoulders slumped. “I don’t know.” Getting on that ship without her…he didn’t know if he’d ever hated himself as much as he had then. “She insisted she would be. Said she’d seen viewings around Tuon that involved her that hadn’t come to pass yet. But she also mentioned once that she’s never had a viewing relating to herself, so I think she was lying to make me feel better.”
Rand hesitated, then rested his hand on Mat’s shoulder. The gentleness of the touch, the casual intimacy—it made Mat want to cry. It had been so long since anyone had touched him like that, aside from Min, but Tuon hadn’t let him spend much time with her, whether out of possessive jealousy or fear of them conspiring against her, Mat didn’t know.
He’d been terrified of becoming a father, but holding Soraya in his arms for the first time, he’d mostly felt…relieved. To finally have somebody in Seandar who would keep him from feeling so lonely.
“You did the right thing. You put Soraya’s safety first. And Min made her own choice to help you two and to stay behind. That’s not your fault,” Rand said, so firmly that Mat’s guilt did ease up, a little. “So, what are you going to do now? Where are you headed?”
“The only idea I had was Caemlyn,” Mat said. “I considered Malkier, but it’s so far, and I’m not sure Nynaeve wouldn’t immediately wage war on the entire Seanchan Empire singlehandedly if we showed up there.” Rand chuckled. “But Caemlyn is closer, and a big enough city that we can hide in plain sight.” Or at least, it had been before Trollocs had destroyed it. “And…and I thought maybe Elayne would be able to help us. She’s so smart with diplomacy and foreign relations. Although maybe I’d just be bringing war to her doorstep.”
Rand’s breath had hitched at Elayne’s name and was still a little unsteady. Mat eyed him, something suddenly occurring to him. “Why aren’t you in Caemlyn?” he said. He’d been so overwhelmed by finding Rand alive that he hadn’t thought until now to question what he was even doing at an inn in Whitebridge all alone. “Elayne and your children are there, and probably Aviendha too. What have you been doing the past year and a half? Why are you in bloody Whitebridge rather than in Caemlyn with your family?”
Rand flinched. So this was a sore subject? “I thought…I thought it would be easier for them without me,” he said. “I thought it would be easier for everybody if I just…vanished after the Last Battle.”
“So you made your lovers think you’re dead?”
“No. I’m bonded to both of them as their Warder. They know I’m alive, they can feel me.”
“Light, Rand, that’s worse!” Mat said, aghast. “They know you’re alive, and they also know you’re choosing to stay away from them!”
Rand hung his head, looking ashamed and miserable. “I was tired, Mat. I was so tired,” he said quietly. “I just wanted to get away from it all. Live life on my own terms. And let Elayne and Aviendha go back to theirs. I did my part, I saved the world. And it doesn’t have a place in it for me anymore. They don’t have a place for me.”
Mat was entirely unsympathetic. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” he said. “You have two incredible women who love you, and two children too by now, and you’re avoiding them on purpose out of some fool self-pitying conviction that they’d be better off without you? Burn me! They spent all their time with you dreading your death at the Last Battle, thinking they wouldn’t get a future with you, and now that you all can have that future, you’ve just run off? Do you not love them anymore? Is that it? You don’t want to be part of their lives or your children’s?”
“That’s not true!” Rand protested. “I love both of them as much as I always have. I love all four of them.”
“Then why under the bloody Light aren’t you with them right now?”
“I don’t know,” Rand said in a small voice, tears in his eyes.
And this time Mat did feel sympathy. After all, he could understand all too well how it felt to steer your life down a course that you hated, to wonder why you were doing this, yet still be unable to pull yourself out of that course. And the Last Battle and everything that had led up to it, it had changed Rand more than anyone else. No small wonder that he was still trying to heal from it all, trying to figure out who he was now and where he belonged.
No small wonder that he felt as lost and alone as Mat had for the past year and a half. Stories always ended with the heroes saving the day at the final battle. They never talked about how hard it was for them to pick up the pieces of themselves afterwards.
Mat shifted Soraya into one arm and reached for Rand’s free hand—the other was still on Mat’s shoulder, and he hadn’t shrugged it off yet. The warm weight felt comforting. Rand looked comforted in turn as Mat slipped his fingers through his, gently holding his hand.
“I’ll come with you,” Rand said suddenly, breaking the silence. “To Caemlyn, to make sure you both get there safely. If you’ll have me. Even if you won’t, I might just follow you the whole way anyway.”
“I appreciate it, Rand, but we’re fine,” Mat said. “I can handle myself, and her. If you really do want to get away from it all, then I’m not going to drag you into my mess—”
“That’s just it. I—I can’t get away.” Rand hunched his shoulders. “You’re right. I’ve been a fool. I thought it was what I wanted, to just drop off the face of the earth, start over with a brand-new life. But I can’t. I’m tied too tightly to my old life—to the people from it whom I care about. Elayne and Aviendha and our children, and you too. I want to help you.”
“But—”
“You believe in the Pattern now, don’t you?”
“I haven’t had much flaming choice but to do so,” Mat grumbled.
“Well, us meeting here tonight was no coincidence,” Rand said. “It’s the Pattern at work. The Wheel is weaving our paths back together again. I don’t believe that we were only meant to spend an evening catching up and then go our separate ways. I needed you to finally give me a swift kick and send me to Caemlyn.” He studied Mat’s expression. “I’ll go, whether you want me with you or not. I need to see my family. But if you don’t want me traveling with you…”
“It’s not that I don’t want your company, or that I don’t trust you,” Mat said carefully, “but after all my time in Seanchan, I’ve learned it’s best not to rely on anyone but myself. Nothing personal against you, you understand. It’s only that—that her life is the one thing I will never, ever gamble with.”
To his bewilderment, Rand knelt on the floor in front of him and put his hand over his heart. “By the Light and my hope of salvation and rebirth,” he said, and Mat’s remaining eye nearly fell out of his head, “I swear to devote myself to protecting you and Soraya for as long as you will allow me to and to give my life for either of yours without hesitation if need be, or may the Creator’s face turn from me forever and darkness consume my soul.”
Mat’s mouth hung open for a moment, but no sound came out. “L-Light,” he managed weakly. “You didn’t have to bloody—you could’ve just said you promised not to hurt her and that would’ve been plenty!”
Rand appeared entirely unconcerned by the gravity of the oath he’d just sworn. “Will you let me come with you now?” he asked.
“I suppose I bloody have to, don’t I? Light, Rand! You never do anything by halves.” Despite himself, Mat found himself smiling.
Rand smiled back at him. That same familiar smile, even though the mouth that was smiling was different.
They talked for a while, making plans. And Mat soon learned the reason for Rand’s odd behavior about his channeling earlier—it turned out that his ability in the Power was much weaker now. He thought that something about the confrontation with the Dark One or the body-switching with Moridin had drained a great deal of the Power out of him. Similar to how the Eelfinn had drained some out of Moiraine, Mat supposed. From the way he spoke about it, Rand didn’t seem to miss being the most powerful channeler in the world, but he did seem grateful to have retained some channeling ability. And that struck Mat; he hadn’t lost the memory of the day Rand had first told him and Perrin he could channel, the misery and self-loathing in his eyes. Mat was—was glad that Rand had managed to come to accept that part of himself, in the end.
Anyway, given the change in Rand’s ability, he could manage a ward against eavesdropping but not a gateway, so they would have to travel the normal way. “You and me on the Caemlyn Road again,” Mat said with a grin. “Brings back memories, doesn’t it?”
“Light, that feels like so long ago,” Rand said wistfully. “We were so young then.”
“So unprepared for the million things that tried to kill us during the journey.”
Rand chuckled. “Still, it wasn’t all bad,” he said. “Was it?”
Mat thought of vague memories of evenings in taverns, dancing with Rand or laughing together or watching him play the flute. Nights in inns or bushes by the side of the road, snuggled in each other’s arms to keep the cold and the nightmares at bay. “No,” he said. “It wasn’t all bad.”
They sat in companionable silence, reflecting on simpler times. Then Rand said, hesitantly, “Can I…can I hold Soraya? It’s all right if not.”
Mat hadn’t let a single person touch her since leaving the palace of Seandar, no matter how many seemingly-kind strangers cooed over how sweet she was. But this wasn’t a stranger. This was Rand.
Mat passed her over and showed Rand how to position his arms to hold her properly. A broad smile lit up Rand’s face as he looked down at her, and Mat’s heart ached with a sort of warmth he didn’t know how to describe.
“Soraya, this is Rand,” Mat said, smiling at her and stroking her cheek with his thumb as she blinked up at the strange new person holding her. “He’s Papa’s friend.”
“You still talk to her even though she can’t hear you?” Rand said, but he didn’t sound skeptical or judgmental, merely curious, like he wanted to know how best to interact with her.
Mat shrugged. “Maybe it’s pointless, but I’d feel silly not talking to her,” he said. “I just make sure to use touch and visual cues too, like cuddling with her and smiling at her to let her know I love her.”
Rand gave him a fond look, and he blushed. Then Rand looked back down at Soraya and put on a big smile that made Mat’s heart skip a beat. “Hi, Soraya,” Rand said, gently bouncing her up and down in his arms. “I’m so happy to meet you.”
Soraya snuffled contentedly. “I think she likes you,” Mat said, and Rand’s smile widened. “Of course, all babies have always liked you.” It was a magical talent on par with anything his ta’veren nature had ever caused.
For some reason, that made Rand’s smile fade. “They’re a year old now. My babies,” he said softly. “A year old and they have no idea I exist. Light, Mat. You risked your bloody life to protect your child, and I couldn’t even be bothered to meet mine.”
Mat also thought that Rand was a giant flaming woolhead for having stayed away from Caemlyn all this time, but he wanted to cry at the guilt and self-loathing on Rand’s face. Mat wrapped an arm around his waist. “You’re going to them now,” he said. “You’re going to them now, and you’ll be able to make up for lost time. You’ll be able to make up for not being there before by being there for the rest of their lives. Well, if that is what you’re planning?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Elayne and Aviendha will send me away again,” Rand said. “I won’t blame them if they do.”
He looked so miserable that Mat’s instinct was to assure him that Elayne and Aviendha loved him and would understand why he’d needed some time away and would forgive him and welcome him back into their lives with open arms. But, well, Mat wouldn’t blame them either if they kicked Rand out of the Royal Palace the moment he arrived.
So instead, he just said, “You’ll always have a place with me and Soraya, if you want one. Seeing as we actually can’t get rid of you after that ridiculous oath.” Rand let out a watery laugh, looking a little cheered up.
Soraya was starting to doze off, and Mat found himself having to stifle yawns too. But Rand noticed anyway. “You should get some sleep,” he said. “We’ll be leaving early in the morning.”
Mat shook his head. “I’m fine.”
Rand studied him with a knowing expression. “You’ve barely gotten any sleep since you left Seandar, I bet. You’ve been so scared for Soraya and so dead set on protecting her, you must’ve been sleeping with one eye open all this time. Well, you know what I mean,” he added when Mat raised his eyebrows and pointed at his eyepatch. “Go to sleep, Mat. Proper sleep. I’ll stay up and keep watch.”
“But—”
“I’m here,” Rand said. “And I’m not going to leave you. I won’t leave either of you no matter what.”
The words tickled something in the back of Mat’s memory, though he couldn’t quite place them. Whatever it was, it gave him an instinctive sense of…safety. “All right,” he said. “But wake me in a few hours so I can keep watch and you can get some sleep.”
Rand promised to do so. Mat stood up and stripped down to his smallclothes, then turned back around and saw that Rand was studying the floor, his cheeks red. Bloody prude. Did he not remember all the times they’d slept in smallclothes together on the Caemlyn Road?
Still, Mat’s face felt hot too.
He lifted his hand to his scarf, but then lowered it again. Silly to feel self-conscious when Rand knew perfectly well that he had a scar there and had seen it before—had been the only person with him when he’d gotten it—but he did even so. He couldn’t bring himself to take his eyepatch off either. Seanchan didn’t use the Power to Heal, so some non-magical healers had stitched up his empty eyesocket, but it was still unpleasant to look at. And often sore enough that Mat preferred keeping it covered and protected anyway; he suspected it had gotten infected somewhere along his journey, but he was too afraid of drawing attention to himself to seek out a local Wisdom. And it was only minor soreness, an inconvenience rather than a real problem.
Thankfully, Rand didn’t comment on Mat’s failure to take off either his scarf or his eyepatch, or his medallion, which he’d put back on after reaching the privacy of their room. Mat took Soraya back from Rand, and Rand got off the bed to let them both get settled in it. Mat positioned Soraya in the middle of the mattress so she wouldn’t roll over and fall off the edge, then pulled the blankets up to only his waist, keeping them well clear of Soraya up by his head; he was always afraid she might get tangled and suffocate in the night. He lay on his side facing her, a dozen knives in reach on the bedside table and a protective hand covering her little body as it rose and fell with the deep breaths of sleep. The same sleeping position he’d adopted over the past six months whenever he’d dared to close his eye for an hour or two.
But this time, he actually felt relaxed. He glanced over and saw Rand sitting on the floor, facing the door and leaning back against the bed. This time, Mat felt as if he really could close his eye and let himself drift off into a deep sleep.
So that was exactly what he did.
When Mat woke, he heard birds chirping right outside the window and cracked his eye open to see sunlight streaming into the room. That bloody bastard hadn’t woken him for his shift keeping watch. Mat should’ve known.
He reached for Soraya—and found empty space.
Mat sat bolt upright, but relaxed again immediately. Soraya was here, cradled in Rand’s arms as he fed her from her bottle. Rand was talking softly to her, smiling and so entirely absorbed by her that he didn’t seem to notice Mat was awake.
“…very lucky, you know that? You have the best papa in the whole wide world. He loves you so very much. Yes, he does. And he’s been working so hard to take care of you, so let’s let him sleep a little longer, all right?”
“Too late for that,” Mat said, and Rand started and looked over at him, blushing. Mat was blushing a little too. Rand thought he was a good dad? And why did the sight of him tending to Soraya make Mat feel so warm?
“Sorry,” Rand said. “Were we too loud? I tried to quiet her as soon as she started crying, I didn’t want her to wake you—”
“She didn’t, nor did you.”
“Oh. And is it all right that I fed her?” Rand said, rather anxiously. “I wasn’t sure what else she might want—”
“Your guess is as good as mine most of the time. I don’t speak baby any better than you do,” Mat said with a chuckle. “But yes, she does need to be fed when she wakes up in the morning. Thank you for doing that. You could’ve woken me.” It was alarming that he hadn’t woken up when she’d cried. He was always so highly attuned to her cries.
Or, it would have been alarming if Rand hadn’t been here too to look after her in Mat’s stead. Maybe Rand had a point about Mat needing to get some proper rest. The fact that he hadn’t been woken by a baby crying one inch from his ear had to say something about how exhausted he’d been.
Rand shrugged. “I was already awake. It was no trouble.”
“Did you get any sleep?”
“I’ve been catching up on sleep ever since the Last Battle. I didn’t need any last night, not like you did.”
“All right, well, tonight we are taking shifts. Can’t have you falling asleep in the middle of the road,” Mat said, and Rand nodded sheepishly.
Neither had unpacked much, so it didn’t take long to gather up their things and head out, after Rand redid Mat’s Illusion. “Is that Jeade’en?” Mat said, startled by the familiar-looking horse in the stables. He hadn’t noticed him in the dim light yesterday evening.
“Yeah,” Rand said. “I found him at Merrilor. I’d left him behind in Caemlyn, so one of Elayne’s soldiers must’ve taken him.”
“So you stole some poor sap’s horse after the Last Battle?”
“He was my horse first,” Rand said, and Mat rolled his eye but couldn’t help smiling.
And it was good to see another familiar face (well, metaphorically, as Rand’s current face certainly wasn’t familiar). Jeade’en brought back memories of the Aiel Waste, and Mat found himself missing Pips. He’d left him and Olver in Talmanes’s care, as if, even then when Tuon’s hold over him had been at its strongest, he hadn’t wanted to bring anybody who was important to him to Seanchan with him. Were they all right, and the Band? Had Olver forgiven Mat yet for abandoning him? That was how he'd seen it, but maybe by now Talmanes had explained that Mat had actually been trying to save him.
Rand was smiling when they left Whitebridge and set out on the Caemlyn Road heading east, on foot and leading their horses by the reins for the moment since this bit of the road was crowded with people entering and exiting the town. “What are you smiling about?” Mat said.
“Just…memories,” Rand said. “This is where it all began, Whitebridge.”
“Emond’s Field is where it all began.”
“Well, yes. But this is where our journey together began. You and me, sprinting for our lives along this very road while Thom stayed behind to fight the Fade. Do you remember?”
“Bits and pieces. Mostly I remember you bawling your eyes out over Thom.”
“Shut up.”
Mat laughed. Light, he couldn’t remember when he’d last laughed. Rand had a way of making you feel that all would be well eventually. Even after Mat had found out he was the Dragon Reborn, that feeling of home and safety when Rand was near had never quite gone away, no matter how many times he’d insisted to himself that it had.
He could remember, that first night back in Ebou Dar after the Last Battle, curling up in his bedroom hidden from Tuon and the Deathwatch Guards and the da’covale and weeping over Rand’s death until he thought he would crack in half from the pain.
“Hey.” Mat bumped Rand with his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re alive.”
Rand glanced sideways at him and smiled. “And I’m glad you came home.”