"Birthdays are supposed to be happy, sunny, and beautiful," Numair said to himself over the sound of rain pounding the palace

A/N: This was inspired by my own recent birthday experiences. It stinks to have a bad day on your birthday, as Numair will point out. No point, just random rants about Numair.

~~~~~~~~~

"Birthdays are supposed to be happy, sunny, and beautiful," Numair said to himself over the sound of rain pounding the palace roof. "When I open my eyes, the brilliant sunbeams of morning will illuminate the room."

           

He opened his eyes. It was still raining.

Grumbling, Numair rolled over to see if Daine was awake, but the side of the bed usually occupied by his lover was empty. There was a note on her pillow:

Numair,

I went to Corus with Onua. I should be back by sundown, but if I'm not, don't worry.

Love, Daine

Numair glared at the note before incinerating it in a ball of black flame. "She forgot," he muttered. "Wonderful."

He climbed out of bed and threw open the curtains. Rain was lashing the window, and a flash of lightening momentarily revealed a view of the waterlogged Royal Forest. The sky outside was so dark, it might have been hours before sunrise. Numair lit a candle and walked across the room to his dresser.

"Damn!" he cursed as he tripped over boots he had left out the night before. Regaining his balance, he thought, no harm done. But that was before he tripped over the other boot…

Numair hit the floor with a thud!, and the candle rolled out of his hand and across the floor. He swore more vividly as it rolled closer and closer to his full-length cloak, which was hanging on the door—

The cloak caught the flame and was burning like a bonfire within a few seconds. Numair seized a glass of water from his nightstand and threw it over the blaze, to little effect. Only then did it occur to him to douse the fire with his Gift. He held up the charred remains of his cloak with a sigh before crumpling them up into a ball and putting them in the waste bin.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Breakfast was already over by the time he finally made it out of his room. Hungry and extremely ill-tempered, he went to his workroom and sat down for a productive day. At least, that's how he was planning it. His pen was poised above his notes when someone knocked on the door.

"Come in!" Numair called curtly. The visitor, King Jonathan of Conté, came in looking disgustingly cheerful in contrast to the younger man's own mood. Numair put down his pen and did his best to appear friendly. "Good morning, Jon,"

"And what a lovely morning it is," the king quipped, gesturing toward the window. Numair made a face, and Jon laughed.

"Anyway, let me tell you why I dropped by," the king said. "How are you coming along with that simulacrum?" He indicated a form identical to himself propped against a far wall.

"I'm nearly finished," Numair said. "When did you say you needed it? The twenty-fifth of the month or the twenty-sixth?"

Jon made a nervous coughing sound. "Actually, I was hoping you could have it ready by tomorrow." Numair shook his head, to be sure he'd heard right as the king fidgeted uncomfortably.

"But I can't possibly have it done by tomorrow!" he protested. "I need some supplies from my tower, and I can't go and get them with the weather like this." Jon raised his eyebrows, as if to say, "that's no excuse." Numair just glowered at him.

Jon decided to take a different approach. "Numair, you know I wouldn't make you ride in this weather if it wasn't important. I need that simulacrum tomorrow…my life likely depends on it." Numair sighed.

"Of course I'll go." He put away his notes and went to the door, pausing to reach for his cloak before realizing that it didn't exist anymore.

"Jon," he said on his way out the door, "If I come back to find a huge stack of work on my desk, I'm moving back to Carthak." The king grinned.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: OK, short, but just the beginning. Ideas? Review! No ideas? Review anyway!