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 insignifican
t.
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 sensed"
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."