Numair stormed through the corridors of the palace. The air surrounding him seemed to crackle and spark, and his usually warm eyes blazed with an unfamiliar anger. Servants, pages and messengers who happened to meet him coming in the opposite direction dashed out of his path into the nearest empty room. However, he didn't encounter many people. Almost all residents of the palace, from the lowliest errand runners to the nobles, had been warned: Master Numair returns today. Do not hinder him.
The cause of Numair's anger was his normally much loved and respected monarch, Jonathan. He had sent him more than two day's ride away to battle an influx of Immortals. He'd sent him away from the palace, away from Daine, while she lay delirious with unicorn fever. The annoying logical part of him spoke up again, reasoning that they were in a crisis, and Jonathon wouldn't have sent him out unless it was absolutely necessary. Numair was in no mood to pay heed to this argument, right as it was. All that concerned him was that Daine could have succumbed to her fever and died while he was off fighting.
A small part of him, a part which he would never consciously acknowledge, had been grateful for the fight. Sitting at Daine's beside while she moaned and writhed in pain was the worse torture he'd ever endured, worse even than anything Ozorne could visit upon him. He'd felt so small, so helpless. He didn't deserve his black robe, his grand reputation if he couldn't help one he loved when it mattered.
When the fever reached its zenith her skin had burned impossibly hot underneath his hand, yet she still trembled with shivers. She'd pleaded with him to hold her or wrap her in blankets, anything to chase away the chills. But the healers insisted that her temperature must be lowered. Instead of covering her up he'd removed the blankets she already had; instead of taking her in his arms, like he so longed to do, he'd placed damp pieces of cloth on her forehead. She'd looked up at him, wide eyes filling with tears, in her delirious state unable to comprehend why he was adding to her pain.
Filled with guilt from the hurt he'd seen in her eyes and terrified for her fate, Numair had plunged into a black mood. The healers worked tentatively, scared that a wrong move or word would bring his anger on them. One healer attempted to remove him from the room, arguing that they couldn't care for Daine properly under such conditions, but he'd quelled under Numair's murderous gaze. That was the day Jon sent him away.
As he gave Numair his orders, Jon's handsome face had been pale and drawn. His eyes had pleaded with his friend, silently begging him to understand that he wouldn't ask this if he didn't need to. Numair understood the logic: Daine was important, but more lives than hers were at risk. With their forces stretched as thin as they were, he was needed. Jon couldn't spare his greatest mage, the only warrior currently in reserve who was capable of defeating a battalion of Immortals. Numair understood, but that didn't make him any less furious.
He reached the door to Daine's room and almost collided with a healer coming out. The healer took a hurried step back, looking as though he were afraid Numair would scorch him with lightning. Numair noticed that, although he looked weary, the worried expression that all Daine's healers had worn a few days ago had dropped away. "How is she?" He asked.
"Healing, Master Numair," The healer said, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground. "The fever has broken and she's mending fast. At times she lapses into delirium, but that's the effort it took to fight the illness taking its toll on her, not the illness itself."
"She'll survive?" Numair asked, barely allowing himself to hope.
"Certainly. She will need at least another week of bed rest and some solid meals before she can get up, but she'll be back to normal soon."
Numair visibly sagged, relief crashing down on him in waves. The healer took his chance to escape and slipped away, practically running down the corridor. Numair watched him go with regret; he hadn't had the chance to thank him for what he'd done or to apologise for his earlier behaviour. He made a mental note to track down everyone who'd cared for Daine and let them know they had his gratitude. But that would come later. Now he needed to see his Magelet.
She was lying in bed, eyes closed, chest rising and falling in a reassuringly steady way. He perched himself carefully on the mattress, trying not to disturb her rest. Needing to feel for himself that the fever was truly gone, he placed a gentle hand on her cheek. Her skin was cool and soft against his fingertips. She turned her head and nuzzled into the palm of his hand, mumbling incoherently in her sleep. He could have stayed like that for hours, content with the slight touch and the sight of her. But if any of the Great Gods knew of this desire they clearly weren't in the mood to grant a humble mage his wish; after only a few moments alone with Daine, Kit hurtled into the room, her scales a violent red.
Whistling loudly, she leapt off the floor and landed on Numair's lap. He resisted the selfish impulse to remove her from the room. Kit had been banned from seeing her ma while she was ill, and long separations deeply saddened both of them. He may have missed Daine so much it made him ache, but he wasn't the only one. Kit reared back and placed her forepaws against his shoulders, butting her head against his affectionately. Her colour was beginning to fade, becoming more of a pale pink than the ferocious shade it had been before. "Hush Kit," Numair murmured when she chirped happily. "You'll wake Daine."
"Numair?" Daine's voice was groggy. Wincing slightly as long unused muscles were stretched, she propped herself up against the wooden headboard. She blinked at him blearily. "You've a face like a thunder cloud."
Numair's face broke into its first smile in over a week. "It's clear you're feeling better. Awake for less than a minute and already you are insulting me." She only had a chance to grin at him before Kit was on her, chirping her joy. Daine ran her fingers over her charge's scales, murmuring soothing words. The dragonet proceeded to settle in Daine's lap, curling up like a contented cat.
Noticing that she still rested against the uncomfortable wooden headboard, Numair plucked a pillow off the bed and slid it behind her head. Bent over her, their faces so close, he didn't seem to be able to pull back. He couldn't tear his gaze away from her eyes; so recently he'd been terrified he'd never lose himself in those blue-grey depths again. Now he wanted to absorb every facet of her face, from stubborn chin to the smoky curls that constantly fell in her eyes, and engrave it into his memory.
A pair of arms wrapped themselves around his neck and pulled him down. He returned the embrace eagerly, drawing her close to him and burying his face in her loose hair. Surrounded by her, by the scent of her freshly washed hair, by her tired, trembling arms, he could finally admit that she was safe and alive. The tears that had been held back all week by anger and frustration finally began to spill, dripping down onto the top of her head. "Never scare me like that again." He said, his voice strangled.
Daine chuckled weakly. "I'll do my best," She mumbled into his shoulder. A silence followed that Numair was unwilling to break. Too soon Daine would have other visitors clamouring to speak to her now she was recovering. For the moment he was content just to hold her. It was Daine who eventually spoke. "Numair," She began hesitantly. "Where did you go?"
Numair's heart sank at the hurt he heard in her voice and he automatically tightened his arms around her, forgetting her soreness. She gasped and he loosened his embrace, but was unwilling to let go completely. "I'm sorry, Magelet," He said quietly. "There was an attack by a group of Immortals that Jon asked me to see to. I would never have left you but there was no one else."
"But you were here at the start? When I first got ill?"
"Of course I was."
"Did you…" She trailed off and he felt rather than saw her shake her head.
"Go on," He urged.
"It's nothing. I just had the strangest dream. You seemed to think that my hair needed cutting."
Numair was suddenly very glad that her face was pressed into his shoulder so she couldn't see his cheeks darken. He was very conscious of the lock of hair that lay in his pocket. Since leaving Daine's bedside he'd kept it with him, scared that someone might find it or that he might lose it. When he'd taken it from her he thought she had been asleep. Apparently he had been mistaken. Forcing a laugh he said, "Rest assured, Magelet, I love your hair just the way it is."
Perhaps hearing something odd in his voice, Daine pulled away, looking at him curiously. She opened her mouth but before she could speak, Kit trilled and pushed her snout into Daine's chest. Daine sighed and tickled her lightly. "I 'spose you want some attention," She said. Numair shrank away, never more grateful for an interruption than he was at that moment.
