A/N: Hey everyone....I know that you're all probably upset with me for
doing something besides Wolfish Desires and Gallan Return, but I just
REALLY needed to, so give me a break. Depression has caused major
writer's block to hit for both of my current fics, so I thought that
maybe doing a quick 2 to 3 part fic would help to fix that....We shall
soon see if it works! Also, just so you know, at this very moment, most
of this fic is already written, so you don't have to worry about me
never updating....
IMPORTANT
Just to give you guys the heads up, this fic really breaks the happy ending mold for me. In other words, it doesn't have a happy ending. If that's not your thing, then you might not find this story to be to your taste….
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters you recognize, nor do I own the lyrics you see used here. The characters belong to Tamora Pierce of course and the lyrics belong to Seether and Amy Lee...
Life. It is a funny thing when brought into true perspective. What it is, what it truly is, is a mystery to all. Perhaps it is not even the same to each individual person. The best way perhaps to correctly gaze at the aspects of life is through the age old concept of symbolism. Such things are everywhere, and in every human's mind, whether they acknowledge this fact or not. Unconsciously, everyone compares something to something else that is entirely different. In that way, humans especially often find themselves comparing life to scenery. Some of this world's many scenes are full of such splendor and glory, just as some lives are. Some also stir deep depression and angst, having seemingly no end to pain and misery. Life is that way also. No two lives are remotely the same, just as no two scenes.
On this day, Numair Salmalin found himself thinking along these very same lines. He sat now, in the middle of a large grassy plain, raised up on a small hill. The hill overlooked a large, bountiful wheat field. As he sat now, leaning his back against a large granite boulder, Numair himself intently gazing down upon that field that lay below the hill. He watched without moving, not even to blink, as the wheat blew rhythmically in the light Tortallan breeze. The golden rays of the sun shone down on the stalks of wheat, setting each and every inch of the field alight with a transparent glow. Though the air was scorching with heat this day, autumn was soon to come for Tortall, and so the field had several men sweating away at their work tending to the field. Soon would be the harvest, so there was no time to delay in their work. Numair watched them with special interest with the same entranced look he had held when he had been so occupied by the dancing movements of the wheat stalks.
Watching the young men slaving in the field, Numair knew that they had a purpose in life. They were here in this world for their occupation. It was what consumed their entire life up to this point, for they appeared to be far too young to have yet achieved a family to raise or even a bride to wed. These young men, boys really, knew of their purpose and accepted it. Watching them, knowing what they knew, Numair was jealous of them. Of their freshness in life and of the chances they still had ahead of them. He had long since passed up such corner stones in his life, and in a way he was glad. But in another, he longed to be filled, to be complete. It was not as if this feeling of sheer totality was foreign to him, quite the opposite really. No, Numair Salmalin knew well what it felt like to be whole, to have no void space. But that had been a time ago, a time which he remembered well despite the large rift between then and now.
But still that rift in time remained. What Numair had once had, that single thing, that single being that had filled his entire mind, body and soul could never return to fill him again. It was that thought, that seemingly endless promise that the void within Numair now would never be filled that kept the man constantly on edge. To have had something so special and so unique and then to have lost it, it was heart wrenching. He could remember the time so well when he had been complete in every aspect of the word. He had soaked it all up, at times ever taking its existence for advantage. He knew now how precious that time of fulfillment was. Often now he would find himself thinking if only it would return to him, if only he could somehow get a second chance. But this would never be; it could never come to pass.
Often times, Numair longed for the memories, sought them deep within his mind. Other times though he would race to the very ends of the earth just to escape their horrors. Of the late, Numair had come to realize that the reality of it all was that he could not escape the memories any more than he could escape himself. They were a part of him, a vital part of him that would be forever etched into the depths of his heart and mind. In the beginning he had found himself trying to desperately tear away at his soul, pulling at his mind to rid himself of the haunting thoughts and memories. He had tried everything and at all costs. That had been a very dark period for Numair, though now could hardly be called anything light. Now, he lived in a world of pure gray. It was not that he had fully recovered from his mental and emotional wounds; it was likely he never would. But he had kept going. He had turned away from all of the pain he had tried to inflict upon himself with every new day.
It was all of these thoughts and woes that stormed like thunder through Numair's mind that spurred a burning desire within him to again let his mind drift away into the world of memories. Once again, he would flow into that surreal world, that better place. To Numair, it was real. It had been real at one time, and though that was a very long time ago, he still found himself seeking that place within himself. At times it would bring him utmost comfort, but more often than not it left him with a most intense longing that further reminded him of how empty he was.
As he continued to burn with desire for the memories, he found himself unconsciously beginning to roll up the right sleeve of his white cotton shirt. He rolled it up until it was well past his elbow so that it would stick in place at his upper arm. He then muttered an unnamed word under his breath, looking expectantly at his wrist. He had only a fraction of a second to wait, for almost instantly a thick banded gold chain appeared around his wrist, held tightly shut with a decoratively crafted clasp. Dangling beneath the underside of Numair's wrist suspended by the chain was a tiny gold locket, no larger than the tip of Numair's thumb. The surface of the locket was lavishly decorated with the most intricate of details and designs that were engraved within the gold to last through even the harshest of wear. Yes, this particular piece of jewelry had seen many more years pass than Numair, even more so than most still living could claim. Not only was the locket and bracelet so precious to Numair for what he had made of it, he also held it so dear because it was among the few of his family heir looms he still had in his possession. Anything else that had once belonged to the early Drapers had been destroyed by the previous emperor of Carthak more years ago than Numair cared to count.
It had been several weeks since Numair had dared to allow himself a look at the locket or its treasured contents. He could only handle so much at one time, he had found. If he tried any more, he would lose what sanity he had managed to sustain throughout the years. Bringing out the locket among other things managed to take him to that different time, that faraway place that often seemed to be an alternate universe. In truth, it was nothing more than his past. His life had once been so rich and fulfilling, holding color and splendor such as nothing he had ever known. Often enough, those were the times he allowed his mind to venture to every so often. At times, he could not avoid returning there, even if he were to try. There were other times though, dark times that lacked all sense of color and light. They were nothing but sadness; memories of a time he would just as soon forget.
Looking down at the locket now, running his fingers over its finely detailed surface, Numair felt torn. Part of him wanted to open it and once again allow the memories of a better time and a better place to absorb him fully. Another part of him, perhaps the more rational side told him that it was nothing more than a vivid fantasy and could do nothing but hurt him if he continued to allow it to haunt him. In the end though, the irrational side of him won. It always did, for he could never find a way to resist the wonderful feelings that were unearthed within him once more. With this in mind, a small, hardly noticeable smile played at the edge of Numair's mouth. It was a rare choice of action for the man. Lifting the locket and his wrist along with it up to the level of his eye, Numair, delicately so as not to damage it, reached out and with thumb and forefinger pressed together slowly opened the locket. Like most of its kind, Numair's locket had two wings that extended out like shutters when it was opened as he had just done. The wing that extended out to the right held a single smoky brown curl that was coiled neatly into place to fit inside the tiny locket when it was closed. The left wing held the tiniest of portraits, completed in the most impossible of details. The image itself was of a young girl of no more than fifteen years of age. If a stranger were to come across the locket years later, it would be obvious to he or she that the curl pinned securely down on the right belonged to this stunningly beautiful young woman with those seemingly unfathomable blue gray eyes and that stubborn chin. Her beauty was not an average one, for it was not sickly so. She seemed to be just herself, and nothing more. That was surely then what made her image so captivating to the eye of any onlooker. Or perhaps it was her attractive full rosy lips or her perfectly proportioned button nose. Still, she had something that was clearly her own and that was something no common beauty could produce.
Numair gazed down at the painting now with such adoration and longing in his eyes, that if anyone were to see him they would glance upon him with pity. For the look in his eyes left no room to doubt that he had faced an unbearable loss. Numair ran his finger ever so gently over the rough, crusted surface of the tiny painting. It spoke loudly of a time that he had loved, a time that he would do anything, give anything to have back in his possession again. If only life allowed second chances, then true happiness and longing to live could be his.
Now, Numair turned his attention to the single strand of hair that was clipped securely to the right wing of the locket. His eyes were filled with infatuation, his mind and imagination creating images of that time so long ago. "Daine...." he voiced in a cracked whisper. His voice was soft as a feather as he spoke this single word. It was as if he were speaking of a goddess when the word played on his lips. Gods had it been a long time since he had voiced that name. As he voiced it, he tenderly extended a finger and stroked the single curl; it was all that he had left of her. Just thinking of her, speaking the name of the love that he had lost long ago made him recall where he was now. It was an ever significant place in his life. It was a place that had led him to what he had once believed would be endless happiness.
After several minutes of silence, Numair managed to tear his eyes away from the locket and its contents and turn his attention back to the wheat field that lay before him. He found himself thinking for the thousandth time that day of how stunningly beautiful that field was as each of its golden stalks of wheat danced to the song of the wind. Though it truly was beautiful, it could never hold a candle to what this entire clearing used to be. Numair remembered a time well over a decade ago when it had been so much more, especially through his own eyes. It was illustrative of a cornerstone in his life, one that took place more years ago than Numair cared to remember. It had all been so long ago. A lot of that time was nothing more to him now than a mere shadow of a memory. But most of it was something he still treasured to this very day and would never forget until the day he died.
Yes, Numair would never forget what this very clearing used to be. Years and years ago, before this family of farmers had purchased and tamed this land, it had been so much more. Though now the land was soiled and plowed and turned into a fruitful wheat field, it had once produced something so much more special and unique; something much more valuable than a yearly wheat harvest. It had produced a bond of sorts, one that would lead to a relationship that would change the very country as they all knew it. In this place, something so rare and beautiful had been spawned. That something, was love. But not just any love. No, this love had been a love that could only exist in scarce amounts. The gods dispersed such affection on mortals sparingly, but this had been one of the few times they had. It was the kind of love that left its occupant walking on clouds every minute. Constantly short of breath, often found dreaming. It was a dream in itself, a wondrous sensation that could be outdone by nothing, nor could it even be matched. Better even than that, it was a bond so strong that even the great gods themselves could not sever it. It was true love, plain and simple.
Numair remembered all of this well. He could picture it all clearly in his mind, not a fraction of it blurry. It had been so long ago, but it was a time in his life that he would never forget. True love after all can never be forgotten. In this very place that he now gazed upon, this place that was now farmed and civilized as it had not been at the time, he had met his soul mate. Though he had not known it at the time, there had been an undeniable spark that rose within him that day when he first met her in this place. It had been in the dead center of that wheat field at the base of the hill on which he now rested. This place had once been an uninhabited marsh land. It was covered by miles of swamp and muck, certainly no place desirable to the human race. Even wildlife was scarce, he remembered. Numair had not been in this place of his own accord that day. No, on that day there were countless places he would rather have been. But now, years later, he could not thank the gods more that he had indeed been there that day. He had been on a spy mission for the king, a dangerous one at that. The worst had happened; he had been captured by the very man he was to be spying on. Thrown into the damp, dark dungeons and left drugged out of his mind, Numair stayed for days. When he finally managed to escape in the form of a black hawk, the drugs had still not fully left his system. Their effect only magnified because of his now small size. He was a bird, no larger than a few feet bearing the amount of drugs it would take to cause a full grown six foot man to lose his wits. It had not been his most brilliant of plans.
It had been then that he had flown dazed into this very clearing. He had been tightly pursued by his captor's followers and to his horror, strange creatures he had seen only in his most horrific of nightmares; stormwings. They were monsters of the worst kind. When he had fallen into the bog that lay beneath him, they had been unable to reach him, for they were kept busy by a familiar K'miri woman, and an unfamiliar assistant. That assistant would soon become all too familiar to him, as she rescued him from what he had thought would be sure death. On that day, an unforgettable bond was formed between them. She became his apprentice, his magelet, his friend. She had become everything to him and he soon found that he could never live without her. He loved everything about her. In his eyes, she could do no wrong. Before he had time to comprehend where his heart was leading him, he found himself fiercely in love with her. He saw her as more than just his dearest friend, but as his lover. And when he learned that she loved him back with the same intensity he felt for her....it had been the most divine feeling he had ever felt. All of the time spent 'alone', not knowing if she returned his feelings, that had been pure torment. But now that he knew of her feelings, it was as if the world was his. And in a sense, it was, for she was his world and now she was his and only his. But it could never last, not forever.
Like all good things, this too had an ending. He had found that it was true: the higher you were, the harder you would fall. Numair had been higher than he could ever have imagined even in his wildest of dreams. He could soar no higher, and neither could she. When he fell, it shattered him. He found himself now, thinking of how it had happened, and even why. Those memories stuck in his head even more clearly than the pleasant ones which he treasured so much. And though these memories filled his nightmares and were horrific in every way, he treasured them as well. It would be an injustice to his love if he ever dared to wish them away. He focused on them now, as he knew that he must do every now and then. It signified a time in his life when he had learned perhaps the greatest lesson he would and could ever learn. There were some things that could not be found in his precious books and experiments. There were aspects of life that could never be understood. Though the experience had been the worst and most haunting of his entire life and none would ever exceed it in all of its horrifying aspects, it was perhaps the greatest thing he had ever done. That was why he allowed himself to drift back now, to think only of those memories. Soon they were appearing as flashes and instances in his mind, becoming all the more clear as each passed. It was then that he found himself drifting off into an oblivion of memory. He was reliving all of the things that haunted his every thought.
I wanted you to know I love the way you laugh
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain away
I keep your photograph and I know it serves me well
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain
A/N: Well, not very revealing, is it? Didn't y'all just LOVE that nice little cliffy? I know I sure did....hehe...don't worry, I've got plans to update again this week, but it all depends on the amount of reviews I get....In other words, its all up to you as to when I add more to this story. Oh, and just so you know, in the next chapter, you find out just what happened to Daine, if that's any sort of motive for you to review....
IMPORTANT
Just to give you guys the heads up, this fic really breaks the happy ending mold for me. In other words, it doesn't have a happy ending. If that's not your thing, then you might not find this story to be to your taste….
Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters you recognize, nor do I own the lyrics you see used here. The characters belong to Tamora Pierce of course and the lyrics belong to Seether and Amy Lee...
Life. It is a funny thing when brought into true perspective. What it is, what it truly is, is a mystery to all. Perhaps it is not even the same to each individual person. The best way perhaps to correctly gaze at the aspects of life is through the age old concept of symbolism. Such things are everywhere, and in every human's mind, whether they acknowledge this fact or not. Unconsciously, everyone compares something to something else that is entirely different. In that way, humans especially often find themselves comparing life to scenery. Some of this world's many scenes are full of such splendor and glory, just as some lives are. Some also stir deep depression and angst, having seemingly no end to pain and misery. Life is that way also. No two lives are remotely the same, just as no two scenes.
On this day, Numair Salmalin found himself thinking along these very same lines. He sat now, in the middle of a large grassy plain, raised up on a small hill. The hill overlooked a large, bountiful wheat field. As he sat now, leaning his back against a large granite boulder, Numair himself intently gazing down upon that field that lay below the hill. He watched without moving, not even to blink, as the wheat blew rhythmically in the light Tortallan breeze. The golden rays of the sun shone down on the stalks of wheat, setting each and every inch of the field alight with a transparent glow. Though the air was scorching with heat this day, autumn was soon to come for Tortall, and so the field had several men sweating away at their work tending to the field. Soon would be the harvest, so there was no time to delay in their work. Numair watched them with special interest with the same entranced look he had held when he had been so occupied by the dancing movements of the wheat stalks.
Watching the young men slaving in the field, Numair knew that they had a purpose in life. They were here in this world for their occupation. It was what consumed their entire life up to this point, for they appeared to be far too young to have yet achieved a family to raise or even a bride to wed. These young men, boys really, knew of their purpose and accepted it. Watching them, knowing what they knew, Numair was jealous of them. Of their freshness in life and of the chances they still had ahead of them. He had long since passed up such corner stones in his life, and in a way he was glad. But in another, he longed to be filled, to be complete. It was not as if this feeling of sheer totality was foreign to him, quite the opposite really. No, Numair Salmalin knew well what it felt like to be whole, to have no void space. But that had been a time ago, a time which he remembered well despite the large rift between then and now.
But still that rift in time remained. What Numair had once had, that single thing, that single being that had filled his entire mind, body and soul could never return to fill him again. It was that thought, that seemingly endless promise that the void within Numair now would never be filled that kept the man constantly on edge. To have had something so special and so unique and then to have lost it, it was heart wrenching. He could remember the time so well when he had been complete in every aspect of the word. He had soaked it all up, at times ever taking its existence for advantage. He knew now how precious that time of fulfillment was. Often now he would find himself thinking if only it would return to him, if only he could somehow get a second chance. But this would never be; it could never come to pass.
Often times, Numair longed for the memories, sought them deep within his mind. Other times though he would race to the very ends of the earth just to escape their horrors. Of the late, Numair had come to realize that the reality of it all was that he could not escape the memories any more than he could escape himself. They were a part of him, a vital part of him that would be forever etched into the depths of his heart and mind. In the beginning he had found himself trying to desperately tear away at his soul, pulling at his mind to rid himself of the haunting thoughts and memories. He had tried everything and at all costs. That had been a very dark period for Numair, though now could hardly be called anything light. Now, he lived in a world of pure gray. It was not that he had fully recovered from his mental and emotional wounds; it was likely he never would. But he had kept going. He had turned away from all of the pain he had tried to inflict upon himself with every new day.
It was all of these thoughts and woes that stormed like thunder through Numair's mind that spurred a burning desire within him to again let his mind drift away into the world of memories. Once again, he would flow into that surreal world, that better place. To Numair, it was real. It had been real at one time, and though that was a very long time ago, he still found himself seeking that place within himself. At times it would bring him utmost comfort, but more often than not it left him with a most intense longing that further reminded him of how empty he was.
As he continued to burn with desire for the memories, he found himself unconsciously beginning to roll up the right sleeve of his white cotton shirt. He rolled it up until it was well past his elbow so that it would stick in place at his upper arm. He then muttered an unnamed word under his breath, looking expectantly at his wrist. He had only a fraction of a second to wait, for almost instantly a thick banded gold chain appeared around his wrist, held tightly shut with a decoratively crafted clasp. Dangling beneath the underside of Numair's wrist suspended by the chain was a tiny gold locket, no larger than the tip of Numair's thumb. The surface of the locket was lavishly decorated with the most intricate of details and designs that were engraved within the gold to last through even the harshest of wear. Yes, this particular piece of jewelry had seen many more years pass than Numair, even more so than most still living could claim. Not only was the locket and bracelet so precious to Numair for what he had made of it, he also held it so dear because it was among the few of his family heir looms he still had in his possession. Anything else that had once belonged to the early Drapers had been destroyed by the previous emperor of Carthak more years ago than Numair cared to count.
It had been several weeks since Numair had dared to allow himself a look at the locket or its treasured contents. He could only handle so much at one time, he had found. If he tried any more, he would lose what sanity he had managed to sustain throughout the years. Bringing out the locket among other things managed to take him to that different time, that faraway place that often seemed to be an alternate universe. In truth, it was nothing more than his past. His life had once been so rich and fulfilling, holding color and splendor such as nothing he had ever known. Often enough, those were the times he allowed his mind to venture to every so often. At times, he could not avoid returning there, even if he were to try. There were other times though, dark times that lacked all sense of color and light. They were nothing but sadness; memories of a time he would just as soon forget.
Looking down at the locket now, running his fingers over its finely detailed surface, Numair felt torn. Part of him wanted to open it and once again allow the memories of a better time and a better place to absorb him fully. Another part of him, perhaps the more rational side told him that it was nothing more than a vivid fantasy and could do nothing but hurt him if he continued to allow it to haunt him. In the end though, the irrational side of him won. It always did, for he could never find a way to resist the wonderful feelings that were unearthed within him once more. With this in mind, a small, hardly noticeable smile played at the edge of Numair's mouth. It was a rare choice of action for the man. Lifting the locket and his wrist along with it up to the level of his eye, Numair, delicately so as not to damage it, reached out and with thumb and forefinger pressed together slowly opened the locket. Like most of its kind, Numair's locket had two wings that extended out like shutters when it was opened as he had just done. The wing that extended out to the right held a single smoky brown curl that was coiled neatly into place to fit inside the tiny locket when it was closed. The left wing held the tiniest of portraits, completed in the most impossible of details. The image itself was of a young girl of no more than fifteen years of age. If a stranger were to come across the locket years later, it would be obvious to he or she that the curl pinned securely down on the right belonged to this stunningly beautiful young woman with those seemingly unfathomable blue gray eyes and that stubborn chin. Her beauty was not an average one, for it was not sickly so. She seemed to be just herself, and nothing more. That was surely then what made her image so captivating to the eye of any onlooker. Or perhaps it was her attractive full rosy lips or her perfectly proportioned button nose. Still, she had something that was clearly her own and that was something no common beauty could produce.
Numair gazed down at the painting now with such adoration and longing in his eyes, that if anyone were to see him they would glance upon him with pity. For the look in his eyes left no room to doubt that he had faced an unbearable loss. Numair ran his finger ever so gently over the rough, crusted surface of the tiny painting. It spoke loudly of a time that he had loved, a time that he would do anything, give anything to have back in his possession again. If only life allowed second chances, then true happiness and longing to live could be his.
Now, Numair turned his attention to the single strand of hair that was clipped securely to the right wing of the locket. His eyes were filled with infatuation, his mind and imagination creating images of that time so long ago. "Daine...." he voiced in a cracked whisper. His voice was soft as a feather as he spoke this single word. It was as if he were speaking of a goddess when the word played on his lips. Gods had it been a long time since he had voiced that name. As he voiced it, he tenderly extended a finger and stroked the single curl; it was all that he had left of her. Just thinking of her, speaking the name of the love that he had lost long ago made him recall where he was now. It was an ever significant place in his life. It was a place that had led him to what he had once believed would be endless happiness.
After several minutes of silence, Numair managed to tear his eyes away from the locket and its contents and turn his attention back to the wheat field that lay before him. He found himself thinking for the thousandth time that day of how stunningly beautiful that field was as each of its golden stalks of wheat danced to the song of the wind. Though it truly was beautiful, it could never hold a candle to what this entire clearing used to be. Numair remembered a time well over a decade ago when it had been so much more, especially through his own eyes. It was illustrative of a cornerstone in his life, one that took place more years ago than Numair cared to remember. It had all been so long ago. A lot of that time was nothing more to him now than a mere shadow of a memory. But most of it was something he still treasured to this very day and would never forget until the day he died.
Yes, Numair would never forget what this very clearing used to be. Years and years ago, before this family of farmers had purchased and tamed this land, it had been so much more. Though now the land was soiled and plowed and turned into a fruitful wheat field, it had once produced something so much more special and unique; something much more valuable than a yearly wheat harvest. It had produced a bond of sorts, one that would lead to a relationship that would change the very country as they all knew it. In this place, something so rare and beautiful had been spawned. That something, was love. But not just any love. No, this love had been a love that could only exist in scarce amounts. The gods dispersed such affection on mortals sparingly, but this had been one of the few times they had. It was the kind of love that left its occupant walking on clouds every minute. Constantly short of breath, often found dreaming. It was a dream in itself, a wondrous sensation that could be outdone by nothing, nor could it even be matched. Better even than that, it was a bond so strong that even the great gods themselves could not sever it. It was true love, plain and simple.
Numair remembered all of this well. He could picture it all clearly in his mind, not a fraction of it blurry. It had been so long ago, but it was a time in his life that he would never forget. True love after all can never be forgotten. In this very place that he now gazed upon, this place that was now farmed and civilized as it had not been at the time, he had met his soul mate. Though he had not known it at the time, there had been an undeniable spark that rose within him that day when he first met her in this place. It had been in the dead center of that wheat field at the base of the hill on which he now rested. This place had once been an uninhabited marsh land. It was covered by miles of swamp and muck, certainly no place desirable to the human race. Even wildlife was scarce, he remembered. Numair had not been in this place of his own accord that day. No, on that day there were countless places he would rather have been. But now, years later, he could not thank the gods more that he had indeed been there that day. He had been on a spy mission for the king, a dangerous one at that. The worst had happened; he had been captured by the very man he was to be spying on. Thrown into the damp, dark dungeons and left drugged out of his mind, Numair stayed for days. When he finally managed to escape in the form of a black hawk, the drugs had still not fully left his system. Their effect only magnified because of his now small size. He was a bird, no larger than a few feet bearing the amount of drugs it would take to cause a full grown six foot man to lose his wits. It had not been his most brilliant of plans.
It had been then that he had flown dazed into this very clearing. He had been tightly pursued by his captor's followers and to his horror, strange creatures he had seen only in his most horrific of nightmares; stormwings. They were monsters of the worst kind. When he had fallen into the bog that lay beneath him, they had been unable to reach him, for they were kept busy by a familiar K'miri woman, and an unfamiliar assistant. That assistant would soon become all too familiar to him, as she rescued him from what he had thought would be sure death. On that day, an unforgettable bond was formed between them. She became his apprentice, his magelet, his friend. She had become everything to him and he soon found that he could never live without her. He loved everything about her. In his eyes, she could do no wrong. Before he had time to comprehend where his heart was leading him, he found himself fiercely in love with her. He saw her as more than just his dearest friend, but as his lover. And when he learned that she loved him back with the same intensity he felt for her....it had been the most divine feeling he had ever felt. All of the time spent 'alone', not knowing if she returned his feelings, that had been pure torment. But now that he knew of her feelings, it was as if the world was his. And in a sense, it was, for she was his world and now she was his and only his. But it could never last, not forever.
Like all good things, this too had an ending. He had found that it was true: the higher you were, the harder you would fall. Numair had been higher than he could ever have imagined even in his wildest of dreams. He could soar no higher, and neither could she. When he fell, it shattered him. He found himself now, thinking of how it had happened, and even why. Those memories stuck in his head even more clearly than the pleasant ones which he treasured so much. And though these memories filled his nightmares and were horrific in every way, he treasured them as well. It would be an injustice to his love if he ever dared to wish them away. He focused on them now, as he knew that he must do every now and then. It signified a time in his life when he had learned perhaps the greatest lesson he would and could ever learn. There were some things that could not be found in his precious books and experiments. There were aspects of life that could never be understood. Though the experience had been the worst and most haunting of his entire life and none would ever exceed it in all of its horrifying aspects, it was perhaps the greatest thing he had ever done. That was why he allowed himself to drift back now, to think only of those memories. Soon they were appearing as flashes and instances in his mind, becoming all the more clear as each passed. It was then that he found himself drifting off into an oblivion of memory. He was reliving all of the things that haunted his every thought.
I wanted you to know I love the way you laugh
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain away
I keep your photograph and I know it serves me well
I wanna hold you high and steal your pain
A/N: Well, not very revealing, is it? Didn't y'all just LOVE that nice little cliffy? I know I sure did....hehe...don't worry, I've got plans to update again this week, but it all depends on the amount of reviews I get....In other words, its all up to you as to when I add more to this story. Oh, and just so you know, in the next chapter, you find out just what happened to Daine, if that's any sort of motive for you to review....