"Beware the fox that makes the ravens fly, for he will marry you and carry you away. Beware the man who remembers Hawkwing's face, for he will marry you and set you free. Beware the man of the red hand, for him you will marry and none other." – Lidya's Foretelling

Tuon had always been a great believer in signs and omens, but for some reason she'd never had the same faith in prophecies, and scoffed at those who did. Perhaps it was because of what they seemed to suggest – that ultimately, one really had only limited control of one's destiny, and control was something Tuon prized very much. So she had tolerated Lidya's occasional bouts of prophecy with patience, until that day on the ships when Lidya had dared apply one of those Foretellings to her. And such a prophecy, as well!

And then there was Toy, who turned out not to be so much of a Toy as she'd thought. What did one say about Toy? Or think about him, for that matter, the bloody – Tuon winced a little inwardly at the curse, but thought it anyway, vehemently – bloody man.

And what was, perhaps, more to the point – what did one do about Toy – and about prophecies that, despite her stubborn insistence, were gradually coming true?

At first, thinking it was just the prophecy – or, Light, some magic of those marath'damane – she resisted whatever tugged her toward Toy with all her willpower, which had always served her well before. But despite the force of that and he own sheer perseverance – no, she would be honest, it was stubbornness – she seemed, inch by inch, to be slipping. It became increasingly clear that she was fighting a rear-guard action. There was just something….irresistibly alluring, though that thought made her shudder, about him. She spent more time with him, watching carefully, trying to pick out some fatal flaw or abhorrent habit, but other than the usual vices of men, she rather found that he seemed to be – horrors – perhaps a better man than she had at first thought.

Playing at Stones with him, she was startled to discover a mind honed for strategy, finding herself having to work harder to win than she had in years – and not always winning. Reluctantly, she set aside her initial thoughts on Toy sometimes known as Matrim Cauthon, and set herself to study, determined to figure him out. It hadn't really helped. Sometime he seemed more three men than one, switching in the blink of an eye. Sometimes clearly a man of sophistication, and one who knew more than snatches of the Old Tongue; sometimes a thoroughgoing rogue – she certainly hadn't mistaken those unmistakable glances at Selucia's breasts that always seemed to be the first thing men noticed; and still other times a bit of a fool, laughable, confused by his surroundings. He was clearly not mad, so she was at a loss to explain the changes. Watching, she noted other things as well.

Tuon noted the way Thom, who seemed wise in his own self and certainly carried himself with more dignity, deferred to Toy without question and without seeming aware that he did so. She noted how his 'friends' treated him, with an attitude of respect and in some cases wonder, though Toy himself didn't seem to notice the latter. Their treatment of him, something Tuon had seen reserved for great commanders, primarily, and none as young as Toy, gave her first hint that 'friends' were really 'soldiers' and that it was quite possible he had more of them tucked away somewhere.

More interesting, however, was the attitude of the marath'damane toward him. On the whole, the women were intolerably arrogant and high-handed, as if they and only they knew best. While it irritated Tuon no end, it only made the way they treated Toy more intriguing. They tried valiantly to hide it, but they were nervous around him, rabbits to his fox. They watched him with a kind of wary respect, except for Tessi who treated him with something bordering awe and Joline who eyed him with a strangely predatory gaze. When she looked at him like that, Tuon often caught herself, to her chagrin, feeling a little possessive.

Meanwhile, Toy himself seemed utterly unaware of all the sentiment around him.

It bothered her. She wanted him to know it, to be arrogant or pig-headed, but he remained stubbornly ignorant, largely avoiding the marath'damane and joking affably with the friend-soldiers and above all eternally polite to her.

Now that was irritating. Even if she was relieved that he didn't return any of Joline's looks, very privately.

Though it was one thing, really, that made him think of something else, even after he freed two damane and spirited her own person out of the city. The day when she had leashed one of the marath'damane to put them in their place and he had walked in and in the course of a few moments had effortlessly taken control of the situation, unconsciously scolding everyone involved – herself included, to her surprise, affront, and – alarmingly – embarrassment.

There were two things that were surprising, then. First, that everyone in the room had responded to a man who had no control over any of them. And yet somehow he did. And secondly, the way the flows had just…melted, when she tried to channel at him, refused to touch him. It had…unnerved her, and then intrigued her, and just as quickly mystified her. A ter'angreal that could prevent the wearer from being touched by the Power…where had he gotten it? And how?

Tuon was still not sure why she'd told him to kiss her. It had been…no, it hadn't been an impulse, not really. And when he'd kissed her that first time, so – well. She'd been a bit disappointed. She'd hoped for more than that.

And he'd certainly given it to her. She flushed a little, thinking about that. So he was good at kissing. And?

He remembered Hawkwing's face, however impossible that was. His ring had nearly made her faint, the fox frightening nine ravens into flight. And now this…Band of the Red Hand. He had taken her away. There was just one thing left. One small thing. And considering Furyk Karede, dirt stained, worried, much the same as she remembered him if a bit more careworn, she felt a peculiar sense of lassitude settle on her shoulders.

It looked alarmingly as though Lidya's prophecy were about to come true.

"Talmanes, roust the Band," Toy was saying. "It isn't that I don't trust you, Karede, but I think I'll sleep easier beyond the Narrows."

She didn't hesitate, and said, clearly, "Matrim Cauthon is my husband." Took a deep breath as there was sudden and utter silence. "Matrim Cauthon is my husband." Toy was looking at her with a agreeably stunned expression on his face. She felt herself almost smile and schooled her face to stillness. "Bloody Matrim Cauthon is my husband. That is the wording you used, is it not?"

She realized, halfway through the last, as they were all staring at her with utterly flabbergasted expressions on their face, that in a way, she had been waiting to say the words, ever since the man had first spirited her out of Ebou Dar. And now that she had…

Something felt right.

Not to mention that the expression on Toy's face was most satisfying.