blue_ajah | (no subject)

Lan's eyebrows lift infinitesimally at Moiraine.

She gives Lan a level look in return, and turns to Raven as she says,

"It is not as though I am exactly resisting."

While Raven forbore snorting, Nynaeve indulges herself.

"No one would put it past you, Moiraine."

She tilts her chin up.

"You might do better at convincing us if you would at least sit yourself down somewhere."

She pauses, scanning the room.

"And if you have the makings of tea, I'll put some on."

She gives the other woman a narrow-eyed glance, waiting.

"Perhaps you might all join me, then," she says dryly, and takes the few steps necessary in order to allow herself to sink gracefully into a corner of the loveseat.

Moiraine catches Nynaeve's eye and nods to a kitchenette, off to one side of the suite.

"It is there." A pause. "And thank you."

Nynaeve meets Moiraine's gaze for a moment, holds it, then nods.

"You're welcome. Of course."

And then she bustles off to the kitchenette, busying herself with the makings for tea.

Raven, meanwhile, seems to take Moiraine's words as invitation, and drops himself comfortably on the loveseat next to her.

He does take up rather a lot of space.

It is almost unfortunate.

"Possibly she will be bringing milk, as well?"

He does not sound very hopeful about that.

Moiraine is a crappy host.

Lan does not dignify that with an answer.

(There are a great many things Lan does not dignify with answers.)

Instead, he settles into one of the armchairs, studying them both. Even in a private room among trusted friends (and Raven, who is mostly trusted within certain limits), Lan sits as if expecting an attack any moment, with a liquid watchful grace.

"Exercise patience," she says to Raven, dryly, and evidently untroubled at his lounging. "You will discover the answer for yourself soon enough, will you not?"

Even as she speaks, however, her gaze goes to Lan. Dark eyes meet cold blue ones, and hold, in silence.

Raven neither rolls his eyes nor flicks at cookie at the incredibly irritating Moiraine.

He should be commended.

Instead he sprawls out more, watching their interplay with bright black eyes.

"Possibly, Moiraine, you should be leaving better notes."

One of the few areas Lan trusts Raven with is seeing that Moiraine sleeps and eats. He doesn't trust the bird with her dignity, and he would always rather be there himself to make certain, but he's not truly worried that she'll exhaust herself more tonight.

There are other questions. To ask them aloud, he'll wait until Nynaeve returns.

So he only holds Moiraine's eyes in turn, head tilting fractionally, and glances for an instant at Raven after he speaks.

She also glances at Raven, at this, with a slightly narrowed gaze.

"It is not as though I did not tell them," she informs him.

Raven does not stick his tongue out at her.

She should be pleased.

He does, however, lift his foot and poke at her, mouth quirked in an almost wry smile.

"Possibly one day you will tell me things, too, yes?"

He doesn't bat his lashes, either.

Much.

...He's fluttering his eyelashes.

There are so many reasons Lan is not making any expression at all right now.

And now, of course, would be the time Nynaeve comes back with the tea.

She pauses briefly on the threshold, eyebrows hitting her hairline.

Then, very carefully, she lowers the tray onto a table, then stands, one hand tugging at her braid.

"If you are quite finished flirting, I do believe the tea is ready."

Her narrow-eyed glare is fixed firmly on Raven and Moiraine.

He is, it would appear, aiming for an ear-boxing of epic proportions.

Moiraine may be next.

Moiraine's eyes widen abruptly, at this.

"It is not like--"

She sounds almost half-strangled, just for a moment, then stops speaking and takes a breath.

"I believe that you have mistaken what you have seen, Nynaeve," she continues, calmly, even as she becomes aware of her dressing gown and Raven's presence in a chair in her bedchamber when they entered. She resists the impulse to sigh.

"This is simply Raven's way, when it comes to certain people, of whom I am one."

She glances at Raven.

"Is it not so?"

There is, however, no doubt in her tone.

Raven grins at her, bright and affectionate.

He might also poke her again with his foot.

"It is the benefit of siblings, I am thinking, yes?"

Benefit is, at the moment, perhaps too strong a word.

It is a pity.

...Siblings.

Right.

It's Lan's eyebrows that rise, this time.

(If Raven is a Damodred from Cairhien, Lan is an Aiel.)

"Siblings."

Nynaeve's tone is flat, and she tugs even harder on her hair.

"You and tha--"

She cuts herself off, almost ruthlessly.

"With Raven."

Her eyes narrow even more, mouth pressing into a tight line.

"Are you quite mad?"

Moiraine's chin rises an inch as she meets Nynaeve's gaze with a flat, level one of her own.

"I am not, as it happens. You may regard it as a sort of informal adoption, if you prefer; it is how I myself best understand it, in any case."

Raven laughs.

"She is, I think, not so much the mad one."

Then he shrugs again.

"And I am mostly not overly picky with words, so."

In some universe that is possibly a helpful answer.

Someone should inform Raven that if he has to take lessons in clear speaking from an Aes Sedai, he has problems.

"mm," says Lan, just as helpfully.

This revelation alters several things, and nothing.

Nynaeve's mouth tightens, and she finishes preparing the tea in silence, carefully handing out full cups.

"Well, then. As long as you know what you're doing."

She does not look convinced, but on Moiraine's head be it.

Bloody stubborn woman.

She accepts her cup and curves her fingers around the porcelain shell, drawing in the warmth.

"I very often do," she murmurs.

If Nynaeve sets the teapot down very hard in the middle of that comment, it's probably just that her arm was tired.

"Hmmph."

But she settles next to Lan quietly enough, narrowed eyes fixed firmly on the Aes Sedai.

Determinedly, she takes a sip of tea.

Raven snorts, burying his face in his own cup of tea.

He might also fish a few cookies out of his pocket.

What? He is hungry!