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[lastgunslinger]

It's simple enough, in the end.

One day Roland leaves the castle to go a-walking; he stays gone for a while. When he returns, it raises no eyebrows.

He smiles.

Time to go alleyo.




It's simple enough, in the end: a section of the forest on the outskirts of the barony of New Canaan. A door, ghostwood, familiar. Not as though he doesn't know what to expect, with the chimes, the brief sensation of falling.





He might even lose his balance and stumble, just a little, when he appears not in front of the bar, but by the lake -- by the Caribbean inlet, in fact. Tide's coming in.

Roland Deschain looks up at the stars, takes in a breath, and does not smile in the least.

He'll stay put, he thinks, looking at the building and the lights, hearing faint sounds of water, glass, low voices. For now.

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[river_meimei]

River's been outside for a while, lying contentedly on the grass down by the cool mock-Scottish lake. Through the sunset, and into the stars.

She's not looking around.


Except --

(con yer vantage)

except --

she's a gunslinger, and she's River Tam, and something pulls her eyes sideways.

[lastgunslinger]

Footsteps, still a long way away.

He'd not go inside yet -- not yet -- but he can walk. See what's changed, mayhap.





There's a body in the grass.

Some things, he thinks, a little wry, do not change at all, around here.

[river_meimei]

The body is staring at him.




It -- she -- is also breathing, and one hand is clenched tight in the grass. With a convulsive movement, River shoves herself up to a sitting position, still staring.

[lastgunslinger]

Roland is, now, very much taller than her.

He doesn't stop moving.

For one who knows him well, there's something a little pleased (or rather, smug) in his expression.

[river_meimei]

He's still there.


She gets confused, she knows, and -- and even now she does, and it's Milliways, but--



It's Milliways, and he's still there.

And River's on her feet, and moving.

[lastgunslinger]

"Hile, gunslinger."

The words don't come casually; Roland's rarely do.

And there: a very, very small smile.

[river_meimei]

River pulls to a halt, a few feet from him; in arms' reach, but not touching. She's tense, poised, pale under the starlight.

Her mouth opens a little, in silence.




"Hile," she whispers, and there's the smile, swift and tremulous and brightening her whole face, and there, invisible under the night sky, is the abrupt glitter of tears in her eyes.

[lastgunslinger]

And as though it's only been a few days, he asks, mildly, "How are your tricks?"

[river_meimei]

River swallows.

"I'm okay."

From River, these words are never, ever meaningless.

[lastgunslinger]

He lifts his right hand, the one with two fingers gone, and rests it heavily on her shoulder, eyes narrowing as he takes her in. Scrutinizes her.

"You're sure."

[river_meimei]

River meets his eyes.

And her eye contact isn't quite normal, even in this half-light -- too steady, focused just a little beyond -- but all the same, she doesn't look away.

(Even when that three-fingered hand grips her shoulder, calluses rough against cotton and skin, and a tear spills over.)



"Got the ma-sun."

She's not wearing guns.

But she doesn't ask Simon when she takes them out of storage, now.

[lastgunslinger]

He cracks a smile.

"It is very well, River."

[river_meimei]

River's smile crooks a little upwards; firms a little more.

(do you know what mo cuishle means?)

She moves without warning: two abrupt steps forward, and her cheek is against Roland's chest and her eyes closed, and she pulls in one deep breath.

Her arms don't go around him; she just leans, in silence.

[blue_ajah]

It is some time later before she closes her journal and stretches stiff muscles.

Moiraine eyes the lake door, thoughtfully, then shrugs.

Soon after, the Aes Sedai is gliding down the narrow path that leads toward the shore.

[lastgunslinger]

Roland, meanwhile, has circled the lake from the inlet, and has passed the slightly weathered freestanding swing.

He's about twenty feet to the right of it, with his back to the bar, and his bare head tilted back.

[blue_ajah]

The sun has set, and night descended. The sky above shines like jewel-studded fabric as she makes her way carefully toward the water's edge.

There is a tall shadow to one side, somewhat distant; a figure of a man, standing still and quiet.

She glances at him, assessing the potential for threat out of long, long habit.



Moiraine slows to a stop, studying him.

Dark eyes narrow.

[lastgunslinger]

"Long days," Roland says, mild, "and pleasant nights."

[blue_ajah]

She goes absolutely still, a slender, fragile figure of a woman who might as well now be a statue.

"... and may you have twice the number," the Aes Sedai replies softly, after a long, frozen instant.

Very, very softly.

[lastgunslinger]

Now he turns around, head canting slightly to the left.

"Moiraine Sedai."

[blue_ajah]

"Roland Deschain," she replies.

A pause.

"It is good to see you."

[lastgunslinger]

"And you." His head tilts a little further as he takes her in. "You've been occupied?"

[blue_ajah]

"I would not disagree," Moiraine tells him.


"And yourself?" A beat. "I did not expect to see you here, as I think you may know."

And if he does not, that in itself will tell her much.

[lastgunslinger]

A faint smile, brief.

"I've been occupied some. Not as much, lately."

Something hangs from his neck; it is not a silver medal.

[blue_ajah]

"Is it so?"

Her glance drifts to the jade lion before returning to his face, almost as if searching for something.

[lastgunslinger]

Roland is as inscrutable as ever.

"It's so."

(Inscrutable, and smug.)