Author's Note: Fluff. In literature, it's drivel. In fanfic, it's an art. Accordingly, I hope to please the tastes of such connoisseurs as you, my audience. *snicker* No, seriously.... Who ever thought I'd have the nerve to write that bit at the end? *shaking head*

OK, heads up for this chappie cos it will be important later. Really! Big Revelations! OK, some important stuff, some fluff. You'll know which is which.;) And see, it's LONG! Worth the wait, huh? I hope so cos it wasn't easy; besides all the weighty dialogue the writing of this Ch involved a LOT of discarding, deleting & rewriting. Amazing, though - I swear that debate thing wrote itself. OMG PLEASE say you like Selene. I really hope she comes across well.

Thanks: To Melody. Wow I am really amazed. UR my guardian angel. Hehehe they're "sensible about it"...

I don't know if a disclaimer is technically necessary, but Sable is named after my friend Doris's cat.

Chapter 5

Basic tenet of civilized hospitality or no, an elegant evening with the nobility of Ravenpeak had not been part of Daine's plans for their stay there. Such activities felt foreign and outlandish to her after a summer of fighting in the north - a battle, she knew, that was far from over. Not to mention the touch of guilt, despite Numair's assurances, at enjoying luxury while their comrades were still at war. And even after eight years at Court, events involving rich delicacies, gaudy clothes, bejeweled surroundings and the polished-yet-vapid conversations of the highborn did not suit her. She suspected they never would. Fame or no, grace from the Crown or no, power or no, she was the same old practical, stubborn, utterly common-born Daine. As clothes went, shirt and breeches suited her just fine, thank you very much.

Tonight, however, it seemed she had little choice. In their suite she found a thoughtfully provided map and directory of the castle and used it to locate the seamstress's area, briefly soliciting the help of a noble pet cat named Sugar when she got lost in the extensive guest wing. There, the head seamstress of Ravenpeak, Mistress Weaver, briskly took Daine's measurements and presented her with a silk marvel of dressmaking. "We'll have it touched up a bit, and it'll be ready for the evening."

Here, Daine could see yet another Tyran influence. Most ladies at Court wore pastels, but this was a deep blue the color of the Inland Sea. The dress's lines, instead of running vertically, seemed to spiral around the wearer, creating a sense of swirling even while stationary. A prominent seam in the bodice ran from right shoulder to left hip, where it met a large silk rosette; the waistline was lower, circling the hips instead of the figure's narrowest point. The frilly skirt looked to be full circle, but the petticoats under it would elevate only with centrifugal force - as in dancing. The neckline was moderately low in front, more so in the back, and wide, showing the shoulders. The sleeves were skin-tight to the elbow, then opened into generous ruffles of silk and lace nearly to the wrist. Despite the aesthetics, the prospect of wearing such finery made Daine grimace.

Mistress Weaver noticed. "Is something wrong with it, Mistress Sarrasri?"

"Call me Daine. And no, it's lovely. It's just -" she smiled crookedly - "I'm no lady, Mistress Weaver."

The seamstress glanced at Daine's current attire. "That I can see, dear."

Daine smiled in return, then studied the dress again. "Something so fine," she asked dubiously, "just for an evening?"

"I see you haven't dined at Ravenpeak before. His lordship doesn't skimp on hospitality -"

"I should have guessed," Daine mused, thinking of their guest suite.

"That's why me and my girls keep busy, and keep ready. And tonight," Mistress Weaver continued, "he's entertaining quite a crowd - great folk from both sides of the border, and plenty of them."

Daine grimaced further.

Mistress Weaver looked both amused and sympathetic. "I'll send Tia up with the dress when it's ready, then. And she can help you with your hair, as well."

"Thank you," Daine sighed, resigned.

"You're welcome. If you'll excuse me, then. Like I said, we keep busy around here."

"Of course. Pleasure meeting you, Mistress Weaver." She turned to go.

"Likewise, Wildmage."

Daine found Sugar waiting for her at the end of the hall. I thought you might need help getting back, the cat explained.

She was right.

~~~~~

As dusk fell, a servant showed them to the same gilded parlor where they'd been received that afternoon. Mistress Weaver had informed Daine well: besides Ravenpeak's lord and lady, there were Roselda, a tall young man who seemed to be her current conquest, several other apparently Tyran nobles, and as many Tortallan faces present, all bedecked with silks and jewels fit for a royal ball. They filled the cozily lit room with a gentle buzz of conversation shot through with ripples of laughter. Had Daine been one to appreciate such elegance, she might have congratulated herself on her own appearance. Besides the dress, which Numair had complimented warmly, she had found a pair of sapphire eardrops in her pack, and had loosely pinned up her hair, mostly leaving it in a tumble. Now, admiring - yet restrained, she was happy to see - looks from a number of young men in the room reflected the overall effect.

At the mages' arrival, a number of sleek and brightly-collared cats jumped off of silk-covered laps to approach Daine. She smiled and knelt to greet them, sinking into the depths of her blue skirt. If she was on the cats' elevation, there would likely be less damage to her appearance in their eagerness. The cats sniffed and rubbed against her hands.

Welcome, said a midnight-black female. I am Sable. Enjoy the fish here; it's excellent.

A cat of taste, Daine remarked. And thank you. That's one of the few People I *can* eat.

"Such a delightful exposition of feline beauty to grace my lord's castle," she proclaimed aloud. "Surely the divine Queenclaw herself must smile on such enamoring children."

She heard a smothered chuckle from above. "So eloquent," murmured Numair.

"It's true," Daine insisted playfully, chin raised. "Don't you try and disparage feline accomplishments, Master Salmalín -- or you might find yourself a wee bit shredded." Briefly she extended feline claws from a hand, grinning. Upon retracting them, Numair reverently reached down a hand. She took it, favoring him with a dazzling smile as he helped her to her feet. He was looking *quite* fine tonight, she decided. Of the two of them, he was significantly more disposed to such formal events, and was infamous for the care he took in preparation.

"So, the mages arrive," observed Lord Gregory, who had come to stand before them, "and make their presence known." His gray eyes twinkled.

Numair bowed; Daine curtsied, sweeping out her skirt. Go back to your own humans for now, she urged the cats. It's a pleasure to meet you.

Elise came to stand by her lord. "We're delighted you came," she told them. "We hope you enjoy yourselves amid your work here. You look lovely, my dear," she added to Daine.

"Thank you, my lady," Daine said politely. "I only hope to affiliate with the splendor here."

"Once again, we must thank you for your hospitality," added Numair. "My lord has demonstrated every aspect of his reputation -- particularly that of generosity."

Gregory smiled. "In which case, I must uphold such a reputation. Come, sit. Make yourselves comfortable, and meet our guests."

They took seats side by side on the same couch they'd sat on that afternoon. Daine smiled slightly; *now* she fit in with the elegance, at least.

Lord Gregory introduced each guest in turn; Daine smiled politely, but didn't bother to hold on to the names. She was relieved when the nobles finally settled back to their talk, leaving her and Numair to one another.

"Isn't this lovely," she remarked. She was now free to voice her thoughts, but kept her voice down. "Highborn company, furniture too fine to sit on, clothes I can barely move around in." Actually, corsets at least had never bothered her; she was slim enough that little pressure was necessary. The environment was another matter.

Numair raised his eyebrows. "So cynical -- as always. Don't be so harsh. These, after all --" he gestured widely to their surroundings -- "are the privileges of the privileged class. Not everyone in the world has useful ways to spend their time as you think of it, magelet. And I would remind you, again, that until we have an immediate calling here, I consider us officially on the leave His Majesty intended." He grinned. "A little prodigality in the meantime can't hurt." He beckoned to a servant with a tray of drinks. "Wine, magelet?"

"Not unless I have to," she said firmly. "Cider, please."

"Wise." He took two cups and handed her one, smiling. "To a victory in the north, with minimal losses."

She clinked her glass against his and sipped, then leaned back into the intricately embroidered pillows with a sigh. She couldn't deny that the war had been taxing. "I hope we're not expected to stay up all night," she remarked. "Maybe we can excuse ourselves and retire early."

"An excellent idea." He looked at her warmly, making her blush. "I believe you have a relevant commitment to fulfill." Her blush deepened. Despite this, he leaned close as she watched him warily. "Have I mentioned," he murmured, "how lovely you look tonight?" His breath was warm on her skin; his dark eyes danced.

She pushed him away, but her eyes sparkled in response. "I could tell you the same," she informed him. She glanced around the parlor. "And I think a fair amount of ladies here could too." She grinned as he looked doubtfully at their company. It was true; several women were looking in Numair's direction.

"I believe I'm not the only object of attention between us," he retorted. Given her earlier observations, Daine couldn't deny it.

"They can just flock to Lady Roselda there," she commented, eyeing the lady with distaste. From the look on the young noblewoman's face, she was -- at least for the moment -- enjoying her companion's attention. "I'm fair sure she wouldn't mind." The lady was wearing a low-cut scarlet gown to set off her dark coloring, and was engaging her current companion in animated conversation. "Doubtless that's why she hasn't married yet," Daine added, "seeing as it would be so... inconvenient. Or because a more respectable fellow might be fair reluctant, given her reputation."

Gentle fingers brushed her chin; Numair turned her face to him. "You outshine her any day, magelet," he whispered, looking straight into her eyes.

A servant appeared in the doorway. "My lords and ladies -- if it pleases you, your evening meal is served."

They rose, and Numair gallantly offered his arm. With a smile, she took it and they followed their noble company into a resplendent dining hall. Crystal chandeliers glittered; the table was set with finest china and silver; the furniture was carved in intricate designs. Numair politely pulled out a seat for Daine, then took the one on her left. She spread a finely embroidered napkin on her lap and tried not to fidget, feeling suffocated with the finery and the airs of the nobles.

Amid the chatter, servants brought out the soup course. Daine eyed it misgivingly despite its tempting savory odor, wondering which of the People were in it.

"Squeamish?" Numair teased. Daine glared at him, then sniffed her soup.

"It's just chicken. And that I can manage," she added, wrinkling her nose in distaste. "Stupid birds. To my mind, they're not good for much *but* eating."

Sable had returned, and jumped onto Daine's lap. I'll take anything you don't want, she offered.

Daine grinned. "Your masters don't mind? Even you being such proper, dainty creatures?"

They don't mind. Unless the guests see.

Near the end of the soup course Daine heard her name called from across the table. She looked up; a young noblewoman (she looked to be about twenty) in a forest-green gown had addressed her. "Yes, my lady? Ah --" she'd forgotten the lady's name -- "remind me?"

"Selene of Keridoth." Selene's bright chestnut eyes regarded Daine eagerly. "It seems I have the opportunity of speaking to Tortall's Wildmage."

Daine smiled delicately. "The adjective modifies the magic, not the mage, Lady Selene." This was usually what she started with concerning her title.

Selene laughed merrily. "Of all I've heard of you, Mistress Sarrasri, humor was not one of the foremost traits." Her voice was light, but with solid texture - like a cotton weave.

Daine grinned in return. "Pray, my lady, what exactly *have* you heard about me?" The young woman didn't seem such a bad sort thus far.

Selene leaned back, the sparkle in her eyes reminding Daine of Tilena's attitude that afternoon. "You have an unequivocal power with animals. In battle, you can have any creature in a ten-mile radius fight for you. You can yourself take on the shape of any animal. In the current war with Scanra, much of the intelligence regarding enemy forces and plans are compliment of your spies. Animals around you become wiser and learn to think on the level of humans. In the war, they often fight alongside Tortallan forces."

She tilted her head to one side. "Your powers, which extend to immortals, made you a key player in the Immortals War. At thirteen, you helped defend Pirate's Swoop from a militarily superior Carthaki force intent on the capture of the queen and her children, summoning a kraken to defeat the naval forces. The dragon Flamewing, who was also involved, lost her life in the struggle and entrusted her dragonet to your care. At fifteen, you helped dethrone the corrupt ruler of Carthak, the Emeror Mage Ozorne. The coup d'etat involved devastating the imperial palace, particularly the national records, leaving Carthak with notable economic issues. At sixteen, your personal defeat of the stormwing king Ozorne brought Uusoae, the Queen of Chaos, into physical manifestation, allowing the gods to prevail over her. In Mithros's court, you negotiated restraining measures on the immortals who at the time ranged freely between the realms, thus supporting the end of the war." Despite this show of expertise, Selene sounded more genuinely interested than pretentious.

Daine raised her eyebrows. "Most don't know the part about Uusoae."

"Word gets around."

"I see. You're a mage, my lady?"

"Yes." That was from Numair, who was regarding the young noblewoman with respect. "A fairly powerful one."

"I'm honored, Master Salmalín." Selene ducked her head. "But you overestimate my abilities. My teachers say I'm not fulfilling my magical potential, that I could do much more with my Gift than I am." She looked away briefly. "They're right. I have little desire to be a mage in the field. I only wish to study magical theory -- outside my own personal duties."

Daine studied the lady thoughtfully. The restraint of power she described spoke of a depth of character and an unusual viewpoint. "Such is a rare point of view, my lady," she told Selene.

Selene smiled ruefully. "I know."

Daine leaned forward earnestly. "You know, most mages I've met want all they can out of their power. It's all about training one's magic, mastering as many spells as possible, getting hired for major projects. For one to step back and put some thought to whether or not it's the best thing to *use* all their magic just because they can...." She smiled slowly. "I should say it's fair refreshing."

Selene paused a long moment before speaking. "The former Emperor Mage of Carthak," she said slowly, "squeezed all he could out of his country, exploiting the people, manipulating his nobles and even those supposedly close to him, ordering all to grovel at his feet in awe of his power, until the gods themselves turned away from him. The Scanran mage Inar Hadensra -" her eyes flicked to Numair, assumably knowing of the mages' history in the Immortals War - "tore out his own eye for the power he could wield for it." The young woman's eyes hardened. "Thom of Trebond, the late brother of Alanna the Lioness, was the youngest living Mithran initiate. He passed the examinations for Mastery at seventeen; he was one of the greatest mages of his time. He raised Duke Roger of Conté, His Majesty's late uncle, from the dead, and met his own end at the Duke's plans surrounding His Majesty's coronation. Duke Roger, arguably the most powerful mage in the Eastern Lands, conspired to seize the throne himself, making several attempts on the lives of the royal family, as Lady Alanna exposed. After being raised from the dead, he conspired to dethrone His Majesty at the coronation, setting a great earthquake on the land though he knew it would mean his own life as well as those of everyone else present."

"You know your magic history, my lady," Numair commented softly.

Selene smiled grimly. "They say that those who know not history are condemned to repeat it. What *I* have learned as a mage - and dearly hope not to repeat - is that power -" she handled the word with both reverence and loathing - "can too easily be used for evil."

Daine's jaw muscles flexed.

"Too often, it brings grief to those who wield it, and those close to them, as well as to those whom they originally intend ill."

"My lady," Daine said slowly, "I venture to ask: do I detect an - implication - that perhaps you have observed such a pattern in *our* work?" She glanced sidelong at Numair.

Selene broke out of her solemn discourse. For the first time she looked startled, even horrified.

"No!" She looked flustered. "I - I must extend my most profound apologies. Far be it from me to consider offending the mages I respect so highly." She sighed. "My father is right: I really must learn to express what I intend to without perverting the message. Master Salmalín, Mistress Sarrasri - what I am trying to convey is the extent of my admiration for your accomplishments." By now she looked like a child shyly addressing an authority, unsure of the merit of her own cause. "Given my studies, I believe I appreciate the magnitude of your own powers. And I have long stood in awe of your incomparably honorable conduct in such ascendancy."

Daine raised her eyebrows yet again.

It must have further unnerved the junior lady of Keridoth; her language decomposed. "Well - from everything I've heard of you - how you take such risks to serve the realm, your loyalty to your friends, even coming here to Ravenpeak - his lordship told us about it. What I'm trying to say is - I just can't believe I'm talking to you now." She was shaking her head. "I've always wanted to. Because you've succeeded so beautifully where so many mages less powerful failed - in not being poisoned by the power. Which is what drove *me* away from magic in the first place. I can't begin to imagine how you do it." She stopped, red-faced.

Daine found herself smiling warmly, marveling at this revelation. Turning to Numair, she found his dark eyes dancing, doubtless reflecting Daine's own reaction to the endearing speech. Impulsively Daine reached across the table and took Selene's hands; the gesture seemed to fluster the young woman further. "My dear - please. It's not at all often that Numair and I are so honored."

"That's one way to put it," muttered Selene. "Listen to me, babbling my head off when I finally do meet the greatest mages in the Eastern Lands - one of them a demigoddess."

"My lady -" Daine continued persistently.

"Call me Selene." Selene smiled crookedly. "No reason for pretension now. Given that eloquent salutation of mine."

"Selene. Listen, I mean what I said." She looked straight into the other woman's eyes. "I can't remember the last time when Numair and I heard something so flattering from someone who knew what they're talking about as you do." She squeezed Selene's hands and released them, leaning back and smiling up at Numair.

"You are wise beyond your years, Lady Selene," added Numair.

"Pray drop the 'Lady,' Master Numair."

"Then you must drop the 'Master.' Selene --" the mage leaned back in his chair, dark eyes thoughtful -- "what you realize is something that too many mages never do - such as the ones you mentioned. It's a tragic fact that people, when they get too much power in their hands, do indeed have a tendency to - turn bad." His face darkened. "In our youth, Ozorne once said he didn't care who suffered, or died, or both, if it got *him* something for their pains. And - as you obviously know - he lived up to that."

"But what about you?" Selene wanted to know. "How do you manage the power?"

Numair sighed. "Selene. one of the greatest risks we take as mages has nothing to do with the dangers of battle. It's just as you put it - being poisoned by the power. But in my case, I've seen more than enough examples of that happening, and I've seen the ramifications. Moreover, I've made my own mistakes in my career. The best I can do is to learn from them, and from what I see around me. And sometimes it is a burden, having the power to rip the earth open." His smile was twisted. "Not that I'm bragging. But when it feels that way, I just remind myself of my duty to the realm - my responsibility to use my power for the good of all."

Daine nodded. "It's not so different with me. Truth be told, I'd say the *hardest* thing about my magic is seeing how my friends change because of me. You told me you know - they become smarter from knowing me. They come to know and understand things no animal should have to." Her eyes were grim. "I feel all the time I'm taking their innocence, but I can't stop my magic seeping into them. It's just how I am. You know -- I can put my will on animals, but I don't *like* to, because I'm their friend. And one thing you said is that I can have them fight for me. More often, I just can't stop them. They *want* to help me and my friends, and that's the truth. The only thing I can do is tell them the best way to do it. Even so, they get hurt and die, often. I always feel it."

Selene watched her, wide-eyed.

"That by itself makes me careful with my power," Daine went on, "-- that I might otherwise hurt my friends. You could say it's a give and take - yes, I always have the People - animals - ready and willing to help me, but at the same time I suffer when they do." She smiled wryly. "Does that answer your question?"

"It tells me," Selene said slowly, "that I'm looking at two people as honorable and wise as those knights with their fancy gear and titles claim to be."

They eyed her with reserved pleasure.

"That's how you manage it," Selene concluded. "You can *judge* how to use the power, because you're simply not corrupt and greedy like so many mages become. That's the difference, then - it's *you*." She smiled, satisfied.

Daine and Numair exchanged looks, then turned back to the noblewoman across the elaborately set table. "Thank you," they chorused simply.

Their new friend grinned. "It's my honor, mages. Meanwhile, I believe our partridge is getting cold."

It was true; the servants had long since set out the second course. Despite the elaborate presentation and tempting seasonings, Daine winced at the sight. "I think I'll pass."

This led to a discussion of first Daine's reluctance to eat meat and how it developed, then of her wild magic in general, which Selene absorbed eagerly. Other guests joined in, all eager to hear from the renowned mages. Daine and Numair found themselves telling stories of their exploits over the years at their audience's urging, refuting falsehoods that many had heard of them and admitting truths - which, Daine had to admit, often sounded equally capricious. This was the usual routine that Daine typically found tiresome - but tonight at Ravenpeak, the nobles' regard for Daine and Numair's presence gave the mages more freedom to dictate the conversation. Also, some of the nobles were genuinely interested in what they had to say - none more than Selene.

Thus the night waxed. As stars peppered the velvety black sky, elaborate pairs of doors leading to balconies were thrown open, admitting night-fragrant breezes. Musicians appeared, and struck up tunes as delightful and exotic as any other aspect of the spirit Daine had seen expressed at Ravenpeak. After the dessert dishes were cleared away, couples took to the floor in whirling, bold dances; Daine couldn't help but snicker at how often Roselda switched partners.

Numair noticed her smiling freely. "See, magelet?" he whispered, leaning over her shoulder. "Maybe there's something to be said for diversion after all."

She leaned contentedly against his shoulder, watching the dancers. "I s'pose I can't say it isn't welcome, after the summer. Though it would be just fine with me if we were at home."

"But we're here," he pointed out, "amid the spice and spirit of Ravenpeak."

"Enjoying his lordship's hospitality."

"That being so - I won't let it go to waste." He grinned, standing, and seized her hands.

"Numair!" she protested as he pulled her to her feet.

Against her objections he dragged her out to the dance floor, where - amid the zealous encouragement of their fellow guests, they learned several Tyran dances. At length, she couldn't complain. After a half hour, however, she felt the approach of the same dizziness that had bothered her briefly that afternoon.

Numair noticed immediately. "Daine? Are you all right?"

She tried to smile. "I'm fine. Just - too much dancing." The room spun around her. Numair helped her to a seat along the outside of the room, and she sank into it gratefully. "I'll just need a minute," she told him. He nodded, eyes bright with concern.

With a few minutes, however, her vertigo increased, accompanied by nausea. "It's fair strange," she told Numair, who was growing more worried. "I didn't drink anything - and I doubt my lord would let anything not fit to eat on the table.."

"Maybe you should see a healer." He eyes were intent on hers.

"No," she demurred. "I'll be fine, really. But, maybe... we might leave soon?" She glanced nervously around the room.

"Of course," he said quickly. "I'll tell his lordship." With a final squeeze to her shoulder, he rose and briskly walked over to Ravenpeak's lord. After a few quick words, they both returned to Daine, who made an effort to compose herself.

"I would be the last to detain you, Mistress Sarrasri," Gregory told her kindly. "I wish you a speedy recovery; should you require the services of a healer, merely inform any staff member in the palace."

She smiled bravely. "Thank you, my lord. And I hate to leave such a delightful evening."

"It is my pleasure to have entertained you," he replied with a smile. "Good night, Master Salmalín, Mistress Sarrasri."

"Good night, my lord." Daine stood, with Numair's help, and curtsied with effort. On the way to the door, she spotted Selene across the room and smiled feebly.

Once out of sight of the party, Numair swept Daine off the ground, cradling her against him. He shushed her valiant protests, and she rested gratefully against his chest as they navigated through the embellished, lamplit hallways back to their suite. Once inside, she eased off her shoes and let down her hair, shaking it loose, but didn't bother to change. At the moment she was more interested in getting comfortable.

"Get some fresh air?" she murmured tightly, indicating the balcony.

"Of course, magelet." Numair carried her out to the deck, where he settled her in his lap on the same couch that had seen their conference that afternoon. Daine sighed happily, resting in the comfort of his arms, and smiled to feel his lips brush the top of her head. She was content to sit in the peaceful night, the moon's lovely face shedding a pearly light on the world below. Cool breezes washed the flower-perfumed air; crickets filled the night with their delicate cheeping. Maybe it was the night's lullaby that soothed her ills - or maybe it was Numair.

"Feeling better?" he murmured against her hair at length.

Daine smiled up at him. "Infinitely."

He smiled back and leaned down so their foreheads touched, keeping his eyes on hers. "I love you...." His whisper, meant for her alone, scarcely disturbed the night air. Keeping one arm around her, he ran his fingers through her moonlight-silvered curls. She reached up to twine her arms around his neck, gazing blissfully into the depths of his eyes, scant inches away. She heard his breath catch as the moment seemed to stretch out, frozen in time - then he closed his lips sweetly on hers. She fell into the kiss readily, one hand stroking the back of his neck, as her heart fluttered with blossoming delight. Distantly she felt his hand working at her back; the laces of her dress yielded, and the silk slipped away, exposing her creamy shoulders in the moonlight.

She broke the kiss and pulled away, though not in protest. She could hear his ragged breathing, feel the pounding of his heart that doubtless matched her own. She leaned to whisper teasingly in his ear. "I believe we're in the wrong place, love."

He grinned and stood with her in his arms, smothering her laughter with another kiss, and carried her inside.