Disclaimers: I'm sick and tired of these stupid things, 'cuz whoever thinks I own the Wild Magic series is an idiot.

A/N: I never expected that I'd update so soon, but I couldn't stop writing. This is the first fanfiction I've written like this; all my other multi-chapter attempts I have to have planned out down to the last detail, but this one I'm just putting down whatever first comes to mind. Thus the chapters are shorter, but much more frequent, and a lot more fun for me to write. You shouldn't get used to this fast updating thing, just so you know. Pretty soon I'll be much too swamped in homework to so much as touch a keyboard, let alone write fanfiction. But enjoy it while you can! (I know I am)

Chapter 2

Daine's insides were roiling. She was in Snowsdale. Snowsdale. Her mind refused to wrap around that single fact. She had been alone for quite some time—though she knew not how much—and her mind had yet to calm. It seemed quite impossible that she should found herself here after more than a decade of freedom, impossible that the man she loved was the one that had brought her here.

She had been mad at Numair at first, but the emotion hadn't lasted long. How could she be angry with him? He had done what he thought was best at the time, in an attempt to help her. He had been worried for her. He could not have known that this was where they would end up. She could not blame him for something that was not his fault; instead she directed her anger at herself, anger for not realizing that they were this close until it was too late, anger for not saying anything once she had, and even anger for being sick enough that they had needed to stop. No, she had been upset, but she had not sent Numair from the room from fury, though by now he was probably of that opinion and feeling wretched. He could wait a bit longer, though. For now, she needed to cope with the other emotions coursing through her.

Anger was not the half of it. More prominent than anything was the old fear, a fear that she thought she had left behind years ago. It was the terror of being chased by those that she had once trusted, that now that she was in reach they would turn on her and finish the job they had started so long ago. It was the dread of losing herself once more, no matter what Numair said about the barrier he had created between her and her magic. It was the fear of what the villagers would think of her, what she had become, what she did, and of somehow doing something wrong. It was not anger but fear that kept her shut up in this small room in the inn, not daring to set a foot outside of it.

The Wildmage bit her lip and walked on unsteady legs over to the window, opening the shutter despite the winter chill that drifted in. It was the same old village all right, ten years not seeming to have changed it but slightly. There were the dilapidated houses of those that lived in the village itself, although most of those that dwelled here lived on farms. There was the same tree that she had once climbed to look upon a nest of baby birds. There was the same street with the same ruts. Everything exactly as she had left it.

A sudden spot of cold on the back of her hand caused her to jerk up, until she realized that it had only been the silver badger's claw that hung around her neck. She closed a hand around it. The village may not have changed, but she certainly had, and the token that she kept so dear was a reminder of this. She was no longer a pitiful, fatherless whelp whose only notable quality was a knack with animals and a fair hand with a bow. She had met her father, she had developed her magic and her soul, had befriended some of the most influential people in the realm and walked with gods, had found the love that these people had assured her she would never be worthy of. She had changed, and she was going to start acting like it.

Newfound determination giving her strength, Daine found a clean pair of breeches and a pale blue tunic that was just nice enough that it would not be mistaken for that of a mere peasant girl. While conversing with a pair of blue-jays that had lighted on the windowsill, she used the mirror above the washstand to help gain some control over her unruly brown curls, and splashed water on her face. If she was going to face down the demons of her past, she knew that she would want to look her absolute best. She had learned long ago that a good appearance did wonders for a girl's self-confidence.

When Daine appeared in the common room downstairs minutes later, Numair was sitting in a chair, staring deep into the fireplace with his forehead creased in thought. She leaned against the doorframe and was content to watch him for just a few moments. She didn't know what she would do if he wasn't here with her right now, although he wasn't aware of her presence at the moment.

Someone else had become aware of her presence, however, and a sudden weight against her legs caught her by surprise. Looking down, she laughed softly at the hunting dog eagerly awaiting her attention, and knelt. She fondled his ears and accepted another washing of her face with patience and love. This dog was too young to have known her before, but both parties were more than willing to make up for this lost time. Her mind was entirely occupied by her new acquaintance when a soft voice spoke into her ear, startling her.

"Magelet, you shouldn't be up and about yet." Even without the endearment, she would have known that voice anywhere. "You still haven't recovered all the way yet, and unless you want to get sick again and stay here even longer, you need rest." She turned her head to give him a stern look, although her arms were still occupied by Shield, as the dog had proclaimed his name to be.

"Numair, if I'm to face these people again, I'm not going to wait in bed until they realize who I am," she told him with a tone that meant business, although she was glad that he had crouched beside her so she wouldn't have to crane her neck. "I'm going to stand up and meet them on my own two feet, and you can either stand behind me or not, but I need to do this on my terms. Otherwise, I don't know that I can handle this." The last sentence was said as a whisper, with her eyes averted.

The warmth that had comforted her when Numair crouched beside her faded, and she soon found a hand held out in her line of vision. She took it, and never once broke eye contact with him as he helped her to stand. As soon as she was stable, he placed one hand on either shoulder and leaned close to her.

"Daine, I will always stand behind you," he uttered softly but intensely. "I'm just worried that with all this on you, getting sick again will be too much. Just promise me that if you start to feel too ill again, you'll let me know."

"You're making a fuss over nothing," she informed him as she allowed herself to be steered over to the fire where her former teacher had been occupied when she had first come down.

"Since when have I not fussed over you?" the tall man wanted to know, but his jesting tone soon turned serious once more. "Just promise me, Daine."

She sighed in exasperation, but gave in. "I can see I'll get no peace about it if I don't, so I suppose I have no choice," she teased. It was odd to act so lighthearted while her stomach seemed to have wound itself into a tight ball of anxiety.

"None whatsoever," Numair agreed with a smile, and sat in the chair next to the one she had selected for herself. They fell into a relieved sort of conversation, each feeling considerably better now that things between them had been resolved, and unwilling to speak of the problem hand in fear of ruining that comfort, however temporary. Daine mused on the strangeness of the circumstances as they talked. It was almost beyond belief, that she would find herself and her lover talking as per usual in the inn of Snowsdale with hardly a thought to where they were. More than once she began to ask herself if it might not be just a strange dream or nightmare, but she rejected that idea to be too good to be true. Besides, despite what she might say to Numair, she felt too poorly for this not to be real. She was exceedingly grateful for the fire before her, fending off both the chill that was typical of the season and that which was brought on by her sickness.

Her eyes wandered as the two of them talked, taking in the large room. She had little use for the inn when she had lived here, seeing as it mainly served as the source of alcohol in the little town. However, that did not mean that she was not well acquainted with the wooden tables and chairs that filled a great deal of the room, and the counter that the old bar- and inn-keep Bayard had conducted all business from. She wondered if he was still here, or if they had replaced him with one of his sons. Knowing him and his taste for gossip, she doubted it; the man was stubborn when it came to the management of his source of income, too much so to give it over to anyone else unless it became absolutely necessary.

She recognized the three other occupants of the room, although it was obvious that they either did not recognize or notice her. The maid was a decent sort, a girl that she had occasionally played with when she was younger. There were two men at a table, drinking. One of them was the miller, apparently taking a day off work; the other was one of the farmers that had been notorious for his drinking when Daine had known him. Things really had changed little, she realized with a jolt. The landscape was one thing; the villagers were creatures of habit, and she supposed that the village had looked as it had for time out of mind. But to see how much the people still seemed the same was completely another; but for a little aging on both their faces, she might as well have been gone a day as a decade.

And they had both been there. Daine felt nauseous all of a sudden. She could still see both of their faces leering, disgusted, behind their bows and arrows. Arrows aimed at her. A chill ran over her body not induced by the temperature or her condition. Her stomach clenched in preparation to rebel, and it was all she could to keep control over her body. She would not think of that day, nor of what they would do once they found out who she was. She would concentrate on her current discussion with Numair. Numair wouldn't let anything happen to her, even if it meant turning someone into an apple tree—although she doubted it would come to that. In the meantime, she wouldn't worry him without cause.

Something must have shown on her face, however, for now he was leaning forward in concern.

"Magelet, is everything alright?" he asked her, making it obvious that he knew that everything wasn't. Despite this, she attempted to comfort him into thinking her well.

"I'm just a little cold," she fibbed, mentally crossing her fingers that he would buy it. Of course, Numair being Numair, he didn't.

"I've known you long enough by now to know that that is not all that's wrong," he reported, although he still moved his chair closer to hers to discreetly help keep her warm. Daine closed her eyes in a long, fortifying blink.

"It's just…this place," she said, still not meeting his eyes, although hers were now open. "It's making me remember things that I'd rather forget."

She risked a glance at him, and saw that he was nodding in sympathy. As he reached out to take her hand, she wondered if this was how he had felt when they had needed to return to Carthak. She found a new respect for his composure in that particular instance, regardless of any rash actions later. She was certain she could not have done any better, and so far she had done much worse.

"Whatever happens, I want you to remember that no matter what these people may say, they no longer have any hold on you," he told her softly. "I will love you even if this entire country decides it doesn't want you anymore, even if the people here decide that you're crazy. I will pity them for shunning such an extraordinary woman." Daine smiled weakly up at him and tried her best to scrub the moisture from her eyes.

"Bayard, get off your sodding lazy bum! I need another ale!"

Daine shot a glare at the man that had ruined the moment as Bayard, exactly the same as she remembered, came into the room and slammed a mug of alcohol on the table before the miller, probably with some rude remark to accompany it. He had turned to leave the room once more when he noticed the girl's presence at the hearth, and with an overly warm smile approached the pair. Daine took a deep breath and squeezed Numair's hand one last time for strength before the pair of them stood. Shield also seemed to realize her need and stood beside her, allowing her to bury her hand in his fur.

"Good morrow, Master Numair," the man said jovially as he reached the couple. The next statement was directed at her. "I'm glad t'see ye're feelin' better; ye can thank the Green Lady for that." In a distant, ironic piece of her mind that seemed unaffected by the apprehension and worry coursing through her, she made a mental note to thank her mother for her good health. "Beggin' pardon, but I don't remember catchin' y'r name, Miss."

Daine took a deep, calming breath, feeling it expand her lungs to their fullest. She let it go slowly. "I don't suppose you would have, Master Bayard," she replied. "It's certainly been long enough."

"Beggin' pardon, but did we met 'afore, Miss? I don't rightly recall." The man was flustered; that much was certain. "A thousand pardons for forgettin' a lady fine as yourself, I doesn't mean any disrespect by it, Miss!" She wondered if she should have called him by name, but it was too late to do anything about it now.

"I believe your name might be in order, Magelet," Numair prompted with an arched eyebrow, clearly amused despite himself at Bayard's bamboozlement. Daine had to admit that it would have been amusing had the circumstances been different at all.

"Of course," she remarked as coldly as possible, and held out her hand to the innkeeper. "I believe you may remember the name Veralidaine Sarrasri? Or would you prefer Sarra's crazy bastard?"

Bayard stared at her in shock and terror. He slowly began backing away from her, making the Sign Against Evil on his chest. "Ye…Get away from me, ye demonspawn!" he cried, and having said this, fled as fast as his legs could take his chubby body.

Daine looked at her companion with a wry, twisted smile.

"Well. That went better than I'd hoped."