Okay, guys. You wanted fluff and I agree - after all this is D/N! Just one
more chapter of depressive reflection and something for Numair to do just
to keep the ball rolling. Thanks for your reviews. I've put two chapters up
today to keep you occupied as I am going to Wales and won't see a computer
until Monday.
Martini: Thank you. Just for explanation, the dream was everything up until and including her yelling at Daraun. The next bit, with Numair sitting in the infirmary is reality.
Queen of chickens: Yes, never fear, Numair and Daine are going to get back together. Not this chapter, but the next. Yes, again, I do like Fleetwood Mac, but I keep forgetting to put a disclaimer on their lyrics!
Black rosex2: Thank you for your compliments. I hope the depressing stuff didn't scare you off, but I promise fluff will make its entrance next chapter.
Rhapsody07: We like dreams!
Raashna: Of course it was evil *grins * :)
Kylaia: Where's the update you promised? Okay, you demand fluff, I give you fluff next chapter (was quite fun writing it!) :)
Jazy716: okay, okay, I know what I'm doing is wrong. The thing with the blood will be explained and resolved. Numair and Daine will get together again next chapter and romance will make its entrance and I won't kill Daine off permanently. *evil demonic smile appears *
Disclaimer: You know the drill. None of this stuff belongs to me. All belongs to Tamora Pierce except a couple of chapter titles which belong to Fleetwood Mac.
Loyalties
A knock sounded on the door to Numair's rooms, rousing him from his brown study as he thought of a young woman lying close to death in an infirmary bed, fighting the love which he harboured for her and which he was so willing to prove. He rose from his chair, groaning as he straightened legs which hadn't been moved for hours and stiffly walked to the door. Pulling it open, he was surprised to see a messenger boy standing there, a piece of folded parchment clutched in his hand.
Numair's heart sunk at the sight. "Well, who were you expecting?" he scolded himself mentally. "It's not likely that Daine will ever be coming to visit you again." He bit the inside of his cheek but turned his attention to the boy garbed in the blue tunic of those in the service of the Crown.
"What is it?" he asked, not really caring that weariness made his tone abrupt. The boy, no more than eleven years of age, trembled slightly as he passed the note which he held onto the mage.
"It's a message from His Majesty, m'lord Numair. He says you're t' meet him in his study soonest."
Numair nodded silently, dismissing the boy who hovered nervously by the door. Opening the parchment, he scanned the letter quickly but it offered no more explanation than its bearer had. Still mulling over Daine and wallowing in depression, he pulled on a clean shirt and dragged a brush through his unruly, unkempt hair. Failing to relieve his mind from the image of a girl's haunted face, a face that spurned hi love, he left.
He walked along the cold, hostile corridors, their stones as dark as the shadows of his heart. Upon reaching the heavy oaken doors embellished with the gold embossed crest of the monarchy, he knocked twice and entered the study when the King's voice beckoned from within.
"Good morning, Numair." The King sat at his desk, quill poised over a sheet of parchment, ink staining his hands and the tunic of royal blue that he wore over a white linen shirt. He gestured politely to the chair opposite him, inviting Numair to sit down. Numair obeyed, though his movements were lethargic and non-committal.
"You wanted to see me, Jon?" Jonathan noted with concern that his friend's voice was every bit as exhausted and drained of hope as his body was. He approached the topic with caution, knowing only partly the reasons for Numair's decline.
"I should like to speak with you on two subjects, primarily your current state of health," he paused briefly to judge Numair's reaction. Numair clenched his jaw and his eyes darkened with an unidentifiable emotion, but few words passed his lips.
"That's not an issue for discussion," he said tightly, his hardened expression warning Jonathon not to breach the subject any further. This warning was dutifully ignored.
"Be that as it may, it cannot be evaded forever." Though it was a reprimand, there was more than just an element of empathy in the statement. "We're your friends, Numair, for Mithros' sake. We have every right to be worried about you r condition."
Up until this point Numair had kept a tight rein on all the emotions bottled up inside him. Now this rein snapped. Anger, tiredness, despair, pain and sorrow flooded his features, etching deep lines in his dark skin. He leapt to his feet, fury fuelling his speech.
"My condition is of little consequence in comparison to Daine's, or haven't you realised that she is dying from an immortal magic? It's in her blood - she has nearly died twice already because of it, and next time she might not be so lucky! There is no-one who can heal her yet you seem to think that she is going to be cured in an instant. I can tell you now that that is not the case, but perhaps none of you, Thayet, Duke Baird included, will believe this until she is dead! Once Daine has stopped breathing, you can't do anything about it. No-one can."
The last words were barely more than a whisper, an utterance that trembled with grief and dread. He slumped back in his chair, both subdued and exhausted by his tirade. His broken voice was scarcely audible from behind the hands in which his face was buried, shields against further scrutiny.
"I'm sorry, Jon. I just feel so useless sitting here, unable to do anything to help Daine . . ." he trailed off, lost in the recognition of his failures and shortcomings. His heart contracted with pain as the list grew ever longer; the more he thought about it, the more it seemed that Daine would be better off without him. An understanding hand on his shoulder made him raise his head and through a haze of dejection he saw the king standing next to him; when the king spoke, he spoke as a friend, not as a monarch.
"Daine cannot be healed, but you can. We cannot afford to lose you both. Let us help you." Acceptance of this still had yet to dawn on Numair's face and mind. Registering this and feeling sadness for his two friends silently ensnare him in its wispy tendrils, Jon averted his sapphire gaze and continued.
"I understand what it is you are saying, Numair, though the concept of immortal magic in the blood is a little difficult to comprehend, but I am persuaded that pursuing this line of questioning with you will be of no avail. Believe me when I say that seeing this happening to Daine is breaking our hearts. I sometimes wonder what the point of being king is when you don't have the power to help save a friend, but when it comes down to it, I have to try and do the best of a bad job. All we can do for Daine is to be there for her for as long as is required. I intend to do this to the best of my ability, whatever the price may be."
Numair knew that what Jonathon was saying was true, but in the depths of his misery he still could not bring himself to look at his friend as he nodded his understanding. He did not see Jonathon wipe away a tear that was slowly falling from the corner of his pained eyes. A long silence stretched between the two of them. The King crossed back to his desk and sighing heavily, he applied himself once again to the duties that lay before him.
"Numair," he prodded gently.
Sitting up in his chair, the taller man tried to focus his mind on the present. Pushing away the regret that was now plaguing him, he began to question Jonathon.
"You mentioned that there was something else that you wished to talk to me about, Jon. What is it?"
The king leaned back and sighed, closing his eyes briefly. "This probably isn't the best time to ask you, though I am not sure that I would trust anyone else's judgement . . ." he stopped speaking without realising it, lost deep in thought.
"Jon, please, just tell me what it is. Gods above, I need something to occupy my mind right now." The king opened his mouth to speak but stalled, much to Numair's irritation, who was tapping impatient fingers on the polished surface of the desk. Jonathon shook his head slightly and then said what needed to be said.
"As you know, Alanna and the company under her command were fighting up in the north, by the Scanran border when the war finished just over a week ago. The fighting carried on for a couple more days but they won, and now they're making their way back here to Corus since they need to report to me and I am no longer in Port Legann." He stopped, wavering on the next point. Numair, fighting desperately to keep his mind on his upcoming task, furrowed his brow in concentration.
"So what has this to do with me?" he queried, confused.
The king flicked his gaze upwards, meeting unsteady dark eyes that shone with suppressed emotion. "Do you recall the incident at the end of the war with the box that contained the Chaos serpent?"
Numair nodded, realisation dawning slowly on his face. He had felt the enormous tainted power of Chaos when the box had exploded, killing the squad that had found it.
"Alanna's men found a similar type of box when they raided the enemy camp. Believing it to be an incendiary device, they left it alone. Alanna then tested it with her Gift and discovered that it was indeed a Chaos trap but she was unable to disable it. Shielding it with her magic, she's bringing it with her. At present, they're about a day's ride from here, so I was hoping that you could go out and meet them to inspect this device before it reaches Corus."
Numair sat still, trying to compose his expression with little success. Leave Daine? No, he couldn't leave her, not now, not ever - the very thought sickened him. He couldn't imagine her dying, not without him by her side. Soft crystals stung the back of his eyes when he thought of life without Daine, of Daine without life, but he quickly blinked them back, refusing to let the tears fall.
But it was his duty to serve his king; he knew this, but his loyalties were torn. Should he stay here with his magelet, lest her health decline even more, or should he obey his king's wishes? He didn't want to leave Daine, yet it struck him that maybe he ought to, in order to give the both of them some time to think. Certainly, by description, this mysterious object of Alanna's could be found to have many connotations with Chaos and her allies, and therefore was worth inspecting. Numair's heart cried rivers of ice in protest of his decision, but his mind said that he was doing was right; going to help Alanna was not only his duty, but it would also help him try to continue his life normally, though how it could ever be complete without Daine, he knew not.
"I'll set out today, Jon. That means I should be with Alanna by nightfall." He waited briefly before standing, half-wishing that Jonathon would override him and convince him to revert his decision. The king, however, entertained no such notions, but instead allowed his relief and approval to replace the concern and tension that marred his normally calm face.
"Good man." The king rose also, clapping Numair on the shoulder reassuringly. "I'll send word to Alanna that you're coming." Glancing up at the tall mage he added, "Doing this will give you some space to think."
Numair understood this to be a dismissal and giving Jonathon a curt bow, he took his leave. Watching his retreating back, Jonathon thought also of a girl whose young life was ebbing away all too quickly.
"It will also give both of you the time to recognise your priorities."
*****
"Weiryn's daughter."
Daine turned in her dream, confused, hearing the call in her mind, not with her ears, though the voice seemed to reverberate in the surrounding mist that flowed like wet silk around her limbs. Before her, draped in a black cloak and with eyes as unfathomable as shifting fog, stood Gainel, God of Dreams. In one hand he held a small pair of golden scales, not dissimilar to a different pair that she had seen him holding just short of two weeks ago. Upon closer inspection the scales were found to be a beautiful creation of simplicity juxtaposed with elegance. On one side the images were basic, representing a trivial, menial life; the other side was covered in flowing scrollwork and stunning images that elevated the owner to the level of a deity as the little light that pierced the clouds gathered around this side, forming a soft, golden halo.
Awed by this magnificence, it took Daine a minute to realise that the scales were not still; they kept moving up and down as if they couldn't decide which side was heavier. At the moment the balance seemed to be tipping in favour of the beautiful, ornate side.
"Another balance has been upset." Gainel was speaking to her again, his voice an enigma. "This time it is not between the Great Gods and Chaos, but instead between your mortal and divine blood. Crossing the Realms disturbed the harmony between them and now they strive for dominance over each other. I will not tell you which way is the best path - it may be that you are forced to decide this later on - but I will tell you that that mortal mage of yours loves you more than his books, his magic, his life. If you cannot fight this for yourself, fight it for him."
His lips continued to move but Daine heard no sound. Everything was fading, spinning and she was being pulled back, blanketed by cold night. Just before she fell into the beckoning well of oblivion, a soft whisper spoke in her mind.
"Farewell, Godborn."
*****
Daine's eyes flew open, and scarcely in charge of her actions, she threw herself out of bed, only to collapse halfway to the door. Heart beating painfully, she looked towards the sky, the palace of the Gods and tried to capture the more profound, unspoken message from Gainel that she had but sensed in her dream. Lips parted as she panted slightly, as if from great exertion, her eyes began to shine with determination and she breathed just one word.
"Fight."
There we go. 'Twas last chapter of sad, depressing stuff. Next chapter = fluff (at the end) but just because I gave you two chapters it doesn't mean that you only give me one review for both, else I won't write. So there! Ha! : )
Martini: Thank you. Just for explanation, the dream was everything up until and including her yelling at Daraun. The next bit, with Numair sitting in the infirmary is reality.
Queen of chickens: Yes, never fear, Numair and Daine are going to get back together. Not this chapter, but the next. Yes, again, I do like Fleetwood Mac, but I keep forgetting to put a disclaimer on their lyrics!
Black rosex2: Thank you for your compliments. I hope the depressing stuff didn't scare you off, but I promise fluff will make its entrance next chapter.
Rhapsody07: We like dreams!
Raashna: Of course it was evil *grins * :)
Kylaia: Where's the update you promised? Okay, you demand fluff, I give you fluff next chapter (was quite fun writing it!) :)
Jazy716: okay, okay, I know what I'm doing is wrong. The thing with the blood will be explained and resolved. Numair and Daine will get together again next chapter and romance will make its entrance and I won't kill Daine off permanently. *evil demonic smile appears *
Disclaimer: You know the drill. None of this stuff belongs to me. All belongs to Tamora Pierce except a couple of chapter titles which belong to Fleetwood Mac.
Loyalties
A knock sounded on the door to Numair's rooms, rousing him from his brown study as he thought of a young woman lying close to death in an infirmary bed, fighting the love which he harboured for her and which he was so willing to prove. He rose from his chair, groaning as he straightened legs which hadn't been moved for hours and stiffly walked to the door. Pulling it open, he was surprised to see a messenger boy standing there, a piece of folded parchment clutched in his hand.
Numair's heart sunk at the sight. "Well, who were you expecting?" he scolded himself mentally. "It's not likely that Daine will ever be coming to visit you again." He bit the inside of his cheek but turned his attention to the boy garbed in the blue tunic of those in the service of the Crown.
"What is it?" he asked, not really caring that weariness made his tone abrupt. The boy, no more than eleven years of age, trembled slightly as he passed the note which he held onto the mage.
"It's a message from His Majesty, m'lord Numair. He says you're t' meet him in his study soonest."
Numair nodded silently, dismissing the boy who hovered nervously by the door. Opening the parchment, he scanned the letter quickly but it offered no more explanation than its bearer had. Still mulling over Daine and wallowing in depression, he pulled on a clean shirt and dragged a brush through his unruly, unkempt hair. Failing to relieve his mind from the image of a girl's haunted face, a face that spurned hi love, he left.
He walked along the cold, hostile corridors, their stones as dark as the shadows of his heart. Upon reaching the heavy oaken doors embellished with the gold embossed crest of the monarchy, he knocked twice and entered the study when the King's voice beckoned from within.
"Good morning, Numair." The King sat at his desk, quill poised over a sheet of parchment, ink staining his hands and the tunic of royal blue that he wore over a white linen shirt. He gestured politely to the chair opposite him, inviting Numair to sit down. Numair obeyed, though his movements were lethargic and non-committal.
"You wanted to see me, Jon?" Jonathan noted with concern that his friend's voice was every bit as exhausted and drained of hope as his body was. He approached the topic with caution, knowing only partly the reasons for Numair's decline.
"I should like to speak with you on two subjects, primarily your current state of health," he paused briefly to judge Numair's reaction. Numair clenched his jaw and his eyes darkened with an unidentifiable emotion, but few words passed his lips.
"That's not an issue for discussion," he said tightly, his hardened expression warning Jonathon not to breach the subject any further. This warning was dutifully ignored.
"Be that as it may, it cannot be evaded forever." Though it was a reprimand, there was more than just an element of empathy in the statement. "We're your friends, Numair, for Mithros' sake. We have every right to be worried about you r condition."
Up until this point Numair had kept a tight rein on all the emotions bottled up inside him. Now this rein snapped. Anger, tiredness, despair, pain and sorrow flooded his features, etching deep lines in his dark skin. He leapt to his feet, fury fuelling his speech.
"My condition is of little consequence in comparison to Daine's, or haven't you realised that she is dying from an immortal magic? It's in her blood - she has nearly died twice already because of it, and next time she might not be so lucky! There is no-one who can heal her yet you seem to think that she is going to be cured in an instant. I can tell you now that that is not the case, but perhaps none of you, Thayet, Duke Baird included, will believe this until she is dead! Once Daine has stopped breathing, you can't do anything about it. No-one can."
The last words were barely more than a whisper, an utterance that trembled with grief and dread. He slumped back in his chair, both subdued and exhausted by his tirade. His broken voice was scarcely audible from behind the hands in which his face was buried, shields against further scrutiny.
"I'm sorry, Jon. I just feel so useless sitting here, unable to do anything to help Daine . . ." he trailed off, lost in the recognition of his failures and shortcomings. His heart contracted with pain as the list grew ever longer; the more he thought about it, the more it seemed that Daine would be better off without him. An understanding hand on his shoulder made him raise his head and through a haze of dejection he saw the king standing next to him; when the king spoke, he spoke as a friend, not as a monarch.
"Daine cannot be healed, but you can. We cannot afford to lose you both. Let us help you." Acceptance of this still had yet to dawn on Numair's face and mind. Registering this and feeling sadness for his two friends silently ensnare him in its wispy tendrils, Jon averted his sapphire gaze and continued.
"I understand what it is you are saying, Numair, though the concept of immortal magic in the blood is a little difficult to comprehend, but I am persuaded that pursuing this line of questioning with you will be of no avail. Believe me when I say that seeing this happening to Daine is breaking our hearts. I sometimes wonder what the point of being king is when you don't have the power to help save a friend, but when it comes down to it, I have to try and do the best of a bad job. All we can do for Daine is to be there for her for as long as is required. I intend to do this to the best of my ability, whatever the price may be."
Numair knew that what Jonathon was saying was true, but in the depths of his misery he still could not bring himself to look at his friend as he nodded his understanding. He did not see Jonathon wipe away a tear that was slowly falling from the corner of his pained eyes. A long silence stretched between the two of them. The King crossed back to his desk and sighing heavily, he applied himself once again to the duties that lay before him.
"Numair," he prodded gently.
Sitting up in his chair, the taller man tried to focus his mind on the present. Pushing away the regret that was now plaguing him, he began to question Jonathon.
"You mentioned that there was something else that you wished to talk to me about, Jon. What is it?"
The king leaned back and sighed, closing his eyes briefly. "This probably isn't the best time to ask you, though I am not sure that I would trust anyone else's judgement . . ." he stopped speaking without realising it, lost deep in thought.
"Jon, please, just tell me what it is. Gods above, I need something to occupy my mind right now." The king opened his mouth to speak but stalled, much to Numair's irritation, who was tapping impatient fingers on the polished surface of the desk. Jonathon shook his head slightly and then said what needed to be said.
"As you know, Alanna and the company under her command were fighting up in the north, by the Scanran border when the war finished just over a week ago. The fighting carried on for a couple more days but they won, and now they're making their way back here to Corus since they need to report to me and I am no longer in Port Legann." He stopped, wavering on the next point. Numair, fighting desperately to keep his mind on his upcoming task, furrowed his brow in concentration.
"So what has this to do with me?" he queried, confused.
The king flicked his gaze upwards, meeting unsteady dark eyes that shone with suppressed emotion. "Do you recall the incident at the end of the war with the box that contained the Chaos serpent?"
Numair nodded, realisation dawning slowly on his face. He had felt the enormous tainted power of Chaos when the box had exploded, killing the squad that had found it.
"Alanna's men found a similar type of box when they raided the enemy camp. Believing it to be an incendiary device, they left it alone. Alanna then tested it with her Gift and discovered that it was indeed a Chaos trap but she was unable to disable it. Shielding it with her magic, she's bringing it with her. At present, they're about a day's ride from here, so I was hoping that you could go out and meet them to inspect this device before it reaches Corus."
Numair sat still, trying to compose his expression with little success. Leave Daine? No, he couldn't leave her, not now, not ever - the very thought sickened him. He couldn't imagine her dying, not without him by her side. Soft crystals stung the back of his eyes when he thought of life without Daine, of Daine without life, but he quickly blinked them back, refusing to let the tears fall.
But it was his duty to serve his king; he knew this, but his loyalties were torn. Should he stay here with his magelet, lest her health decline even more, or should he obey his king's wishes? He didn't want to leave Daine, yet it struck him that maybe he ought to, in order to give the both of them some time to think. Certainly, by description, this mysterious object of Alanna's could be found to have many connotations with Chaos and her allies, and therefore was worth inspecting. Numair's heart cried rivers of ice in protest of his decision, but his mind said that he was doing was right; going to help Alanna was not only his duty, but it would also help him try to continue his life normally, though how it could ever be complete without Daine, he knew not.
"I'll set out today, Jon. That means I should be with Alanna by nightfall." He waited briefly before standing, half-wishing that Jonathon would override him and convince him to revert his decision. The king, however, entertained no such notions, but instead allowed his relief and approval to replace the concern and tension that marred his normally calm face.
"Good man." The king rose also, clapping Numair on the shoulder reassuringly. "I'll send word to Alanna that you're coming." Glancing up at the tall mage he added, "Doing this will give you some space to think."
Numair understood this to be a dismissal and giving Jonathon a curt bow, he took his leave. Watching his retreating back, Jonathon thought also of a girl whose young life was ebbing away all too quickly.
"It will also give both of you the time to recognise your priorities."
*****
"Weiryn's daughter."
Daine turned in her dream, confused, hearing the call in her mind, not with her ears, though the voice seemed to reverberate in the surrounding mist that flowed like wet silk around her limbs. Before her, draped in a black cloak and with eyes as unfathomable as shifting fog, stood Gainel, God of Dreams. In one hand he held a small pair of golden scales, not dissimilar to a different pair that she had seen him holding just short of two weeks ago. Upon closer inspection the scales were found to be a beautiful creation of simplicity juxtaposed with elegance. On one side the images were basic, representing a trivial, menial life; the other side was covered in flowing scrollwork and stunning images that elevated the owner to the level of a deity as the little light that pierced the clouds gathered around this side, forming a soft, golden halo.
Awed by this magnificence, it took Daine a minute to realise that the scales were not still; they kept moving up and down as if they couldn't decide which side was heavier. At the moment the balance seemed to be tipping in favour of the beautiful, ornate side.
"Another balance has been upset." Gainel was speaking to her again, his voice an enigma. "This time it is not between the Great Gods and Chaos, but instead between your mortal and divine blood. Crossing the Realms disturbed the harmony between them and now they strive for dominance over each other. I will not tell you which way is the best path - it may be that you are forced to decide this later on - but I will tell you that that mortal mage of yours loves you more than his books, his magic, his life. If you cannot fight this for yourself, fight it for him."
His lips continued to move but Daine heard no sound. Everything was fading, spinning and she was being pulled back, blanketed by cold night. Just before she fell into the beckoning well of oblivion, a soft whisper spoke in her mind.
"Farewell, Godborn."
*****
Daine's eyes flew open, and scarcely in charge of her actions, she threw herself out of bed, only to collapse halfway to the door. Heart beating painfully, she looked towards the sky, the palace of the Gods and tried to capture the more profound, unspoken message from Gainel that she had but sensed in her dream. Lips parted as she panted slightly, as if from great exertion, her eyes began to shine with determination and she breathed just one word.
"Fight."
There we go. 'Twas last chapter of sad, depressing stuff. Next chapter = fluff (at the end) but just because I gave you two chapters it doesn't mean that you only give me one review for both, else I won't write. So there! Ha! : )