Gawyn shook his head. "I've another path to take. But, the Light willing, I'll end up close enough to keep an eye on you." He nodded toward the room. "Go back to your games. I'll speak to Makzim for you as well." Makzim was the stern, thick-armed Warder currently leading the training sessions.

Celark nodded gratefully, hurrying back to the others. Gawyn continued down the corridor, wishing his choices were as easy as those of his men.

Lost in thought, he'd climbed halfway to Egwene's rooms before he stopped to realize what he was doing. I need something to distract me. The hour wasn't too late. Perhaps he could find Bryne and chat.

Gawyn made his way to Bryne's rooms. If Gawyn had a strange position among the Aes Sedai, Bryne's was nearly as odd: Warder to the former Amyrlin, general of Egwene's conquering army, and renowned great captain. Bryne's door was open a crack, emitting a line of light across the blue-tiled corridor. That was his habit when he was in and awake, should one of his officers need him. Many nights Bryne was away, staying at one of his command centers around the island or in a nearby village.

Gawyn knocked softly.

"Come." Bryne's voice was firm and familiar. Gawyn slipped in, then returned the door to its cracked position. Bryne sat at a rickety-looking desk, working on a letter. He glanced at Gawyn. "Just a moment."

Gawyn waited. The walls were papered with maps of Tar Valon, Andor, Cairhien and surrounding regions. Many bore recent notations in red chalk. Bryne was preparing for war. The notations made it clear he felt he'd eventually have to defend Tar Valon itself against Trollocs. Several maps showed villages across the northern part of the countryside, listing their fortifications—if any—and their loyalty to Tar Valon. They'd be used for supply dumps and forward positions. Another map had circles pointing out ancient watchtowers, fortifications and ruins.

There was a methodical inevitability to Bryne's calculations, and a sense of urgency. He wasn't looking to build fortifications, but to use those already in place. He was moving troops into the villages he felt most useful; another map showed progress in active recruitment.

It wasn't until Gawyn stood there—smelling the musty scent of old paper and burning candles—that he felt the reality of the impending war. It was coming soon. The Dragon would break the seals of the Dark One's prison. The place he had told Egwene to meet him, the Field of Merrilor, was marked in bright red on the maps. It was north, on the border of Shienar.

The Dark One. Loose upon the world. Light! It made Gawyn's own problems insignificant.

Bryne finished his letter, sanding the paper, folding it, and reaching for his wax and seal. "It's a little late for calling on people, son."

"I know, but I thought you might be up."

"And so I am." Bryne dribbled wax onto the letter. "What is it you need?"

"Advice," Gawyn said, sitting on a stool.

"Unless it's about the best way to quarter a group of men or how to fortify a hilltop, you'll find my advice lacking. But what is it you want to talk about?"

"Egwene forbade me to protect her."

"I'm certain the Amyrlin had her reasons," Bryne said, calmly sealing the letter.

"Foolish ones," Gawyn said. "She has no Warder, and there is a killer in the Tower." One of the Forsaken, he thought.

"Both true," Bryne said. "But what does that have to do with you?"

"She needs my protection."

"Did she ask for your protection?"

"No."

"Indeed. As I recall, she didn't ask you to come with her into the Tower either nor did she ask for you to begin following her about like a hound that has lost his master."

"But she needs me!" Gawyn said.

"Interesting. The last time you thought that, you—with my help—upset weeks' worth of her work to reunite the White Tower. Sometimes, son, our help is not needed. No matter how freely offered, or how urgent that help may seem."

Gawyn folded his arms, unable to lean against the wall, lest he disturb a map showing orchards across the surrounding countryside. One village near Dragonmount was circled four times, for some reason. "So your advice is to let her remain exposed, perhaps to take a knife in the back."

"I haven't given any advice," Bryne said, leafing through some reports on his desk, his firm face lit by flickering candlelight. "I have only made observations, though I think it curious that you conclude that you should leave her alone."

"I… Bryne, she doesn't make sense!"

The corner of Bryne's mouth raised in a wry smile. He lowered his papers, turning to Gawyn. "I warned you that my advice would be of little use. I'm not sure if there are answers that will suit you. But let me ask this: What is it you want, Gawyn Trakand?"

"Egwene," he said immediately. "I want to be her Warder."

"Well, which is it?"

Gawyn frowned.

"Do you want Egwene, or do you want to be her Warder?"

"To be her Warder, of course. And… and, well, to marry her. I love her, Bryne."

"It seems to me that those are two different things. Similar, but separate. But, other than things to do with Egwene, what is it that you want?"

"Nothing," Gawyn said. "She's everything."

"Well, there's your problem."

"How is that a problem? I love her."

"So you said." Bryne regarded Gawyn, one arm on the table, the other resting on his leg. Gawyn resisted the urge to squirm beneath that gaze. "You always were the passionate one, Gawyn. Like your mother and your sister. Impulsive, never calculating like your brother."

"Galad doesn't calculate," Gawyn said. "He just acts."

"No," Bryne said. "Perhaps I spoke wrong—Galad may not be calculating, but he isn't impulsive. To be impulsive is to act without careful thought; Galad has given everything a great deal of thought. He's worked out his code of morality that way. He can act quickly and decisively because he's already determined what to do.

"You act with passion. You don't act because of the way you think, but because of the way you feel. In a rush, with a snap of emotion. That gives you strength. You can act when you need to, then sort through the ramifications later. Your instincts are usually good, just like your mother's were. But because of that, you've never had to face what to do when your instincts lead you in the wrong direction."

Gawyn found himself nodding.

"But son," Bryne said, leaning forward. "A man is more than one drive one goal. No woman wants that in a man. It seems to me that men who spend time making something of themselves—rather than professing their devotion—are the ones who get somewhere. Both with women, and with life itself." Bryne rubbed his chin. "So, if I have advice for you, it's this: Find out who you would be without Egwene, and then figure out how to fit her into that. I think that's what a woman—"

"You're an expert on women now?" a new voice asked.

Gawyn turned, surprised, to find Siuan Sanche pushing open the door.

Bryne didn't miss a beat. "You've been there listening long enough, Siuan, to know that's not what the conversation was about."

Siuan snorted, bustling into the room with a pot of tea. "You should be in bed," she said, ignoring Gawyn after a cursory glance.

"Very true," Bryne said casually. "Oddly, the needs of the land don't submit to my whims."