[ rand is already starting to move on, thinking of what else he might seek out in this city. wondering what he's doing here, really, when he knows how he feels about the idea of yima's promises. wondering what he's doing here at all. he's been adrift for so long, only to discover that nothing was what he thought it was — yet again. he'd thought he'd failed, when he woke up in a world like and unlike this one. he'd had no idea. but that's a thought that shivers in his mind alongside so many others that he still hasn't spared the time for.
(lanfear, light preserve him, selene had been lanfear all along, and he'd — )
what stops him dead is the sound of amos's voice.
of course it's familiar. he turns back, on instinct more than anything else, disbelieving eyes falling on a man whom he knows. he knows that he knows. but it takes the space of a heartbeat before real recognition lights across his face, and his breath catches. amos. that was it. amos, the first person he'd ever met in that dark shrine besides moiraine. amos, who had been his enemy. amos, who had gotten dangerously close to taking him away where he would've suffered light only knows what.
amos, who has never lied to him.
he swallows and, slowly, steps back towards vendor and man. rand's shard glimmers about his collarbones, as it always has, only somewhat obscured by the fabric of his shirt. he hasn't got a change of clothes yet, so it's the white shirt and dark waistcoat and trousers he'd borrowed from moiraine's family, finely cut and made, embroidered upon the collar and sleeves. the sort of thing that would've cost half a year's wages, at least, to even dream of affording. the fit isn't perfect, and the smooth fabric feels strange against his skin. ]
I had to. I looked too much like... [ he gives a slight shake to his head, makes a rueful sound. ] ...it doesn't matter. [ he surprises himself by saying, ] It's good to see you again.
no subject
(lanfear, light preserve him, selene had been lanfear all along, and he'd — )
what stops him dead is the sound of amos's voice.
of course it's familiar. he turns back, on instinct more than anything else, disbelieving eyes falling on a man whom he knows. he knows that he knows. but it takes the space of a heartbeat before real recognition lights across his face, and his breath catches. amos. that was it. amos, the first person he'd ever met in that dark shrine besides moiraine. amos, who had been his enemy. amos, who had gotten dangerously close to taking him away where he would've suffered light only knows what.
amos, who has never lied to him.
he swallows and, slowly, steps back towards vendor and man. rand's shard glimmers about his collarbones, as it always has, only somewhat obscured by the fabric of his shirt. he hasn't got a change of clothes yet, so it's the white shirt and dark waistcoat and trousers he'd borrowed from moiraine's family, finely cut and made, embroidered upon the collar and sleeves. the sort of thing that would've cost half a year's wages, at least, to even dream of affording. the fit isn't perfect, and the smooth fabric feels strange against his skin. ]
I had to. I looked too much like... [ he gives a slight shake to his head, makes a rueful sound. ] ...it doesn't matter. [ he surprises himself by saying, ] It's good to see you again.
[ he surprises himself more by meaning it. ]