“Has she seen Elayne?” Rand asked. “You mentioned Whitecloaks—how did he run into Whitecloaks?” Tam began to answer, but Rand held up his 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.”
Tam 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.
Tam stepped up beside him.
“I’m afraid I lost your sword,” Rand found himself saying. It felt foolish.
“That’s all right,” Tam said. “I don’t know that I ever deserved the thing anyway.”
“Were you really a blademaster?”
Tam nodded. “I suppose. I killed a man who was one, did it in front of witnesses, but I’ve never
forgiven myself for it. Though it needed doing.”
“The ones that need to be done often seem the ones that we least like to have to do.”
“That’s the truth if I’ve ever heard it,” Tam said, sighing softly, leaning on the balcony railing. Lit windows were beginning to shine in the darkness below. “It’s so strange. My boy, the Dragon Reborn. All of those stories I heard when traveling the world, I’m part of them.”
“Think how it feels for me,” Rand said.
Tam chuckled. “Yes. Yes, I suppose you understand exactly what I mean, don’t you? Funny, isn’t it?”
“Funny?” Rand shook his head. “No. Not, that. My life isn’t my own. I’m a puppet for the Pattern and the prophecies, made to dance for the world before having my strings cut.”