A/N: Ok, there will be some plot formation in this chapter....I know most of you will want more fluff, and you'll get it, but we all know that I had to go through with the plot some time.....

I'd like to take this time to announce my next project. I'll be starting it after I finish Gallan Return, and basically its just an alternate ending to this fic. Even though this one ends happy, there are other ways I could end it, so I plan to try one of them. I think you guys will like it, especially if y aren't pleased with what I've done to Numair in this fic....*hint*hint*

UNFORTUNATE ANNOUNCEMENT: I regret to inform you all that there is going to be a large portion of Jon's POV in this chapter. Now you know if I could have prevented this, I would have, but I couldn't. This chapter is important, so please read it even if you hate Jon as much as I do....I promise to throw in some nice Jon bashing...hehe...

Disclaimer: Ah yes, I'd best leave one of these....You know the drill, don't sue me, cuz I don't own anything....

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King Jonathan III of Conte sat in his study, frustrated as ever. What with the Immortals War just ending, he had more than enough on his plate just now. In fact, now that he thought about it, he had too much. He had the most splitting head ache right now, and he was no where near done with the night's work. He still had over fifty battle reports to read over, not to mention the foreign mail. The Immortals War had affected o countries besides just Tortall. Galla, Carthak, Scanra, and even the Copper Isles had been affected. Though out of these countries Tortall was only allied with Carthak, it wasn't uncommon for Jon to receive news from the others.

There was one country though, that Jon knew very little about. That country, was Galla. Yes, Jon's knowledge of Galla stretched only to its customs and religions. He hadn't gotten any news or reports from that country for years. It had been this way since King Jarlath took the Gallan throne just over fifteen years ago. His father, the former King B of Jerkins, Galla, had always sent reports to Tortall and all other surrounding countries. Tortall always had a special relationship to Galla in those days, and this was because Jon's father and mother had been close friends with the Gallan king and queen. Jon couldn't count the times he remembered watching the Gallan delegation of royals as they entered Corus to vacation at the palace.

Every time they would come, Berthold would bring his wife and queen, Maudisa. She was a fairly nice woman, nothing corrupt about her that Jon could ever see. He knew corrupt when he saw it, for he had already experienced delegations from the Copper country Isles, who's royalty was known for madness. Maudisa, Jon could always remember for her friendly nature and beautiful features. When Berthold's parents had sought a bride for him, they found the perfect match in Maudisa. No woman could ever suit the jolly king of Galla any better than that woman, Jon decided.

Along with Berthold and Maudisa, their son, the young Prince Jarlath of Galla would always come. Jarlath was about five years older than Jonathan himself, so naturally the parents of each prince had always expected them to stay in each other's company when the royal families were together. For the most part, Jon never minded entertaining foreign royals, especially ones his own age, but with Jarlath, it was different. Jon knew from experience that Jarlath wasn't the easiest person to get along with, especially when he was supposed to be the guest.

Jon's mind drifted back in time to one of these memories. He had been only ten years old then and just about to start his training as a page. The Gallan Delegation had just arrived the previous afternoon, and now it was time to begin entertaining them during their stay. Jon was on his was now to the suit that had been assigned to Jarlath. He walked slowly, stomping and hanging his head as he went. His arms were crossed in a pout and his lips set. No matter how much he had argued with his parents about making him entertain Jarlath, they had still ordered him to do it. He was now reluctantly obeying their orders.

As Jon drug himself through the palace halls and to Jarlath's room, he would gaze out the windows as he walked. It was a wondrously beautiful day out. It seemed as if the palace grounds were calling to him, begging him to go tramping across them, having adventures as he went. He ached to follow his ten year old heart and go have fun, but that would displease his parents. The last time he had disobeyed them, they had taken away his new Calvary saddle and set of war tack for his horse, Sprite. He most certainly did not want that happening this time on account of Jarlath.

Once Jon reached the room he had been reluctantly looking for, he stopped before it and knocked lightly. He heard a scuffling of feet, and then the door was swung open to reveal a handsome boy of about fifteen. Prince Jarlath was tall for his age, almost six feet in height. His head supported a large mass of deep brown curls, so dark that they were almost black. He had his hair pulled back in a small horse tail, one that barely reached his ears. His handsome face was coiled into a scowl, his forest green eyes flashing dangerously. He held such a grim and angry look most of the time, so Jon wasn't alarmed by it at all.

"Prince Jarlath, would you care to join me in a tour of the palace?" he asked politely, just as he mother had instructed him. He could still hear her warning him to be nice and most definitely polite. Despite his mother's orders, Jon couldn't resist rolling his eyes rudely as he spoke his offer to the Gallan prince.

"No, I wouldn't!" He snapped rudely, roughly cuffing Jon's ear with the back of his hand. "But that doesn't mean I won't!" The prince added hastily, seeing his chance to cause Jon further torture. Jon scowled at this, his face showing utmost hate for the older boy.

Sighing, Jon said, "What would you like to see first?"

Jarlath stuck his nose up at Jon and acted as if the Tortallan heir had grown an extra limb. "That's a fair hard decision to make, seeing as Tortall has nothing of interest. I've toured better pig sties in Galla than anything I've seen in Tortall," Jarlath made his jibe as if it had been nothing but a mere statement. Jon felt his blood boiling. He felt an indescribable urge to punch the Gallan prince, but decided against it.

-If you're so fond of pig sties, why don't you live in one?- Jon thought to himself, not daring to say it aloud. It wouldn't be wise to insult the prince, for he would just tattle on Jon to his parents, not to mention that Jarlath was much larger and better built than Jon. This would make things very difficult for Jon if Jarlath felt the urge to cause him great pain. "Perhaps you'd enjoy visiting the Page's Wing?" Jon asked, his teeth clenched.

"I suppose that would do," Jarlath said, acting as if he were too good to ever go to such a place.

The two boys treaded down the halls and corridors, for what seemed like ages to Jon. They finally reached the start of the Page's Wing. There were class rooms of all sorts lining the wall as they passed. Soon, class rooms faded into private chambers for each page. Jon gazed longingly at the door to the room of his best friend, Raoul of Goldenlake, as they passed it. He wished his friend were with him now. Together, they could handle Jarlath and teach him a lesson he wouldn't soon forget.

Suddenly, Jarlath spoke up with a random question meant to annoy Jon. "Jon. What kind of a name is that? I mean honestly, you're the third idiot in the Conte line to have it," Jarlath said idly, acting as if he had no idea what he was doing. "Besides, it obviously rhymes with moron." Jarlath grinned evilly at Jon, entertained by the prince's paling face.

"I'd advise you to keep your opinion to yourself in the future," Jon muttered angrily, just as he pounced towards Jarlath. His intent was to cause the Gallan prince as much pain as he possibly could. He didn't even bother to think that the prince was much older and stronger than he. It didn't even cross his mind that Jarlath had just recently become a squire, while Jon himself had only just started training as a page.



Jarlath stepped out of Jon's way effortlessly, causing Jon to slam not into Jarlath, but into the end table that leaned against the wall for decoration. The table snapped under his weight, and the beautiful hand crafted vase that sat on it came crashing to the ground, breaking into a million pieces.

Before Jon had time to fully register what he'd done or how much trouble he would surely be in, Jarlath had reached out a hand and gripped Jon's shirt collar roughly. He pulled Jon to his feet, and slammed him hard against the wall where the table used to stand. His eyes flashed even more dangerously than usual, this time with brown tints. It was then that Jon knew he was in for it. The Gallan prince moved his face closer to Jon until only the length of a piece of parchment separate them.

"Never, never try to cross me, Moron of Conte," Jarlath whispered, voice harsh and filled with rage. Jon gulped with fear, preparing himself for a beating he knew he would get. Instead of doing what Jon expected, Jarlath roughly through Jon to the ground and into the pile of broken glass and wood. Pain seared through his body in the places the splinters and glass cut him, but he ignored it for he knew Jarlath was watching him. He looked his enemy directly in the eye, not knowing what else to do. He shook with fear, not knowing what Jarlath was going to do.

Jon's eye contact with Jarlath seemed only to have served as a silent challenge, making Jarlath all the more angry. Clenching his fists, Jarlath kicked Jon in the ribs as hard as he could. Jon cried out in pain, but took it nonetheless. He longed to run and tell his friends what had happened, tell anyone what had happened. He knew he couldn't do this though. If he told his parent, they would surely tell him to ignore it because Jarlath was a guest. If he told his friends, then his parents would find out and punish him. Either way, he lost. Besides, he didn't want to be a baby who ran to his mother for every cut and bruise.

He took the pain silently and went through the rest of the day with Jarlath as if nothing had happened. Later, after the Gallans had returned to Galla the following week, Jon's parents took away a good number of his privileges as punishment for the vase and table.

Jon scolded himself as his mind snapped back from his day dreams. He'd gotten off track for the fifth time that night! It seemed that when it came to working in the late hours of the night, Jon couldn't concentrate. He wanted to go to bed and sleep soundly, rather than work all night in his work room.

"Its that gods cursed war that caused me all this work!" Jon mumbled to himself as he began shuffling through the sea of papers on his desk. The piles of papers, scrolls, maps, and letters seemed never ending, making Jonathan's head ache. When he'd come into his study after his evening meal, he'd promised himself he'd have his desk cleared before he went to bed so that he'd be ready for the next load of work that was sure to hit his desk the next morning. Now, this task seemed near impossible.

Jon stopped his shuffling as soon as his hand landed on a curious piece of parchment. It was folded and sealed, indicating that it was from some royal; whether it was a foreign royal or one of Tortall's own, Jon had yet to find out. He knew immediately when he saw the forest green wax that it wasn't anything from Tortall. Anything from a Tortallan noble was always sealed with red wax, for it was Tortallan custom.

Jonathan turned the parchment over in his hands so he could properly see the imprint on the seal. He had to hold it up to the light to make it out, for it was faint, having been sealed in a great hurry. Jonathan immediately recognized it as the Gallan seal. But how could it be? Jon never received anything from Galla. At least, that had been the way it was for just over fifteen years. -This must be extremely important- Jon thought to himself. He knew very well that Jarlath wasn't fond of him, and was unlikely to call upon him unless it was absolutely necessary.

With shaking hands, Jonathan broke the seal to the Gallan letter and unfolded it. He scanned the page with his eyes, not at all prepared for what he saw:

To My Royal Cousin King Jonathan III Of Conte:

Jonathan, I hope to find you and your royal family of Tortall well. It has been so long since we have acknowledged one another. I fear it has gotten to be far too long, so I have decided to breach that gap. The war has affected my kingdom greatly as I'm sure it has yours. Many of my best mages were killed in battle defending Galla. I've heard much about your own losses, and allow me to give you my condolences.

I ask that you please forgive me for what I am about to relay to you, for it is not of a pleasant nature. I regret to inform you, that I have discovered the presence of one of my own Gallan citizens in your fine country. I have learned that her name is Veralidaine Sarrasri. I have spoken with the head of her town of Snowsdale, and it seems that she fled to Tortall illegally. I am not suggesting that you have been holding her there, or that this is your fault in any way. I am merely asking, that you send her back, as she is my subject. It is my wish that you understand this, and that you respond to me as soon as your other duties allow.

In Hopes Of Support,

King Jarlath of Jerkins, Galla

As soon as he had read the letter from Galla, Jon was stunned to say the least. How could it be that he hadn't had any connection with the king of Galla for years, and now all of the sudden he received a letter just when Jarlath wanted something? This was Jarlath's way, Jonathan knew. He was only friendly to a person, if that person could be of use to him. Anyone and everyone was a pawn to Jarlath, this Jonathan had seen first hand many times. He'd heard from Kaddar about the king of Galla's persistent attempts for a marriage alliance between royals. According to Kaddar, Jarlath had given Carthak the cold shoulder, offering them no help at all until he learned that they would make a useful marriage alliance for his son.

Why did it have to be Daine, though? What did Jarlath want with a country girl that had fled from his country because her own village betrayed her? Ah, but Daine wasn't just a country girl, he reminded himself. Daine was a beautiful young woman, who had saved his life and the lives of his family and kingdom countless times. She was full to the brim with a rare form of magic, not to mention she was as sharp as they come. No, the question had shifted to 'What didn't Jarlath want with her?' Veralidaine Sarrasri would be of excellent use to any country or realm, and Jonathan knew very well that Tortall was envied for having her.

"By the great gods, she's my friend! I refuse to let them have her!" Jon exclaimed, wildly slamming his fist against the top of his desk. He hated Jarlath, and it would burn him to see Daine have to go to him, no matter what reason the king of Galla had for wanting her back. It wasn't as if Galla could enforce any threats they might make if Jon were to refuse their demands. Galla was known for its poor military. Few countries, even in time of war, would bother asking for help from Galla. For that matter, no country would even bother declaring war on the gods forsaken place. In many ways this made Galla the best country there was, but Jon still wouldn't want to rule it. Back in the days when Berthold ruled Galla, the country had prospered nicely, for it had the gods favor. Ever since Jarlath took the thrown, things had slowly decreased. Galla no longer held the gods favor. Jon was certain that if Carthak hadn't been occupying the gods' attention so much for the past few years, then Galla would surely have been the host of the god's wrath. Jon doubted Galla would do any better under Aidan's rule. Little did Jon know how wrong he was about Galla's fighting potential.

Without wasting his thoughts a second longer on Jarlath's poor reign, Jon pulled a blank piece of parchment from his top right desk drawer and began fumbling through his mess of papers for an ink bottle and quill. Once he'd found these things, he took out his wrath on the parchment, letting his quill be his weapon. His father had always told him that a good king knew that his quill and the proper words could be the best weapon available, even in the time of war. Many times in his life, Jon had learned the value of his father's words. He put them to use now.

To My Royal Cousin King Jarlath of Jerkins, Galla:

Jarlath, this in response to your letter. Indeed it has been too long since we have last spoken. I am pleased to inform you that Tortall is doing well, even after the war. As you have said, we received many losses, and each shall be remembered for their bravery in the heat of battle.

Now, to the main topic of discussion which prompted me to write you. I received a demand from you in your previous letter stating you would like to have my Wild Mage, Veralidaine Sarrasri returned to Gallan soil. I regret to say that I must refuse this demand, for several reasons. These reasons are nothing you need concern yourself with, so I shant include them. Further more, I ask that you do not decided to declare war on Tortall. It would indeed be a great loss for your country if you should bother doing so.

In Hopes You Make The Right Decision,

King Jonathan of Conte III

Jon smiled with satisfaction as he set his quill down, letter finished. For once, he had the upper hand with Jarlath, and the feeling was refreshing. He knew well that he had responded rudely to the foreign king, but what did that matter? There was little Jarlath could do about it. If Galla and Tortall went to war, it would be over extremely fast for Tortall had one of the top ranking armies of the northern lands. The could never be defeated, or even dented by Galla.

-Should I tell Daine?- Jon thought to himself, his mind thoughtful. It was a very good question indeed. He knew it would likely trouble the young woman greatly. He knew she feared her old home. Numair had told him many times that he saw her thrash and kick in her bed roll when they were on missions for the king. It was obvious she had nightmares of the place. If it was bad enough to haunt her in her sleep, then the mere idea of returning would surely horrify her. No, he wouldn't tell her. He had no need to, for surely nothing would come of it. "Yes, no need to worry her," Jon said with a yawn, stretching out his arms and letting his back pop.

He sighed unhappily when he saw how little work he'd completed. Out of the large pile of work he'd laid out for himself for that night, he'd only completed his response to Jarlath's letter. This disappointed him greatly, for it meant he had wasted his night day dreaming and seeking to torture and old 'friend'. "The things I get myself into," Jon said with a deep sigh. He would worry himself to pieces over the littlest things. That was a habit he'd have to break one of these days.

He snapped his head around to look behind him as he heard the sound of the door creaking open. In the doorway stood his queen, Thayet. She was clad in her pink silk night gown he'd had imported for her from the Yamani Isles last year for a birthday present. Despite his frustration and lack of sleep, he smiled at the sight of her. To him, she'd always been the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen in his entire life.

"Jon, come to bed," Thayet said quietly, voice pleading with him along with her eyes. "Its getting late."

The look she held on her face was one he'd never been able to refuse. "I'm coming, Thayet," he said, voice enchanted by her, "All this work can wait until morning." Jon got up and crossed the room to join his wife. He took her in his arms and led her silently out of the study. Both the king and queen of Tortall held smiles on their faces. Since the war, neither had spent much time together. Thayet had longed for such an occasion for weeks afterwards, but he'd always been too busy, tired, or temperamental. He would never know just how much the words 'all this work can wait until morning' meant to her.

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Nealan of Queenscove paced his room, deep in thought. Though his thoughts were extremely complex and intricate, they only revolved around one thing. That thing, was Veralidaine Sarrasri. He had fallen for her, of that much he was sure. He didn't know how it was possible for him to be so sure of something so soon, but he was. All of his page friends had always laughed at him and told him he could fall in love with a girl as faster than he could blink, but he'd never thought much of it. It was one thing for his friends to say such a thing, but quite another for him to finally realize there was some truth to it.

"Well, Neal? What are you going to do about it?" Neal began talking to himself as he paced. He had to do something. He couldn't think straight if he didn't. He would always remember it, if he let his only chance slip between his fingers. Daine was a beautiful young woman, in Neal's eyes the most beautiful one at court. It was likely that she had a good many admirers. If he didn't make a move for her, then surely someone else would first. That meant he had to get his wits about him, and fast. He didn't want to let this fish get away.

It was then that he remembered a very important piece of information he had over heard. There was going to be a minor ball coming up nearing the end of next week. Since it wasn't a very important one, not to mention all that fancy, Jon had announced to all of the pages and squires that they could attend it as guests and not servers. This had thrilled him when he'd heard it. His first thought had been to find someone to escort. Now, Daine was his obvious first choice, but there was still the matter of getting her to go with him. The only way to do that, was to ask, but did he have the courage to do that? Of course he did! He was, after all, Nealan of Queenscove! He was afraid of no lady! Or was he? Yes, perhaps he was after all. This was most definitely a first for Neal.

Sighing, Neal threw himself backwards and onto his hard bed. As he lay there, he swung his legs over the side and up onto the bed. Continuing to think about his options, Neal let out another sigh. If he wanted Daine to court him, he had to ask her. That sounded so simple, yet in this moment it seemed a greater challenge than earning his shield.

Suddenly, a spark of courage formed inside Neal's mind, and he knew what he had to do, whether he wanted to do it or not. He had to ask her if he ever wanted anything more to come of his relationship with her. He did not want to be just friends with her, he wanted to court her, for her to be his lover. The thought of her rejecting him seemed not to matter right now, for he was fueled with the delight he would feel if she said yes.

Neal rose quickly from his bed and went to stand before the broken piece of glass he had hung by a nail on his room wall to serve as a mirror. He began fumbling with his hair, slicking back and then trying it to the side. He had played with it for a good ten minutes before he was satisfied. He then went to his water basin and splashed his face with cold water. Neal then reached for his towel he had hanging by the basin and dried his face. Checking one more time in the mirror to make sure his clothing wasn't wrinkled or dirty and also to make sure his hair was suitable, he smiled and headed for the door.

Stepping out into the hall, Neal began whistling the tune to a happy song he'd heard played at a ball once. He couldn't help but think that on his return trip to his room, he'd be assured with the knowledge that he would be escorting Daine to the ball. He made his was fast through the halls, all the way to her rooms.

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Daine sat idly in her bed chamber, doing very little of interest. Right now, she was stretched out on her bed, her smoky brown curls spread over her goose feather pillow. She was clad in a plain white cotton shirt and a pair of old brown breeches. She hadn't planned to do anything much today besides stay inside the palace for some gods sent rest, so she hadn't wore any of her work clothes. She felt so relaxed, and so free. It was true, she normally despised with a passion being lazy as she was now, but it felt so good that she just couldn't stop. War could do that to a person. It could wear anyone out faster than the blink of an eye.

Currently, Daine was skimming through a book Numair had loaned her several weeks back, the last time they'd been at the palace before being transported into the Divine Realms. It was a thick leather bound book about the habits of grizzly bears; such an item Daine had never imagined ever being able to even lay hands on before she'd met Onua at the horse fair just five years back. It was amazing how far she'd come since then. She'd merely been a shy country girl on the run from a hard past, back then. Now, she was the renowned Wild Mage of Tortall! She was friends with Tortall's monarchs, the King's Champion, and her lover was the country's greatest mage. Yes, it was very true that her present life contrasted her old life in ever way.

Just as she was getting to the chapter on grizzly feeding habits, there was a loud rapping on the door. "Just a moment!" she called, hurriedly marking her place in her book and setting it on her nightstand. Swinging her legs over the side of her bed, she rose and stood to her feet. She dashed out the open bed chamber door and into the main living room and to her front door. There was another knock, and she reached for the knob and swung the door open.

In the doorway stood Numair. Her eyes lit up when she saw him. "May I come in?" he asked, his lips twisted in a small smile. She'd always adored that smile, likely since the first time she'd seen it.

"Need you even ask?" she replied with a grin.

"Oh, well, I'll just be going then," he said with a look of mock misunderstanding at her statement. His smile had turned into a smirk. Daine sighed, rolling her eyes at his attempt at humoring her. With on hand on her hip to make her annoyance clear, she dashed forward after him and grabbed his shoulder, turning him to face her.

"Come in, you dolt!" she exclaimed, letting her tongue dart out at him briefly. Before she'd even had time to blink, he'd thrust his arms out around her waist and pulled her up in his arms. She kicked in squirmed in a mock effort to get away. He laughed at this, as she continued to giggle in his arms. He carried her through the door, and attempted to kick it shut behind him. Neither Daine nor Numair noticed that it did in fact not fully close, but stayed a crack open, for both were too preoccupied in the other's company.

"As if I would turn this down?" His voice was teasing as he brought his lips down to kiss her forehead. He walked over to the couch, Daine in his arms, and sat down.

"As if I would let you," It was more of a statement that a question. Roughly, she swung her arms around his neck and pulled his head down closer to hers. She didn't hesitate to let her lips meet his, kissing him. He responded as soon as their lips had met, making Daine feel the fire rush through every inch of her body. The two stayed like this for some time, very much wrapped up in the other. Every once in a while they would separate from lack of air, but even that was rare.

There was a loud rapping at the door. Normally, Daine would have heard this, but the current situation prevented her from doing so. Numair had finally removed his lips from hers, and was breathing heavily from having lacked air for so long. Her breathing mirrored his own, making both of them smile. Numair leaned in once more and began kissing her neck and moving up to her face. She moaned in pleasure at his actions. She didn't ever want him to stop.

"I love you," he said in between kisses. She couldn't even manage to choke out a response, she was too enthralled. He once again brought his lips back to hers, kissing her passionately and fully.

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Neal walked through the halls for a long time until he finally reached Daine's room. It was a fair long distance from the Page's Wing to the Mage's Wing. It would be quite a pain if he would always have to walk this far to visit Daine once she was his lover. No, he wouldn't think of that! He wouldn't get his hopes up. He couldn't afford to do that. He had to keep his wits about him if he wanted to do this right.

He sighed once more as wild thoughts of Daine continued flying through his mind. He would love to get a chance to kiss her. Perhaps he could tonight, if she said yes. He could make it very romantic even. As soon as she said yes, he could scoop her in his arms and kiss her, just like in a novel he'd read! That would be perfect, and a truly affective way of impressing her. Surely she couldn't refuse?

"Yes, Neal, tonight could be your night," he told himself as he walked, careful not to get his hopes up. His efforts were in vain, for it was obvious that he already had.

Finally, Neal reached her room. He smiled broadly when he saw the brass nameplate on the door that read 'Veralidaine Sarrasri.' The image of it saying 'Mistress Veralidaine of Queenscove' suddenly popped into his mind, and he struggled to wipe it out. "Oh, Mithros," Neal muttered as he approached the door. "help me."

Neal was about to reach out and knock, but he felt a pang of nervousness run through him, making his heart beat rapidly. He began running ideas of what to say to her through his head, but none seemed to satisfy him. -Damn- he thought lamely. -It all seemed to work just fine when I was back in my own room!-

The page was unaware of it, but he began testing his ideas out loud. To his own credit, it was in little more than a whisper. "Oh, good evening Daine. I just wanted to ask you to the upcoming ball. No,no, no! That won't do at all!" Neal began frantically scolding himself for every idea he came up with. "Daine, I would be thrilled if you came with me to the ball. Thrilled? That'll never work! Come on, Neal! Think!"

Neal began running his fingers through his hair nervously. Somehow, in the mild time span he spent standing on Daine's door step, he seemed to come to his wits. His bravery returned slightly, and he got the idea that he would just go in, and the words would come to him naturally. He'd finally agreed to himself, so there wasn't much else that he could do. Without further hesitation, he reached out and knocked loudly on her door. He was surprised to say the least when there was no answer. He waited a few minutes and let out a sigh of disappointment. He could hear noise inside, indicating she was there. He could also see light shining from the crack in the door. Wait, the crack in the door! If door was open,even just a crack, it was a sign that one could simply enter. Neal decided to take advantage of this rule of proper court behavior. He opened the door o bit wider, wide enough for him to step inside. He shut the door quietly behind him, and walked into her main living room.

Neal was not at all prepared for the site that lay before him."What the-" Was all Neal could manage to say, cutting himself off midsentence becuase he was too shocked to finish his thought. On the couch, Daine lay, but she was not alone. She was sitting on the lap of her teacher, Master Numair. Not only that, but Neal was shocked to see that their lips were locked in a passionate kiss. He couldn't believe it! How could this happen? Daine was his! But that wasn't entirely true, and he knew it, but that didn't change the fact that this apparent relationship she had was completely wrong! Master Numair was nearing thirty, and she was still in her teens! Not to mention the fact that their relationship was supposed to be platonic, for he was her teacher. This site before him sickened him more than he could fathom. He wanted to dash over there and pull that terrible man off of the young woman he loved. Master Numair had no right to do this to her, none at all.

A loud gasp was emitted by Neal when he watched Daine slip her arms around Master Numair's neck, a sign of affection. She was most definately not refusing this, and to him that was unacceptable. Master Numair must have spelled her, or forced her to consume some sort of illegal love potion. That was the only logical explanation. Neal winced when he heard Daine gasp. It had sounded distinctly like a gasp of pleasure. -Thats because it is- Neal though agrily, not willing to accept what he saw.