This is merely a silly, warmth inspiring scene of character and blatant bias for the couple in question. This kind of moment is like any other in real life, taking place during the best times of a relationship, and is supposed to encourage at least the echo of that feeling. I hope you enjoy this ridiculous romp of fluff. It certainly made me smile.

THE BALLAD of VERALIDAINE

Dressed for work in dark gray breeches and shirt, Daine tugged at the leather arm guards she had donned mere seconds before as she strode into the palace rooms that were her second home. "Numair?" she called, her attention now on the quiver strapped to her back. She checked the bedroom, then the bath, finally shaking her head and turning down the suite's short hallway. She poked her head into the rather opulent study it was adjoined to, smiling at the figure slumped over one of its many desks.

Numair – her lover of nearly four years now - was busy, as usual, focused completely on the papers in front of him. His black clad legs stretched out to either side in front of him, his informal stance further emphasized by the loose folds of his white shirt and the complete absence of jewelry and other finery on his person.

Daine admired him from a distance for a moment, enjoying the sight of powerful back muscles from where his shirt had slipped down, before she crossed over to him, cat quiet. Standing behind him, she placed gentle hands on his shoulders. He did not jump – he never did, his body instinctively registering her own – but put a warm hand over one of her own, leaning back against her.

"Hello, handsome."

He offered his signature slow smile, eyes alight as he looked up at her, craning his head back as she bent for a quick kiss. "Hello yourself." He turned in his chair for a more comfortable look at her, dark eyes sliding down her body before returning to her face, eyebrow arched. "Well, you certainly cut a competent figure. Putting your father's bow to the test again?"

She nodded, glancing down at his papers curiously, her call to work forgotten for the moment. "What are you writing?"

"Hm?" He looked at his work, then back at her, grinning. "A ballad."

"A ballad?" Daine brightened, making his smile broaden in turn. "You mean like those songs they're always singing at court? About Thayet..." Daine frowned, giving him a piercing look. "An odd task for a mage, I would think."

Numair blinked – smirked – and went back to his writing. "Oh? And why would you think so?"

"It seems a tad bit undignified." Not to be ignored, Daine propped herself on a clear section of desk beside him, peering down in an effort to read his spidery script. He covered it from her view, his smirk growing – unrepentant – as she scowled.

"I've dabbled in it before," he said, pulling a slate towards him from the desk. Its hard wood back made a fair writing surface, it seemed. "Poetry and song are some of the finest transcendent arts left in the world – you could say, as a man of culture, it's expected of me." He inclined his torso towards her in a mock bow to illustrate this point.

"I just thought ballads and such things went to the court minstrels."

"When they involve long-versed praises of Tortall's queen – yes, I suppose they do. Ballads are not restricted to royal figures, of course; they can be about anything... Say, histories, fairy tales, great heroes – or beautiful women, in my case."

"Ah." Daine swung her legs to and fro over the edge of the desk, rolling her eyes at his lofty tone. Any other woman might have been troubled by this near admission of infidelity, but Daine had never been the kind of woman to vapidly walk the gauntlet of Court. "So I can expect to hear this at next months ball?"

Numair sent her an appraising look. "Much as I respect and admire our queen, I think you'll agree that she has far too many songs already dedicated to her lashes alone." She chuckled at that – it was true. "No, I'm afraid that I do not mention Thayet once in this ballad."

"Oh... Then who are you writing about?"

"You."

"Oh, stop it, Numair, you cheated Player!" she said, laughing and slapping him lightly on the chest. She knew she was blushing. "That's absolutely ridiculous! I wish you wouldn't find it so needful to tease me."

Numair's eyebrow quirked, eyes going half mast as a smirk pulled at his lips. He took hold of the hand still pressed against his strong chest, fingers curving around the wrist and stroking the sensitive flesh there. Daine had always physically reacted to the image – his hands were easily three times the size of her own – and the motion was a familiar one, a prelude to a slow burning kiss that would leave her gasping. Daine let her eyes close as he pulled her off the desk and into his lap, his lips resting against the shell of her ear. He pulled her earlobe into his mouth, sucking gently, what sounded like a laugh rumbling at the back of his throat. Daine's free arm roped around his neck as he turned his attention to the line of her jaw.

Then he ruined it.

"In ancient wood a girl is born..." he breathed in a ridiculously ponderous voice.

Daine's eyes snapped open.

"Numair, that's not funny!" She tried pulling away from him, but he had a good grip on her, and only chuckled when she began to struggle in earnest. His arms tightened around her, and he was soon raining exaggerated kisses on any amount of skin that his lips could find purchase on. She squealed, laughing with him, as the mage continued;

"...to world of twilight drawn.

Made both eternal and fading,

They named her for the dawn."

Daine giggled, then moaned as his lips closed over her own, his tongue delving into her mouth, caressing her with passion. This close, his scent of parchment and tea tree oil nearly swamped her. It was a heady feeling. "That's actually really good," she allowed when he broke away from her. Her eyes opened, and she trembled at the desire so apparent in his face.

His voice was nearly a growl – she could fell the reverberations against her breasts and belly. "I have incomparable inspiration." His fingers began to stroke at the hollows at the base of her spine, teasing the skin just below the hem of her breeches.

"I don't understand it, though."

"Don't understand it!" Numair's lustful expression cleared in an instant, hands freezing, the air of academia returning to him so quickly that Daine blinked in consternation. "But how can you not? It's all about you..."

"It makes no sense!" She tried to engage him again, fingers at his shirttails, but now Numair held her at bay, shaking his head.

"Clearly, I must have neglected teaching you a proper respect for the arts." Oh, fantastic – the loftiness had returned, too. "Well, now, let's examine this verse. You were born in the mountains of Galla, a country known for its ancient forests -"

"I did understand that part." She scowled outright as he tugged at her nose.

"It's rude to interrupt. Now, 'world of twilight drawn' refers to the state of the world at your birth. If you'd remember your history, you'd recall that all the powerful nations were at the precipice of a world-scale war. Priests named that dark time the 'Reckoning of Chaos', scholars and most other people the 'Twilight'... hence it's inclusion."

"...Okay." That was actually intriguing – she hadn't heard that before. "How about the third line?" His eyebrows rose.

"Truly? I thought you'd perceive that line instantly. 'Made eternal and fading' simply refers that you are both of divine and mortal blood. My own personal goddess," he added, some of the heat returning to his voice.

"Huh. That's pretty clever – I like it. And the last line?"

"That I actually discovered only recently. It turns out that 'Veralidaine' comes from an ancient tongue shared by both Galla and Scanra. I'd hypothesize that at some point both countries were one and the same – or that they had more amenable contact along their borders. Umm..." He blinked, realizing his brief slip into scholar mode as she giggled. "But anyway, roughly translated, the name 'Veralidaine' - your name – means 'the promise of dawn'."

The heat from his eyes had not faded – it never did, really – but it had become softer, almost reverent. "It suits you, I think."

Two bright spots of pink began to burn her cheeks. "That... that's just silly," she said without thinking, then winced. She hadn't meant to vocalize that. No doubt Numair now thought she meant his efforts were frivilous and wasted; she glanced up at him when he stroked her arm.

"You brought about the end of what was to be the apocalypse," he said quietly. "You gave hope to nations that had all but surrendered to corruption, tyranny, and oppression. You freed legions of creatures, mortal or otherwise, from the realms of apathy, becoming their patron in this world and the next." He kissed her forehead. "If you would claim nothing else as credit to your deeds, you certainly brighten the otherwise dull days of this old man."

This last truly silly comment surprised a laugh out of her. "I don't think you've had a dull day in your life. You attract trouble to you like a tree attracts lightning."

"You are changing the subject."

His brow furrowed as she pulled out of his hold, standing with her as she smoothed the fabric of her tunic and breeches. Daine swatted at his hands playfully when he tried to help readjust her belt – he would only use it as a means to pull her back against him. She could feel his desire rolling off of him in a blaze of heat, as visible to her as the flame of his gift. Briefly Daine wondered why she still kept this man dangling on a string – why she did not accept him as her husband, when their bond was already so much more – before daily life and its demands caught up with her.

"And you should be working on those containment charms the City of the Gods commissioned you for."

"Ah." Now Numair was actually frowning. "And now a hint that you feel I'm wasting my time."

The mage was never so sensitive around anyone else. Daine loved that about him – that he showed this side only to her – but sometimes it could be exasperating. "No, I just think you've got your priorities mixed up, as usual. I shouldn't have stayed so long, anyway – Sarge has asked me to help instruct some of the Riders' more advanced archers." Seeing his frown remained, she stood on tiptoe to stroke his cheek lovingly. "It's a beautiful poem, though," she whispered. "I want to hear the rest of it when you've finished it."

He swallowed reflexively, leaning into her palm, but said nothing. Satisfied – she would show her gratitude to him later, when time allowed – Daine turned to leave.

Only for his arms to enfold her roughly again from behind. Her eyes widened.

"Num- !"

"There are several things wrong with what you've just said," he rumbled, knocking her legs apart with a booted foot and sliding his own leg between them. It was an erotic move that could usually render her speechless – and it almost did – but this time the movement was one of self defense. Numair knew she would try to kick back at his legs.

And she did. "Release me this instant!" The man was impossible! He ignored her.

"Firstly: you are always my priority."

The words, spoken so candidly, shot fire throughout her body.

"Secondly: it's not a poem, it's a ballad." In spite of her fury, Daine now rolled her eyes. No force short of Mother Flame would stop the punctilious Numair from correcting her. "Part of it will be sung when the palace celebrates your twentieth birthday next week."

"Look, you – "

"Thirdly: it will never be finished, because as far as I'm concerned my inspiration will never cease. And fourthly: Sarge and his students are going to have to wait, because you're staying right here until you've heard the rest of what I've written."

"No! Numair - "

"Veralidaine, the Promised One -

Fabled Lady of Beasts.

A goddess formed in mortal flesh..."

"Numair!"

"To bring all worlds to peace."

"Stop it, you dolt!"

"Hmm." She could feel his smirk against the nape of her neck. He sounded positively wicked. "You're right. A ballad really is meant to be sung..."

Oh, gods, no! "That's not what I -"

And then he was singing. His voice was not practiced, like the minstrels at court, but it was pleasant enough, his mid range tones deepening into a delightful baritone usually reserved for hours of passion. The rest of Daine's protests died swiftly on her lips as she listened and felt the rhapsodic benedictions of her name and person against her ear, Numair's voice gaining fervor as the verses grew more complex, her heart beating the tempo against her ribs. Behind her, she could feel his own heart beat in concert against her spine.

By all that was blessed, she loved this man...

At last Numair drew to a close, clearing his throat, suddenly business like. "There. That wasn't that atrocious, was it? There's still a fair amount of stanzas left, but those can wait until next week." His arms were loosening, and she could feel his slight blush without needing to look at him. "I am sorry for keeping you so long. I... Go now, then. The realm is certainly in need of good archers."

Released, Daine turned to search his face, her own face flushed, eyes heavy as her body ached with emotion. When she said nothing – he had indeed rendered her speechless – Numair's blush deepened, and he coughed into his fist, more self conscious than she had seen him in a long while.

"Well. Yes. I admit, I... haven't sung in quite some time, but I've always been told that I – You're crying!" She was, tears falling silently down her cheeks. He looked horrified, fingers instantly brushing the lines of her face in attempts to comfort her. "Oh magelet, I'm sorry! If it embarrasses you that much I promise I won't -"

Reaching up to grab the collar of his shirt, Daine pulled him down to her roughly, her lips crashing to his with as much fury and heat that she could manage. He responded to her instantly, groaning, his tongue dancing with hers, brushing against the roof of her mouth to make her whimper and melt against him. The heat of it all was blistering, burning the air in their lungs so much that when they finally broke apart it was for a very real need to breathe.

Numair stared at her, lost for words himself at the moment. She rubbed her nose against his, laughing as she recovered at the almost drugged look on his face. His hands had automatically begun sliding up her back from underneath her shirt, fingertips resting just underneath the line of her breast band. Her own hands started working up the buttons of his shirt.

"Um..." he started, but she wasn't having it.

"The rest."

He assisted her, shrugging the shirt off with abandon. He reached behind him, clearing the desk with a violent sweep of his arm that sent its contents rattling to the floor, picking her up and propping her on top of it as he went to work on the ties to her breeches. "What?" he mumbled after another searing kiss.

"Sing the rest of it."

"Sarge..." But he was already fumbling at the clasp of his belt, her now bare legs twining around either side of his waist. Daine's laugh was now decidedly wanton.

"He can wait a bit longer."

It feels good to put out a finished story. As my other D/N work, Lover's Token, is proving very difficult to write, I decided that I would just scope around my computer for old notes and whatnot, when I found the bare frames and piping of this story, first conceived nearly two years ago. It took me only a couple of hours to fully flesh this ridiculous thing out.