Nightmares

A/N: Okay, I'm back. I wasn't planning on posting this until I had made it longer, but my bloody sister bludgeoned me into posting. So any complaints about the length of this chapter should go to her. So there. :P

Disclaimer: Never have owned it, and unless Robert Jordan decides to adopt me and leave me the rights to the books in his will, I never will.

Mikalaus:

Mikalaus moved through the halls of the large castle quietly. It was early in the morning, but a few of the students were rising. Those he came across would stop and gape until they remembered to bow. He sighed. Again. Eventually (it had felt like forever; he really didn't like being bowed to) he came to the door he was looking for. He opened it and surveyed the room.

A large man sat behind a plain desk writing something. The man had black hair, heavily streaked with grey, yet despite his age one could see that he was immensely powerful.

"What do you want?" He demanded abruptly. Mikalaus smiled. Twynig didn't care about rank, and certainly had never heard about manners.

"I wanted to ask you something." Mika replied. "I could have gone to someone else, but I came to me because I knew you'd be frank with me. It's about Nynaeve." Twynig's expression softened marginally, and Mikalaus almost yelled in shock. He didn't know that he could lighten that ever-present scowl.

"You're worried." It was a statement, not a question, but Mikalaus nodded anyway.

"Is she…is she capable of…" He trailed off. He didn't want to say 'defending herself', as he didn't want to think of her being in any danger. Twynig knew what he meant, however.

"The first time I saw her was when she was eleven years old. She was tiny, and I couldn't believe that I would ever be able to so much as teach her to throw a punch. I did, Mikalaus, and much more. She is quite possibly the most talented pupil I have ever had. And that is the truth. She is more than capable of defending herself."

Mikalaus relaxed visibly. "I was just so nervous. I know she's done this before, and probably in more dangerous situations, it's just that…" He trailed off. Twynig didn't know, and he wasn't going to be the one to tell him. "Never mind."

Twynig nodded, but Mikalaus had seen the curiosity on the old soldier's face.

"Thank you." Mikalaus said. Twynig nodded, and Mikalaus made his way out. Thank the Light he hadn't finished that sentence. Nynaeve would have killed him. It's just that in her last letter, she mentioned that there was an Aes Sedai and Warder that had just arrived. Mikalaus shuddered, then smiled as he imagined Nynaeve's anger at the Aes Sedai. She always was stubborn.

Nynaeve:

The silence in the ways was unbearable. Nynaeve sat with her feet tucked underneath her, and her blanket over her knees. Her book lay open on her lap as she sketched by the light of the lantern. She had started with the sleeping mound that was Mat, and then had moved on to the others. She was finished them now, and was busy shading the hard planes of Lan's face. Lan's wonderful face. Her eyes widened. Where had that thought come from? Not wonderful, a Warder! And a Malkieri to boot. But can you blame an entire people for the crimes of one? The annoying little voice in her head asked her. Nynaeve ground her teeth and concentrated on the picture. I will NOT think of that, I will NOT!

Lan:

Lan sat facing the fire, watching Nynaeve out of the corner of his eye. Everyone else was asleep, and yet the Wisdom was drawing. Drawing! After that first night he had watched her every time he was on watch, and she didn't sleep a wink. She didn't even bother to hide it. He rose to his feet and moved over to were she sat. He lowered himself down beside her. She didn't say anything.

The picture was of the camp, and as he looked at it his breath caught. Light but she was a good artist. He saw himself in the picture; she had obviously just finished him when he moved away. She was drawing the fire now, the shadows playing around the picture-flames looked so real he felt that they could burn. He watched her hands as she drew, the lantern light flickering along her smooth hands. Smooth hands. He frowned. All the other farm people he had met had rough, calloused hands, the result of lives spent labouring. Even the younger girls and boys had them, and yet Nynaeve's hands were as smooth as Moiraine's. That was definitely odd.

He took a deep breath, and then instantly regretted it. He had inhaled her scent. She smelled like jasmine and roses. The smell filled his lungs, intoxicating him. He focused on the ground, desperately trying to rid himself of the smell. Light, she smelled good. No, these were the thoughts he didn't want! He finally got rid of them and looked up again. She was still drawing, damn her, as if he wasn't even there!

"Are you going to acknowledge me at all?" He asked her finally, when the silence got to be too much for him.

"Do you want me to?" She asked, without even looking up from her paper. Oh that woman was infuriating!

"Do you always answer questions with more questions?" He retorted. She had finished the drawing now, and she turned the page to begin a new one.

"Does it seem like I do?" She replied, a hint of a smile playing in the corners of her full lips. Despite himself he couldn't help smiling too. The picture was a person, he couldn't see whom yet.

"Do you practice being annoying, or does it come naturally?" He asked.

"Ah, Lan dear," She replied, (was he imagining things, or did his heart just skip a beat when she called him dear?) "What can I say? I'm a natural." He had to try hard to keep from laughing. She was turning him inside out. The picture was a man. He frowned, the smile disappearing from his lips. Who was he? She drew some more, and the features became clearer. The man was tall; his hand was resting on the hilt of the sword belted around his waist. He had dark eyes, and, Lan had to admit, he was very handsome. Irrational jealousy flowed through him.

"Who's that?" He asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Hmm?" She looked down and frowned, as if only noticing now that she had been drawing. "Oh, that's Corby."

"And who," Lan asked, barely keeping from gritting his teeth, "Is Corby?"

"An old friend. I've known him since I was a baby."

"Ah." Lan replied. Change the subject! He yelled at himself mentally. He really didn't want to here any more about this Corby.

"You never told me how you knew that I was Malkieri." Good. Neutral territory. Nynaeve frowned, and tucked a loose wisp of hair behind her ears.

"Ah well. You know. I just. Knew." That was hardly an answer, but Lan got the feeling that she wasn't going to say any more, so he dropped it and went back to admiring her smooth hands. There was a ring on one of her fingers. It was silver, and was engraved with vines and small flowers.

"Your ring." He stated, and mentally kicked himself. That just sounded ridiculous, and she probably doesn't know what you're talking about! She looked down.

"Family heirloom."

Nynaeve:

It wasn't quite a lie. She could feel his breath tickle the back of her neck, and it was causing some sensations that she was trying her best to ignore.

Lan:

"Oh." He said, in reply to her comment. "I see. Do the flowers symbolize anything?" He lifted his hand, and gently ran a finger over her ring, touching quite a bit of her finger as he did so. Her skin is as smooth as silk.

Nynaeve:

His touch was just amplifying the sensations, and she shifted where she sat.

"Not that I know of." She replied. Another lie.

"They're pretty," Lan said.

Lan:

PRETTY! That was the best he could come up with? Pretty? She can't have found it as pathetic as he did, as she gave a small smile.

"Thank you." She replied. Why wasn't he moving his hand? It still lay atop of hers, his finger stroking the ring slightly, but mostly her hand. The answer came with an ease that irritated him. Because he liked the feel of her.

Nynaeve:

Apparently he wasn't going to stop touching her. Why didn't she feel upset?

Lan:

He watched her. Her free hand was still drawing, and her eyes hadn't moved throughout the entire conversation, except to look briefly at the ring, and then back to the picture again, but he was sure that she was reacting as strongly to this as he was. Her tongue darted out to lick her lips, and Lan continued to stroke her.

Nynaeve:

Oh Light. She wished with all her being that he would stop, and yet at the same time she wanted him to continue. Suddenly there was a movement at the other end of the camp, and Lan's hand was off hers in an instant, and on his sword hilt. Why did she feel disappointed?

Lan:

He sat silently, watching the area where the noise had come from warily. He and Nynaeve had both looked up suddenly when they had heard it. For some reason Nynaeve's hand was on her foot. Her foot? A figure was approaching them. Lan got to his feat, and surprisingly the Wisdom did too. He pulled his sword free of its sheath and stepped in front of her, blocking her from the danger. Now why did he do that?

"Do you want me to take over the watch?" It was one of the sheepherders. Bitter resentment filled Lan. This was what had interrupted them? He fought back the urge to do some serious bodily damage to the boy and grunted.

"If you want." The boy nodded and sat down by the fire. Lan went back to the blankets and lay down in them. He saw Nynaeve sitting back down, and resuming her drawing.

That night his dreams were filled with jasmine, roses, and flowered vines, rising up and ensnaring him in their scent.

Okay, all done! Please review! I've got the next chapter on the way!