A/N: It's been a while, but a reviewer suggested some new POVs. I'm working on Coram, Buri, and Alan of Trebond but Numair just kind of happened. So I hope everyone is well, enjoy.


Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tamora Pierce.

Set post-Lioness Rampant, but pre-Wild Magic.


"What exactly did the man say after that?" Alanna said sharply and Numair glanced down at her.

Numair was used to being above eye level with most people, but with Alanna, it was a bit ridiculous. When she wasn't looking up, Numair often found that he communicated with his friend by looking at the top of her head, and not her eyes. He didn't mind it that much, for Alanna's violet stare often left him unsettled, despite all the peculiar things he had seen in his life. Even better was that, if he needed to knock the knight down a peg, he could just place his hand on her head and ruffle her hair. It made her unbelievably angry, but it also calmed down the people who were unsure how to act in front of legends.

Alanna always said that the only people she made nervous were the people who had reason to be nervous. However, she was rather unaware of the fact that she, as a seasoned warrior spoke of in bard's tales, made some people nervous just by breathing. Numair, on the other hand, was all too aware of Alanna's effect on people. When he had first met the copper haired spitfire, she had nearly derailed him — unintentionally, of course. But whatever he had expected to find in Tortall, Alanna of Pirate Swoop and the unusual court she served in were not it.

However, having one's hair ruffled tended to tone down one's formidableness, and having the ability to ruffle said hair had made Numair quickly immune to Alanna's formidable reputation.

Unfortunately, the boy in front of them had no such immunity. He was currently stumbling over his words so badly that the information they'd garnered from him would most likely be unreliable due to the simple fact that they couldn't understand most of it. Numair knew the boy was nervous and he also knew that it was most likely due to the fact that he was being questioned by a Black Robed Mage and the King's Champion. Usually someone less…disquieting…spoke with the young informants, but the information he had was vital and no one else that Jonathan trusted had been available. While Numair generally casted a fairly calm and amiable aura, the same couldn't be said for Alanna when she wanted information. She was like a dog with a bone, and at the rate the boy kept shooting wary glances at her, they would be done after dinner and no better informed for it.

'Time for an intervention,' Numair thought.

He interrupted Alanna's brusque questioning by stepping up beside her, highlighting their stark difference in height. He patted her head like she was child, mussing up her hair and directing her purple glare away from the boy.

"Don't mind her, son. While her bite is actually worse than her bark, she usually reserves it for criminals. You've done nothing wrong. We're just eager to hear what you have to say, so speak up."

The boy glanced at Numair skeptically, "It's just, sir…her eyes…and I always imagined her less angry…"

Alanna, who had seemingly reached new heights of exhaustion, ran a hand through her hair and unintentionally tousled it further. She walked over to the stone wall, slumping to the floor with her legs splayed out.

Numair knew exactly what she was doing. Alanna was not nearly as exhausted as she was acting, but with a spy for a husband, she had finally learned to be somewhat attuned to the fine art of questioning. That was a feat in and of itself, and Numair reminded himself to congratulate George on that later. Now, he simply watched, impressed, as she adapted herself to the situation.

"Mithros. My eyes, he says," she then closed her lids over the offending orbs and dropped her chin to her chest before continuing tiredly, "I'm not angry with you, lad, I'm angry with the man you heard speaking of treachery and I'm angry with the King."

"Why are you angry with the King?"

The boy seemed to have gained some courage despite being in Alanna's presence. Maybe it was the fact that the King's Champion was sitting like a rag doll on a dusty floor with her hair sticking out in odd directions.

"Oh, nothing new. He just woke up with a bigger ego than normal. Maybe I should have him come down here and speak with you."

At this implication, the boy launched into a perfectly clear version of the events that he had seen unfold, with exquisite attention to detail. As he finished up, he heaved a sigh of relief and started towards the exit anxiously — only to take a hasty step backwards as the door swung open.

The lad's eyes widened as Jonathan stepped though the chamber door, apparently having come in search of his champion and chief mage.

"Sir Alanna, I'll have you know it's been almost —," he froze and raised an eyebrow, dissolving his aura of kingliness, "what are you doing on the floor?"

Alanna leveled a narrow-eyed glare at her king, "Oh, just making sure the floors are clean, Sire." She stood up, brushed off the dust, and sneezed. "Which, you should know, they aren't."

Despite her earlier "exhaustion", she practically skipped to the door, pausing in front of Jon to put her hand against his chest in a gesture of friendly intimacy that only Alanna could get away with.

She spoke with mock concern, "You should do something about that."

She nodded to Numair and smiled at the boy, then she was gone, leaving in her wake a sputtering king with a dusty handprint on his royal blue tunic.

The boy broke into a laugh, all previous nervousness forgotten, and Numair looked from Jonathan to the boy and back again. Apparently, knocking people down a peg or two was a more useful and common practice in the castle than he had previously thought.