Fanning the Flames
Chapter 3 of 'Moonlit Walks'
By Chani
A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who's been reviewing this! All the 'aw's have been making me want to write more! BTW, this is day 4 of 7…there will be one or two more chapters. I have yet to make up my mind about it. ;-) And thanks again to Neela for being such a wonderful beta reader!
Lan glanced down at Nynaeve with amazement as they walked and she told him of the adventures that had brought her to the Stone of Tear. He knew full well she was leaving a good bit out. She skimmed over any parts that hinted of danger to herself, as well as her own heroism, and, in a way, he was thankful. The thought of her being in danger was enough to send him into a rage that would force him to hunt down anyone who even thought to harm her.
He turned his gaze away, forcing down the affection he felt toward her. He had no right, no right at all, to take up so much of her time, much less her affections. This time he was spending with her was more than he could have hoped for. Hope was something he had never known; his life was dedicated to fighting the Shadow and in doing so, the only guarantee he had was death. Some called him Aan'Allein…a man alone. Even given his bond to Moiraine, it was true. Until he met the woman at his side. Or more accurately, the woman wrapped around his arm with her hand in his.
That thought brought a smile; Nynaeve was nothing if not persistent. He had heard someone—Mat, perhaps—call her a bully, but it was much too simple a word to describe her. A force of nature would have been more appropriate. She was a strong woman with equally strong emotions who never gave up, even if common sense told her she had lost. She would never hide behind a meek mask to please anyone, and only a man who had strength to match hers would be able to love her. To spend his life with her. Unfortunately, that man could not be him.
Rubbing his head, he held back a sigh. Conflict spread in his mind like bile. He had agreed to these nightly walks as a way to keep a protective eye on Nynaeve and keep her out of trouble, for a change. He even convinced himself that he could do it while maintaining his distance from her. You know better than to lie to yourself.
It had been a lie from the start, he realized, though it was only last night that he admitted the lie to himself. He was touched that she had wanted to make dinner for him—and a bit amused—and that was before he saw how much trouble she went through to make sure everything was just the way he liked it. She truly surprised him, more than she would ever know.
Seeing her in that kitchen, cursing like a drunken fisher's wife, her delicate hands covered in burns as she did her best to make all his favorite foods…she was so determined, for no other reason than to please him. It had warmed his heart. No matter how much he tried to convince himself it did not.
Fighting his attraction to her grew more difficult with each passing moment. The night before, standing in front of her door, he had wanted nothing more than to pull her against him and kiss her until he felt her melt in his arms. Instead, he had stopped himself with a brief kiss on her cheek. Even that was a mistake—he knew so when he did it—but his intention to correct it disappeared when he heard himself asking her to dine with him again.
Earlier, when he had gone to her room to fetch her for dinner, the sight of her had taken his breath away. The green silk dress she had chosen was cut so low that he found it difficult to bring his gaze up from her ample bosom, yet when he did, he was greeted by the pleased smirk on her beautiful face. Though she said nothing to confirm his suspicion, he thought she seemed to enjoy the idea of flustering him, and for his part, he did not mind returning the favor.
So, after they had grabbed two plates from the kitchen, he had led her to a quiet room to eat. There, he had allowed himself to focus completely on Nynaeve. He had complimented her time and again, encouraging her to tell him every story she had to tell. From her first memory to the day he and Moiraine had arrived in the Two Rivers, he wanted to hear it all. He wanted to know her, what drove her, what inspired her. All of it. The other nights they had spent together had been about him; she had gently pushed and prodded until she had gotten him to tell her almost all there was to know about him. Some things he had never intended to share. But tonight, tonight was about her.
The attention had clearly unnerved her—more than once he had seen a hint of crimson sneak its way onto her cheeks as she told him stories of her childhood—but at the same time she seemed to revel in it. Every smile, every laugh, and every sigh he elicited from her only made him want more. It was heady, this warmth she so easily awakened in him. It was as exhilarating as any battle he had fought in, though in a much different way. Though the food itself had been unremarkable, he knew it had been a dinner he would never forget.
But now, as he walked hand in hand with her through the deserted woods outside the Stone, guilt filled him. She deserved better than this, better than a man with no home and nothing to his name but a claim to a throne that no longer existed. Dinner, these walks together, this…closeness…between them, it had to stop.
His free hand clenched into a fist at his side. He could not, would not, end his war against the Shadow. If he gave into these feelings he had for her—no, he would not allow himself to feel for her. He would die fighting that which had stolen his life, and he would not put Nynaeve through the pain of loving a man who was destined to die sooner rather than later. She deserved better, and he would see that she got it. Whether she liked it or not.
"…not listening to a word I've said, Lan Mandragoran!" Nynaeve's voice held such an admonishing tone that he found himself fighting a smile, especially since, surprisingly enough, he knew every word she had uttered. His smile disappeared as quickly as it had come, replaced with the same stony expression he usually wore. The thought of losing her tore him apart, but he could not show that weakness. That emotion.
Emotion. The word was a thorn in his mind. Before meeting Nynaeve, burying his emotions had been so easy. Now it seemed like a losing battle. Yet one more reason to set things right.
She stopped walking, though she stumbled forward a couple of steps before he noticed and stopped pulling her along with him. "What's wrong?" she asked softly. She was so beautiful, standing there in front of him, the look of concern in her eyes so intense that he thought she might throw herself in his arms just to make him feel better. Or maybe that was what he hoped.
No. Better to have it done with now than to wait until she started believing they had a future together. "We have to stop this, Nynaeve."
Her eyes narrowed, and suddenly the concern changed to suspicion. "Stop what?"
"This!" he answered, holding their entangled hands in front of her face. "These walks…dinner, it—"
"You asked me to dinner tonight, remember?" Now she was angry. He wondered, briefly, how much longer it would be before she started yanking that braid of hers. "And now you decide—"
"Nynaeve, this is not right," he interrupted. Her jaw was set in that stubborn way he had come to know all too well. Her tenacity was one of the qualities he found endearing, but at the moment it frustrated him to no end. "We can not—"
"Don't you dare say another word!" She snatched her hand away—or threw his, he was not really certain—and glared at him. Those brown eyes darkened, looking very much like two black clouds. Yes, she was definitely a force of nature; thunderstorms had nothing on Nynaeve al'Meara. "You promised you would not mention this to me when I agreed to allow you to accompany me on my nightly walks."
His eyes widened in disbelief. She agreed to allow him to come with her? Despite the seriousness of the situation, he almost laughed. The way he remembered it, she practically blackmailed him into agreement, threatening to court danger by wandering around alone at night. There was no point in telling her that, however. She would be offended he saw it that way and most likely deny the truth of it. "But Nynaeve—"
"I don't want to hear it!" Her hands curled into fists, one of which sneaked up to grab her braid. He was surprised it took her that long to go for her braid, but she tugged it so hard that he almost winced. "You made me a promise, Lan Mandragoran, and if you intend to break it, you can just turn around and go right now!"
He stared at her, dumbfounded. How had she managed to turn this around on him? "And leave you out here alone?"
"Yes!" She crossed her arms under her breasts and raised her chin.
"I will not leave you here alone!" His voice thundered in his own ears. It took some effort to speak softer, though it was not much softer than before. "It's late. It's dark. And it's a long walk back to the stone."
The mocking smile on her face should have made him want to strangle her, not kiss her. "I would not care if I had to swim back in freezing water on the blackest, coldest night the world has ever known! If you can not keep your promise to me, you will leave me here and go back to the Stone even if I have to use saidar to throw you back!" He opened his mouth to argue, but she didn't even pause to take a breath. "Furthermore, if you do not wish to walk with me after tonight, suit yourself, but do not think for one moment that you will be able to tell me what I can or can not do."
He glared threateningly at her. She seemed not to notice. The desire to kiss her was still there, second only to the desire to put her over his knee. Light, what was this woman doing to him? With a great deal of effort, he focused on their argument. "You would walk alone at night after you promised me you would not?" He knew it was the wrong thing to say even before her expression turned smug. His jaw tightened, causing his teeth to grind together. She knew he wanted to keep her safe, and had no problem using it against him!
"And how would me breaking that promise be any different from you breaking yours?" She had won and she knew it. The woman was very close to grinning—triumphantly—at him.
When we marry, she is in for a rude awakening. His heart skipped a beat. Where had that thought come from? She was really beginning to cause him to take leave of his senses!
"Well?" She planted her hands on her hips again and stared impatiently at him. "Do we continue or not?"
He only looked away from her for a moment, but when he met her gaze again he could have sworn he saw fear there. He knew he should tell her no, that this was over. He could always follow her on her walks without her knowing about it. His voice, however, did not cooperate. "We continue."
She nodded nonchalantly and began walking again, leaving him to chase after her. Sighing, he hurried after her, resisting the temptation to find a wall to beat his head in to. It only took three strides to catch up to her, though she didn't even spare him a glance once he had reached her side.
They walked for quite a while, not speaking or touching. She ignored the arm he offered, and made a point of keeping a fair distance from him. He should have been pleased that she was doing what he could not, but it irritated him. For someone who claimed not to bear ill will over past events, Nynaeve certainly did a good imitation of it.
By the time they were back inside, he realized he could not stand her silence—or coldness—any longer, so he said the only thing he could to help the situation. "I'm sorry, Nynaeve."
She looked at him for a moment before she murmured, "Just don't do it again."
"You have my word."
When he held his arm out this time, she slipped hers through it. He meant what he said; he would not broach the subject again. At least, he would not do it on their walks.
He slowed his pace when they neared her door; he was in no hurry to end their evening after wasting so much time arguing with her. Eventually, though, she would go back to Tar Valon and he would leave with Moiraine. Eventually, they would have to part. They both had to accept that.
"I have something to do tomorrow evening," she told him, drawing him from his thoughts. She seemed nervous. Even someone who did not know her well would have realized she was hiding something. Did she really believe she could fool him? "So I will probably miss dinner."
He nodded blandly. "If you tell me where you will be, I will come there for you."
"No," she said too quickly. "I'll meet you at my room. I just may be a little late."
She definitely did not want him to know what she was up to. "As you wish." He would find out, one way or another. They stopped at her door, turning to face each other.
"But I will make you dinner the next night." Her voice was soft. "We can eat outside again." There was no trace of anger in her eyes, and that knowledge soothed him. She soothed him. Still, he did not miss the determined look that had found its way back to her face. Somehow he knew it had nothing to do with her cooking him dinner.
With a semblance of a smile, he lifted her hand to his lips. "I will see you tomorrow, then." He lingered there, holding her hand, basking in the warmth of her gaze. "I look forward to it." And, strangely enough, he really did.
