respite (wheel of time | lan~moiraine)
Dec. 1st, 2023 04:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fiachairecht posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
thelonelylakerespite. wheel of time, lan~moiraine. just because they like sharing a bed doesn't mean they're good at deciding who gets which side. 718w, rated t. for flowersforgraves in ficortreat 2023.
The rain that had driven them to an early shelter shows no sign of letting up, instead beating a rhythm that even Lan recognises many would call soothing against the tavern's roof. He himself doesn't feel particularly soothed, but he doesn't feel particularly on edge, either — and, more importantly, neither does Moiraine, who's winding her way back towards him with two steaming mugs held aloft to avoid the worst jostling of the crowded dining area.
"Five silver," she says as she sets the mugs down, "That we're offered two beds."
Lan lifts the mug and inhales the sweet scent of spiced mead, trusting his raised eyebrow to convey exactly how he feels about Moiraine claiming her side of their wager after talking to the barmaid.
Moiraine takes a sip of her own drink, eyes crinkling with amusement. "As if you didn't have your mind settled on her offering one the moment you saw how crowded it is."
He nudges her ankle with the tip of his boot, not the point, and is rewarded with one of Moiraine's rare genuine laughs. It warms him more than any drink ever could.
*
The room they're offered does indeed have only a single bed, though it's easily large enough to share, which is, as Moiraine assures the girl who has shown them upstairs, perfectly fine. If she's put out to have lost their wager, she doesn't show it — they've long since stopped pretending they don't sleep better together, the warmth of the other's body in their arms as natural as soft hum of the other's spirit in the back of their mind.
What Moiraine is markedly less fine with is the fact that the room's single lamp is on Lan's side of the bed.
"You could switch with me for one night, Lan." Unlike the bed, the washtub is barely big enough for one, and Moiraine has folded herself up so tightly to fit that she's glaring at him with her chin propped on her knees.
"I could," he agrees. He hadn't even attempted the tub, opting for a quick wipedown to remove the majority of the day's grime while Moiraine took advantage of his distraction to sit in the light. But, "I won't."
She flicks a handful of water at him, the droplets soaring across the room with unerring precision to splatter across his chest. He briefly contemplates throwing a pillow in return, but that path leads only to certain defeat. He smiles. "Bold, from the woman trying to convince me to give up my side of the bed."
"I'd do worse if you were over here," Moiraine says, and Lan doesn't need to know her oaths to know how true the words are. "And anyway, I've decided on a better option." She stands abruptly, firelight illuminating the water cascading down her body, and for a brief, dangerous moment fondness eclipses the knowledge that he should brace for whatever else she has planned.
But nothing happens. He watches with narrowed eyes as Moiraine wrings her hair out in the towel he hadn't used, channels herself dry, and pulls on her nightclothes before grabbing her book from their pack. "Now then," she says, "Since you won't move," and Lan hardly has time to sit up a little straighter against the wall before she's in his lap, still-damp hair soaking his shoulder as she tips her head back to look up at him, amused affection thrilling through the bond.
What next?
Lan could push her off, easily. Could kiss the upturned corner of her mouth and distract her, turn down the lamp and remind her how little sleep they've been getting on the road outside the shelter of four walls and a roof.
Moiraine shifts in his lap, a little expectant, and Lan realises — as she was no doubt counting on — that he doesn't have the heart to deny her this comfort, the sort she would never actually ask for. He wraps his arms around her waist, settling her more comfortably against his chest, and she relaxes almost imperceptibly: the muscles in her lower back loosening, something in the bond slackening the smallest amount at the top of his spine.
"Read aloud," he suggests, fingertips trailing a spiral across her stomach, "It helps you think."
And she does.
flowersforgraves in ficortreat 2023.The rain that had driven them to an early shelter shows no sign of letting up, instead beating a rhythm that even Lan recognises many would call soothing against the tavern's roof. He himself doesn't feel particularly soothed, but he doesn't feel particularly on edge, either — and, more importantly, neither does Moiraine, who's winding her way back towards him with two steaming mugs held aloft to avoid the worst jostling of the crowded dining area.
"Five silver," she says as she sets the mugs down, "That we're offered two beds."
Lan lifts the mug and inhales the sweet scent of spiced mead, trusting his raised eyebrow to convey exactly how he feels about Moiraine claiming her side of their wager after talking to the barmaid.
Moiraine takes a sip of her own drink, eyes crinkling with amusement. "As if you didn't have your mind settled on her offering one the moment you saw how crowded it is."
He nudges her ankle with the tip of his boot, not the point, and is rewarded with one of Moiraine's rare genuine laughs. It warms him more than any drink ever could.
The room they're offered does indeed have only a single bed, though it's easily large enough to share, which is, as Moiraine assures the girl who has shown them upstairs, perfectly fine. If she's put out to have lost their wager, she doesn't show it — they've long since stopped pretending they don't sleep better together, the warmth of the other's body in their arms as natural as soft hum of the other's spirit in the back of their mind.
What Moiraine is markedly less fine with is the fact that the room's single lamp is on Lan's side of the bed.
"You could switch with me for one night, Lan." Unlike the bed, the washtub is barely big enough for one, and Moiraine has folded herself up so tightly to fit that she's glaring at him with her chin propped on her knees.
"I could," he agrees. He hadn't even attempted the tub, opting for a quick wipedown to remove the majority of the day's grime while Moiraine took advantage of his distraction to sit in the light. But, "I won't."
She flicks a handful of water at him, the droplets soaring across the room with unerring precision to splatter across his chest. He briefly contemplates throwing a pillow in return, but that path leads only to certain defeat. He smiles. "Bold, from the woman trying to convince me to give up my side of the bed."
"I'd do worse if you were over here," Moiraine says, and Lan doesn't need to know her oaths to know how true the words are. "And anyway, I've decided on a better option." She stands abruptly, firelight illuminating the water cascading down her body, and for a brief, dangerous moment fondness eclipses the knowledge that he should brace for whatever else she has planned.
But nothing happens. He watches with narrowed eyes as Moiraine wrings her hair out in the towel he hadn't used, channels herself dry, and pulls on her nightclothes before grabbing her book from their pack. "Now then," she says, "Since you won't move," and Lan hardly has time to sit up a little straighter against the wall before she's in his lap, still-damp hair soaking his shoulder as she tips her head back to look up at him, amused affection thrilling through the bond.
What next?
Lan could push her off, easily. Could kiss the upturned corner of her mouth and distract her, turn down the lamp and remind her how little sleep they've been getting on the road outside the shelter of four walls and a roof.
Moiraine shifts in his lap, a little expectant, and Lan realises — as she was no doubt counting on — that he doesn't have the heart to deny her this comfort, the sort she would never actually ask for. He wraps his arms around her waist, settling her more comfortably against his chest, and she relaxes almost imperceptibly: the muscles in her lower back loosening, something in the bond slackening the smallest amount at the top of his spine.
"Read aloud," he suggests, fingertips trailing a spiral across her stomach, "It helps you think."
And she does.
