For obvious reasons, I've recently regained my old interest in the Wheel of Time series, and a sudden compulsion (no pun intended) has prompted me to produce some alternatives to a few scenes that always stuck with me.
Fair warning, a lot of you are going to absolutely hate what you're about to read, which, judging from comments on my other stories, you'll have no problem letting everyone know about.
For those who fall into that category, I'm happy to give you an outlet for all the pent up anger life has forced you to endure. For everyone else, I hope you take it for the superficial whim that it's meant to be, and find some enjoyment.
She was no Egwene, but for reasons that Rand just couldn't quite let himself acknowledge, that was maybe not such a bad thing. Yes, Else Grinwell was pretty... but not as pretty as Egwene. Yes, Else was close to him in age, having seen eighteen summers easily... but Egwene was close to him in many more ways than that. There was a world of difference between the two women, and Rand's brain just didn't seem to be able to stop the steady cascade of comparisons, even while he was playing the flute for the Grinwell family to repay them for their kindness in giving them a place to stay for the night.
Egwene really is better looking.
Sure. And a kitten is softer than a puppy, if you wanted to be nitpicky. Else was plenty fetching enough. With her big brown eyes and dark, silky hair done in two playful braids, the farm girl honestly had a more... approachable kind of prettiness.
Egwene is thinner.
Not that Else was fat. In fact, as far as he could tell, the farm girl's plumpness was concentrated in only a few key areas. He swallowed, wetting his lips beyond what was needed to play his instrument.
Light, if Else had to wear Egwene's dresses, she'd split the seams at the bodice in ten minutes flat.
That wasn't just a guess on his part, either. Nearly the entire time he and Mat had been performing for the Grinwell clan, Else had be putting on her own show. Situating herself behind the view of either of her parents, the girl had gradually, teasingly begun a campaign of tugs at various parts of her homespun garb. First, she slowly hiked up the hem of her skirt, inch-by-inch revealing a wool-stocking-sheathed leg, until, inevitably, she reached the top of said stocking where it was cinched around a firm thigh... then kept right on going. It was all Rand could do to keep the flute from making a sound like a strangled cat when he spied the widening expanse of pale, smooth skin. When the young woman had to make the effort bunch up the material of her dress in one hand to expose practically the entirety of one perfect, fleshy cheek, Rand knew for certain that it was only the beginning for her.
Amused by his discomfort, but emboldened by his obvious inability to look away, Else had kept going, though this time she waited until Mat began juggling. Her big brown eyes said that she needed Rand's full attention now. Well, she got it, and then some.
Else did seem to hurry the process a bit this time, which Rand couldn't honestly say he had a problem with. She seemed inexperienced at this, even despite her confidence, and he guessed--hoped?--that she was as excited by all of it as he was. In any event, his eyes were riveted to the continuing display, even as the more prudent part of him prayed that Else's parents' own were at least as captured by Mat's.
Else, brazenly, gloriously, began rubbing her breast with one hand, a thumb encircling her nipple while the other fingers made the wool-encased flesh bob up and down, massaging the supple globe slowly and deliberately. Her lush lips parted slightly as her breath quickened, and she took the other hand up so she could put one finger between them, sucking lightly while maintaining perfect, steady contact with Rand's blue-eyed stare.
Burn me, who taught her this?
After long minutes, she finally relented for a heartbeat while she took stock of what her mother and father were doing. She must have been sufficiently emboldened, or at least insufficiently afraid, because that was when, with a wink and a smile at Rand, she finished the act.
Undoing the laces at her neck with amazing deftness, Else wasted no time. A pull, a tug, a shift of the shoulders... and there it was. The image of that round, soft, yet high and firm mound of mouthwatering pink flesh would be forever burned into Rand's mind.
Egwene, never in a million ages...
Else still wasn't done. In a move that Egwene couldn't have pulled off even if she had been given a complete personality replacement, the farm girl squeezed her exposed breast until the skin was bulging between her fingers, which left what was nearly the same amount more still outside her palm; it was that big. Then, with a flush of red finally suffusing her cheeks, the girl got a determined look in her eye, and proceeded to lift that wonderful symbol of her womanhood up while leaning her head down... and popped her own nipple right into her mouth, gave a quick suck, then shot out her tongue to lap around it once, just to pull it back in like a flash.
That was it. That was apparently as brave as she could be and, with a quick glance around, stuffed herself back into her dress and made herself presentable again; the dutiful daughter enjoying a warm moment with her family and a pair of entertaining strangers. Rand was left feeling like he was two men; one nearly sweating like a pig, wondering what had just happened, and the other seemingly wrapped in the void, dispassionately making evaluations on what possibilities lied in the future. He found himself humming tunelessly and rubbing one of his ears with a thumb while watching the farm girl intently.
It was the sudden clapping that brought him back to reality. Master Grinwell and the children were laughing and praising Mat's performance, while Mistress Grinwell offered up nothing more than a tight smile, then slowly turned to look behind her at her daughter. At seeing nothing amiss, she eased, but that calculating look never really went away.
"I... we need a break. Sorry folks." Rand managed to get the words out through a tight throat while surreptitiously poking Mat in the ribs, signaling that they needed to talk. His friend grunted, then nodded once, curtly. Master Grinwell protested that they weren't obliged in any way, shape, or form, but didn't hide his hope that there would be more. Mistress Grinwell kept her peace, but never stopped watching the pair of young men with intent eyes. Rand had a thought then, that mother and daughter Grinwell resembled each other in most respects, except those eyes. Smoky and inviting in the younger became pointed and evaluating in the older. It was too bad, the effect put him off from appreciating the mature good looks in Master Grinwell's obviously much-younger wife.
"I have to say, that was actually fun." As they sat together on some stools in the corner, Mat had that old, crooked grin on his face again; the one Rand hadn't seen since Shadar Logoth. Apparently, the Grinwell clan's forthright goodness eased his increasingly dour turn. He was still taking every opportunity to grab that blasted dagger at his belt, though. Still paranoid, then. "I like having an appreciative audience. Not like those bloody sailors that were just waiting to laugh at us..."
"Too appreciative." Rand jerked a thumb to the other side of the room, at a lounging Else idly playing with one braid and watching them both. "We're gonna get the hounds set on us..."
Mat laughed. It was... dark. "
Her?
