A/N: And here is the two-part piece on our favorite mage. Cameo appearance from Ozorne; a little bit dark, so be warned. Enjoy and please review :)
AND PLEASE: Feel free to send me suggestions of other characters you'd like me to write about, as long as "name" is a part of the prompt! If you have any vague ideas, or characters you'd like to see me write... PLEASE let me know! Thanks! :) If I get good prompts, this will be a multi-chapter fic. If not, it works well as two parts, too.
(The fact that Numair's magic was once gold was said by TP once and brought to my attention by a reviewer of my other story, Your Star. The idea intrigued me so, that's where this came from.)
"Arram Draper," hissed Ozorne, his teeth glinting in the darkness. "Top of every class, the favorite of every teacher, the best at every assignment. It's such a pity that you will never fulfill your full potential, isn't it? You will never be the savior of your country, the hero that everyone envisioned. Carthak's brilliant young mage."
Ozorne stepped closer, green sparkles at his fingertips.
"No. You will vanish, Arram. They'll wonder, for a while. And then they'll forget. I will be the star. I will be one everyone remembers, praises, obeys. But don't worry. I won't let it happen quickly. You may die slowly… so that you may enjoy each second of being the most powerful mage in the land. Of course… if you were the most powerful, you wouldn't be here, would you? You would be able to free yourself with barely a breath."
Arram breathed carefully; his beaten ribs ached too much to gasp. His arms ached, too; his wrists were shackled to the wall, spread-eagled above his head. His feet dangled mere inches off the ground. Facing the floor, all he saw were specks of his own blood, all he felt was pain and fury.
With every last reserve of his strength, Arram fisted his hands and threw out a blast of black-gold power. It forced Ozorne to stumble backwards a few paces, but it did nothing to the magically-reinforced silver shackles around Arram's wrists. Rather than falling apart, they simply burned white-hot, and Arram had to bite his lip until it bled to stop himself from screaming.
"Well done," said Ozorne softly. "Well done, Arram! Could it possibly be? You are too weak to escape my prison – so who is the more powerful mage, then? Tell me, Arram! Who is the greater mage?!"
Arram was silent. He closed his eyes and thought of nothing, nothing, determined not to give in.
"I am!" yelled Ozorne, his eyes gleaming with a manic light. "I am more powerful! You are nothing, Arram, nothing to me! Your name will vanish into the void of time, but I - I will be remembered. More than any emperor mage before me - I will have the power!"
He stormed away, leaving Arram alone, exhausted, defeated. He didn't have the energy to open his eyes, much less raise his head or cast another spell. All he could do was live, breathe, each second cursing Ozorne and his madness.
Months later, Arram stretched out in a deserted shack in the slums of Tortall, using his stolen plush juggling balls as a makeshift pillow. The air was bitterly cold, but the most he dared do was light a tiny fire at his fingertips; he couldn't be so careless as to warm the whole room. Staring at the tiny, black, dancing flames, Arram realized that his magic was barely distinguishable from the dark around him. No veins of gold threaded through his Gift any more.
"Numair Salmalín," he murmured. "Numair – Numair Salmalín. My name is Numair Salmalín."
The flames glimmered weakly in response, a few tiny white sparkles catching his eye. But they were gone too fast for him to know if they were really there.
"Numair Salmalín," he said again, a little bit louder now. "I am Numair Salmalín."
Once his fire had warmed him as much as it could, he ended the spell and turned on to his side to try and sleep. Tomorrow, he would be able to try – for the very first time – the new sleight-of-hand trick he had taught himself. The addition of magic-free tricks to his juggling act would surely earn him a few more coppers; maybe even a gold piece from someone feeling particularly kind.
Sighing, Numair shivered and concentrated on falling asleep, ready to forget everything during the few short, sleepy hours before morning came.
