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A Soft Wetlander	By : SAF Category: S through Z > Wheel of Time Series Views: 11907 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I do not own the Wheel of Time series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Boiling Rocks proved to be less a hold than a large, roofless cave. There were few signs of habitation, though the spring was fairly large by the standards Rand has seen in his recent travels. It had only one entrance that did not involve scaling the sheer rocks that surrounded it. A waypoint only, but Rand was glad of it as he lent against a wall in the cool shade. The sudden change of temperature had made him dizzy.
Jasin Natael had not yet shown his face, and could remain with the wagons for a while yet. The Maidens had taken position at the entrance, some were even now climbing up to ensure no enemies lurked above. Gai'shain were setting up the Car'a'carn's camp. Lan was doing the same for Moiraine's. Egwene sat fanning her face and rubbing her calves. And Mat was sprawled in the shade, puffing.
"Light, but I can't wait to get back," Mat sighed.
Rand stirred from the wall and walked over to sit beside him, "Do you really think we will? Go back to the Two Rivers, I mean."
Mat gave him a scornful look. "Are you mad? That’s not what I meant. We're never going back there. Why would you want to?"
"It was simpler back then," Rand mused wistfully.
"Duller, too," Mat snorted. "Ah, do what you want. If the Car'a'bloody'carn wants to go laze about the Two Rivers, who's going to stop him?"
The Creator. The Pattern. And himself. He had a job to do. Idle chatter was just that, and Mat didn't seem to want to indulge it. "There’s too much work to do," Rand said, hauling himself to his feet. He made for the entrance, the Maidens got jealous if they thought he wasn't paying attention to them and he hadn't yet asked about the defences.
"Speak for yourself!" Mat called after him. "They won't get me to do their dirty work!" Rand shook his head. Mat still thought he could fight fate. If only that was true. But the Wheel weaved as the Wheel willed, and none of them were truly free to choose their fates. They could only make the most of it. Mat would learn that someday, but not someday soon Rand expected.
The final hours of the day passed swiftly. Aviendha and Egwene left for the Wise One's tents, Moiraine retired early and Mat slipped away for rendezvous unknown. Likely he had an Aiel girl or three. So Rand sat on a rock at the mouth of his cave and surveyed the force gathered before him. The Aiel's camp spread as far as the eye could see. Dark, low tents with tiny cadin'sor clad figures moving between them, divided only by the open spaces between each of the six clans. Those clans had many a past and present feud between them, how well the new alliance would hold was hard to say. It will hold.
The Aiel went about their business without input from their Car'a'carn, but inevitably there came a time when the six chiefs approached Rand's cave. They did not come to report of course. It was merely another step in the dance of ji'e'toh. Rand stood and greeted them each in the traditional manner. Rhuarc was still handsome despite the grey streaks in his hair. Tall Bael, and lean Jheran kept their distance from each other, just as their clans did in the encampment below. There was a blood feud between the Goshien and the Shaarad, it has to hold. Han was the oldest of the chiefs, white-haired and perpetually sour. Unlike Han, there was still a trace of red in Erim's hair and he still looked strong enough to crush rocks. But even he seemed small beside Bruan, a hulking but placid man whom Rhuarc claimed was one of the best generals among the Aiel. Rand offered them all water and shade, though neither was really his to offer, and they accepted the formality.
They retired to Rand's tent. The seven men arranged themselves cross-legged in a circle as gai'shain served them cups of cool water. "What news of the other clans?" Rand asked once again, more as a way to start a conversation than in expectation of news. It was hard to talk to these men sometimes. They were so different from what he was used to.
"Indecisive fools," Han muttered. "They're waiting for either you or Couladin to die. And who can say which of you they'd sooner it was."
"All the more reason to catch Couladin quickly," Rand said, unoffended.
"To do that, we will need the treekillers to delay him for us. Shaido can run as fast as any clan." That from Bruan, deadpan, and the others tapped their fingers against their cups in the absence of spears and bucklers to rattle. Rand smiled.
"They won’t," announced Rhuarc, who had travelled through Cairhien recently and fought in the Aiel War besides. "The treekillers have no hold or army that can delay the Shaido's march long enough for us to catch up. Not until they reach Cairhien itself, at least." He shrugged. "And even then..."
"I sent the Tairens into Cairhien with orders to quash the civil war. Perhaps they will reinforce the city."
"Perhaps," the Taardad chief didn't sound convinced.
"How far can you trust those Tairens?" asked Bael, fishing out his pipe. "My spears had little good to say of them, even for wetlanders."
"Mine either," said Jheran, then seemed surprised he'd spoke. Bael allowed himself a slight smile. Being around a ta'veren tended to make people do or say things they would not have done or said otherwise.
Rand took out his tabac pouch and emptied the last of it onto a cushion. He divided it into seven small piles as he spoke, "I don't trust the High Lords. There may be some among them who would keep their word, but most care nothing for such things." He took out his own pipe and filled it. "Similarly, there may be some among them who have the nerve to defy me, but most will do exactly as I ordered for fear of what would happen when I return." He picked up the cushion and passed it to Jheran by way of apology. Apology for existing. "I think they will help the Cairhienin against the Shaido, and that the Cairhienin will let them, but I can't be sure of it." Jheran passed the cushion on to Erim, reaching for his own flint as he did so.
"You can never be sure of anything, except that the dream will end one day," said Bruan. He had sad eyes, but his voice was flat and unafraid. Han grunted agreement.
They sat for a time in silence and enjoyed their smoke. Two Rivers tabac was more popular than Rand had realised back in Emond's Field. Here in the Aiel Waste it was something of a delicacy and the chiefs took their time to savour it. Rand wanted to do the same, it was the last of his supply after all, but his mind lingered on Cairhien. Assuming he could catch and beat the Shaido, what then? He was still chewing on the stem of his pipe long after the flame had burned out, frowning and distant.
"A good smoke," Rhuarc declared, to a chorus of grunted agreements. The sound brought Rand back to the present. "After a smoke like that, I find the best thing to be a good sweat."
"It’s been a long run so far, and longer still before we can spill the Shaido's water," said Han, "I could use a good bathing to keep me going." The old man's flinty gaze seemed to dare the others to find fault with that. None did. The chiefs rose smoothly to their feet and Rand followed suit.
"You should join us, Rand al'Thor," intoned Bruan. Erim nodded.
After a moment's hesitation so did Rhuarc. "Yes," he said. Something about his tone gave Rand pause. The Taardad chief had done a great deal to help Rand. Both in Tear and among the other Aiel. His advice was usually worth noting. If Rhuarc thought he should, then he would. Besides, it had been weeks since he'd had a proper bath and even washing with the little basin worth of water he used made him feel guilty in this parched land.
"I would be glad to," Rand said, and followed the older men out into the night.
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A Soft Wetlander