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A Soft Wetlander	By : SAF Category: S through Z > Wheel of Time Series Views: 11906 -:- 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.

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A barren land of scorched rocks and venomous creatures surrounded the marching army. The horde, composed entirely of infantry, seemed indefatigable. Food was scarce, but they made do, water more precious than gold, yet they endured, the heat alone might have been enough to kill most men, but they advanced through it as though out for a morning stroll. They were Aiel, the Dedicated, and this Waste was their land. They called in the Threefold Land, claimed it was their punishment for a once-unknown failure, an anvil on which they might be forged into the greatest warriors in the world, they even called it home. But to Rand al'Thor, would-be Car'a'carn of all the Aiel, it was none of these things. To him it was torture.
The terrible heat of the Aiel Waste beat down on him as he sat Jeade'en's saddle and struggled to keep his composure. Head up, shoulders straight; he couldn't afford to slump, couldn't afford to look weak before these people. The army marched at his orders, towards Cairhien, land of their bitter enemies. And not to attack it, but to defend. That too was at Rand's orders. And the attackers? A rogue clan of their fellow Aiel. No, even with the Prophecy of Rhuidean to lend him authority, he would have to seem as strong as stone to pull this off. His vision had stopped blurring some time ago, leaving him curiously light-headed. That too, he endeavoured to ignore, riding onwards. It would be a few hours yet before it was time to make camp; before he allowed himself to order camp made.
Rand was not the only stranger to this land, and so not the only one to suffer. Mat Cauthon rode within earshot of his old friend, but made a point of keeping a certain distance between them. He'd been like that ever since he found out Rand could channel the tainted male half of the One Power. There was nothing Rand could think of to change it. Yet, for all his complaining and blatant distrust, Mat always seemed to show up when he was needed. It was probably due to their dual ta'veren nature but Rand liked to think it meant some measure of Mat’s old affection remained. Unlike Rand, Mat made no effort to appear at ease with the conditions. He slumped in Pip's saddle, wide-brimmed hat angled towards the cruel sun, shirt pulled open, fanning his face and muttering a constant stream of curses. If misery had a face, it was surely his, Rand thought, perversely amused.
Their companions made a better showing for wetlander endurance. Moiraine and Lan might as well have been animated statues for all the expressions they allowed, but that was hardly new. Rand was surprised by Egwene though. Usually she could be relied on to find something to criticise or complain about, but today she walked beside Aviendha as though they were both former Maidens of the Spear. Well, in Egwene's case a short, unusually dark Maiden, breathing heavily and with a sheen of sweat on her face, but still... she'd gotten tougher. Aviendha herself, was indifferent to the heat. Naturally. She was Aiel born and raised, whereas Rand was only Aiel by blood.
Footsteps on gravel drew Rand’s attention to his other side, where a tall figure approached from the horde. He knew enough of the Aiel by now to know that Rhuarc, chief of the Taardad, did not make such noise unless he wanted to. The older man spared Rand's shame and perhaps his own honour, lest he be ignored or the Car'a'carn be oblivious. Ji'e'toh, honour and obligation. It was a curious and convoluted system, that Aviendha continued to try and teach Rand. To little avail.
"I see you, Rand al'Thor," Rhuarc said as he paced beside the horse. Rand would have thought that went without saying given that they were looking right at each other, but it was the traditional Aiel way of greeting.
"I see you, Rhuarc," he responded, more hoarsely than he'd have liked. Then, "Is there any word of the other clans?" Only six of eleven clans had rallied to Rand's banner, the Shaido had gone rogue, and the remaining four were an unknown factor. If they joined forces with the Shaido...
"Nothing you do not already know. They follow at a distance, and refuse to declare their intentions."
"I see," was all Rand said.
Rhuarc studied the younger man for a time, until Rand wondered if his brevity had constituted some kind of breach of ji'e'toh, then turned his eyes westward towards a rocky formation. "Boiling Rocks is the most defensible position for some miles, Car'a'carn, and there is good water there," he announced loudly, "Perhaps we should make camp for the night, maybe."
Rand was moved. There could be no doubt this time. The Taardad chief was giving Rand an excuse to stop without shaming himself. He held himself still, not wanting to seem too relieved. "As you say, Rhuarc, you know these land better than I. We will camp around those hills." Were hills the right word? Mountains, rocks? What did it matter, they could have been called paps for all he cared just then, so long as they gave shade from the sun. Rhuarc nodded and fell back among his warriors, passing on Rand's orders.
Rand tugged on Jeade'en's reins and the vanguard of the army altered course. It was enough to rouse Mat from his stupor. "Are we stopping then? It’s about bloody time, I'm getting cooked like a flaming pie!" This drew disapproving female eyes to him, two sets for the language, and one set for the display of weakness. Aviendha could be quite merciless. Beautiful, but merciless.
"Yes. It would be best to stop now," Egwene announced, turning her attention to Rand. "You don't look well, Rand. This kind of heat isn't good for someone with your fair complexion." Well. Perhaps merciless was too harsh a term. For all her prickliness, Aviendha would never shame Rand in public, deliberately or otherwise. With Egwene is was more a question of would she ever not. She herself was tanning nicely, but no more so than the other girl. Her friend who had hair as red as Rand's, and who now frowned at her forbiddingly. He could see Aviendha wondering whether to take offense at the implied insult to herself and Aiel in general, or to dismiss it as wetlander ignorance. He knew she chose the latter when she turned her gaze to the bleak horizon. Maybe he was getting better at understanding these people. His father's people. Now if only he could get better at ignoring Egwene's barbs. He took a lesson from Aviendha and turned his face to the horizon, giving his horse a light touch of the spurs.
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A Soft Wetlander