A/N – Welcome back, dear readers! This is my new little project. It's not yet complete, but it's completely outlined and I have great enthusiasm for it. I hope to post everything before March, depending on my busy schedule. Please bear with me, and know that I will absolutely finish this as soon as I can as well as I can.

The object of this fic was to show character growth of my favorite character, Numair, and have him meet our favorite wildmage a different way than the books. He is a bit more immature than we see, but he'll soon grow to become that person we all know and love. So sit back and enjoy:

Chapter One : In Which Numair Receives an Unexpected, Unwanted, (Yet Not Completely Unwarranted) Vacation

Numair Salmalin liked the practicality of lists. He enjoyed making them, not on paper, but spoken verbally or even just thought. Lists gave an order to a disorganized world, whether by categorizing by alphabet or importance or any unlimited number of categories. He was particularly fond of verbalizing his lists when trying to work out a solution to a particularly thorny problem. Numair knew that this specific proclivity tended to irritate his friends but to him it was worth it. Sure, he might admit to himself when in one of his introspective moods that his capacity for seemingly endless trivia and ancient lore was in part perhaps rooted in vanity. If he was to be completely honest, which did occur at times, it was arrogance, a burning desire for everyone to know and appreciate his brilliance. A throwback to his Carthaki days, likely, one temporarily squelched in his dim, demoralizing, depressing first year in Tortall. Numair did not like to think of those days. They were much better off forgotten.

Making lists was not only a tool to feed his ego. More importantly, it was also a method for remembering the vast amounts of minutiae stored in his brain, as well as a stalling tactic when he needed to appear to have an answer while desperately searching for one. He was surprised that no one had figured that last part out yet, but then again, who actually listened when he trailed off into the annals of history about parallels and possible causes of whatever was actually the problem at hand?

The lists did not even have to be useful. In case anyone cared, or if he could use them as sarcastic retorts, he could swiftly answer any number of inane statements such as, "Where else would you rather be?", "What could be worse than this?", or his favorite, "This has to be the stupidest thing anyone has ever done." To that last he had a ready-made stock of answers that would repudiate his actions entirely, whatever they may be.

At no time, however, did listening to a lecture from the King of Tortall, Jonathon of Conte, make any list that included his own happiness or enjoyment in any fashion.

Nor did the suggestion currently being forced upon him make even the slightest hint of an appearance of any "must do" list. Ever.

No, Numair could say quite vehemently that both the lecture and suggestion were completely unnecessary, unfair, and a waste of his valuable time.

"Travel to Galla? Are you mad, Jon?"

The dark blue eyes of his king seemed to harden. "You do not seem to have any understanding of what has happened the past few days at court. Need I remind you?"

Numair slouched in his chair, avoiding Jon's flinty gaze. "Some conservative is annoyed, what's new there," he said flippantly.

"Some conservative? Great gods, Numair, it was not just some conservative, you know that full well, and you did when you chose to sleep with his wife!"

Numair shrugged. "It's not as if she was his mistress. Everyone knows that the crusty bastard hasn't touched the lady since the birth of his heir years ago."

Jon closed his eyes as if praying to the gods for strength. "So you happened to choose the lonely wife of the most conservative man at court, the one most opposed to any change, the one who has threatened for years to join Tusaine?"

"Dominick of Disart is a coward," said Numair, flipping his hand dismissively. "He's much too afraid of you and the Lioness. And me," he added thoughtfully.

"That's not the point!" Jon's voice went quieter, but gained an added edge. "You do realize that he is demanding your blood, your head? He is calling your actions treason."

Numair scoffed as he lazily inspected his long fingers. "What is he going to do about it? He just does not want to lose face before his lackeys. What is he going to do to me? What can he do to me?"

"Numair!" The word cut through the room and the air around Jon lightly began to glow a dark sapphire. "This is not a request. It is an order from your king, which you must obey."

Numair stopped picking at his nails. "You're not joking, are you Jon?"

"I consider it best that you leave Corus for a month or two-"

"A month? Jon seriously, the Lady Catherine has her coming out ball next week, I have three different magical workings that must be monitored, the fourth planet is aligning with the second and the sixth in a fortnight, and I hate camping!"

As Numair demonstrated his extensive list-making capabilities once more, Jon felt his good humor slightly restored, though his resolve was not weakened. He wondered idly which complaint held the greatest sway. Numair was infamous at court for being a charmer of all beautiful ladies as well as being deeply absorbed in the exploration and experimentation of his craft. He was also known to be fond of his creature comforts when he could be dragged away from the perusal of his interests.

Not giving Numair a chance to finish, if he ever would, Jon cut in, "Nevertheless, you will go with Onua to the Great Fair in Galla."

"But what am I to do in godsforsaken Galla?" he cried.

Jon resisted the urge to throttle the other mage, his temper rapidly rising again with Numair's level of petulance. "You will figure that out, Numair. Bring a few arcane tomes from the Library to pass the time, I don't care. Just go."

Numair, sensing the battle lost, raised his lanky frame from the chair with exaggerated movements, leaving on his own terms. He paused when the king spoke again.

"Numair," Jon said, voice kinder yet with a hard edge that forbid defiance. "Do not take your anger out at Onua. She is your friend, as am I."

The tall mage gathered the shredded pieces of his dignity like a worn cloak as he departed the room, only pausing briefly at the doorway to say blandly, "As you say, your Majesty."

Onua Chamtong breathed in the brisk air, still cold in late winter, and stretched out her entire body as if it refilled her soul with peace. As much as she liked Corus and enjoyed spending time with her friends, Onua always felt rejuvenated at the beginning of a journey. It was as if all of the frivolous cares and worries she picked up in the city were stripped aside. A journey was another chance for starting new, starting over. There was only her, the road, and her Tahoi, currently scampering ahead, enjoying the forest and sniffing out rabbits.

They were going to Cria to the Great Fair to buy hardy mountain ponies for the Queen's Riders. It was a task she undertook every year, though it had recently become more dangerous, and there was talk amongst traders of monsters. Usually Tahoi was enough, and once she bought the ponies they were nearly as good as guard dogs, but she still slept with her crossbow at easy reach even though she warded the campsite at night. There was always a greater mage out there.

The presence of her good friend should have increased her anticipated enjoyment as much as it reassured her of their safety, but he also made their journey more complicated.

Fortunately, her friend was Numair.

Unfortunately, her friend was Numair.

The lanky black mage was a study in contradictions at the best of times. He was a terrible rider with a seat painful to behold, but he was kind to his longsuffering mount, Spots. He was confident sometimes to the point of arrogance, but he was never intentionally mean or cruel. In fact, he was one of the kindest and gentlest people she had ever met, certainly of all her mage companions. One certainly couldn't call the Lioness gentle!

Numair was fickle in his romantic conquests and so vain that it took him longer to get ready for court appearances than most delicate court flowers, but he was steadfast and loyal to his friends, to those who placed their trust in his immeasurably capable hands. Besides, due to his cheerful absent-mindedness and thirst for knowledge, he wouldn't think twice about sitting in wet grass to watch a meteor shower in his court best, even during a ball.

Yet he did have cause for arrogance. One of the most powerful mages in the world, one of only seven black mages, his gift was staggering to imagine. Even after years of friendship and witnessing him use his gift, Onua still could not completely comprehend his strength. Alanna had once told her that even she, blessed by the Goddess, would not dare to face Numair in a mage's duel. His powerful Gift had frightened many people away; only his suave and charismatic nature was enough to convince the shallow court ladies to forget his magical capabilities, not that he ever attempted to show off his Gift in front of them. It was not so easy to ignore evidence in front of your eyes as it was to push well-known accounts of his feats to the back of your mind.

It was his capability for court scandal combined with his absent-mindedness that provided the reason for his sulky appearance on the road this early. While not the happiest traveler, Numair usually put on an air of forced cheeriness, for he truly was most content locked away in his workshops experimenting or searching for knowledge all sane people had long forgotten. Travelling was dirty and tiring, not to mention inconvenient. It was time much better spent reading. Onua wondered if his particular dislike stemmed from his first year in Tortall spent hiding in slums, always on the move, always hungry and exhausted, sleeping with both eyes open for both thieves and Ozorne's men. Whatever the cause, Numair was generally considerate enough of others to pretend ambivalence at the least. That he did not attempt to hide his petulance was an obvious sign to Onua that her friend was upset and angry.

Not that she needed to read his body language. The whole court knew that Numair had been sent from Corus in disgrace, and why.

"Horse Lords, Numair, am I that bad a companion?" she quipped quietly, breaking the silence in the brisk morning air.

Numair came back to himself and stirred, blinking slightly. He sighed. "Of course not, Onua, I am sorry for inflicting myself on you in such a state. I'm not fit company for any friend at the present, thanks to someone whom shall remain nameless."

Onua honestly tried, but she could not contain the words that tripped from her traitorous lips. "Just what were you thinking?"

He groaned. "Not you too."

In for a copper, in for a noble. "Did you do it to prove something? All you did was give Jon a massive headache and opposition at court when he's trying to push that tax reform through the nobles."

He grinned wolfishly, all shiny teeth. "Well, that's not entirely accurate."

"Numair!"

"Onua!" he mocked lightly as he spurred Spots on, the effect slightly ruined by his ungainly seat as he bounced uncomfortably on his saddle.

Undeterred, she clicked to her pony and easily caught up with him. "So why did you do it?" she asked, exasperation coloring her voice. "Didn't you know about the reform? Jon has been trying to get it passed for at least a decade and he is so close; he just barely convinced Dominick of Disart to back down on the recent housing law, Disart is still upset about that. Something about the commoners getting airs-"

Numair, swiftly vacillating from humored to irritated, snapped. "Yes, pity poor Jon. It's so difficult to be him. What do I know; I'm just one of his pet mages on his leash-"

"Numair! You know that's not true, he does his best and really does care. You know that."

The mage visibly tried to calm himself. He took a deep sigh and mumbled, "I know."

He looked away, so Onua pressed. "You know I am your friend, Numair, but sometimes I don't understand you one bit."

"No one does."

"Who can when you're the smartest man at court and one of the strongest mages in the world and you play with empty-headed vapid ladies. How can we understand?"

Refusing to respond and scowling darkly, he dug his heels into Spots' flank and increased the pace further, forcing her to catch up, both of them more unsettled than when the conversation began.

Later that night after they set up camp, Numair stared into the low fire, bowl of soup forgotten in his long fingers. He dimly noted Onua settling down next to him with her own supper and a firm, "No, Tahoi" to the begging dog. Tahoi woofed softly; Numair absently fished out a bit of meat and tossed it to the eyes reflecting in the firelight.

"I am trying to break him of that habit," Onua said lightly as she snapped her fingers at her dog, surprised when the normally well-behaved animal chose instead to sit at her companion's knee. Numair let a hand drift over to him, resting it gently on his head, lightly scratching between his eyes and behind his ears.

The trio sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the muted cricket's chirping behind the protective wards, the harsh crackling and popping of the small fire, the sigh of the wind as it wove its way through the treetops above them.

Onua had nearly sunk into a meditative state, lulled by the repetitive noises, when her friend's voice rippled through the air.

"You are mistaken," he brooded as he stroked the soft fur. Onua bristled at the words, thinking he was opening another argument, but the tone was not challenging, more defeated. "Mistaken about some things," he corrected himself. "It was not to prove anything, Lady Nessah, I mean. I didn't mean anything by it; I did not even think of the consequences, but then Jon started attacking me and I could not help but provoke him, so I pushed him, I admit it." His fingers slid down Tahoi's neck to scratch his ruff. "You don't seem very surprised," he noted dryly.

Onua nodded ruefully. "I heard something about what passed between the two of you. That nonchalant act of yours gets under his skin, and he had to make an example of you."

Numair sighed. "I know, and perhaps that is why I did it. I have just been so," he struggled with the next word, "bored."

She raised an eyebrow at her friend. "So the answer to boredom is to cause a court scandal and rile up the king?"

"Apparently."

They both chuckled lightly, the mood changing to something resembling contentedness or at least companionship. Numair fed the rest of his food to the dog that begged politely as Onua banked the fire for the night. They unrolled their bedrolls near the fire for the warmth, though the horse mistress knew that she would have a companion who insisted on guarding her, especially when out of Corus. She could not begrudge the dog; Tahoi was with her years ago when… but she disliked bringing up the old memories. There was no point in dwelling on the past when one could live for the future.

Nearly asleep, Onua was startled by Numair breaking the silence between them for the second time that night. "What?" she muttered, rousing herself from the Dream God's clutches.

"Do you think she is out there?" he repeated.

"Who are you talking about?" she yawned, valiantly attempting to sound awake and alert.

"The other side of me."

"Numair?" she rolled over to face him, his sharp face illuminated by the low light as he stared into the starry sky obscured only by trees. Suddenly, she did not have to fight sleep.

"Everyone else seems to have found their other half, their purpose," he continued, barely hearing her. "What do I have? Some experiments, research, stolen nights with women chosen for their bosoms and ability to forget to be afraid of me." He glanced over to her, eyes suspiciously wet and glinting off the light. "I am so tired of frightening people with who I am, with what I am unable to help. Even my friends back off, even you at times."

"Numair, I-" Onua started, feeling exceedingly guilty.

He shook his head lightly, looking back at the stars. The fifth planet from the sun was unusually bright tonight. "No, do not apologize. I do understand, and it doesn't bother me most of the time. I have scared people all of my life, even my family. Especially my family."

He went silent for a few minutes. Onua did not know what to say. She could not rightly deny it; sometimes her tall friend did frighten her with his big showy magic, and she did not know what to say to ease his suffering. Did he always feel this way? Was that why he tried to distract himself with studies and boring, brainless women?

"She does not have to be a woman," he continued as if he had never digressed, "just my other half, someone who understands me, someone who is not afraid. Perhaps it would be better that it not be a woman." He paused, then continued thoughtfully. "Yes, a man, definitely. I am not even sure I could have a normal relationship with a woman any more, not after… before, and not after what I have done here in Tortall. It would be better that it not even be a question, not a possibility, be only for friendship, camaraderie. I do realize that I am talking to you, Onua; I do know what happened to you."

Onua felt cold fingers run over her body, and she clutched Tahoi closer, ignoring his low grumblings as he stretched and drifted back to sleep.

"I know about your husband, and I know what you escaped, what you left behind. That alone takes a lot of courage, and then you managed to become horse mistress to the Queen's Riders. You have your purpose, your task that only you can fulfill. What do I have?" he closed his eyes and shook his head again. "I am an exhibition piece, brought out when useful, shoved back when done. I cannot do anything useful. Did you know, I cannot heal? I cannot even light a candle or snuff it with my Gift, it is big works or nothing, and so it's almost always nothing. Or at least, nothing of importance," he said bitterly.

"Be fair to yourself," Ouna said softly. "You are very useful, Numair, and not just to help set up the Royal University, or to teach, or to experiment. You are useful because you are our friend, and we do not care about your Gift."

He sighed, and she pretended not to notice the glistening track pooling at the corner of his eye and running down towards the ground. It didn't seem right that her friend should suffer attacks of depression, of insecurity. Not Numair, the confident mage who always supplied the answer, who had enough power at his fingertips to flatten the Palace, not her quiet friend who teased her lightly about "those vicious ponies" she loved so much, who made it a point to drop by when they were both in Corus, at least when he wasn't absorbed in some magical minutia. She wished there was something she could do.

"I just feel there is a gaping hole, a void, something missing, something I must accomplish."

"You want a defined purpose, a path to follow."

"Yes."

"I believe you will find him or her, Numair, though probably not where you have been looking. I don't think she is hiding in the court, at least not around those you generally meet."

"Now, don't underestimate Lady What's-Her-Name, she had a particularly fine grasp on Izard's Fourth Principle of Magikal Transmogrification," he said innocently.

They shared a quiet laugh in the dark, though his bore an edge, a bit of a gasp, a desperate laugh of a desperate man willing himself to vestiges of normality. But Numair's words were sincere.

"Thank you. You are a true friend."

"You will find him. Maybe he isn't a person, maybe he's an animal, like Tahoi."

His eyes glanced over at the sleeping dog, loyal and steadfast to his mistress. "I could and have done much worse."

They lay in companionable silence only broke by Tahoi's snores and the quiet snuffling of the horses. Onua felt that she had been granted a rare view into his character, one seen by very few people. She felt honored, in a way, that she should know this extraordinary, larger-than-life man, honored that she could call herself his friend.

By the time they arrived in Cria, Numair was his old self. They never spoke about that night though it remained between them, not as a barrier but as a tangible understanding; there was no need to discuss what was intimately known.

Onua led them to the inn she always frequented when at the Fair. Numair took one look at the small room and discreetly wrinkled his nose. It was much more cramped than he preferred, but at least he and Onua did not have to share. He eyed the small bed unhappily; there was no possible way his tall frame could fit. All things considered, he'd rather sleep outside in a bedroll, not that he would ever admit that to, well, anyone.

Nor could he feasibly spend his days in Galla in the confined quarters. Numair carefully placed his bag of books and necessities on the small chest of drawers and turned to Onua with a raised eyebrow. "I assume I am to assist you?"

To her credit, Onua held back a laugh. Her old friend couldn't fool her; she could almost read his thoughts, but she nodded with just a hint of amusement and led the way down to her normal field.

There was not much to do the first day, not until Onua bargained for her first small string of ponies, but Numair stood around awkwardly watching the proceedings and being subjected to, "Well, aren't you a lanky fella," by far too many knowing winks and glances of the Cria townswomen.

Try as he might, Numair was simply useless, even after they acquired some ponies. He knew how to take proper care of horses, but these were mountain ponies with a penchant for stepping on large feet and nipping dangerously close to delicate fingers. Flustered, he could only stand helplessly as they herded him around the corral until Onua took pity and sent Tahoi to retrieve him.

By the third day, his clothes soaked in pony saliva and stained by Gods-knew-what, Numair was relieved when Onua gently rebuffed his offer of help. At loose ends, he remembered the arcane tomes he had lugged from his workrooms in Corus, and Numair decided to find some suitable location to read them.

His room out of the question, he claimed a spot in the corner of the dusty tavern room near a window large enough to let in light to read by easily. Numair, absorbed deeply, let the conversation rise and fall around him, labor-roughened voices rumbling indistinctly about trading and the Great Fair. It wasn't until the sun began to fall and make reading difficult that the mage blinked from his daze and registered the grumbling of his stomach.

Numair caught the attention of a serving wench and smiled, grinning broader when she blushed and sauntered over to him. The busty woman took his order for stew and lingered with a saucy wink, "if there's anything else I can do for you…" as she trailed a finger up his arm. Numair demurred politely, but gave her an extra coin for a healthy tip. It wouldn't do to offend the source of his meals.

As he munched his way through the thick meaty stew, Numair let his attention wander to the myriad of voices filling the large room. He hadn't realized they were so loud, not when his attention was so focused on his fascinating book about the magical practices of ancient cult built around a rather promiscuous and proliferate dragon, but he was much too fastidious to eat around his precious books.

Numair's mind was free to listen to the coarse speech that blundered around him. Most of it was pointless, but his ears perked at a few unusual tidbits, the most interesting of which talked about unusually aggressive wolves to the north.

"I tell ya," one yelled to his close companion as he swung his full mug in the air, "I 'eard it from a trader, who got it from a fella in Snowsdale, says the wolves is runnin' wild." At the hearty jeers from his audiences, he waved his hands, spilling some noxious substance from the mug. "I mean, they're smart, not like normal wolves, they avoid traps, lay false trails." The other people rolled their eyes and shouted him down, but he had saved the best for last. "A girl and a horse run with 'em!"

They gave cries of disbelief, but the man held his ground stubbornly, repeating, "I tell ya, I tell ya!"

Numair rolled his eyes. What utter rot and drivel people said when drunk.

"He's right!" added a trader from across the room. "I saw them myself when I was riding down from the mountains – it was a large pack and there was a girl right in the middle of them on all fours, and a pony trailing behind."

He decried the accusations that he was "razzled off his horse," instead claiming full sobriety and possession of his senses.

Numair tucked away the book into a pocket and finished his meal, patiently waiting for the raucous crowd to latch onto some other bit of outrageous news. Once the talk turned to a green-skinned woman appearing above some well, he discreetly arose from his seat to join the trader, greeting him quietly.

The trader eyed him suspiciously. Numair's clothes, though sturdy enough for work, were of an obviously better cut and quality than the average workman, not that the mage could ever be taken as a layman. "Come to jeer at me too?"

Numair smiled a bit. "Not at all, my good man. I simply find myself curious about your sighting. It would be rather prudent of you to tell me more." Without moving an inch, Numair seemed to loom over the man, his smile somehow glinting and his eyes strangely persuasive. "I do love a good story."

The trader found words slipping from his mouth without conscious control. "It's true, every word of it. I was riding down from Stoneglen, that's just east of Snowsdale, and I saw a flash of gray to my right so I looked and saw a mess of wolves staring right at me with a half-naked girl in torn clothes there snarling with the rest of them, and there was a gray horse too, one that looked real scared. I got out of there as fast as I could, didn't stop until I got to the next town."

Although Numair had no Gift to detect lies, ever since his year on the streets, he had learnt how to spot a liar nonmagically. This man was telling the truth, at least the truth how he saw it.

Well, that was certainly fascinating.

Numair thanked the pale man, flipped him a coin for another drink of muck, and retired to his room and the small cramped bed. He ruminated on the story; how could a person, much less a girl, run with and act as a wolf, and where did the horse fit in? There were two options, he decided: either the man really was drunk, though alcohol didn't generally cause hallucinations and certainly not such clear ones, or there existed a pack of wolves that included two non-wolves.

That was undoubtedly worth a closer examination, if nothing else to alleviate the boredom that would quickly ensue if Numair had to spend the next month in that dirty room with nothing but an expensive and valuable tome, or trapped with that vicious mob of animals Onua called ponies.

Numair decided, as he drifted slowly off to sleep, curled up on his side to fit inside the narrow frame, that tomorrow morning he would stretch his wings, so to say.