Andor, bloody FINALLY [Tuesday, Fandom time]
In the week that had passed since Homecoming, Mat had noticed something very odd happening as he and the Band (and Joline and Teslyn, the bloody Aes Sedai he couldn't seem to get rid of, and Thom, and Olver, and...just shut up, okay, they were still moving faster than they had with the circus) rode toward Andor. With all of the lifetimes the bloody foxes had crammed into his head, Mat was used to the occasional misstep as he called someone by the name of a person who'd died 300 years ago, or recognized a bit of land from a battle around the Trolloc Wars, but this had been happening with more frequency over the last few days, and with people who he'd sworn had been there just an hour before.
He was pretty sure he wasn't going mad.
He nudged Pips over beside the nag Thom was riding and struck up a conversation. "I never thought that of the three of us, Rand--" he tried to ignore the scene that flashed before his eyes of Rand peering over a map of the Borderlands and looking as serious as he'd ever seen him--"would be the last to be married."
Thom stared at him blankly. "When did you get married?"
"Blood and ashes!" Mat exploded. "Has everyone gone mad but me? Tuon! Short, bald, Daughter of the Bloody Nine Moons, next in line to rule the Seanchan?"
"The who, my lord?" Edorion asked finally in the deep silence that had sprung up around Mat's outburst.
Mat muttered to himself in the Old Tongue before gesturing for the Aes Sedai--who had been eavesdropping shamelessly--to come closer. "Time to put your bloody knowledge to use," he barked. "What would make entire people or nations just...disappear from memory?"
Joline went pale as she glanced at Teslyn. "Balefire," she whispered. "In the time of the War of the Shadow, they almost unraveled the entire Pattern using too much of it."
There was only one "they" when the War of the Shadow came up--The Forsaken.
"Tarmon Gai'don," Mat murmured, feeling his blood run cold and the dice in his head come to a sudden, crashing halt. "It's the bloody end of the world." He tensed the muscles in his jaw and felt an immediate, almost irrestible pull toward the Borderlands. Flaming Rand and his bloody Dragon Reborn...ness. "Right then," he said, raising his voice. "We ride to the Borderlands!"
The Band reacted with cheers that would generally greet the news that they were heading to a village full of beautiful women who liked kissing soldiers. Bloody mad, the lot of them.
"Time to toss the dice," he said to himself as the Band began marching double-time.
There was still time for a few letters, though, and Mat had never seen the point in playing by the rules when no one else was. The handwriting was terrible (as he was writing from the back of a horse moving at a trot) but the seriousness of the situation was kind of obvious:
Arthur,
You remember me getting married, right? Tuon? Dark, bald, not overly smiley? Seems no one else here bloody does, and the Aes Sedai who (while bloody irritating) are trained to know these things are saying that memory gaps like this are probably linked to overuse of something called balefire, which can only mean that the Last Battle's bloody here.
Don't suppose you would want to come and help with that?
--Mat
And then another, more general letter:
Hello, Fandom person:
You might not know me. I'm Mat Cauthon and I graduated from our bloody insane school a few years ago. My dimension is suffering a small...end of the world...thing...and I know how much that excites the crazy adrenaline junkies student population. If you've got some time on your hands (and maybe access to magic or giant guns, or things that can fly) and can catch a portal to my dimension (the coordinates are at the bottom of the letter) too help, I'll kiss you square on the lips.
Even the men. Unless you don't want me too. Write back if you can--I have a ter'angreal (magic thingie) that lets me receive mail--but even if you just show up in Shienar assuming it still bloody exists...well, I'd appreciate it.
--Matrim Cauthon, Prince of Ravens, General of the Band of the Red Hand, Bloody Ta'vern and All Around Nice Guy Who Is Rather Screwed Right Now...
[OOC: Open to everyone to answer, but let's say that Travelocity declares Mat's dimension too unstable to book passage to right now. Sigh. Poor doomed Mat.]
He was pretty sure he wasn't going mad.
He nudged Pips over beside the nag Thom was riding and struck up a conversation. "I never thought that of the three of us, Rand--" he tried to ignore the scene that flashed before his eyes of Rand peering over a map of the Borderlands and looking as serious as he'd ever seen him--"would be the last to be married."
Thom stared at him blankly. "When did you get married?"
"Blood and ashes!" Mat exploded. "Has everyone gone mad but me? Tuon! Short, bald, Daughter of the Bloody Nine Moons, next in line to rule the Seanchan?"
"The who, my lord?" Edorion asked finally in the deep silence that had sprung up around Mat's outburst.
Mat muttered to himself in the Old Tongue before gesturing for the Aes Sedai--who had been eavesdropping shamelessly--to come closer. "Time to put your bloody knowledge to use," he barked. "What would make entire people or nations just...disappear from memory?"
Joline went pale as she glanced at Teslyn. "Balefire," she whispered. "In the time of the War of the Shadow, they almost unraveled the entire Pattern using too much of it."
There was only one "they" when the War of the Shadow came up--The Forsaken.
"Tarmon Gai'don," Mat murmured, feeling his blood run cold and the dice in his head come to a sudden, crashing halt. "It's the bloody end of the world." He tensed the muscles in his jaw and felt an immediate, almost irrestible pull toward the Borderlands. Flaming Rand and his bloody Dragon Reborn...ness. "Right then," he said, raising his voice. "We ride to the Borderlands!"
The Band reacted with cheers that would generally greet the news that they were heading to a village full of beautiful women who liked kissing soldiers. Bloody mad, the lot of them.
"Time to toss the dice," he said to himself as the Band began marching double-time.
There was still time for a few letters, though, and Mat had never seen the point in playing by the rules when no one else was. The handwriting was terrible (as he was writing from the back of a horse moving at a trot) but the seriousness of the situation was kind of obvious:
Arthur,
You remember me getting married, right? Tuon? Dark, bald, not overly smiley? Seems no one else here bloody does, and the Aes Sedai who (while bloody irritating) are trained to know these things are saying that memory gaps like this are probably linked to overuse of something called balefire, which can only mean that the Last Battle's bloody here.
Don't suppose you would want to come and help with that?
--Mat
And then another, more general letter:
Hello, Fandom person:
You might not know me. I'm Mat Cauthon and I graduated from our bloody insane school a few years ago. My dimension is suffering a small...end of the world...thing...and I know how much that excites the crazy adrenaline junkies student population. If you've got some time on your hands (and maybe access to magic or giant guns, or things that can fly) and can catch a portal to my dimension (the coordinates are at the bottom of the letter) too help, I'll kiss you square on the lips.
Even the men. Unless you don't want me too. Write back if you can--I have a ter'angreal (magic thingie) that lets me receive mail--but even if you just show up in Shienar assuming it still bloody exists...well, I'd appreciate it.
--Matrim Cauthon, Prince of Ravens, General of the Band of the Red Hand, Bloody Ta'vern and All Around Nice Guy Who Is Rather Screwed Right Now...
[OOC: Open to everyone to answer, but let's say that Travelocity declares Mat's dimension too unstable to book passage to right now. Sigh. Poor doomed Mat.]