The Wheel of Time

by Robert Jordan

  “If you need to—”

  “No,” she said, taking his arm. “I need to speak to you. And I’ve been told that a walk around the gardens once a day will be good for my constitution.”

  Gawyn smiled, breathing in the scents of roses and mud around the pond. The scents of life. He glanced up at the sky as they walked. “I can’t believe how much sunlight we’ve been seeing here. I’d nearly convinced myself that the perpetual gloom was something unnatural.”

  “Oh, it probably is,” she said nonchalantly. “A week back the cloud cover in Andor broke around Caemlyn, but nowhere else.”

  “But…how?”

  She smiled. “Rand. Something he did. He was atop Dragonmount, I think. And then…”

  Suddenly, the day seemed darker. “Al’Thor again,” Gawyn spat. “He follows me even here.”

  “Even here?” she said with amusement. “I believe these gardens are where we first met him.”

  Gawyn didn’t reply to that. He glanced northward, checking the sky in that direction. Ominous dark clouds hung out there. “He’s the father, isn’t he?”

  “If he were,” Elayne said without missing a beat, “then it would be prudent to hide that fact, wouldn’t it? The children of the Dragon Reborn will be targets.”

  Gawyn felt sick. He’d suspected it the moment he’d discovered the pregnancy. “Burn me,” he said. “Elayne, how could you? After what he did to our mother!”

  “He did nothing to her,” Elayne said. “I can produce witness after witness that will confirm it, Gawyn. Mother vanished before Rand liberated Caemlyn.” There was a fond look in her eyes as she spoke of him. “Something is happening to him. I can feel it, feel him changing. Cleansing. He drives back the clouds and makes the roses bloom.”

  Gawyn raised an eyebrow. She thought the roses bloomed because of al’Thor? Well, love could make a person think strange things, and when the man she spoke of was the Dragon Reborn, perhaps some irrationality was to be expected.

  They approached the pond’s small dock. He could remember swimming there as a child, then getting an earful for it. Not from his mother, from Galad, though Gawyn’s mother had given him a stern, disappointed look. He’d never told anyone that he’d been swimming only because Elayne had pushed him in.

  “You’re never going to forget that, are you?” Elayne asked.

  “What?” he asked.

  “You were thinking of the time you slipped into the pond during Mother’s meeting with House Farah.”

  “Slipped? You pushed me!”

  “I did nothing of the sort,” Elayne said primly. “You were showing off, balancing on the posts.”

  “And you shook the dock.”

  “I stepped onto it,” Elayne said. “Forcefully. I’m a vigorous person. I have a forceful stride.”

  “A forceful—That’s a downright lie!”

  “No, I’m merely stating the truth creatively. I’m Aes Sedai now. It’s a talent of ours. Now, are you going to row me on the pond, or not?”

  “I…Row you? When did that come up?”

  “Just now. Weren’t you listening?”

  Gawyn shook a bemused head. “Fine.” Behind them, several Guardswomen took up posts. They were always near, often led by the tall woman who fancied herself an image of Birgitte from the stories. And maybe she did look like Birgitte at that—she went by the name, anyway, and was serving as Captain-General.

  The Guards were joined by a growing group of attendants and messengers. The Last Battle approached, and Andor prepared—and, unfortunately, many of those preparations required Elayne’s direct attention. Though Gawyn had heard a curious story of Elayne having been carried up on the city wall in her bed a week or so back. So far, he hadn’t been able to pin her down on whether that was true or not.

  He waved to Birgitte, who gave him a scowl as he led Elayne to the pond’s small rowboat. “I promise not to dump her in,” Gawyn called. Then, under his breath, “Though I might row ‘forcefully’ and upend us.”

  “Oh, hush,” Elayne said, settling down. “Pondwater wouldn’t be good for the babies.”

  “Speaking of which,” Gawyn said, pushing the boat off with his toe, then stepping into it. The vessel shook precariously until he sat down. “Aren’t you supposed to be walking for your ‘constitution’?”

  “I’ll tell Melfane I needed to take the opportunity to reform my miscreant brother. You can get away with all kinds of things if you’re giving someone a proper scolding.”

  “And is that what I’m getting? A scolding?”

  “Not necessarily.” Her voice was somber. Gawyn shipped the oars and slipped them into the water. The pond wasn’t large, barely big enough to justify a boat, but there was a serenity about being upon the water, amid the pond-runners and the butterflies.

  “Gawyn,” Elayne said, “why have you come to Caemlyn?”

  “It’s my home,” he said. “Why shouldn’t I come here?”

  “I worried about you during the siege. I could have used you in the fighting. But you stayed away.”

  “I explained that, Elayne! I was embroiled in White Tower politics, not to mention the winter snows. It burns me that I couldn’t help, but those women had their fingers on me.”

  “I’m one of ‘those women’ myself, you know.” She held up her hand, Great Serpent ring encircling her finger.

  “You’re different,” Gawyn said. “Anyway, you’re right. I should have been here. I don’t know what other apologies you expect me to make, though.”

  “I don’t expect any apologies,” Elayne said. “Oh, Gawyn, I wasn’t chastising you. While I certainly could have used you, we managed. I also worried about you getting caught between defending the Tower and protecting Egwene. It seems that worked out as well. So, I ask. Why have you come here now? Doesn’t Egwene need you?”

  “Apparently not,” Gawyn said, backing the boat. A massive draping willow grew from the side of the pond here, hanging down branches like braids to dangle above the water. He raised his oars outside those branches and the boat stilled.

  “Well,” Elayne said. “I won’t presume to pry into that—at least, not at the moment. You are always welcome here, Gawyn. I’d make you Captain-General if you asked, but I don’t think you want it.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Well, you’ve spent the majority of your time here moping around these gardens.”

  “I have not been moping. I’ve been pondering.”

  “Ah, yes. I see you’ve learned to speak the truth creatively, too.”

  He snorted softly.

  “Gawyn, you haven’t been spending time with any of your friends or acquaintances from the palace. You haven’t been stepping into the role of a prince or Captain-General. Instead you merely…ponder.”

  Gawyn looked out across the pond. “I don’t spend time with the others because they all want to know why I wasn’t here for the siege. They keep asking when I’m going to take my station here and lead your armies.”

  “It’s all right, Gawyn. You don’t have to be Captain-General, and I can survive with my First Prince of the Sword absent, if I must. Though I’ll admit, Birgitte is rather upset with you for not becoming Captain-General.”

  “Is that the reason for the glares?”

  “Yes. But she will manage; she’s actually good at the job. And if there’s anyone I’d want you protecting, it would be Egwene. She deserves you.”

  “And what if I’ve decided I don’t want her?”

  Elayne reached forward, resting her hand on his arm. Her face—framed in golden hair, topped by that matching crown—looked concerned. “Oh, Gawyn. What has happened to you?”

  He shook his head. “Bryne thinks I was too accustomed to succeeding, and didn’t know how to react when things started to upend on me.”

  “And what do you think?”

  “I think it’s been good for me to be here,” Gawyn said, taking a deep breath. Some women were walking along the path around the pond, led by
a woman with bright red hair that was streaked with white. Dimana was some kind of failed student of the White Tower. Gawyn wasn’t quite certain about the nature of the Kin and their relationship with Elayne.

  “Being here,” he said, “reminded me of my life before. It’s been particularly liberating to be free of Aes Sedai. For a time, I was sure that I needed to be with Egwene. When I left the Younglings to ride to her, it felt like the best choice I’d ever made. And yet, she seems to have moved beyond needing me. She’s so concerned with being strong, with being the Amyrlin, that she doesn’t have room for anyone who won’t bow to her every whim.”

  “I doubt that it’s as bad as you say, Gawyn. Egwene…well, she has to put forward a strong front. Because of her youth, and the way she was raised. But she’s not arrogant. No more so than is necessary.”

  Elayne dipped her fingers in the water, startling a goldenback fish. “I’ve felt the way she must be feeling. You say she wants someone to bow and scrape for her, but what I’d bet she really wants—what she really needs—is someone she can trust completely. Someone she can give tasks, then not worry about how they will be handled. She has enormous resources. Wealth, troops, fortifications, servants. But there’s only one of her, and so if everything requires her attention directly, she might as well have no resources at all.”

  “I…”

  “You say you love her,” Elayne said. “You’ve told me you’re devoted to her, that you’d die for her. Well, Egwene has armies full of those kinds of people, as do I. What is truly unique is someone who does what I tell them. Better, someone who does what they know I’d tell them, if I had the chance.”

  “I’m not sure I can be that man,” Gawyn said.

  “Why not? Of all the men ready to support a woman of Power, I’d have thought it would be you.”

  “It’s different with Egwene. I can’t explain why.”

  “Well, if you wish to marry an Amyrlin, then you must make this choice.”

  She was right. It frustrated him, but she was right. “Enough about that,” he said. “I notice the topic moved away from al’Thor.”

  “Because there was no more to say about him.”

  “You have to stay away from him, Elayne. He’s dangerous.”

  Elayne waved her hand. “Saidin is cleansed.”

  “Of course he would say that.”

  “You hate him,” Elayne said. “I can hear it in your voice. This isn’t about Mother, is it?”

  He hesitated. She’d grown so good at twisting a conversation. Was that the queen in her, or the Aes Sedai? He nearly turned the boat back toward the dock. But this was Elayne. Light, but it felt good to talk to someone who really understood him.

  “Why do I hate al’Thor?” Gawyn said. “Well, there’s Mother. But it’s not just her. I hate what he’s become.”

  “The Dragon Reborn?”

  “A tyrant.”

  “You don’t know that, Gawyn.”

  “He’s a sheepherder. What right does he have to cast down thrones, to change the world as he does?”

  “Particularly while you huddled in a village?” He’d told her most of what had happened to him in the last few months. “While he conquered nations, you were being forced to kill your friends, then were sent to your death by your Amyrlin.”

  “Exactly.”

  “So it’s jealousy,” Elayne said softly.

  “No. Nonsense. I…”

  “What would you do, Gawyn?” Elayne asked. “Would you duel him?”

  “Maybe.”

  “And what would happen if you won and ran him through as you’ve said you wanted to do? Would you doom us all to satisfy your momentary passion?”

  He had no reply to that.

  “That’s not just jealousy, Gawyn,” Elayne said, taking the oars from him. “It’s selfishness. We can’t afford to be shortsighted right now.” She began to row them back despite his protest.

  “This,” he said, “coming from the woman who personally raided the Black Ajah?”

  Elayne blushed. He could tell that she wished he’d never found out about that event. “It was needed. And besides, I did say ‘we.’ You and I, we have this trouble. Birgitte keeps telling me I need to learn to be more temperate. Well, you’ll need to learn the same thing, for Egwene’s sake. And she does need you, Gawyn. She may not realize it; she may be convinced she needs to hold up the world herself. She’s wrong.”

  The boat thumped against the dock. Elayne unshipped the oars and held out a hand. Gawyn climbed out, then helped her up onto the dock. She gripped his hand fondly. “You’ll sort it out,” she said. “I’m releasing you from any responsibility to be my Captain-General. For now, I won’t appoint another First Prince of the Sword, but you can hold that title with duties in abeyance. So long as you show up for the occasional state function, you needn’t worry about anything else that might be required of you. I will publish it immediately, citing a need for you to be doing other work at the advent of the Last Battle.”

  “I…Thank you,” he said, though he wasn’t certain he felt it. It sounded too much like Egwene’s insistence that he didn’t need to guard her door.

  Elayne squeezed his hand again, then turned and walked up to the attendants. Gawyn watched her speak to them in a calm tone. She seemed to grow more regal by the day; it was like watching a flower blossom. He wished he’d been in Caemlyn to view the process from the start.

  He found himself smiling as he turned to continue his way along the Rose March. His regrets had trouble taking hold before a healthy dose of Elayne’s characteristic optimism. Only she could call a man jealous and make him feel good about it.

  He passed through waves of perfume, feeling the sun on his neck. He walked where he and Galad had played as children, and he thought of his mother walking these gardens with Bryne. He remembered her careful instruction when he misstepped, then her smiles when he acted as a prince should. Those smiles had seemed like the sun rising.

  This place was her. She lived on, in Caemlyn, in Elayne—who looked more and more like her by the hour—in the safety and strength of Andor’s people. He stopped beside the pond, the very spot where Galad had saved him from drowning as a child.

  Perhaps Elayne was right. Perhaps al’Thor hadn’t had anything to do with Morgase’s death. If he had, Gawyn would never prove it. But that didn’t matter. Rand al’Thor was already condemned to die at the Last Battle. So why keep hating the man?

  “She is right,” Gawyn whispered, watching the hawkflies dance over the surface of the water. “We’re done, al’Thor. From now on, I care nothing for you.”

  It felt like an enormous weight lifting from his shoulders. Gawyn let out a long, relaxed sigh. Only now that Elayne had released him did he realize how much guilt he’d felt over his absence from Andor. That was gone now, too.

  Time to focus on Egwene. He reached into his pocket, slipping out the assassin’s knife, and held it up in the sunlight, inspecting those red stones. He did have a duty to protect Egwene. Supposing she railed against him, hated him, and exiled him; wouldn’t it be worth the punishments if he managed to preserve her life?

  “By my mother’s grave,” a voice said sharply from behind. “Where did you get that?”

  Gawyn spun. The women he’d noticed earlier were standing behind him on the path. Dimana led them, her hair streaked with white, her face wrinkled around the eyes. Wasn’t working with the Power supposed to stop those signs of aging?

  There were two people with her. One was a plump young woman with black hair, the other a stout woman in her middle years. The second was the one who had spoken; she had wide, innocent-looking eyes. And she seemed horrified.

  “What is that, Marille?” Dimana asked.

  “That knife,” Marille said, pointing at Gawyn’s hand. “Marille has seen one like it before!”

  “I have seen it before,” Dimana corrected. “You are a person and not a thing.”

  “Yes, Dimana. Much apologies, Dimana. Marille…I will not mak
e the mistake again, Dimana.”

  Gawyn raised an eyebrow. What was wrong with this person?

  “Forgive her, my Lord,” Dimana said. “Marille spent a long time as a damane, and is having difficulty adjusting.”

  “You’re Seanchan?” Gawyn said. Of course. I should have noticed the accent.

  Marille nodded vigorously. A former damane. Gawyn felt a chill. This woman had been trained to kill with the Power. The third woman remained silent, watching with curious eyes. She didn’t look nearly as subservient.

  “We should be moving on,” Dimana said. “It isn’t good for her to see things that remind her of Seanchan. Come, Marille. That is merely a token Lord Trakand won in battle, I suspect.”

  “No, wait,” Gawyn said, holding up a hand. “You recognize this blade?”

  Marille looked to Dimana, as if requesting permission to answer. The Kinswoman nodded sufferingly.

  “It is a Bloodknife, my Lord,” Marille said. “You did not win it in battle, because men do not defeat Bloodknives. They are unstoppable. They only fall when their own blood turns against them.”

  Gawyn frowned. What nonsense was this? “So this is a Seanchan weapon?”

  “Yes, my Lord,” Marille said. “Carried by the Bloodknives.”

  “I thought you said this was a Bloodknife.”

  “It is, but that is also who carries them. Shrouded in the night, sent by the Empress’s will—may she live forever—to strike down her foes and die in her name and glory.” Marille lowered her eyes farther. “Marille speaks too much. She is sorry.”

  “I am sorry,” Dimana said, a hint of exasperation in her tone.

  “I am sorry,” Marille repeated.

  “So these…Bloodknives,” Gawyn said. “They’re Seanchan assassins?” He felt a deep chill. Could they have left behind suicide troops to kill Aes Sedai? Yes. It made sense. The murderer wasn’t one of the Forsaken.

  “Yes, my Lord,” Marille said. “I saw one of the knives hanging in the room of my mistress’s quarters; it had belonged to her brother, who had borne it with honor until his blood turned against him.”

  “His family?”

  “No, his blood.” Marille shrank down farther.