“Well, your sword is bright, my husband. These last few weeks, you keep saying that you led poorly during my captivity. You’d have me believe that you led the entire camp to ruin and dust! But that’s not true at all. You kept them focused; you inspired them, maintained a strong presence, and kept the air of a lord.”
“Berelain’s behind some of that,” he said. “I half think the woman would have bathed me herself if I’d gone another day without.”
“I’m certain that wouldn’t have been good for the rumors,” Faile noted dryly.
“Faile, I—”
“I’ll deal with Berelain,” Faile said. Her voice sounded dangerous. “That’s one duty you needn’t distract yourself with.”
“But—”
“I’ll deal with her,” Faile said, her voice more firm. It was not wise to challenge her when she smelled that way, not unless he wanted to start a full argument. She softened, taking another bite of barley. “When I said you were like a wolf, my husband, I wasn’t talking about the way you eat. I was talking about the way you give your attention. You are driven. Given a problem to solve, no matter how grand, and you will see it done.
“Can’t you understand? That’s a wonderful trait in a leader. It is exactly what the Two Rivers will need. Assuming, of course, that you have a wife to care for some of the smaller issues.” She frowned. “I wish you’d spoken to me about the banner before burning it. It will be difficult to raise it again without looking foolish.”
“I don’t want to raise it again,” Perrin said. “That’s why I had them burn it.”
“But why?”
He took another bite of his ham, pointedly not watching her. She smelled curious, almost desperately so.
I can’t lead them, he thought. Not until I know if I can master the wolf. How could he explain? Explain that he feared the way it took control when he fought, when he wanted something too badly?
He would not rid himself of the wolves; they had become too much a part of him. But where would he leave his people, where would he leave Faile, if he lost himself to what was inside of him?
He again remembered a dirty creature, once a man, locked in a cage. There is nothing left in this one that remembers being a man…
“My husband,” Faile said, resting a hand on his arm. “Please.” She smelled of pain. That twisted his heart about.
“It has to do with those Whitecloaks,” Perrin said.
“What? Perrin, I thought I said—”
“It has to do,” Perrin said firmly, “with what happened to me the first time I met with them. And what I’d begun to discover in the days before.”
Faile frowned.
“I’ve told you that I killed two Whitecloaks,” he said. “Before I met you.”
“Yes.”
“Settle back,” he said. “You need to know the whole story.”
And so he told her. Hesitantly at first, but the words soon grew easier. He spoke of Shadar Logoth, and of their group being scattered. Of Egwene letting him take the lead, perhaps the first time he’d been forced to do that.
He’d already told her of his meeting with Elyas. She knew much about Perrin, things that he’d never told anyone else, things he’d never even spoken of with Elyas. She knew about the wolf. She knew that he feared he’d lose himself.
But she didn’t know what he felt in battle. She didn’t know what it had felt like to kill those Whitecloaks, to taste their blood—either in his own mouth, or through his link with the wolves. She didn’t know what it had been like to be consumed by anger, fear and desperation when she’d been taken. These were the things he haltingly explained.
He told her of the frenzy he’d gone into when searching for her in the wolf dream. He spoke of Noam and what he feared would happen to him. And of how it related to how he acted when he fought.
Faile listened, sitting quietly atop the hilltop, arms wrapped around her legs, lit by candlelight. Her scents were subdued. Perhaps he should have held some things back. No woman wanted to know what a beast her husband became when he killed, did she? But now that he was speaking, he wanted to be rid of his secrets. He was tired of them.
Each word spoken made him relax more. It did what the meal—touching though it had been—hadn’t been able to. In telling her of his struggles, he felt some of his burden lift.
He finished by speaking of Hopper. He wasn’t certain why he’d saved the wolf for last; Hopper was part of much Perrin had told before—the Whitecloaks, the wolf dream. But it felt right to reserve Hopper until the end, so he did.
As he finished, he stared at the flame of one of the candles. Two of them had gone out, leaving others still to flicker. That wasn’t dim light to his eyes. He had trouble remembering what the days had been like when his senses had been as weak as an ordinary man’s.
Faile leaned against him, wrapping his arm around her. “Thank you,” she said.
He let out a deep sigh, leaning back against the stump behind him, feeling her warmth.
“I want to tell you about Malden,” she said.
“You don’t have to,” he said. “Just because I—”
“Hush. I was quiet while you spoke. It’s my turn.”
“All right.”
It should have been worrying for him to hear about Malden. He lay with his back to the stump, sky crackling with energy above, the Pattern itself in danger of unraveling, while his wife spoke of being captured and beaten. Yet it was one of the most oddly relaxing things he’d ever experienced.
The events in that city had been important to her, maybe even good for her. Though he was angered at hearing how Sevanna had trussed Faile up naked and left her overnight. Someday he’d hunt that woman down.
Not today, however. Today he had his wife in his arms, and her strong voice was a comfort. He should have realized she would have planned her own escape. In fact, listening to her careful preparation, he began to feel a fool. She’d been worried that he’d get himself killed trying to rescue her—she didn’t say it, but he could infer it. How well she knew him.
Faile left some things out. He didn’t mind. Faile would be like a penned and caged animal without her secrets. He got a good hint of what she was hiding, though. It was something to do with that Brotherless who had captured her, something about Faile’s plans to trick the man and his friends into helping her escape. Perhaps she’d felt a fondness for him, and didn’t wish Perrin to regret killing him. That wasn’t necessary. Those Brotherless had been with the Shaido, and they had attacked and killed men under Perrin’s protection. No act of kindness would redeem that. Th
