"Do I have to know it, really?"

Nynaeve was not the most patient person in the world, Moiraine knew it, but today seemed to be much worse.

"I don't really like poetry. It doesn't interest me."

"Do you like when Lan recites it?"

"I do, but..."

"You're the queen of Malkier now, Nynaeve. You should learn it's culture. And a lot of it stems from poetry. Malkieri people love composing it. And if not composing it, then reciting at least." Moiraine said, before Nynaeve managed to protest. "You should at least be prepared to recite some and look like you enjoy listening to it."

It was something she knew from the beginning – Nynaeve would not be a traditional Malkieri queen in the whole meaning of the word. She was everything Lan needed, really. What Lan needed to restore Malkier to its former glory and how it looked before was something a little different. This was something really specific to the nation and very foreign to the new queen.

"I don't think I'm cut out to enjoy it, really." Nynaeve seemed beaten about it. "I need you to help me look good as a minimum."

"Minimum is you take one poem, dive into it, learn it and be proficient with that. Preferably something that really strikes your fancy."

Moiraine had had enough for once. Trying to push Nynaeve into anything was hard. Doing it outright and against her inclination seemed even more a chore.

"I think we should join our men," Nynaeve said after some pause.

This was a good idea. Thom was deep in thought, composing poetry no doubt. She was getting proficient in identifying that state. This was a good moment to join him.

It turned out Lan was in the room too at the time. They've been spending a lot more time together in the still almost empty library. Sitting together, pouring over some text or other, another page of handwritten material in front of them. Moiraine smiled and joined Thom on the settee. Looking over his arm, she saw his writings on the page – the fast done ones, very rough draft of a text, something already brilliant, but, in his mind, still needing work. Thom leaned back against her. A small, almost imperceptible move that thrilled her to no end.

Lan, however, stood up and approached Nynaeve, speaking in poetry that had his wife dumbfounded. It was a pleasure watching young woman almost melt with those words.

"You outdid yourself again," Moiraine whispered to Thom. "I guess this is the piece that will get her to like poetry in the end."

"I wrote it, you know."

"Besides seeing your notes," she said, nodding to the papers, strewn around the table, "I can now hear your voice in there."

"Do you like it?"

"I love it, my dearest Thom." Moiraine felt the love from him even now. The warm feeling somehow grew even, now that they were both listening how Lan was skilfully reciting all of it. "It's... beautiful," she said. "I would rather hear it spoken by someone else, but Lan is a good second, really."

Thom looked at her and she just knew it was not something just written. She had an inkling the same words would be spoken soon in the privacy of their rooms.