set post episode 8 in Fal Dara. Prompted from this post.

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When Lan finally staggered up to his chambers, he found Moiraine asleep.

Thank the Light.

She had refused to go and rest when they returned from the Blight. Instead she had insisted on running herself ragged and tormenting herself helping the wounded in the aftermath of the battle. Only when she had been on the verge of collapse herself had Lan finally been able to get her to bed. He'd still had to pick her up and carry her there, her protests insistent, but her body too exhausted to fight him.

He had taken her to his chambers, all the fight softening in her as she looked at him and understood. Without the bond the thought of sleeping apart, in separate rooms, after what had happened had been intolerable. Lan hadn’t even consciously thought of that when he’d carried her into his room and set her down on his bed. It was only when she had looked up at him, gently holding his hand, that he realised what he’d done and why.

Kissing the top of her head, he had allowed himself to just hold her. For the first time since she had told him what had been done to her. Then he had helped her get out of her clothes, the corruption of the Blight clinging to them, and dressed her in some of his loose sleeping garments. She had smiled a little when he’d done that, and that had been all the reason he could ever have needed. A deeper part of him just wanted to connect to her in any way that he could, to have her surrounded with him, to reinforce the fact that he would never let anything happen to her again.

A haggard captain had interrupted them, asking for his assistance in settling a dispute that had arisen among a leaderless squad of terrified soldiers. Moiraine had smiled and nodded to him, taking his hand and promising him quietly that she would stay put and behave. He had left her reluctantly, but found some small comfort in the fact that by the time he reached the door, her head had already found the pillows, exhaustion sweeping through her.

Relief he hadn’t known he’d needed to soften the tension he’d been carrying in his bones swept through him as he looked down at her now. The hollow space inside his head where her emotions should have been, harmonising with his own, seemed to ache with a phantom pain as he looked at her. Yet the space in his heart where she would always live felt warm and full. She was still here. Still his. Even if he was sure she would argue against that notion in the days to come, as the trauma of what had happened started to undo who she was. He would not allow that to happen. He would not allow this to unravel the threads of this woman he loved until he no longer recognised her. She was his, and he was hers, and nothing would ever change that.

His knuckles brushed the soft skin of her exposed cheek, some part of him needing to touch some part of her, however faintly or briefly. She shifted slightly in her sleep, not waking, just pressing in to him. He smiled as she did so, nodding to himself. What would follow once reality crashed in through her defiant wall of resolve and insistence that she was fine was going to be harsh and hard for both of them. For now, however, she was asleep, her dreams untroubled, a moment of peace in the chaos of the Wheel’s recent weavings.

Lan dressed for sleep quickly then peeled back the covers and eased down into the bed. Moiraine, for all her faults, had always respected the sanctity of personal space. Such held true in bed, and she was confined neatly to her side, leaving plenty of room for him to settle in without disturbing her. He drifted off himself with his eyes on her, soothed by the calm on her face, untroubled by the world in her dreams.

****

When Moiraine woke, she did so in Lan’s arms. This confused her for a moment, as she didn’t remember falling asleep with him. As far as she was aware, he hadn’t been in the bed with her. Then the deep, rhythmic sounds of his breathing, the kind she only heard from him when he was fast asleep, broke through her bemusement and brought her comfort instead. Lan was protective by nature, the Warder bond made him especially so. If he was in a situation where he felt that he could sleep, then she was safe. An instinctive part of her responded to the sound of his faint snores as he shifted closer to her, and she closed her eyes, leaning in to him.

Absently, she found one of his hands and held it in her own. He squeezed gently in return, a brief tightening of his fingers, even as he slept on. Absurdly, Moiraine felt her throat tighten with sudden emotion. The world seemed on the verge of ending, her world had ended, as she allowed the Dragon to walk away while the Source was taken from her, but this remained. Lan was here. Lan was here and she was safe. For now, that was all that she needed.

@bow-dawn also requested "give us elain watching lucien playing with nyx and that warms her heart enough to have a talk about their mating bond 😭" Everybody wants Lucien with babies because they know he's baby catnip. And I have no idea how children work but an attempt is gonna be made!!!!

send me ship prompts! platonic or otherwise!

Elain's arms were starting to get sore. Even with her being fae now. Arms that had stabbed the King of Hybern were somehow unequal to holding one small Ilyrian baby.

He was a very important baby, to be sure. Since he was her nephew. And the son of the two most powerful people in Prythian's history. Or so everyone kept saying.

Maybe he knew that. He was certainly doing everything in his power to make sure the whole of the Night Court, maybe the whole of Prythian, was aware of him right now, with the racket he was making.

They weren't sure which powers of his parents' the babe would inherit yet, he was too young. But he had an incredibly potent pair of lungs, of that she was sure of.

She'd been holding him for what felt like decades, bouncing him in her arms and trying to soothe him. He had managed to wear through her considerable patience, and she was now bordering on the edge of desperation.

This was her first time babysitting by herself. Feyre and Rhys had trusted her with their son, and she couldn't get him to stop crying! She was a terrible aunt. What kind of mother would she be? Unable to comfort her flesh and blood.

That thought made her stomach plummet. Had she lived out that other life, the one she sometimes saw reflected mockingly back at her in mirrors and pools, and married Greysen...She'd likely already be a mother. Would probably have at least one baby of her own.

She pushed that thought away before she joined Nyx in his crying.

"Cauldron boil me, Feyre!" A voice called from the stairs leading up to the roof where she'd taken Nyx hoping some fresh air might calm him. "What in the name of the Mother are you doing to that hellspawn child to make him scream that way?"

The voice was familiar, but unexpected. But she barely had a moment to process that before the door banged open and she found herself staring at Lucien.

"Oh," they said simultaneously.

Then Lucien, his cheeks changing colour to match his hair, said, looking abashed, "Lady Elain, please forgive me. I, I expected to find Feyre up here."

"I can tell," Elain said, giving him a little smile, "By the way you were shouting her name."

"Yes, well," Lucien muttered, looking rather flustered.

She found she quite liked that look on him. She always tended to see him as the polished, silver-tongued courtier, always composed and prepared to handle anything.

"I, I'm sorry, I didn't expect you to be up here. I would not have spoken to you that way if I'd known you weren't Feyre," he said, with a bow.

"Why not?" Elain said, cocking her head to one side, "I'm not some delicate flower that can't handle hearing curse words, you know," she told him, almost defiantly, "Amren has taught me many new ones. Cassian showed me how to do it in Illyrian. Rhys can be quite inventive when he's grumpy. And when all that fails, I can always just fall back on the word fuck."

He blinked at her, then grinned broadly, "Shockingly, I don't make a habit of cursing at people that I don't know all that well. Feyre and I are good friends, so she has earned my fragrant cursing at her."

"She's also High Lady of the Night Court," Elain said, raising her eyebrows, "With more power than anyone in Prythian's history has held in a long time."

Lucien waved an idle hand, "I knew her before she became all Made and Rhysandish," he told her, "Once you've seen someone puke faerie wine into a fountain of the mother at the Solstice it's hard to see them as too grand to curse at anymore."

Elain giggled at that, then winced, as that apparently seemed to upset Nyx even more.

Lucien raised an eyebrow at them, "Cursing aside," he said, leaning idly against the wall, "My question about that one still stands - what by the Cauldron have you done to him?"

"Lots of things!" Elain said, her voice snapping a little bit, "I've fed him, and I've changed him, and burped him. I've tried to put him down for a nap. I've tried to rock him, and bounce him, as swoosh him side to side. I've talked to him, and I've sung to him, and I've begged him and he still. Won't. Stop. Crying!"

Lucien smiled slightly, which made her want to smack him, because this was absolutely not funny, and she felt tears of frustration starting in her eyes.

"Feyre and Rhys trusted me to look after him on my own and I can't get him to stop crying! I don't know what I'm doing wrong," she confessed hopelessly.

"May I hold him for a moment?" Lucien asked.

Elain hesitated a moment. But Feyre had let him hold her son before. She had seen tears in his eyes when he'd done so, and it had bridged some connection between them that had never fully healed since the war. She didn't think her sister would protest, as long as she was still here.

And she was so tired. Her arms were so sore, and Nyx was becoming a very heavy and dense weight in her arms. So she nodded gratefully, eagerly pushing the little bundle into Lucien's arms.

Lucien held him with a surprising ease, as if he'd done this thousands of times before. A broad, genuine smile spread across his face as he peered down at him, bouncing him slightly in his arms.

Nyx peered up at him. Elain expected this to trigger an increase in the volume of his howling, but, incredibly, he quieted almost at once, seemingly entranced by Lucien's face, his glinting metal eye.

"There we are," Lucien said, smiling, but raised a finger as Nyx started grumbling again, "Now, now, we won't be having any of that," he told him calmly, "Ah, you have wings, don't you? Let's see then..."

Lucien carried him over to the table, unwrapped his blankets. Before Elain could protest about the cold, he rewrapped him, but gently extended his wings first, and curled them around his little body, securing them in place around him with his blankets.

"You know about babies with wings?" Elain asked, bemused.

Lucien nodded, "Certainly," he said, then seemed to consider, "Not Illyrians, and not Rhys-spawn," Elain giggled against her will, "But I'm hoping the principles are the same."

He scooped him up and bounced him. Nyx actually giggled at him, the little monster.

"How did you do that!?" she demanded, peering down at the baby, who was now lifting his chubby little hands and grabbing, as if trying to catch the glinting eye above him.

Lucien smirked, "I have a known gift," he said, sounding entirely too pleased with himself. Elain would have whacked him for that, if he hadn't been holding her baby nephew.

"You, you've been around a lot of babies?" she asked.

Nothing in his history, though admittedly she knew little of it, had implied that babysitting had been a big part of it.

"Oh yes," he said, very seriously, "Fae with troublesome younglings came to me from all over Prythian, every court, lesser and high alike so that I could use my gifts and soothe them."

Elain put her hands on her hips and growled at him, "Don't you bullshit me Lucien," she said, as sternly as she could, poking a finger into his chest.

He snickered, still grinning at her, shifting Nyx slightly in his arms as he started to fuss again, "I have a very big family," he said, shrugging.

"I thought you were the youngest of your brothers," she said, frowning.

Lucien nodded, "True," he confirmed, "But I have lots of aunts and uncles and cousins, and friends," he added, with a flicker of some emotion she couldn't quite read. He took a breath and added, "Regardless, they all felt that, as the Lord's seventh son, I didn't have anything better to do with my time than babysit all of their offspring. I've had a reasonable amount of practice."

"Well you saved me today," Elain said, collapsing into the seat that Rhys always liked to sit and brood in, overlooking the Sidra, "I don't know what I did wrong," she muttered, bracing her chin in her hands and sighing dejectedly.

Lucien cautiously approached, Nyx still cradled in his arms, and sat in the seat next to her, also glancing out over the city. "If it helps," he said, "You did everything right. Sometimes babes are just tricksy little bastards," he said with a shrug,

She frowned, trying to determine if he was patronising her.

"They like to be dramatic and seek for attention," Lucien told her calmly, "Especially when they have Rhysand, Night Discomfort, Death Irritate, the most dramatic bastard to ever spread drama, as their father" he added in a lofty voice that acutally sounded uncannily like Rhys.

Elain stuffed her fist in her mouth to stop herself snorting as she laughed.

"He is very dramatic," she agreed, tickling Nyx's tummy.

Lucien smiled down fondly at the babe, and for all his comments about him being dramatic, there was a tenderness in his face she had never seen before from him.

It made him look younger. His face was still scarred and strange, with that mechanical eye, but there was a gentleness in him she hadn't seen from most fae in her time in Prythian, it made her feel safe and calm.

Nyx started fussing a little again, and Lucien hushed him, and fluttered his fingers in the air above him. Little lights appeared above him, circling like a mobile and flashing different colours.

Elain let out a little gasp of delight watching him, which was echoed by Nyx.

Lucien glanced up at her, a wry smile on his lips as he said, "My magic isn't particularly powerful or impressive, but it's very good for entertaining infants."

"I think it's beautiful," Elain said, quiet, but sincere.

Lucien smiled.

Then he turned his head back to Nyx, tickling him with his free hand while the lights continued to circle, swooping down and booping the child on the nose, causing him to giggle.

Elain felt a sudden pulse of warmth and joy blossom in her chest like a swelling rose, and she let out a little, "Oh!"

Lucien glanced up at her, startled, "Are you alright?"

She put a hand to her chest, without breaking eye contact with him, "I, I fel you," she said quietly.

"I apologise," he said, looking truly sorrowful, "I usually keep better control of myself, but being around you makes that more difficult."

The little river of his joy faded away as he closed off the bond on his end.

"No!" she cried, with a desperation she couldn't quite explain, reaching out and putting a hand on his arm, "No," she repeated, more quietly, "Please don't, don't close down on me."

He raised his eyes, and held her gaze, unwavering, unfaltering. She felt that river again, the joy at holding the babe still there, but also excitement, anxiety, and almost unbearable anticipation. Though she had the sense he was trying to keep her from the worst of it.

"It's good," she whispered, "It feels good. I've, I've had dreams of you," she told him, "So much pain. So much guilt, and sadness, and hopeless need."

He ducked his head, turning away from her, seeming ashamed, "I'm sorry that you-"

"No," she said, quiet but firm, cupping his face in her hand, tracing his scar with her thumb, "No. You don't apologise to me for the things that others have done to you. You never do that," she said, with a fierceness that surprised even her.

"I shouldn't have let that touch you," he said quietly, "I, I don't want anyone to feel that, least of all you."

Elain held his gaze and, for the first time, she tentatively tapped at that string inside her, on her bottom rib, that one that extended beyond her in a way even her newfound Sight did not.

Through it, carefully, she pushed all of the depression, all of the pain, and all of the grief, and hopelessness, and even the darkness that had almost claimed her, caused her to step into it and never return.

He started, and his eyes filled with a thin veil of tears. But not because of the emotions she shared, but the fact that they were twin to his own. The fact that, as he looked into her eyes, he knew that she had felt what he had felt.

"We are the light for so many," she said quietly, "The sun that they grow towards, the thing they reach for in their own darkness, when they need hope, and someone who will always find a smile for them."

Lucien nodded, and picked up that thread she'd left dangling for him, causing one of his orbs to circle close to Nyx. The baby tried to catch it, giggling, and Elain saw that, but also the shadow it cast on his soft skin.

"But where there is light, there is shadow," he murmured, eyes not leaving hers, "That is the quiet burden we bear to be their light."

Elain nodded, and together they looked back down at Nyx, and let the warmth and joy at him flow, tentatively, between their bond.

***

your writing for them is sublime

(again, more vibes than direct dialogue, but a prompt is a prompt so here we go. Thank you, I hope you enjoy this!)

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Moiraine froze in the midst of pouring herself another cup of tea. Nynaeve had provided it, saying that it would help her sleep. It hadn't. The pot was on her desk which sat next to the room adjoining Lan's. Fal Dara had a traditional respect for Aes Sedai and their Warders and, as such, provided connecting chambers. From the other side of the wall, she could hear soft sounds of pain.

Instinct had her reaching for the Power. Recent events caused her to clench her hand into a tight fist, eyes squeezing shut as she was brutally assaulted with the knowledge that she had no Power. Gritting her teeth, she focused on Lan, and put a hand to the hilt of one of her daggers instead. Setting down her cup, she prowled closer to the door that would lead her to Lan's room, listening, wishing she could enhance her hearing with saidar.

As it happened, she didn't need to. Even without that weave, she could distinctly make out Lan's voice muttering, pleading, in obvious distress. Sighing, she released her vice like hold on her blade, reaching instead for the door handle. Sleeping had its drawbacks.

Easing herself into the room, she found Lan as she had expected him. Thrashing in bed, breathing agitated, jaw clenched around another pained groan. Her Warder rarely had nightmares, they were typically her area of expertise, but when he did, she knew from experience, having shared the emotions of them, how awful they would be for him.

Gently, she put a hand on his shoulder and shook him awake, murmuring his name. He snapped to alertness at once, a hand reaching to the narrow gap between bed and mattress where he had a blade within reach. It was in his hand, flashing for her throat, before she could blink. Moiraine did not flinch, just stood there, silhouetted in the moonlight, trusting him.

A moment later, his body slumped with a mix of relief and exhaustion, recognising her. With a comforting squeeze at his shoulder, she eased the blade from his unresisting fingers and turned to set it on the high chest of drawers beside the bed. When she looked around again, Lan was sitting on the edge of the bed, face hidden in his hands, fingers sunk deeply into his hair as his palms ground into his closed eyes.

Stepping in to him, Moiraine wrapped her arms gently around him, a hand on the back of his head, pressing him down gently against her chest and holding him there against her warmth. He allowed her, going still against her, his own arms rising less certainly than her own, but curling around her and pulling her close all the same.

She pressed a soft kiss to the top of his head, eyes closed, knowing from the way he held her what had tormented his dreams this night. As it had most nights since their return from the Eye. She stroked her fingers gently through his hair, seeking to soothe him. Her soul ached at the absence of the bond, knowing he would be reaching for it, wanting more than anything to have that link with him, to give him that anchor to ground himself with and reassure him that all was well. Instead he had only her.

Swallowing tightly, forcing her voice to be level and calm, she said, "I am-" her throat tightened convulsively around the word 'alright'. In spite of her inability to touch the Source, the oaths she'd sworn as Aes Sedai still held her, and she could not speak a word that was blatantly untrue. It only halted her for a moment, before she quickly covered the stumble and went on, "Safe. I am safe, Lan."

He nodded slightly against her, but did not withdraw, still holding her to him. She leaned down, burying her nose in his hair and breathing him in. The scent of him in her lungs was a hollow substitute for the connection she should have had to him, but it helped, it helped.

"I'm here," she murmured, rubbing his back, "I am here with you. I am safe. You are safe. And I am here with you."

After a long moment, he raised his head and met her eyes. Often times she wondered how this man, one of the most renowned warriors of their time, an unparalleled swordsman, could look at her with such vulnerability and honesty in those bright brown eyes. Cupping his cheek in her hands, she stroked his face with the rough pad of her thumb. Gently, he covered her hand with his own, connecting them. Both of them had found that they had sought touch and contact from the other more and more since what had happened. Without the bond, they seized on to any kind of connection they could find with one another, however comparably shallow it might be.

"I'm sorry that I disturbed you," he said at last, taking a deep breath that shuddered a little in his chest as he drew it in. Yet he smiled for her, a tight thing, but an attempt, which was all they could do at the moment, "You can go back to bed now," he urged, "Try to get some rest."

She nodded a little, but continued to cup his face in her hands, "You'll be going back to sleep as well, won't you?" she said, knowing perfectly well that he'd been intending to get up and head back down to the practice yard below with his blade.

Lan hesitated, reading her face, knowing that she knew what he actually intended. Sighing, he nodded, and swung his legs back into bed to appease her, "Yes," he said grimly, turning over onto his side as he did for sleep.

Moiraine considered, then kicked off the slippers she'd been wearing on her feet, pulled back the covers, and slid into bed with him. He turned over, looking a little surprised, but she just used the change in position to allow her to tug him all the way over onto his other side, his head on her chest. Meeting her gaze once more, he caught her slight, sad smile, and she knew that he understood what she was doing.

Closing his eyes, he settled against her, listening to the soft sounds of her breathing. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close to him in a way that said that, given his way, he would never let her go again. She leaned down and kissed his cheek, fingers stroking absently through his hair, feeling him relax. They were trying. Even without the bond, she could still bring him comfort, could still reassure him that she was with him, that she was safe, that he had not lost her.

When the morning came, he would have to release her to the world, and the cruel wills and whims of the Wheel once more. For now, however, they held each other in the pale moonlight, and did what they could to survive until the dawn.

"Thank you, Moiraine," he murmured quietly into her.

Ty! This is more of a vibe than an exact line of dialogue, but I hope it’s okay!

*****

Months later, Lan still dreamed of the eye.

“I can’t touch the Source,” Moiraine had whispered to him, and his world seemed to collapse in upon itself like a dying star, even as she sank into him, sobbing for the first time in years, needing him to hold her up, even as he felt himself falling.

There were those in the Borderlands who whispered that Machin Shin was not just a torment in the Ways, but an omen. They believed that the things it screamed into a person’s mind, so specific, so soul-wrenching, would eventually come true. That was why it was so painful, so powerful, so feared. It was real. Some even believed that to let Machin Shin touch you was a curse. The things it spoke of would become real once you had heard them, because you had been foolish enough to go where it could reach you.

Lan had never given credence to those superstitions. Soldiers could be that way at the best of times. Living on the edge of the Blight for most of their lives did nothing to improve that habit. He had his own rituals and respected those of others, but he had never put faith in ghost stories. 

Now he wondered. As that chasm inside of him where Moiraine should have been deepened past endurance and solidified into the prospect of an eternity without her, he could not help hearing again the thing that had tormented him since they had encountered it in the Ways.

YOU CAN’T PROTECT HER.

He hadn’t. He had let her go to the Blight alone. She had walked into that pit alone, without him.

YOU’LL WATCH HER DIE.

He was. Each day that passed he lost a little more of her. She was dying. She was dying right in front of his eyes, and there was nothing he could do about it. He was watching her die. He was watching her die.

Prompt List Here! | Send me ship prompts!

Literally everything I imagine post 1x08 is giving me a breakdown, anon, so I feel you in my bones. Also this got Long so I’m formatting it like my usual fic posts because I posted it on AO3 lol.

Title: To The End

Warning: SPOILERS for episode 1x08 of the show. Feelings of hopelessness/implied mentions of previous suicide missions/the expectation of dying. Typical cheery Mo stuff.

Summary:  Post 1x08, prompt ‘here, let me help you’ Molanaeve flavoured. As the group begins travelling once more away from Fal Dara, Moiraine finds old habits hard to break, and continues reaching for the power to complete mundane tasks without thinking. After a tough day, she finally snaps. Hurt/Comfort, Lan POV.

Teaser: ‘ A quip in her mouth, and a smirk on her lips, she had taken his hand in hers, squeezing and slowly pulling back. Her face had fallen when she had stared at her own hand and found his blood staining it. Blood she had just bidden to return to his body. From a wound she had willed to heal. She had stared at that hand for far too long, her body rigid, her face set, and they had all noticed it.’

Link: AO3 or Read Below:

It had been a bad day. Lan did not need the bond, or even the history he had with her, to tell that. There had been so many things that had happened she had been unable to hide them.

Fal Dara was a day behind them now, and as they had sunk back into the routine of travel, old habits had become as much a torment to Moiraine as blood flies were to the horses.

At first, only he had noticed. The subtle way she reached instinctively for the Power to ease Aldieb's fatigue after a steep ascent. A faint flicker of her wrist that would ordinarily have let her sharpen her vision to peer further ahead of them. The look on her face as she'd turned to him with a mixture of confusion and frustration, wondering why he hadn't responded to something she had forgotten he could no longer feel. Realisation had struck harder than an arrow to the heart, and the shame in her eyes as she'd turned away from him would haunt him until the grave took him.

By far the worst had happened when they had broken for lunch. Lan had engaged her in a short sparring contest, her daggers against his sword. The aim had not been to test her skills, though he made sure she kept them honed as sharply as the blades themselves, but to allow her to work off a little steam. A mistimed strike had caught his hand, the cut not bad, but immediately obvious from the spray of scarlet that showered them.

A quip in her mouth, and a smirk on her lips, she had taken his hand in hers, squeezing and slowly pulling back. Her face had fallen when she had stared at her own hand and found his blood staining it. Blood she had just bidden to return to his body. From a wound she had willed to heal. She had stared at that hand for far too long, her body rigid, her face set, and they had all noticed it. The camp had fallen uncomfortably silent, until Nynaeve had made a very loud, and very obvious, comment about how they may not be in the Two Rivers, but that didn't mean she would accept them all standing around uselessly like Spring Poles at Bel Tine.

After that, Moiraine had covered the moment well, but the slips she experienced later in the day were more obvious, now the others were watching for them, unconsciously or otherwise. It was setting her more and more on edge. He could feel it in her, even without the bond. She was so tense he expected to hear the sound of bones snapping at any moment.

IT'S COMING FRIEND, IT'S COMING.

hehehehehehe I TAKE FULL RESPONSIBILITY AND FEEL NO SHAME. let's gooooooo anon.

Nicknames is done here!

Kiss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Nynaeve and Lan both go Hard. Their kissing games are strong. Lan by virtue of truly perfecting his technique during his Hoe Days (Listen. Young Lan was, as far as I can tell, canonically, a huge slut. And I really do love that for him. 100% with Mo's knowledge and consent. She supported him.) Nynaeve doesn't have as much experience, but what she lacks in practice, she makes up for with pure passion and the inability to do anything by half. Every now and then they just need a good, breathless make-out session. It helps restore balance to their world.

I headcanon Moiraine as very ace/aro spec and she's not super in to lots of physical intimacy stuff. If/when she does it, it's mostly for her partner's benefit/because she knows that they love it. But she's really not one for lots of hot, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. Just one as a taste, to start things off, and then they're going. Will comfortably sit in front of the fire nonchalantly reading a book while Lan and Nynaeve flop around like fish together right next to her and barely notice. That said, Moiraine knows what she's doing with her tongue. She's not the kind of person who does anything if she's not going to do it well damn it.

Wild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.