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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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When they arrived at their destination - a large, low-hanging tent of dark canvas - Rand’s Far Dareis Mai escort took position at the entrance. The Aiel bathed communally, like Shienarans, but unlike Shienarans they at least had separate facilities for men and women. Rand smiled at Dorindha and the rest as he parted from them, and got a collection of hard stares in return. Nothing new there. Outside of the Roof of the Maidens, his guardswomen tended to behave quite differently than when they were private.
He followed the Aiel chiefs into the outer section of the tent, this part airier and cooler than the main area would be. There he found the six chiefs in various stages of undress. A moment’s hesitation did not, he knew, go unnoticed. Very little did where Aiel were concerned. Keeping his face smooth, Rand unbuttoned his fine red coat, folded it neatly and set it on the blankets laid out for that purpose. He unlaced the collar of his shirt and pulled it over his head, dropped it on top of the coat. That was the easy part. A quick glance to the side revealed that most of the chiefs were already naked, a collection of pale bodies and tanned faces. Bulky or wiry, haired or smooth, to a man were heavily scarred. Veterans of many battles, some doubtless fought long before Rand had even been born. Only Rhuarc remained partially clothed, and as Rand watched he matter-of-factly pulled down the breeches of his cadin’sor and stepped out of them, manhood swaying in the wind.
Right then, Rand thought, I’ve fought Forsaken, this should be easy.
He quickly unbuckled his belt and yanked down his dark breeches, smallclothes coming with them. Too late he remembered that he hadn’t removed his boots. Blushing slightly and trying to pretend he wasn’t, the Car’a’carn balanced on one foot and bent to pull off one boot while his breeches tangled between his knees. He was acutely aware of the older men watching him. No one made a sound, but he knew if he was to look in their direction he would see mirth in their shining eyes and tightened lips. He hopped to the other foot and removed his last boot, tossing both in the general direction of his coat, then hastily finished removing his breeches along with his stockings and adding them to the pile.
Rand turned to face the chiefs, naked as the day he was born. Unlike them his body was unscarred but for one circular wound in his left side, tender and unHealable. Sure enough, they seemed to have found the show entertaining. How am to lead these men if they see me act the fool, he thought. Fear wouldn’t do it. That might serve for the wetlander kingdoms, but Aiel feared nothing so far as Rand could tell. Even a male channeler prophesized to destroy them all merited no great concern. How then?
Rhuarc gestured him towards the entrance to the sweat tent proper and Rand followed. The other men fell in around him. Rhuarc bent slightly as he ducked through the entrance flap, muscles on his back and buttocks tightening; he moved inside quickly, the better to prevent the steam from escaping Rand knew. So he bent and did the same, slipping into the room.
The heat hit like an angry Ogier. Rand was temporarily blinded by the steam and his body broke out in a sweat without even the courtesy of waiting for him to do a decent day’s work. He stood in the entranceway, staring sightlessly ahead, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. When they did he saw that the tent was already occupied by Aiel of various clans, societies, ranks and ages. All male of course. They were all watching the strange wetlander who had suddenly joined them. A presence at Rand’s back alerted him that he was preventing the other chiefs from getting into the tent. He sought Rhuarc in the crowd and found him already sitting cross-legged not far from the burning coals. Rand moved to join the familiar presence. Glancing back he found Bruan following, a veritable mountain of a man with massive arms and shoulders. A fool night have called him a brute, but he struck Rand as one of the kinder Aiel.
When he reached Rhuarc he found the chief covered in a glistening sheen of sweat, the light hair on his chest turning a darker shade of red. His eyes were closed and he seemed to be meditating. Or perhaps simply enjoying the heat. Rand sat down beside him, and folded his arms around his knees.
“I see you, Bruan,” a voice said from behind them.
Rand glanced back to see Roidan lounging on the rocks around the edge of the tent. The Thunderwalker was an old friend of Bruan’s.
“It would be difficult not to,” joked the hulking chief as he joined the Thunderwalker.
The other chiefs had settled in. Erim sat with his Chareen, including one-eyed Leiran who was also a Thunderwalker. Warrior societies were important to the Aiel but clan was more important.
Han sat alone and none seemed surprised by it, though there were several other Tomanelle in the tent. So, there was freedom for a chief’s personality to assert itself at least. Formality didn’t rule everything.
Bael and Jheran took positions on opposite sides of the fire, neither man seeking out his clanmates. Rand glanced from one to the other. Both sat cross-legged like Rhuarc, one towered and the other was knife thin but their faces could each have been carved from stone. Feuds could last for generations among the Aiel. And they could start over things that he felt were insignificant but they thought of deadly import. Such a strange people. He wondered if they found him equally as strange.
“I see you, Rand al’Thor,” said a familiar voice. Rand raised his chin from his knees and looked over Rhuarc’s shoulder. Several of the younger Aielmen were relaxing in the heat, Cassin and Corman of Bael’s Goshien among them as well as at least one fellow that Rand recognised as a member of Jheran’s Sharaad clan. Hope there, he thought. The speaker was a tall youth with an almost permanent half-smile that Rand had met in the Stone. A Taardad, like Aviendha and Rhuarc. And Janduin…
“I see you Mangin,” Rand said with a melancholy smile, “well met.”
Mangin stretched out on the warm stone ground the better to see past his chief. He was taller than Rand, mostly hairless and covered in sweat. “It would be difficult not to,” he said, smiling. Rand nodded, confused.
“I missed you at training these past evenings. Lan says I should vary my sparring partners as much as possible so as not to fall into any bad habits. To be predictable is to wear a breechclout of chainmail and nothing else; it invites death,” he shrugged. “To use his words.”
“Aan’allein is wise and has much honour,” Mangin said, his look almost solemn. “I will join your sessions whenever my duties allow, Rand al’Thor.” His eyes flickered down Rand’s back. “I am glad to know you regretted my absence.”
The trickling sweat was causing Rand’s skin to tingle. “Your friends are welcome to come as well,” he said, looking to the others.
Mangin laughed easily. “I’m sure they would be glad to do so. Cassin especially has spoken often of his interest in meeting you, Car’a’carn.” The yellow-haired Cassin nodded respectfully when Rand met his eyes.
“Reputations rarely match reality,” Rand said carefully, “but I’d be happy for any assistance I can get.”
“Your reputation is at least partially true, Rand al’Thor,” Cassin mused, his eyes never leaving Rand’s face.
Rand noticed a twitching movement. His eyes moved instinctually to track it, then widened. He gaped for a moment then jerked his gaze away, face reddening from more than the heat. Cassin was partially erect, his manhood creeping up one muscular thigh, almost ready to salute the blonde thicket of hair above.
Oh, he thought, inanely. Then, Mangin too? He didn’t dare look, instead he fixed his gaze on the glowing coals.
Out of the corner of his eye he could tell the Aiel youths were still watching him. Their hands were still, they made no move to cover themselves. They, like everyone else in the tent, seemed content to let the heat loosen tired muscles and cleanse the dirt of the march. No one remarked the exchange. The background murmur of conversation did not cease.
Rand was glad of his position, his raised knees. Whether due to the heat or something else, his own flaccid manhood had begun to stir a little and he didn’t want anyone to see. He willed it to stay down, embarrassed by the reaction.
The heat in the tent was like a warm set of hands, kneading every knot in Rand’s muscles. He had to breathe deeply to get enough air. Little rivulets of sweat running down his body tickled. He tried to think of other things, to meditate as Rhuarc was. He thought of Aviendha, her fierce green eyes and aggressive stride. So pretty, and like to kill anyone who told her so. No, that definitely didn’t help. He felt himself stirring even more. Mat then, his once best friend who now wanted nothing to do with him. Constant japes replaced by wary glances. They had been close once, very close… Mangin reminded him of Mat a little. No.Stop.
As his inner vision refused to play nicely, he cast his gaze without. The various Aiel were lounging about the tent. Naked, glistening and not a one of them who wasn’t obviously a warrior bred and trained. More than one of them seemed to be experiencing a dilemma akin to Rand’s. Though those that did hid their shame well. One leanly muscled Tomanelle was sitting on a rock with a raging hard-on, seemingly unconcerned with his exposure, his eyes fixed on something on the other side of the fire. Rand glanced over his shoulder and was shocked to see Bruan and Roidan masturbating openly. Each had a hand on the other man’s penis and they were stroking with even firmness while talking about something. Threads of their conversation drifted to Rand’s reddened ears. Ambush tactics. They were talking about ambush tactics while..! And no-one in the tent seemed to think it anything unusual!
Roidan was big, Bruan was bigger. Neither was as big as Rand, some ignoble part of him couldn’t help but note.
He jerked his eyes away, hoping they hadn’t noticed him looking. Then he was horrified to feel another jerking sensation. His rebellious cock, no longer content to simply swell, had begun to get hard. It slapped embarrassing against the back of his raised thigh, well on its way to a full erection. An involuntary twitch sent it poking outwards, the head half-revealed. He would have moved to hide it against his belly, but it was already too late.
Conversation had all but died in the sweat tent. Bael and Jheran had each noticed Rand’s arousal and looked towards him. Their clansmen, attuned to the slightest movement from their chiefs, had done the same. Soon even Bruan and Roidan fell quiet, no doubt wondering what the fuss was about. Mangin had been moving to sit beside Cassin and as he did so his eyes fell on Rand; face first, then the rest. He sucked in a sharp breath.
Rand al’Thor had never felt so ashamed in his life. No wonder the Aiel used stuff like this as a punishment, he thought. Better by far to take a simple beating. His heart pounded so hard he was sure everyone in the tent could hear it. His face was scarlet, he knew. His eyes probably looked as big as teacups. For some mad reason the thought made him even harder. Rand’s cock thickened and extended as the Aiel watched.
“Very impressive, Rand al’Thor,” grunted Erim, seemingly amused. “It seems Bael is not the tallest man in the room after all.” A chorus of laughter greeted this and Rand buried his face between his knees, arms folded around himself.
“Spear, knife or finger,” snapped Jheran, short by Aiel standards, “victory goes only to the most skilled.”
“I would not have thought to find you defending my honour, Sharaad,” said Bael dryly. Jheran glared at him. “But there is truth to your words.” He turned his eyes to Rand. “Would you not agree?”
All of the Aiel were watching Rand intently now. Somehow his reaction had merited more attention than the other men in a similar position. Whether it was because he was the Car’a’carn, or simply because he was an outsider, a wetlander. They looked at him with a mixture of intrigue, amusement and, in some cases, desire. He saw this as he peeked from behind his knees. Realising that, he jerked his head up straight, which provoked a fresh round of chuckles. Almost gentle ones… fond even.
“Skill,” Rand said, his voice tight. He cleared his throat, looked to Bael. “I’d like to think skill or strength was what would decide our battles, Bael. But I think it’s something much harder to measure. Its fate that will defeat us, or lift us up. From the mightiest warrior to the weakest child, we are all helpless before the Wheel’s inexorable turning. Victory and defeat alike are not won, but inflicted upon us.”
Silence followed. “A grim view,” Bael said at last.
“Yes,” was all Rand said.
“For what reason do you fight then, Car’a’carn?”
“I wish I could answer that,” Rand said, calmer now, “but so far all I know is that it is in my nature.”
Bael nodded at that. Most of the Aiel present joined him in doing so. Not Rhuarc however. Rhuarc placed a hand on Rand’s knee.
Calmness fled once more. Rand had not even realised Rhuarc was watching, but the Taardad chief at Rand’s side seemed to have been studying him for some time. “You are young yet, Rand al’Thor. Young men often think that to seek answers is to admit ignorance, and so shame themselves with arrogance rather than learning. Those that do so rarely gain ji through wisdom but only through battle. I am glad to know you are not one of those young men.” The chief met Rand’s eyes with kindness. “You will find your answers some day. There is no shame here.”
Rhuarc moved Rand’s knee downward in a firm but gentle grip. “Or here,” he said exposing Rand more fully to the watching Aiel. It’s rather liberating really, Rand thought, his head light.
“Your wetlander customs are strange indeed. You blush like a young girl-child over the most natural things,” more chuckles greeted this, “and yet are strangely unmoved by that which you should be concerned with. We have as much to learn of you as you do of us.”
Rand lowered his eyes from the Aiel, many of whom were looking at him with undeserved affection. His eyes fell on his own leg, the pale skin much smoother than average among these people. Water-fat, they called it. Rhuarc’s leg was muscled much more wirily. And his penis… his penis was standing tall and proud at the centre of the fort his crossed legs made.
Shock pushed all thought from his mind.
Rand’s grey eyes ran up the older man’s muscled torso to his chiselled jaw and were captured by Rhuarc’s blue ones. He had always admired Rhuarc. Wise and strong. Fair but firm. A handsome man, even with the grey sneaking into his hair. Not quite a father, not quite a friend, but precious in a way that either would be. He could only stare at him now, heartbeat hammering at his chest, eyes wide like the girl-child Rhuarc had named him. Mouth hanging slightly open. The Aiel chief seemed to be measuring Rand, not his body, but his mind, his soul. The moment stretched excruciatingly. Rand could not speak and he could not look away. Finally, Rhuarc seemed to come to a decision. He unfolded his legs, leaned in towards the young would-be chief of chiefs; unashamed he took Rand’s face in his hands, one along the fine jaw and the other brushing in amongst the red curls at the back of his head. Then he kissed him on the lips.
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A Soft Wetlander