The Gathering Storm

"But my messengers haven't gone to the Two Rivers!"

"I wasn't in the Two Rivers," Tam said. "Some of us have been fighting alongside Perrin."

Of course, Rand thought. Nynaeve must have contacted Perrin—the colors swirled—she was so worried about him and Mat. It would have been easy for Tam to come back with her.

Was Rand really having this conversation? He had given up on returning to the Two Rivers, on ever seeing his father again. It felt so good, despite the awkwardness. Tarn's face held more lines than it had before, and the few determined streaks of black in his hair had finally given in and gone silver, but he was the same.

So many people had changed around Rand—Mat, Perrin, Egwene, Nynaeve—it was a wonder to meet someone from his old life who was the same. Tam, the man who had taught Rand to seek the void. Tam was a rock that seemed to him stronger than the Stone itself.

Rand's mood darkened slightly. "Wait. Perrin has been using Two Rivers folk?"

Tam nodded. "He needed us. That boy's put on a balancing act to impress any menagerie performer. What with the Seanchan and the Prophet's men, not to mention the Whitecloaks and the queen—-"

"The queen?" Rand said.

"Aye," Tam said. "Though she says she's not queen anymore. Elayne's mother."

"She lives, then?" Rand asked.

"She does, little thanks to the Whitecloaks," Tam said with distaste.

"Has she seen Elayne?" Rand asked. "You mentioned Whitecloaks— how did he run into Whitecloaks?" Tarn began to answer, but Rand held up a hand. "No. Wait. I can get a report from Perrin when I wish it. I will not have our time together spent with you acting the messenger."

Tarn smiled faintly.

"What?" Rand asked.

"Ah, son," he said, shaking his head, broad hardworking hands clasped before him, "they've really done it. They've gone and made a king out of you. What happened to the gangly boy, so wide-eyed at Bel Tine? Where's the uncertain lad I raised all those years?"

"He's dead," Rand said immediately.

Tam nodded slowly. "I can see that. You . . . must know then. . . . About. ..."

"That you're not my father?" Rand guessed.

Tam nodded, looking down.

"I've known since the day I left Emond's Field," Rand replied. "You spoke of it in your fever dreams. I refused to believe it for a time, but I was eventually persuaded."

"Yes," Tam said. "I can see how. I. ..." He gripped his hands together tightly. "I never meant to lie to you, son. Or, well, I guess I shouldn't call you that, should I?"

You can call me son, Rand thought. You are my father. No matter what some may say. But he couldn't force the words out.

The Dragon Reborn couldn't have a father. A father would be a weakness to be exploited, even more than a woman like Min. Lovers were expected. But the Dragon Reborn had to be a figure of myth, a creature nearly as large as the Pattern itself. He had difficulty getting people to obey as it was. What would it do if it were known that he kept his father nearby? If it were known that the Dragon Reborn relied upon the strength of a shepherd?

The quiet voice in his heart was screaming.

"You did well, Tam," Rand found himself saying. "By keeping the truth from me, you likely saved my life. If people had known that I was a foundling, and discovered near Dragonmount no less—well, word would have spread. I might very well have been assassinated as a child."

"Oh," Tam said. "Well, then, I'm glad I did it."

Rand picked up the access key—it too brought him comfort—then stood. Tam hastily joined him, acting more and more like just another retainer or servant.

"You have done a great service, Tam al'Thor," Rand said. "By protecting and raising me, you have ushered in a new Age. The world owes you a debt. I will see that you are cared for the rest of your life."

"I appreciate that, my Lord," Tam said. "But it isn't necessary. I have what I need."

Was he hiding a grin? Perhaps it had been a pompous speech. The room felt stifling, and Rand turned, crossing the fine rug and throwing open the balcony doors again. The sun had indeed set, and darkness had fallen on the city. A crisp ocean breeze blew across him as he stepped out to the balcony railing, into the night.