Apologies. I've actually had this chapter to put up for ages :P I think I thought I'd already done it. Anyway. I suspect after this chapter, there are only two left.

*

Arram turned, facing Sir Jonathan. The knight smiled, although there was a certain chilliness to it, as though he wasn't entirely comfortable here, and definitely as though he couldn't stand Arram.

Despite this, the mage relaxed visibly, seeing the other man was apparently unarmed. Perhaps he had only come to talk. Perhaps he could explain his lover's bizarre behaviour. The tentative smile that had begun to creep over his lips froze in place as sapphire magic bloomed in the space between the two men.

"Calm yourself, Draper," Jonathan ordered, amusement plain in his eyes. The command came easily – Jonathan was long used to his role as a leader of men. In everything else, he seemed almost like a fish out of water, even – Arram couldn't help noticing – his attention to Veralidaine. "I only want to show you something."

Arram obeyed, unclenching his fists, but remaining tense, ready to blast the man anyway.

The blue magic pooled around their feet. Images swirled around in it, beckoning the mage. He emulated Jonathan's movement and knelt, staring into it, transfixed. All the magical knowledge he had forbade doing this, letting magic override him without thorough awareness of what it entailed, yet some part of him forbade him looking away. The same part of him that seemed to yearn for the brunette with the fierce blue-grey eyes, rather than his mild wife.

"Your Majesty, the King's Champion demands an audience."

"She would," sighed the image of Jonathan – King Jonathan. Arram tore his eyes away from the pool to glance up at his companion questioningly.

There was no response, no flickering change in expression.

Arram returned his attention to the puddle. A fiery-haired man had entered it with – he peered closer – his younger double in tow.

"Sire, I would like to speak with you privately about – what was the name? Numeric Samonin?"

The Champion – Alanna the Lioness, Arram remembered, from his various studies – shared a private grin as the man looked down and mumbled his correct name.

"Please accept my deepest apologies for my uncouth Champion." The King stood, startling the ragged man who glanced up, and was immediately captured by a pair of penetrating blue eyes. "Now, what is your purpose here?"

Arram gulped slightly and shook his head, more to clear it than anything. Strangely – stranger than the resemblance between him and the man they called Numair – his memory was responding to this, and memories probed at him, only to vanish when he tried to grasp them.

Eyeing him, Jonathan waved his hands and the picture disappeared, replaced by presumably an older Numair – now, Arram could tell why Veralidaine had believed him to be her lost lover – in earnest conversation with the King.

"She can help us, Jon, I know it."

The King drummed his fingers on the table. "How are you so sure we can trust her?" He leant forward. "I'm sorry to be callous, Numair, she seems like a wonderful assistant for Onua, but – I just need to be sure she won't wander off and serve somebody else once we've given her the foundations."

"She won't," Numair responded shortly, firmly.

"Does she…?"

Although Arram had no idea what the King was referring to, Numair picked up the end of the sentence with ease. "Know? No." HeNumair stared off into space, his expression uncertain through the ripples in the image. "Let's trust her with your country's future first, then my past. Sire."

The King rose, clapping Numair on the shoulder. "Glad your priorities are sorted," he said dryly. "Teach Daine, then."

The picture flickered, and cleared.

Suddenly images burst forward – a Stormwing attack, two figures on horseback, a brunette dressed in purple curtsying and smiling shyly, a small dragon –

Dragon?!

- people laughing, hugging, kissing –

They sharpened into focus, although they remained a fair distance away.

"Spying, milord?" A teasingly musical voice, setting bells ringing in his head. He was – he knew – No. The fleeting recognition vanished as quickly as it had come.

"No. Just finding out what those two have been up to." There were no images, it was almost as if the magic was paining Jonathan.

His companion laughed. "Honestly, darling, it's been obvious to anyone with eyes for months! You can worry about the affairs of your mages later, come and see Li-"

The memory cut short. Arram noticed the real Jonathan was grey and swaying on his feet.

"Remember?"