“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 o
