This takes place somewhere after WH. The timeline will probably be screwed up by Crossroads of Twilight when it comes out, but… oh well. ^.^;;

Pairing: Galad/Rand

Rating: PG, my pretties. A little kissing between brothers in a non-platonic fashion, a little Bonding action ^_^

Standard Disclaimer:

All characters herein are property of Robert Jordan and TOR. Don’t own ‘em, aren’t making money off ‘em. Using without permission. In fact, I’m sure RJ would be horrified if he knew what I was doing with his characters.

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Gethsemane

Part 1

 

Perrin stood before him, eyes blank with grief, face haggard. Revenge had been done, but no surcease came from it. Rand’s heart clenched in sympathy for his friend, for poor, dead Faile, for the others: nameless bodies strewn across the hill. Rand refused to look at those bodies, clad in mottled candin’sor, the bright armor of Berelain’s Mayene guards, and good Two Rivers woolens. They weren’t truly nameless…. But Rand wanted to keep them that way. Didn’t want to think about childhood friends or Maidens sworn to protect him lying dead on the cold, unforgiving ground.

"Well?" He turned his head, bringing Cadsuane into clear view. Her face was as impassive as ever, but he thought that, for the first time, her voice was almost gentle when she addressed him.

"There’s nothing we can do here. We might as well set up camp—away from here." She nodded as if she’d expected him to say that. Maybe she had, at that.

But next came the hardest part. "Perrin—"

"Go on," he said in a rough voice. "I’ll come down later. After—after—"

"Come now," Rand insisted, deadpan. "Staying with… staying up here won’t do you any good. You need to rest," he added in what he hoped was a more gentle tone. Funny, how just when he thought he becoming hard enough, he found that he needed to be softer. Looking into Perrin’s pained expression, Rand found himself wanting to look over the bodies—anything to escape the look on his face. The horror, the agony of losing his beloved… He had to look away. At anything but Perrin.  ’Min, you’re going to suffer like that when I die. Suffer because I wasn’t strong enough to push you away. Push all of you away.’

"Don’t make us stand up here in the cold all day waiting for you." Cadsuane sounded irritated as she stepped forward and addressed Perrin. His golden-eyed friend nodded once, slowly, then trudged past them, down the hill to where the others were waiting. Others, whom Rand most assuredly did not want to deal with at the moment. But he knew he had to. They wouldn’t go away just because he was suddenly gone maudlin.

His ever-present escort—the Maidens, Narishma, Flinn, the Sea Folk and Cadsuane’s friends—had already started down the hill. Only Amys and Cadsuane remained with him. He turned to follow them, and Amys put a hand to his cheek, fingers gently flicking away the unnoticed tear that had begun to weave a path down his face. "Take heart, Rand al’Thor," she whispered. "Don’t let their deaths be in vain."

"All death is in vain," he informed her stonily.

She nodded, her lips curving ever so slightly in… could it be approval? "I’m glad you see that much, at least."

He glanced from her to Cadsuane, then back. Women. He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "Let’s go."

They matched his pace easily, one on either side of him. All eyes were on them as they approached. One gaunt figure broke away from the crowd and hurried forward, falling to his knees before Rand. "My Lord Dragon," Masema intoned solemnly. There was a ragged, half-hearted cheer from Masema’s rag-tag followers. ‘My rag-tag followers, too,’ he thought dryly.

"Masema," he acknowledged the man coldly, face blank. He was aware of Cadsuane and Amys’ disapproval. He disapproved of the man, himself, and he thought it showed. If Masema was aware of any of this, however, he gave no sign.

"My Lord Dragon, I have been eagerly awaiting the day when I might stand by your side once more." The way he nervously wet his lips as he spoke was almost amusing, in a way. "My Lord Dragon, I must tell you that people who call themselves your allies have been harboring evil villains, and fighting by their sides."

Perrin’s head snapped up, and he opened his mouth to protest angrily. Rand held up a forestalling hand. "Really."

Masema directed a brief, triumphant glance at Perrin. "Indeed, my Lord Dragon. Perrin Aybarra has recently allied himself with Whitecloaks, who persecute your followers and deny you." His face gleamed with fervor. "You must not allow them to get away with such blasphemy, my Lord Dragon."

This was what he had been dreading. Amys’ face was like stone. Narishma was grimacing as if he’d tasted something rotten. Flinn stared intently at Rand, as did Corelle and the other Aes Sedai.

"Mustn’t I?" His tone was soft: dangerously soft. Masema blinked, shifting uneasily on the hard ground. He opened his mouth to speak. "Where are these Whitecloaks?" He directed his question at Perrin.

His turned to look behind him, where a tall figure clad white as snow was coming out of the crowd, which parted quickly before him. They were at least a dozen lengths away, but it seemed to Rand that their eyes met, regardless; he could see them suddenly, coal-black eyes that stared right into his soul. His heart clenched painfully. They were so beautiful, like polished black gems that connected to his soul. He knew this man.

Beside him, Amys made a small sound in the back of her throat. It broke the spell. He was suddenly aware of himself: staring with widened eyes, lips parted. He closed his mouth and swallowed. Hard.

For all he’d stared, he hadn’t actually seen the man. But now he was almost close enough to touch, and Rand was a little dazzled by his beauty. Dark and graceful, it reminded him of Lanfear… Until he looked into those eyes again, and knew without a doubt that this man, this Whitecloak, would never hurt him.

Perrin cleared his throat, and Rand started. He’d come up to stand beside the Child, face set in hard lines. He was not happy to be near this man.

Suddenly aware of Cadsuane’s scrutiny, he made more of a show of studying him. It struck him then that he really did know him. But that too-beautiful face—so familiar—gave nothing away.

He spared a brief glance for Cadsuane, who raised a brow ever so slightly. Your call, she seemed to say. He returned his gaze to the Whitecloak. "You command the Whi—Children of the Light here?"

He stiffened ever so slightly. "I’m the Lord Captain Commander of the Children. Lord Dragon." Masema rose angrily, ready to tear into him. Without thinking, Rand stepped between them, facing the dark man.

"Forgive me, but you seem familiar." Masema’s stillness was palpable. Rand thought he could almost feel the Prophet’s thoughts racing. "Have we met?"

"Once." Cadsuane made a soft sound, and the man tilted his head. "I doubt you remember me. We weren’t introduced." He bowed solemnly, with what Rand thought was a smile. Impossible. Just a small curve of his lips. "Galadedrid Damodred. At your service." The last was soft, almost a whisper. Terribly intimate to Rand’s ears.

"Damodred—" He frowned. Then his eyes widened with shock. "Oh! Galad…" It was not his imagination this time; Galad was definitely smiling. "You’re—Elayne’s brother."

"I am." Rand stood silently, stunned. ’Not just Elayne’s brother—mine. My brother.’

"My Lord Dragon," Masema sidled like a nervous gelding, licking his lips. "You’re accquainted with this… man?"

Rand was not aware of his eyes hardening as he turned to stare at the self-named Prophet. "Accquainted. Yes."

Masema’s mouth worked, but nothing came out. "It’s far too unpleasant out here to conduct proper meetings," Cadsuane said abruptly. Coming to his rescue, he thought.

"You’re right. We should go back to the tents."

The shout went up, and the mass of people wearily trudged back to the camp. Rand was brought a horse—not his own, but they’d come here in such a hurry he hadn’t had time to get Tai’shaidar or Jeade’en. It was a good animal of Tairen stock, black as the night (or Galad’s eyes, a little voice insisted, but not nearly as beautiful as those glossy orbs). He mounted up, urging the animal to pick up pace despite the snow. He wanted to get to the camp as quickly as possible.

"My Lord Dragon!" This, a honeyed voice he’d missed on the hill. He twisted in his saddle as Berelain urged her mount closer to his. Amys surprised him by moving aside so Berelain could get closer to him.

"My Lady First." He gave a clumsy bow from his saddle. "I’ve missed your council."

"You honor me." Her dark eyes studied him intently. She leaned in, placing a hand on his arm. "You look tired."

"So do you." She was hardly one to talk. The dark circles beneath her eyes didn’t diminish her beauty, but the dullness of eyes and expression did.

She smiled, the smallest twitch of her lips. He was grateful for her presence, if only because her beauty might keep him from thinking of Galad. Except, of course, that it didn’t. He found his eyes yet drawn irresistibly to the striking figure riding by Cadsuane. She was saying something—what, Rand was too far away to hear—and Galad was studying her with a frown, silent. He wanted to tell her to leave him alone. The feeling of protectiveness suddenly surging within him was nearly overwhelming.

"Interesting fellow," Berelain followed his gaze. "Not your usual sort of Whitecloak. Elayne Trakand’s brother, did you say?"

He nodded, looking back at her. She pursed her lips thoughtfully, but said nothing. His gaze once more went to Galad. ’What should I do,’ he wondered. ’Should I say something, or just not tell him?’ There was no answer forthcoming. ’Should I? Lews Therin! What should I do?’

But for once, Lews Therin had nothing to say.

~**~

"He must die." Rand met Amys flat stare with a level look of his own. He didn’t want to admit it, but he privately thought that Amys might be right. There was something entirely too suspicious about Masema. Rand didn’t want to believe he was a Darkfriend, but there was definitely something rotten going on.

"Perhaps."

"I think she’s right." Rand glanced at his friend in surprise. Perrin’s face had twisted into a pained grimace. He wasn’t the only one who was surprised; Berelain’s jaw hung loose, and even Amys looked startled. Perrin’s gaze locked on Rand. "He’s like a rabid dog, Rand. I know. He has to be put down."

He studied his friend with a frown. Perrin was the very last person he would have expected to express that particular sentiment. Finally, he nodded slowly. Narishma exhaled noisily, drawing Rand’s gaze away from Perrin to the smaller boy. Older man, he corrected himself. Narishma dropped his eyes, looking sheepish.

"I believe you’ve made the right decision," Galad offered quietly. Rand’s eyes darted involuntarily to him, then settled on Sulin, standing beyond Galad. "That man is mad, or he’s evil, but either way he’s too dangerous to be allowed to continue his senseless violence any longer."

Perrin grunted, a semi-vocalized expression of the disapproval most of the others held for the Whitecloaks. Rand had had unpleasant experiences with the Children, true; but he was willing to give them a chance. ’And it has nothing to do with a pretty pair of black eyes,’ he told himself firmly. He was willing to concede, however, that his willingness to trust Galad might have something to do with the fact that they were related. ’I want to trust him, even though I know it may be a bad idea.’ But no, hadn’t Elayne always complained that Galad always did what was right? Rand only hoped that Galad considered what he was doing to be "right."

"Of course." Rand rose, stretched. "We’ll discuss this tomorrow," he told them in a tone that brooked no argument. He frowned at Cadsuane, but she only smiled pleasantly and nodded. Suspicion stirred within him. What was she up to now?

Galad caught his arm before he could begin filing out with the others. "Come to my tent for a drink before you retire," he said softly. "There are a few things—and people—I wish to talk to you about."

Rand stared at him blankly for a moment before it clicked. ’Elayne. Of course. He’s probably worried about her.’

"Fine."

Narishma and Flinn (and consequently Merise and Corele) lingered behind with the Maidens, waiting for him. "Alone," he told them flatly.

Narishma opened his mouth to protest, but Flinn beat him to it. "At least let us accompany you into the Whitecloak’s camp, my Lord Dragon."

Galad shrugged, as if it made no difference to him. Rand nodded his consent, and they trailed after him. Well, the Asha’man trailed, at least. Merise and Corelle paced serenely at his side, eyes fixed on Galad, who paced on his other side. Corele’s eyes were bright with interest, and she had a small smile on her face. Out of all Cadsuane’s cronies, Rand liked Corele the best. Merise’s face was set in hard, disapproving lines as she glared at Galad. Out of all Cadsuane’s cronies, she was probably his least favorite, followed by Daigian in close second.

She wasn’t any happier to enter the Whitecloak camp. Her spine stiffened, and her expression became even more disagreeable, if that were even possible. Rand pursed his lips to keep back a smile. He wasn’t that petty… honest. But the thinly veiled hostility emanating from the Whitecloaks soon erased any trace of humor. Hard eyes followed the Aes Sedai and Asha’man—or was it he, the Dragon Reborn, that they were looking at? —Warily, angrily, resentfully. It was a great relief when they finally came to the large tent in the middle of the encampment that served as housing for the Lord Captain Commander.

The guards glared past Rand at the Aes Sedai, contempt and fear warring in their expressions, moving as if to block their way. Galad gestured subtly, a bare flick of his fingers, and the guards abruptly backed off. He gestured to the tent flap with a small bow, indicating he wished Rand to proceed him. Rand acknowledged him with a nod, then turned to look at Flinn and the others. "Go back to Perrin’s camp," he told them. "Make sure—make sure everything is all right."

Merise sniffed. "And who is going to make sure you are all right?" Her eyes flicked to Galad, posed patiently beside the tent flap.

"I’ll make sure I’m all right." He turned and walked through the flap, pausing for a moment. "Don’t let me catch you lingering around here," he warned the two Asha’man. Narishma frowned at him, but Flinn nodded and placed a hand on the younger man’s arm.

Galad moved suddenly, and Rand almost jumped at the feeling of a hand pressing against his back, but instead allowed Galad to push him lightly inside.

The tent was divided into two sections. The first, where they were, contained a sturdy oak desk, a few chairs, and a table. The second he assumed was for sleeping. It was dim, lit only by a single lamp in an out-of-the-way corner. He blinked several times, eyes trying to adjust. Galad went immediately to the chair behind his desk and seated himself, gesturing that Rand should do the same in one of the chairs placed in front of his desk.

Rand chose the one closest to him, sitting cautiously in case the chairs turned out to be the treacherous folding kind. He almost breathed a sigh of relief when it proved to be rock steady beneath him. No need to add to what Rand suspected might turn out to be an awkward and uncomfortable situation.

"Wine will be brought shortly," Galad informed him. "As well as a little something to eat." He flashed a smile that made Rand want to melt into his seat. "I’m rather hungry. I hope you don’t mind."

"Umm…. Me, too." Galad’s smiled, looking bemused. Rand felt heat creeping into his cheeks, fervently hoping that the redness suffusing his cheeks would be disguised by the darkness. He cleared his throat, shifting awkwardly. "So…"

Galad leaned back in his chair, almost slouching, and folded his hands on his stomach. "Have you seen my sister recently?" Rand thought that it wasn’t really a question. Galad seemed to already know.

"Yes. I’ve seen Elayne… recently." Galad made a soft sound, almost a sigh. "Umm."

"Where was she? Was she safe?"

"She was in Caemlyn, busy trying to win the throne, and about as safe as anyone could be, I guess…" His gaze drifted along the flimsy cloth walls of the tent as he spoke. "She was surrounded by Aes Sedai—oh, she was raised, now she’s an Aes Sedai, too, not just an Accepted—"

"She’s an Aes Sedai now, hmm?" Galad straightened. "I don’t suppose she’s secured the Lion Throne, as well?" To Rand’s ears, he sounded sardonic.

"No, not as far as I know."

Galad leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk. "Was Gawyn there?" Rand shook his head.

"Hmm. Tell me honestly—did you kill Morgase?"

"No!"

He nodded. "Is she still alive?"

"I don’t think so."

"What about Gawyn?"

"I think so—"

"Where is he?"

"Tar Valon, I think…"

He grunted. "Are you sure?"

"No."

"You said Elayne was an Aes Sedai?"

"Yeah."        

"Do you have a Warder?"

"No."

"Good."

Rand’s jaw sagged. "What—?"

Galad sat back, folding his hands in front of him, face solemn. "Rand—may I call you that?" He barely paused for Rand’s nod of consent. "Rand, I’ve always considered myself an astute judge of character. And as far as I know," he smiled thinly "I've never been wrong."

"But—" Rand couldn't think of anything to say. "I—You—"

Galad shook his head. "This may seem abrupt, I know. But you—you probably have more need of a Warder than you realize. And I… have my own reasons for wanting to be your Warder."

Rand's mouth worked, but no sound came out. He swallowed several times, blinking owlishly. "Are you really asking me too…?" He couldn’t help the sudden surge of suspicion that narrowed his eyes and hardened his features. He leaned forward, trying to pierce Galad with his intent, distrustful gaze. "Why in the name of the Light would anyone want to be my Warder?"

Galad leaned forward as well, setting his elbows on the desk and cupping his chin in his hands. His own dark gaze pierced Rand back, eliciting unnamable emotions within him. "You’re reportedly a terrible tyrant, you know. More of a monster than the Dark One himself." Rand’s eyes widened in shock, and no little indignation. He opened his mouth to protest, but Galad forestalled him with a look.

"Somehow, however, I can’t bring myself to believe them. It might be because well before you proclaimed yourself, people who’d never even met you were inspired by your mere presence in their villages or cities to do good. People by the dozens poured into Tar Valon singing the praises of a young man from the country they’d barely known."

Galad slid forward even more, and Rand realized with a start that Galad’s face was a mere finger length from his own. As he’d spoken, he’d risen to his feet, and propelled himself forward to better stare into Rand’s eyes.

"Rand..." And now he lifted one hand, lightly cupping Rand’s cheek. Rand almost lost himself in Galad’s dark, intense gaze. "This may sound silly, but I feel strongly that I must protect you." His voice dropped to a low, warm murmur. "I want to be close to you. Make sure you come to no harm. Advise you. I’ve considerable talent when it comes to war and strategy." The flickering lamplight caught Galad’s ivory skin, making it glow with fiery orange. "Allow me to be part of your intimate councils, and I assure you, you will not be disappointed. Besides," his voice returned to normal pitch as he straightened, "it seems to me you have far to many people close to you who all share the same biases. A fresh perspective will do your councils a world of good."

Rand swallowed. Was it just his imagination, or had there been an emphasis on the word "intimate?" Was he just imagining the sexual connotation of Galad’s words? He firmly dismissed the thought. "Forgive me if I seem skeptical," he said, more harshly than he’d intended. "But I can’t help but think that if this is some sort of ploy to get into my confidence, it’s rather too obvious—and too unbelievable!—to
succeed."

Galad’s chin jerked up, eyes flashing dangerously, and Rand’s lips almost twitched as he pictured Elayne doing the same frustrated gesture. ’And she says they’re nothing alike,’ he thought dryly.

"Forgive me for being insulted at your insinuation that I am anything less than honest," the dark-haired man replied icily. "I assure you, I do not seek to deceive you." He folded his arms across his chest and cut his eyes at Rand, demanding in a half-angry, half-frustrated voice, "What are you afraid of?"

In an instant, Rand was on his feet, temper flaring with the perceived challenge. Before he even realized what he was doing he reached across the desk, grabbing a fistful of the fine material of Galad’s tunic and jerking the startled man forward to press his lips firmly against Rand’s own. He’d seen it done only once, but the weave came easily to him.

Galad made a startled noise and tried to jerk back, but stilled when the weave settled on him. For only a moment, and then he was overwhelmed by intense pleasure, strumming within him, intensity increasing until he was afraid he was going to explode. Rand knew, because he felt it, too. And all the while Galad’s mouth worked against his, tongues alternately clashing and twining as they were both swept away by sensation.

Abruptly as it began, it was over. Their mouths stilled simultaneously, and they stared into each other’s eyes, panting heavily, for several long moments. Rand’s knees were weak, and he knew that Galad teetered on the verge of collapse. His large, expressive dark eyes had gone glassy with shock. He licked his lips uncertainly—and licked Rand’s as well, because their lips were still touching, though no longer pressed together.

Rand released his hold on Galad’s tunic, and together they dropped back into the chairs. Silence reigned for several long moments, and then was broken by the arrival of the servants with the food Galad had promised. Both dark eyes and light darted to them as they entered.

’How…. opportune of them,’ Rand thought with a vague sense of amusement. His gaze met Galad’s again, and they both smiled, sharing the amusement. Galad was a spot of bright light, a warm beacon within his head. He reached to Galad through the bond with a sense of wonderment, feeling closer to him than he’d ever felt to another human being, even Elayne, Min or Aviendha.

The tea tray held by a plumply pleasant young woman rattled loudly, and all the servants jumped. Rand wondered what it must look like to them—silence, broken only by the heavy breathing of the Lord Captain Commander of the Children and the Dragon Reborn, both of whom were sprawled gracelessly in the seats like a couple of weary young country boys. He began to laugh. After a moment, Galad joined in, and they continued to chortle until well after the servants had left…. Although for the life of him, Rand couldn’t see what they both found so funny.

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