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Compromises

Summary:

A collection of ficlets exploring Mat and Fortuona's weird ass relationship after the Last Battle.

This collection assumes the reader has read the entire series and references events in the books.

 

A/N: While not abandoned, I currently don't have a lot of motivation for this pair right now so it'll probably be a hot sec before I get around to updating.

Notes:

Hey guys, thanks for checking this out! I'm writing these as practice, so characters may feel off, though I'm doing my best to stay more true to RJ's Mat than Sanderson's. Also because I think that Mat and Fortuona could have a nice relationship if they'd sit down, communicate and compromise a little. Also if Fortuona would loosen up a little and stop lying to herself. We all see you honey.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Nails

Chapter Text

“Tuon, I can't wear those bloody things!" Mat hissed quietly as his wife glided about his bedchamber. He felt like an insect under observation with the way she silently inspected his belongings, then him with those beautiful dark eyes. Her lips were pursed in… annoyance? Disappointment? Blood and bloody ashes, she had him pinned like one of those displays in Rand's schools. 

“It is proper, Knotai.” She drawled at him finally as she took her eyes away, clicking her own long, lacquered nails on a piece of furniture as if to emphasize the fact. She also emphasized his name. His new one. He really should try to use her proper name, but it was such a mouthful. He liked the way Tuon rolled off his tongue. It was a pretty name. Still… He frowned, unlit pipe shifting from one side of his mouth. He hadn't forgotten her comment about being off the hook. How much truth was there in that? He'd been locking the doors to his apartments, just in case. He hadn't heard any bloody dice in his head, and somehow, he knew they were gone. Permanently. He needed to use his wits, not his luck. 

If she didn't send any assassins, then one of the Blood would. Yulan had been executed, just in case, but there were others. Sycophants that didn't like him. Dissenters. Generals that stood to gain rank from his death. He still wasn't sure about Galgan, even though the man had sided with him in the faked fight. Galgan stood to gain a lot if he died. He had sealed up the servant's entrance, made sure the screens on his windows were secure and at night he blocked the balcony doors. If he could climb into the palace, so could someone else. Most of the time he didn't even sleep in his own bed. 

She was still looking over his scant belongings. He didn't understand what she was looking for. He didn't have a whole lot that wasn't already in the room, not that he’d had a lot of possessions to begin with. His ashandarei was against the wall next to him, but she'd seen that plenty. Outside of that, he had a chest he kept under his bed with some gold and good plain clothes he'd tucked away. He didn't intend to go anywhere right now, but if he had to, he knew his way out. After Tylin, he always had a way out. 

Beyond that, he had his hat and a few odds and ends here and there. Mostly trinkets and random things he'd picked up or been given. She was inspecting those right now. He glanced at the balcony, slowly shifting the pipe around in his mouth. Outside the worked wooden screen was Ebou Dar. He could hear the sounds of the square. People milling about on their way, gulls calling, hawkers shouting in the distance. 

“Why do you say you can not wear them?" Tuon, no, Fortuona –he needed to get better about that–hummed.

His head snapped back around. She was studying a rock that Olver had given him. He was pretty sure she'd seen the boy hand it to him so very long ago. He couldn't be sure. Olver had brought him several rocks. Mat had also lost several with all the running the Band had done. “Well…for starters, I couldn't handle my ashandarei with nails as long as the Blood wears them. I'm not used to it.” This argument he was ready for. He'd worked this out a while back. She hummed, moving her attention to another trinket. He wasn't even sure where it had come from now. That knowledge was probably locked away in one of those holes in his memory. 

He continued, “They’d get in my way. Look what happened the last bloody time.” He caught a pursing of her lips at his language, so he tried to lighten the mood. “I'd be accidentally raising people to the Blood every time I went outside.” He shook his head with a laugh, taking the pipe from his mouth. He was low on tabac, but having his pipe handy helped. “Could you imagine? People lining up to see me because I might snap a nail." 

That she seemed to consider, nodding. Her lips quirked up. At what, he couldn't tell. He knew so precious little about her. Was it his joke, or something else. "And what of lacquer?" She had moved on to stare at a little fox he’d whittled out of boredom recently. "Where did you get this?" 

He had opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again. That was certainly a change in subject. “I made it." 

“I want it." She had not touched it yet, however.

What? His eyebrows raised and he nodded, “Sure thing. I could make you a better one though…” What could she want with such a worthless little hunk of wood? It wasn't even good wood, just a piece he'd snagged from a wood pile.

"I like this one." She looked up, no-nonsense eyes pinning him once more. “I want it, Knotai .’

He shrugged. “Sure, it's just a little piece of firewood.” He had no attachment to the bloody thing. If Tuo– Fortuona wanted it, she was welcome to it. Maybe she saw one of her bloody omens in it.

She plucked it from the stand he'd placed it on, and tucked it away. He looked back outside. “I'll wear the lacquer. It's not that bad, and it doesn't get in my way." Maybe she'd be less inclined to kill him, or worse, make him da’covale, if he agreed to some of it. He was keeping his bloody hat though. It has been through everything with him. Well, almost. Near enough everything.

She smiled. “Perhaps I will make a proper Prince of Ravens of you after all."

He smiled back, “Maybe so." He doubted it, but he could put up with some inconveniences to see her smile. At least, that was what he told himself. 

Chapter 2: Sign Language

Summary:

Mat asks to learn Seanchan sign language.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“Don't you think I should learn that hand talk?” Mat asked, trying to make conversation as he leaned on the wall of Tu–Fortuona’s balcony. He was getting better about that, using her proper name and all. Outside, Ebou Dar was only just waking up. He knew so little about his wife. She hardly ever answered his questions, especially now that she was Empress. Perhaps if he could ask without the danger of others overhearing, or even just understand what all the Blood were wagging their fingers about for, he might learn something. He hated not knowing. He'd even tried to pry questions out over stones, for all the good it had done him.

His wife was resting in her bed, eyes closed. She had been feeling ill the past month or so. A normal thing, he had been assured. Just the pregnancy. It was odd to see her without the executioner’s mask. Sure, he'd seen her without it while he’d been courting her. Smiles and laughter, but never vulnerable. Right now, she was just Fortuona. Not The Empress, may she live forever. Just Fortuona. He often wished she would take off the mask and let him see the real her, but she'd done that even less since she'd become Empress.

When he got no reply, he sighed and pushed off the wall. He strode back over to her and sat on the edge of the bed. She had been requesting his presence more often, to the point that he’d left his hat in the sitting room the last three nights. Not on a table mind, he remembered not to make that mistake. He didn't want to be sent out for bringing bad luck. He still had no idea how to help her. What did a man do for a pregnant wife? Blood and ashes, he knew how to handle fevers and the like, but what he wouldn’t give for some advice from Nynaeve. As much as it galled and as much as he knew he'd get an earful, he could really use her help. Maybe he could slip out for a visit. He sighed and rested his hand near hers. As much chance of him slipping out now as him suddenly sprouting wings, but a man could dream.

At night, she often wanted to curl up in his arms, only to shove him away in the mornings. He shook his head, bemused, running his other hand through his hair. She’d been trying to get him to shave it off as was proper. He kept telling her he’d look ridiculous and that even the da'covale wouldn’t be able to control their laughter if they saw him. She had reminded him that no da’covale should ever be looking at his face, but left it alone after. 

“Perhaps. You should not be speaking to those lower than you. You will need a so'jihn appointed.” She sounded miserable, the words caught between a whisper and a groan. “I will instruct Selucia to teach you. Now leave me.”

“You want me to get you anything?” He asked quietly. He wasn’t sure what he could get her, but it was better than sitting around feeling useless.

“No.” She covered her eyes with her arm. Her voice wasn’t as stern. It actually sounded rather gentle. “Thank you. Now please, leave me.”

He sighed softly. “I’ll send in Selucia.” He knew the golden-haired woman was waiting right outside. They had come to an agreement to take care of Fortuona in shifts. If one was there, the other was not, unless Fortuona demanded otherwise. He hoped Selucia hadn’t taken it upon herself to toss his hat in the hearth.

“Thank you, Knotai."

If he hadn't known better, he’d have thought the words sounded… affectionate. Of course, he did know better. Even so, it put a little bounce to his step as he strolled out, fishing his pipe from his pocket. Wonder of wonders, his hat was there. “Your turn…” He said with a smile as he stuck his pipe in his mouth, sweeping up his hat and ignoring the scowl he received from Selucia as she swept into the room. 

Notes:

Given that we see so many Blood using the Seanchan sign language, it seems only natural that Mat would eventually try to learn, even if only for personal gain.

Also, basing him sticking around and taking care of Fortuona when she has morning sickness off of when he took care of Rand when he got sick. Except, he has no idea what he's doing.

Chapter 3: Court

Summary:

Fortuona muses on her husband while holding court.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

It had been months since the Last Battle and Fortuona's rule over her lands on this side of the Aryth Ocean were becoming quite solid. It was rather unfortunate that Egwene al'Vere had been killed during the battle. As much as Fortuona had despised that woman, she had given Fortuona a way to capture damane without breaking the treaty. The new Amyrlin had not upheld the agreement made between herself and the former Amyrlin, though Knotai often reminded her that she had given her word. Annoying, that. He knew she would not break her word and used it at every opportunity he could.

She rested one hand against her swollen belly, trying desperately to listen to the petitions of her people and finding her thoughts straying. Most of the time it was Selucia doing the actual judging these days. Thinking was often difficult for her, especially after sitting in this uncomfortable throne for long periods. Most were things that should have been handled long before they reached her, but such was her duty. Well, most of it. Sitting in judgment for crimes was Knotai's duty, but he did not have a head for it. He had such strange opinions on things, but then again, he was a Westlander. All Westlanders had odd opinions.

She shifted subtly on her seat. If she had been a statelier woman, like her mother or Selucia, perhaps she could have given in to her desires to sit on a more comfortable seat. Perhaps she could have allowed herself the luxuries of showing her discomfort, but she could not. Not and still be seen as the most powerful woman in the Empire. The Blood would never say it outright, or even aloud where her Listeners could hear, but they would prod.

Someone had already begun. Knotai had slain four assassins in the past two weeks. Not ceremonial assassins to keep her strong and prove that she deserved her seat upon the Throne, but well-trained ones. She had suspicions about who it might be, but that list did not include Knotai. She had seen him in fights before, but he had almost been a different man in those fights. He usually sought for efficiency, seeking the quickest way to kill. He had not for them. He had been well and truly angry. She almost felt pity for whoever was sending those assassins if Knotai ever learned who they were. Layers upon layers. Would she ever truly know him?

Her gaze shifted to him, standing idly by where she'd eventually agreed to let him be. He was not dressed in clothing befitting his station, but she certainly found him more useful there. He listened to the murmurs of the Blood, often dressed down and appearing no higher than a commoner. She did not exactly approve, but she did not call him down and disallow it. She trusted him enough to allow him to be her ears. He seemed to like that.

He met her eyes and cracked a smile. She often wondered what was behind those mischievous leering grins. Did he think them sincere? Or was there some joke she did not know? She knew he was a trickster and a scoundrel, and that he was capable of lying to her without not being caught. He had often withheld information in the time that she knew him, or spun fanciful tales. She knew this from when they had been courting. He did not often lie now, or so she believed, but how was she to tell? 

His fingers flashed, quick and deft. Silovin is lying. He had learned the language remarkably quickly. He had also, of course, learned the proper form from Selucia, but it still amazed her how easily he'd taken to it. Another reason she found herself wary. What if he had not been lying about how he had received his hangman's scar, or about the memories? What if it wasn't silly Westlander superstition? Trollocs had not been. Neither had Myrddraal, or any of the other Shadowspawn that had once been only nightmares and stories. She had heard Selucia mention him mumbling about how it resembled some language or another. She wished she could still believe it nonsense.

One thing however, had brought her some peace and allowed her to trust him more. Since the end of the Last Battle, she hadn't felt compelled by Knotai, or rather, by what he wanted. That had been a problem. Both him and Rand al'Thor had had that effect on her, though the latter had been in magnitudes more power. She had hated it, and done everything in her power to resist it. It had certainly been a thing of evil. Knotai had never seemed to notice what he was doing to her, but how much of that had been an act? She tried to tell herself that the nonsense about ta’veren had been just that. Superstitious nonsense spread by the Westlanders, but she’d felt what she felt, and now it was gone. What did it mean? 

She'd certainly seen the darkness in Rand al'Thor, though strangely, it had been gone the second time he'd come to her. That, combined with the omens and Knotai's request to trust him had been what had finally convinced her to agree to the Dragon's Peace. Had she still seen that darkness in the Dragon Reborn, no words from her husband would have changed her mind. Worse, her husband may not have lived to see the Last Battle. 

I know. She finally signed back. She had seen through the High Lord's flimsy arguments, though she hadn't yet been able to puzzle out why the High Lord wished a member of the Low Blood dead.

According to some in the crowd, if Masin dies, Silovin has no competition. Masin was gaining a lot of influence in Seandar. I think Silovin feels threatened, but Masin couldn't have done what Silovin says, Masin arrived this morning. Someone said the heirloom wasn't even stolen, and that a servant was seen taking it to another location. The quick way he signed almost mirrored the way he spoke. Quick, as if he were rushing to get the words out. Perhaps he was, so that none of the Blood would realize that a 'commoner' was using a language they should not have known.

Her eyebrows raised. It was not necessarily improper to try to have your rival killed, but if she revealed that High Lord Silovin was lying, it would certainly lower his eyes. The extra information however was quite interesting. Knotai had been listening, and listening well. She had noticed his use of the word servant, not da'covale but that was another strange notion of his and she did not call him down on it. There was little point. She would make him see the truth of things eventually. She would also have Masin watched. Ambition was good, but she needed to be sure that he did not step above his station.

I will have Selucia make an example of him. You are doing well to convince me that I made the correct choice in allowing you to take different duties in court. 

His expression turned unreadable at that and he did not respond. A shame that he had that quirk about ordering men's deaths, even if they deserved it. She knew that it had caused more than one assassin to be sent after him. If not for that, and his truly unfortunate hatred of sitting next to her, as was his place, he would be one of the most feared and respected Prince of Ravens in centuries. She had often found herself wondering who the last four assassins had been for as of late.

He will not die. He will however have his eyes lowered for wasting our time.

He relaxed at that. An odd man. A fool on the surface with a lion underneath. Within that lion, softness and mercy in the oddest of circumstances. 

Selucia, announce that the Crystal Throne has seen through High Lord Silovin's attempts to use it to gain himself power. Warn him against doing it again as to not insinuate that the Throne is his personal assassin and remind him that the Throne has Listeners everywhere.

As Selucia began to intone, Fortuona looked out to catch Knotai's eye again, and found him missing from his spot. She frowned, until she found him leaning in another spot, close to one of the open air balconies, puffing on his pipe. It was the new one she’d given him with the fox and ravens. He had served the Throne well today. She would certainly have to remember that.

Perhaps she would publicly send him out on some ‘duty’, and insinuate to him in private that he should go see his friends. He would enjoy that. No doubt he would go visit one of the… Aes Sedai and come back with arguments about the damane, but such things were to be expected. He had such a soft heart and, though she might protest to him otherwise aloud, inside she knew the truth. She didn't want him to change that part of himself. He reminded her that mercy was not weakness, for there was very little about Knotai that could be said to be 'weak'. 

He was speaking to a commoner, sharing his tabac, and gesturing outside about something. What news would he bring her this time? Her attention returned to the petitioners before her as they shifted to allow the next one in line forward. High Lord Silovin looked poleaxed, prostrate and staring at the floor. She allowed herself a small smile as Knotai noticed the change, and extricated himself from the commoner's presence to find another spot. Oh yes, she had certainly chosen well in allowing that. Very well. 

Notes:

Decided to try a chapter from Fortuona's perspective with some things I think might prevent her from opening up to Mat that are beyond his stubborn insolence and her own upbringings.

It's noted that she could feel Rand's ta'veren nature at work, so to me, it's not a far stretch to think she might also have felt Mat's. That, combined with the fact that she found out that he had lied to her and she hadn't noticed, and his habit of withholding information does give her some grounds to be wary.

Chapter 4: Love and Lies

Summary:

Fortuona comes to terms with her feelings and the fact that she's pushing Mat away.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Fortuona knew she was lying to herself. The thought came on the heels of another of Knotai's questions about the nature of their relationship. He hadn't asked outright if she loved him. He hadn't done that since the end of the Last Battle. It had just been a comment in passing. A gentle prod and she danced around it, as she always did. Part of her regretted doing that. She knew he lied to her when he laughed in that particular way and said it didn't bother him. It was one of the biggest lies he told her still. She knew it bothered him. He would not ask every so often if it didn’t. Sure, he laughed and bluffed, but he wouldn’t look at her for a few days after and he usually found reasons to be elsewhere. He would likely find some reason to go ride out to the edge of their territory soon, if he hadn't already. She hoped for once he wouldn't.

She told herself she could never admit it out loud. The Empress couldn't be heard to say she loved any one person. The Empress was the Empire and for the good of the Empire, she could not say such things out loud where a rival or a Listener might hear. At least, that's what she told herself. She was beginning to wonder if that was true. What if she could love Knotai? What if she could tell him? Darbinda seemed to think she could and should , but Darbinda was Knotai's friend. She would naturally act in his best interests, wouldn't she? Knotai had acted in hers. At Knotai's request, Fortuona had allowed Darbinda to come and go as the Doomseer pleased. It was unorthodox, but Darbinda was not usually gone long. 

Fortuona frowned down at the Mol Hara Square, watching as her subjects milled about in their lives. How she secretly envied them. Their lives were uncomplicated, a bliss she'd briefly experienced while traveling with Valen Luca. As much as she had hated the confinement to the wagon, hated the indignities of the story Knotai had come up with, hated the meddling Aes Sedai… that time had been simple. She had not had to lie to herself then. She had, because she hadn't had the experience to understand what she felt towards Knotai, but she hadn't been forced to. Her frown deepened. She missed that simple time.  She did not regret her position. She had fought for it all her life. It was her purpose and she was proud to serve the Empire as she did, but she missed the simplicity of traveling with Knotai. She rarely even got the simple pleasure of riding Akein anymore. Not for the first time, she felt trapped in this city, this palace. She dared not leave it for long, lest someone attempt a coup. She was the most powerful woman in the Seanchan Empire, and yet she was more securely fettered than even the most vile criminal.

She leaned upon the sun-warm grate, sighing softly. Since the birth of their daughter, she had seen her husband even less. Knotai spent almost all of his time around the infant. For all that he was a scoundrel, he had taken to fatherhood quickly. Of course, she had suspected he might, given his relationship with Olver. However, she rarely saw him outside of court anymore unless she summoned him. He was drawing away from her. Not in secrecy, he could always be found readily if she sent a da’covale to find him, but he was rarely in the same place as her if he didn't have to be. She had tried to decide what should be done about that. She trusted Knotai, but what if she drove him too far from her? If Knotai betrayed the Empire, would she be able to send him to the Tower of Ravens? Could she bear to make him da’covale ? The thought twisted something in her stomach. She didn’t think she could. Not for the first time she found herself wondering if that made her unworthy of ruling. Not for the first time, she found she had no answers to that question. Worse, she missed him. She missed his wit and sly grins. She missed the games of stones. She turned away from the grated window, walking slowly across her chambers to the chest where she kept her mementos. All of them were things that she likely could have displayed if she were not the Empress. Her dresses from the seamstress in Valen Luca’s menagerie lay folded in the bottom, the silk rosebuds and carved fox from Knotai lying on top. She'd tied a lock of Akein's mane to the fox, like a scarf.

Kneeling, she picked up the fox and turned it over in her hands. It was golden with a satiny shine and fine grain. He had seemed surprised she wanted it, but how could she not? It was a beautiful piece. He had once claimed later that he had made it out of a firewood scrap because he was bored. She turned the fox over in her hands again. She wondered if that had been a lie, she knew of no firewood so beautiful. She might never know. With a sigh, she put the fox back and closed the trunk. What to do about him? Darbinda had suggested that telling him how she felt and reasons she danced around the topic would help, but that had been the subject of several heated arguments. Perhaps she was right, though. Fortuona frowned and strided over to a writing desk. If she did not outright say it, perhaps no one would find out.

The letter was harder to compose than she could have imagined and she found herself frustratedly scratching out words and tossing sheet after crumpled sheet in the hearth. Finally, she had something that she didn’t feel like a fool girl writing. She tucked the letter in her sleeve and left. Selucia joined her. She checked the nursery first to see if he was there. He was not. Not the worst sign, but certainly unusual. Selia was asleep in her crib, the wet-nurse seated nearby. The woman practically threw herself to the floor upon realizing she wasn't alone. Fortuona felt her face heat at the sight of the woman. Fortuona had been forced to employ her after learning that she could not feed her own child. That still frustrated and annoyed her. She signed to Selucia to thank the woman for a job well done and turned away before Selucia was done speaking. 

Knotai was not in his quarters either. His hat and ashandarei were also missing. A poor sign. He did not often leave the city without sending a da’covale to relay where he was going, but he had done it before. Though, that was usually after a fight. They had not fought recently. She hadn't seen him often enough to fight about anything. She frowned and kneeled to open the chest that he thought she didn’t know about. She let him have his secrets. She had seen how squirrely he got when he thought there was a noose tightening around his neck. With the hanging scar, perhaps he had a reason to. The gold and plain outsider clothes were still there. She considered leaving the letter there, in hopes that the next time he considered leaving he would find them, but ultimately decided against it. If he found out she knew, he would hide the chest better. She put it back and stood, brushing off her clothing. It would not do to be seen with dust on her knees. It was a shame Darbinda was out of the city. She could have trusted the letter to her. Instead, she tucked it into Knotai's favorite coat, where she knew he tucked his gold. He would find it there eventually. 

Notes:

It's been a while since I posted but my muse finally came back...for now. We'll see if it lasts, my writing mood has been...fleeting at best.

Notes:

If you enjoyed this, let me know!