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Lan must get himself under control.
Moiraine had been absolutely certain she’d seen a reference to something about wolves in a tiny library in Ghealdan, so they’d spent the better part of a week traveling through the sort of weather reasonable people stayed out of to get there.
And, lo, there it was, exactly as Moiraine recalled. She even remembered what the book looked like, amazingly. It would be annoying, how right she was most of the time, if it didn’t serve them both so well, and if she wasn't so adorable about it.
“There!” Moiraine pointed to the tome spread out on the table, bouncing up on her toes a bit, grinning like a victorious madwoman. “I knew I remembered seeing it.”
Lan watched as her fingers moved gently over the aged parchment, reading out the curly Old Tongue script.
“Shae din Haelen var’lendra,
Shaelar’rah shiv al’morderan.
Haelen ven’cordan, tae’karin din,
Al’carel vora dar’morat kar.”
She looked up at Lan, eyes distant, her voice low and ringing with intensity.
“They flanked Haelen of the sunfire gaze,
Wild howls rang beneath the bone moon.
Haelen drew his spear and they moved as one,
To water the land with wretched blood.”
Lan crossed his arms. “So the wolves followed him into battle?”
A smile stole over Moiraine’s face. “Whomever wrote notes on this stanza believed the ‘bone moon’ referred to another Blight, and that Haelen’s ‘sunfire gaze’ was his ferocity.”
Lan’s mouth twitched. “Did a Brown write that?”
Moiraine squinted at the page. “Cedrine Vaelar Aes Sedai,” she confirmed. Shrugging a shoulder in concession, she added, “Vaelar’s scholarship is somewhat inconsistent in quality. She always has an interesting, thoughtful perspective but sometimes finds herself standing where the floor has not yet been built.”
“And you think this is one of those times?”
Moiraine glanced back at the book, leafing through to see if there was more analysis, Lan thought. “I think you and I both recognize a more literal reading. A man with yellow eyes, flanked by wolves. Leading them in battle.”
Lan grunted amusement at Moiraine’s dry tone. “A Wolfbrother.”
“This word,” Moiraine's pointed in the book, “Var’lendra, sunfire. I have only seen it in one other book and there was a wolf in that story as well. If these are oral histories that have been recorded, as Vaelar believed…”
“Perrin could potentially command a pack of wolves.” The thought was chilling. Lan couldn't imagine a wolf coming at him in battle. “Were there other Wolfbrothers in Haelen’s age?”
“I’m not certain yet.” Moiraine glanced worriedly at the window and then back down at the book. “We’re running out of daylight.”
Lan nearly smiled. “I’ve already spoken to the matron and secured the space for the night.” Apparently Moiraine had not noticed him slip out and return with an armload of supplies, including extra candles and foodstuffs. She had been absorbed in reading when he'd returned.
He knew his Aes Sedai; this was never going to be a quick stop. Moiraine was like to spend half the night in here.
A little rush of gratitude flowed through the bond. “Thank you, Gaidin.”
She’d been calling him that more often, he’d noticed, since they’d started fooling around. Probably to make sure there were no misunderstandings. Not that it was necessary. They weren't even having sex.
Moiraine didn’t seem to notice him re-enter the room after locking them in for the evening, and he tried not to disturb her. She’d relocated to sit against the back of the sofa by the lone window, tilting the book to catch the last of the light. The bond had that eager tingle that it always got when she was on the edge of finding out something interesting.
Lan moved quietly about the room, lighting candles all over so she could switch between spreading her work out at the large table, curling up on the sofa, and pacing about the one open area and have sufficient light to read by. Then he laid out a clean handkerchief and set the teacakes the matron had given him on top before adding a wrapped wedge of cheese and a few oranges.
The bond perked up ever so slightly at the food, although Moiraine made no outward sign that she had even noticed Lan’s presence aside from pushing away from the sofa to prowl about the room as she read.
Lan turned to make sure she couldn’t see his smile. There was a delicate dance that needed to be observed, sometimes, to coax Moiraine toward food when she was intent on a task, which was often. He picked up an orange and pierced the skin with his belt knife, cutting until he made a flap he could get his thumb under.
He strode over to the lone window in the room, the one Moiraine had been sitting near, and looked out while he absently tugged at the rind to reveal the firm, bumpy flesh underneath. The bright smell of citrus burst through the musty scent of parchment.
Outside, the small town was turning sleepy, the last of the shops locking up for the night, the streets nearly empty. There was a small tavern across the way whose windows were alight with a soft, welcoming glow, but even it seemed fairly sedate. Good. Hopefully it would stay quiet.
He strolled to the fireplace, a few steps from where Moiraine was moving about in a distracted, graceful near-dance as she read. Fire light was flickering across her skin, and it kept catching on the swells of her cheekbones, the sharp line of her jaw, that dip beneath her lower lip, so that even her face seemed to be dancing.
He looked away before it turned into staring.
Turning back to the hearth, Lan tossed the rind in the fireplace, peeled off a section of the orange, and popped it in his mouth.
Moiraine inhaled, just barely audibly.
Lan savored the small wedge, taking time to notice the satisfying sensation of biting through the thin skin until it gave, deciding he quite liked the texture of the thing. He observed how much he enjoyed the sweetness of the juice, the slight tartness of the flesh. Then the fruit surprised him.
“What is it?” Moiraine’s curiosity was so piqued she forgot she was pretending not to be drinking in every possible detail of this show he was putting on for her through the bond with the same energy male travelers generally brought to Ebou Dar.
“Hmm?” he asked, playing at sounding distracted. “Oh. I just noticed there are no seeds in this orange.”
Moiraine’s feet stilled at that. “Aren’t there?”
“None. Do you want to try?” He kept his voice casual.
She tilted her head toward the book. “Can’t chance the sticky fingers.” A little pang of regret went through the bond.
Lan peeled off a section and shifted closer. “Open up,” he said, pitching his voice to a long suffering tone, despite all the fondness that had to be giving him away through the bond.
Her mouth curled up with amusement, but she obeyed, tipping her face towards him, lips parting. Her gaze held his as she let him slip the wedge onto her tongue. The soft brush of her lips against his fingertip was almost nothing. Almost.
Moiraine chewed slowly, thoughtfully. “Very sweet,” she said after a moment. Then added, a touch drier, “The orange, I mean.”
Lan huffed a quiet laugh. “Of course.”
Another slice. Another step closer. “I can't allow you to starve,” he murmured. “Consider this part of my duties.”
“I wasn’t aware feeding me counted as personal protection,” Moiraine said, lifting an eyebrow and settling herself onto the sofa.
“Keeping you from fainting mid-channeling seems relevant,” Lan pointed out.
Her lips twitched. “If I fainted, you’d catch me.”
He looked at her. Really looked at her, the way he normally never allowed himself to do. Tousled hair gathered off her neck with that absurdly sharp brooch, bare feet tucked under her, candlelight dancing on her cheekbones, eyes gleaming with the excitement of new discovery. So beautiful it made his breath catch.
“Of course I would catch you,” he said quietly.
The bond stirred between them, rippling with that same warmth that always came just before everything got complicated.
Moiraine shifted on the sofa, making room beside her. “If you’re determined to hover you may as well be comfortable.”
Lan hesitated a beat too long before he sat, close enough that their knees brushed. She didn’t move away.
“Want another slice?” he asked, already peeling one free.
She didn’t answer with words, just leaned in, lips brushing his fingers again. She met his eyes while she chewed, then gave a low hum of appreciation. “Still sweet.”
Lan’s heart was going to betray him if he didn’t get it under control. He could feel it, beating too fast, too loud. But she was right there, lit up like a painting, looking at him with something that wasn’t quite teasing anymore.
It was dangerous, the way his hand moved without asking permission from his mind, fingertips brushing a bit of juice from the corner of her mouth, lingering half a second too long. He needed to get himself in hand before he…
Moiraine turned her face slightly, lips catching his skin before pulling into a small, private smile.
Lan was stuck in her gaze. “I like this smile,” he said, his thumb tracing over her lower lip before he could think better of it.
Her expression faltered into something softer, almost shy, but she didn’t look away. “Lan,” she said, and it wasn’t a warning.
He leaned in. Just a little. Paused. Waiting.
She met him halfway.
Their mouths brushed, testing. Then, bond crackling with tension, again, deeper. Moiraine’s fingertips tickled along the hairline at the nape of his neck as she pulled him closer. They tilted at the same time, their movements falling into sync as they opened up to each other for a warm, slow, deep kiss.
It felt so right.
That’s what struck Lan, every time they did this. It felt so good, and so natural, and so right to share themselves this way. He felt so tender toward her, and he knew it was the bond, but sometimes he worried that wasn’t all it was. Distracting himself from it never seemed to stick for very long.
Moiraine seemed so much less conflicted, so much more able to enjoy the kisses and touches for what they were and go back to normal. Like just then, she was starting to heat up, and sure, she felt warmly toward him, they were bonded for Light’s sake, but he didn’t feel the same war going on inside her that he experienced.
When they parted, Moiraine didn't speak. She just rested her forehead on Lan’s while they caught their breath.
“We should…” Lan suggested.
“Yes,” Moiraine agreed, and the bond was whining and aching but they were both summoning their control.
Neither of them moved, though.
Lan was not going to stroke any part of Moiraine. Not her hair or her cheek or her jaw or her neck or…
They were stopping, they had agreed. He could keep his hands to himself. She was trying to do research, for Light’s sake.
Moiraine chuckled awkwardly and they pulled away at the same moment. She scooted from his lap and stood, selecting a book from the closest pile and settling with it in the closest overstuffed chair.
“You have grown quite good at providing distractions," she observed. “How did you know I required a brief diversion from studying?”
Lan let the words settle over him, tried to feel them softly so the bond didn't detect it.
He swallowed and then forced a huff of air and a small smile. “If I told you the signs, you would start to hide them.”
“Well,” she said lightly, turning to her book, flipping open to the page she had marked and finding her place, “you may attempt to divert me again when we return to the inn.”
Lan’s stomach went tight. “Understood.” Perhaps he was unsure if he wanted to be thought of as a diversion, but that was not to say he was uninterested. It was going to be a long night, waiting to get back to their rooms.
Moiraine, perhaps sensing his thoughts, glanced up at him. “You may start with one of those books if you would like to assist,” she suggested, indicating a small pile on the floor.
Deciding he might as well make himself useful, he chose one from the stack and settled on the floor across from Moiraine and made himself comfortable with the tome and a candle.
For a long time, they worked in silence, the soft rustling of parchment and the crackling of the fire keeping the room from falling into disquietude. The bond was humming with a gentle heat. Not so much as to encourage further kissing, but… complicated.
Lan mostly succeeded in keeping his mind on what he was reading and not deciding what he thought about Moiraine characterizing what happened between them as a distraction, a diversion. There would be plenty of hours on horseback to devote to that.
Moiraine hummed with interest. “Here is another passage about Haelon.” Her fingers edged along some lines of parchment. “Describing him as walking with wolves, with eyes like a flame.” Her voice was quiet, analytical. He could feel the tension beneath it. “A folk tale from the Borderlands, perhaps, made into song.”
Lan searched his memories. “Or a truth that has been woven into a story. If it is a Borderlander tale, I’m not familiar with it.”
Moiraine looked toward him, but he couldn’t tell if her gaze rested on him or whatever distant thoughts happened to be located behind him.
She looked distracted.
“Perrin told me the wolves come when he’s under threat,” Lan said, without having strictly decided to speak. “Not always, but often. It’s not something he chooses for himself.” He glanced down at the pages in front of him, not seeing them but needing a place to look. “He said the part of him that howls takes over when his need is strong enough.”
He paused. Moiraine didn’t speak, and he didn’t look up, but the air between them had gone heavy.
“I wonder what would happen if he stopped fighting it.” Lan couldn't quite bring himself to look at her face.
The bond flinched, and a ripple of fear followed it that was so sharp it made him look up and go still.
“That sounds dangerous.” Moiraine was speaking very carefully, even by her standards, measuring her words as though she was in the Sun Court. “I think it behooves one to remember not to behave too like an animal. Some instincts are best resisted.”
She stood, then, in that impossibly graceful way of hers, smoothing her already tidy skirts as if she was going for a leisurely stroll. As if she wasn’t running.
“I should return to the inn and rest,” she said smoothly, already moving toward the door. “We leave early.”
Lan didn’t argue, or try to stop her. Just watched her go.
The door to the room closed with the soft click of finality.
Burn his stupid mouth, why had he said that? He hadn't meant to be so revealing.
He hadn't touched her. He hadn't asked her for anything. And still it was too much. Still, he had frightened her.
He must get himself under control.