Nynaeve al’Meara by *fee-absinthe

ananke220:

“My Lord is all right? My Lord was down for a very long time.”
“Forget me, man,” said a deep voice. “Get something to wrap around the lady.” Lan’s voice, that she dreamed every night of hearing.
Wide-eyed, Nynaeve barely bit back a wail; the horror she had felt when she thought she was going to die was nothing alongside what flashed through her now. Nothing! This was a nightmare. Not now! Not like this! Not when she was a drowned rat, kneeling with the contents of her stomach spread out before her!
Without thought she embraced saidar and channeled. Water fell away from her clothes, her hair, in a rush and washed all evidence of her little mishap out through a scupper hole. Scrambling to her feet, she hurriedly pulled her necklace aright and did her best to straighten her dress and hair, but the soaking in salt water and then the rapid drying had left several stains on the silk and a number of creases that would require a knowledgeable hand with a hot iron to remove. Wisps of hair wanted to fly away from her scalp, and the opals in her braid seemed to dot the bristling tail of an angry cat.
It did not matter. She was calmness itself, cool as an early spring breeze, self-possessed as … She spun around before he could come on her from behind and startle her into disgracing herself completely.
She only realized how quickly she had moved when she saw that Lan was just then taking his second step from the railing. He was the most beautiful man she had ever seen. Soaking wet in shirt and breeches and stockings, he was gorgeous, with his dripping hair clinging to the angles of his face, and … A split purple bruise was rising on his face, as from a blow. She clapped a hand to her mouth, remembering her fist connecting.
“Oh, no! Oh, Lan, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!” She was not really aware of crossing the space between them; she was just there, stretching up on toetips to lay fingers gently on his injury. A deft weave of all Five Powers, and his tanned cheek was unblemished. But he might have been hurt elsewhere. She spun the weaves to Delve him; new scars made her wince inside, and there was something odd, but he seemed healthy as a prime bull. He was also very wet, from saving her. She dried him as she had herself; water splashed around his feet. She could not stop touching him. Both hands traced his hard cheeks, his wonderful blue eyes, his strong nose, his firm lips, his ears. She combed that silky black hair into place with her fingers, adjusted the braided leather band that held it. Her tongue seemed to have a life of its own, too. “Oh, Lan,” she murmured. “You really are here.” Somebody giggled. Not her — Nynaeve al’Meara did not giggle — but somebody did. “It isn’t a dream. Oh, Light, you’re here. How?”

Mashiara, A Crown of Swords ch. 31 (Wheel of Time sires)
by Robert Jordan

Yet another favorite scene from the series.  Taking as long as it does, Nynaeve FINALLY overcoming her block is SUCH a relief.

Not that improves her temper much.a