Note: I do not own the Wheel of Time or any of it's characters. I'm just a humble fan who loves some good Lan/Nynaeve scenes. I have their POV's switching a few times, but it shouldn't be tricky to figure out. Enjoy! And rate and review if you so desire... I'd love hearing some feedback!
"I want it reversed!" Nynaeve stated pointedly, pacing back and forth at the foot of her bed – their bed. In a high-backed, padded chair, Lan sat watching her; his eyes were blue ice, but the corners of his lips twitched in a held-back smile.
Nynaeve rounded on him, "Don't you dare give me that look, Lan Mandragoran." He opened his mouth in protest but she cut him off, continuing, "And don't you dare say anything to the effect that this was my choice. I didn't know the half of it."
She reached for her braid but remembered with her arm half raised that her hair was still down from the night before. She turned away from Lan and angrily grabbed a brush and began working it through her long, dark waves.
Lan watched her, both amused and somewhat saddened. No matter how happy Nynaeve made him, there remained a hollow where he had once felt Moiraine, and in the back of his head, he felt his current bond – Myrelle's bond – although it was a feeling he tried to drown. Oddly, since the night he and Nynaeve had become man and wife, the feeling of his current bond had lessened. It was still there, still a powerful presence, but his mind was more occupied by thoughts of his wife. Those thoughts were surely the source of the emotions he felt from Myrelle; what he felt from her was most unlike her, from what he had so far gathered. It was an emotion akin to envy. With two other Warders to keep her company, Lan could hardly see how she might be jealous of Nynaeve.
The thought of Myrelle also turned his emotions to anger; anger of what she had done, what she had used her bond to compel him to do. Despite knowing that her intentions were not exactly ill, he did not appreciate it. Nynaeve knew, although she would not allow him to admit it, muchless make up any apologies for it. "Is there any way to make sure she knows it is me?" The memory of his astonishment at her statement was still there, and it returned the amusement to his lips and flushed out any thoughts of anger about Myrelle. He only hoped that Nynaeve would take his bond before she took a switch to Myrelle.
"What are you looking so amused for?" Nynaeve narrowed her eyes at him. His eyes, still as cold as the day he saved her, although she believed the thaw was slowly coming. She knew he still felt the pain, but she was confident that love—their love—would conquer anything it endured, this included.
She cut him off, "Don't answer, it's irrelevant. I want our roles reversed. Now." Her fingers worked furiously at her hair, the weave forming a tight braid. She used a small piece of string to tie off the end and swung it over her shoulder.
"Why, love? You seem completely content with commanding in public." Lan's voice spoke calmly and with a tone that suggested his words were undeniable. In truth, they were undeniable, but Nynaeve would not allow him that admittance.
"You know very well why. Don't try and play games with me. I use it to do what's needed to be done. You use it to… Last night you used it to… to…" Her face began to flush and she quickly whipped around, no longer facing him. After a moment's pause, she rounded on him again. "You know what you do." Nynaeve placed special emphasis on the last word; unable to say what she wanted, that was the best she could do.
Lan found himself unable to hold his amusement any longer. He bellowed a laugh, albeit one that only momentarily found his eyes, and stood. He reached his arms up and took a hold of both of her shoulders, bending forward so as to be looking her square in the eyes. His eyes were coolly calm, but his lips betrayed his inner-amusement.
"If you cannot say what it is that I do to bother you, I do not know what I can do about it. I have not the Talent for Foretelling nor any form of mind reading." Again, his tone gave an air of the apparentness of his words.
His lips curled a little more at the sight of her creased forehead; her eyes narrowed and her jaw firmly clamped together. Then, through gritted teeth, she spoke, "I… You… I am not some tavern wench who speaks of..." With the grunt of a child who hasn't gotten her way, she gave up trying to speak and resumed her glare.
Lan gave her a brief smile and saw the instantaneous effect it had on her. Speaking softly and sincerely, he spoke, "Nynaeve, you may command me at any time, day or night, public or private. So long as it does not endanger you, I will obey without fail."
"Why does he smile now?" Nynaeve thought, struggling to keep up the pretense of her anger. His smile, not to mention his touch, had a way of melting any negative emotion or coherent thought process; it worked particularly well against her snarkiness.
"No. Absolutely not. I will do no such thing," She stated apprehensively. "I made my vows to you, that I will both command in public and obey in private, and I do not plan to violate them. Ever."
Her haughtiness seemed to suggest that he was the one to begin the discussion, that he was the one who did not wish to obey in public and command in private.
He let it go and pulled her into a simple embrace. His chest was covered by only a thin shirt, still half undone, and he could feel the warmth of her through it. It was a warmth that was felt to the very core of his being. It was a warmth that he knew was his only hope; his life depended on forever feeling the warmth of el'Nynaeve ti al'Meara Mandragoran.
Changing the subject, he whispered in her ear, "You know, you are no longer Mashiara. As my wife, and whatever our vows, I will never let you be lost again."