Return to the Lion
A/N: Recently I was discussing with some peeps the fact that we felt cheated out of Numair's thoughts and POV in the Immortals quartet. So here I attempted to fish into his mind and write it like he would see. This really isn't my best work; I'm trying to get back into the whole writing process, so forgive me!
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Tamora Pierce.
Numair tidied his perfect horsetail, then scrutinized his reflection in the tiny mirror hanging on the wall in his cabin. He and the other Tortallan delegates had reached Carthak, and he couldn't remember a time when he felt more apprehensive. He gave up trying to see his whole image and left the room to go on deck where they would all wait to board the boat that was to take them ashore.
Top deck the sun beat down, his black mastery robe soaking in the heat like a desert does water. Numair shook his head and wondered for the hundredth time if it was worth all the schooling required to wear the horribly uncomfortable robe. He reached the railing on the side of the whip and subconsciously gripped it while scanning his eyes along the coast.
Almost a decade ago had it not been Numair's life on the line, he would have been proud to know that his head was worth the price it cost to build half the Imperial castle. The matter of his escape was known throughout the land; even those who were illiterate or blind knew what the signs with the drawing of the handsome young man with a horsetail said. They all stated that he was a traitor and had threatened the crown, and was wanted dead or alive.
Ozorne had been so obsessed with Numair's capture, and now he had granted a royal pardon, forgiving Numair of all previous crimes. Being best friends with Ozorne for almost eleven years, Numair knew Ozorne, and knew that pushing aside his hate for the peace talks was uncharacteristic. Something was amiss. The best Numiar could do would be to stay out of the way and try to blend with the scenery.
This place was his previous home, from whence he had escaped through some miraculous divine intervention. He had never fully understood his rocky departure from this exotic land, but knew only that at least one of the Gods had seen fit for him to leave and so aided his escape.
He was eternally grateful for this, and for his chance to make a new life and new friends in Tortall. But above all else, he was glad to have met Daine. She, a teenager barely coming to understand herself and her powers, played a crucial role in his life. She was his student, his comrade in arms, and one of his closest friends. Above all else, she understood and trusted him. And still with all of this in mind, he didn't know exactly what it was that drew them together. It was like some undeniable force that always made the other the safest company to be in.
Numair knew the Gods had a habit of interfering with Daine's life, and knew that she attracted trouble because of it. In Tortall this wasn't so much of a problem as it was (as was commonly said by her friends) and "eye opener". But in Carthak, her unintentional trouble situations could land her in a whole load more trouble than Numair even wanted to imagine. He would have to keep a close eye on her and pray that the Gods wouldn't intervene here.
Just as he was thinking this, the voice of his thoughts walked up to him and said something. He didn't respond, still thinking about his trepidation on the whole matter of Carthak.
She spoke again. "Is something wrong?"
He answered this time. "No magelet. And I am as well as may be expected. I can't say which prospect makes me more apprehensive – that of meeting old enemies or old friends." He knew he sounded solemn, but couldn't hold back the queer feeling he got about returning to the company of a man who once sought his life.
"Old enemies, surly?"
"I don't know," he said in a hushed voice. "I was very different then. And you know what the wise men say – 'Only birds can return to old nests.'"
He shook his head; here he was filling her head with his own worries when she was probably more unsure about this situation than he was. He smiled and looked down at her, and was pleasantly surprised by her appearance. "Mithros bless. You look very pretty."
He noticed her blush modestly and couldn't help but feel a surge of pride in her.
"You think so really?" She asked shyly. "I know I don't hold a candle to Alanna, or the queen –"
He held up his hand to put a stop to her humble blunderings and went on to say, "That isn't strictly accurate. The Lioness is one of my dearest friends, but she is not an exemplar of female beauty. Years and experience have given her charm, and her eyes are extraordinary, but she is not beautiful. Queen Thayet is outstandingly attractive, it's true, but you have your own – something." He looked her over closely, careful not to keep his eyes lingering where they shouldn't. Her eyes seemed to call out in a way Numair had never noticed before.
He had always known that his student was attractive, filled with a kind of wild fire that appropriately matched her magic. But in this attire she seemed more of something that he couldn't quite place his finger on. "You should wear blue more often. It brings out matching shades in your eyes."
Daine seemed a bit flustered by his sudden attention to her physical appearance, which went to further amuse him. He was about to comment on the sapphire drops in her earlobes, his midwinter gift to her, when they were interrupted.
"I heard that about my looks," Alanna said as she joined them. She threatened him mockingly. "I'll get you later." Turning to Daine she grinned, "You do look good."
"Thanks," Daine mumbled. "So do you."
The sounds of people talking reached their ears and they noticed everyone joining them. Numair felt Daine tug on his sleeve. He leaned down slightly to show he was listening, but kept his eyes on the ships around them.
"I need to talk to you as soon as you can manage, it's really important."
He nodded, acknowledging her. Across the harbor a gong sounded three times, which immediately sent the Carthaki's on the dock to their knees, touching their heads to the ground. As steady drumbeats filled the air, a lavishly decorated boat, rowed by whom Numair recognized at once as slaves, came toward them. He winced inwardly at the memory of being waited on hand and foot by people who were no more happy to be there than he was. When he was a youth he had enjoyed the treatment, but now things were different, He was different.
"Who is that?" Numair heard Daine ask no one in particular.
Gareth the younger responded before Numair could see whom Daine was talking about. "Probably a lesser Prince, one of the Imperial court."
Numair noticed the young man they were speaking of. "This prince isn't a lesser one. See the lapis lazuli rod in his left hand? That is an attribute of the heir – what's his name?"
"His nephew Kaddar," someone behind him said. "Age sixteen, studies at the university."
As they got into the ships boat and were rowed to the galley, Numair thought over this information closely. The heir, Kaddar, was a close relative of Ozorne, and he would most likely be something of a personal guide for the Tortallans. Numair's eyes flickered over to where his young student stood. She was fifteen, almost this Prince's age. The Prince and Daine would probably end up spending a considerable amount of time together, and this irked Numair for some unexplainable reason. He mad a mental note to speak to Daine about the heir and safety precautions that should be taken in his company.
A ladder was dropped to them, and Numair waited for those more important to the delegation to climb up before he did himself. Once on top, Numair allowed himself a small smile at hearing Kitten making short indignant chirping noises, no doubt scolding Daine for something.
Somewhere someone called orders and a drumbeat was pounded. Slowly the boat began to turn.
Numair began to remember the importance of protocol and ceremonies in Carthak, something he had easily forgotten under the informal rule in Tortall. – Informal but Gods blessed practical – Numair thought to himself. Something that would take ten minutes to accomplish in Tortall could easily take over an hour in Carthak due to all the formalities.
Numair glanced over his surroundings with unease. He couldn't help but feel that he had escaped the jaws of the lion almost ten years ago, only to be back dangling himself in front of the hungry predator like fresh meat.
The Harold that stood to the left of the finely decorated prince interrupted his thoughts. "His Imperial Highness, Kaddar Gazanoi Iliniat, head of House Khazoi –"
Numair chanced a glance behind him and noticed Daine's interest had already wavered, she was looking around at the slaves and the oars. He hadn't even thought how different this must be for her. He knew by the look on her face what she was thinking. She was strongly against cages of any kind, and here were men chained to the boat in a sort of cage for humans.
He looked back to the prince and Harold. "– Majesty, Ozorne Mahassin Tasikhe –"
Numair shuddered. – I must really be a dolt, just like Daine tells me, for coming back –
The introductions began. First in line were Duke Gareth, Lord Martin, and Alanna. After they had been presented, he stepped foreword, inspecting the prince closely. With all the jewelry and eye makeup and stony expression, it was hard to tell what the prince was thinking. A nephew of Ozorne was a nephew of Numair's enemy, and someone not to be trusted. He bowed stiffly, hoping this prince wasn't a younger version of his uncle.
A/N: should I do more like this?
A/N: Recently I was discussing with some peeps the fact that we felt cheated out of Numair's thoughts and POV in the Immortals quartet. So here I attempted to fish into his mind and write it like he would see. This really isn't my best work; I'm trying to get back into the whole writing process, so forgive me!
Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Tamora Pierce.
Numair tidied his perfect horsetail, then scrutinized his reflection in the tiny mirror hanging on the wall in his cabin. He and the other Tortallan delegates had reached Carthak, and he couldn't remember a time when he felt more apprehensive. He gave up trying to see his whole image and left the room to go on deck where they would all wait to board the boat that was to take them ashore.
Top deck the sun beat down, his black mastery robe soaking in the heat like a desert does water. Numair shook his head and wondered for the hundredth time if it was worth all the schooling required to wear the horribly uncomfortable robe. He reached the railing on the side of the whip and subconsciously gripped it while scanning his eyes along the coast.
Almost a decade ago had it not been Numair's life on the line, he would have been proud to know that his head was worth the price it cost to build half the Imperial castle. The matter of his escape was known throughout the land; even those who were illiterate or blind knew what the signs with the drawing of the handsome young man with a horsetail said. They all stated that he was a traitor and had threatened the crown, and was wanted dead or alive.
Ozorne had been so obsessed with Numair's capture, and now he had granted a royal pardon, forgiving Numair of all previous crimes. Being best friends with Ozorne for almost eleven years, Numair knew Ozorne, and knew that pushing aside his hate for the peace talks was uncharacteristic. Something was amiss. The best Numiar could do would be to stay out of the way and try to blend with the scenery.
This place was his previous home, from whence he had escaped through some miraculous divine intervention. He had never fully understood his rocky departure from this exotic land, but knew only that at least one of the Gods had seen fit for him to leave and so aided his escape.
He was eternally grateful for this, and for his chance to make a new life and new friends in Tortall. But above all else, he was glad to have met Daine. She, a teenager barely coming to understand herself and her powers, played a crucial role in his life. She was his student, his comrade in arms, and one of his closest friends. Above all else, she understood and trusted him. And still with all of this in mind, he didn't know exactly what it was that drew them together. It was like some undeniable force that always made the other the safest company to be in.
Numair knew the Gods had a habit of interfering with Daine's life, and knew that she attracted trouble because of it. In Tortall this wasn't so much of a problem as it was (as was commonly said by her friends) and "eye opener". But in Carthak, her unintentional trouble situations could land her in a whole load more trouble than Numair even wanted to imagine. He would have to keep a close eye on her and pray that the Gods wouldn't intervene here.
Just as he was thinking this, the voice of his thoughts walked up to him and said something. He didn't respond, still thinking about his trepidation on the whole matter of Carthak.
She spoke again. "Is something wrong?"
He answered this time. "No magelet. And I am as well as may be expected. I can't say which prospect makes me more apprehensive – that of meeting old enemies or old friends." He knew he sounded solemn, but couldn't hold back the queer feeling he got about returning to the company of a man who once sought his life.
"Old enemies, surly?"
"I don't know," he said in a hushed voice. "I was very different then. And you know what the wise men say – 'Only birds can return to old nests.'"
He shook his head; here he was filling her head with his own worries when she was probably more unsure about this situation than he was. He smiled and looked down at her, and was pleasantly surprised by her appearance. "Mithros bless. You look very pretty."
He noticed her blush modestly and couldn't help but feel a surge of pride in her.
"You think so really?" She asked shyly. "I know I don't hold a candle to Alanna, or the queen –"
He held up his hand to put a stop to her humble blunderings and went on to say, "That isn't strictly accurate. The Lioness is one of my dearest friends, but she is not an exemplar of female beauty. Years and experience have given her charm, and her eyes are extraordinary, but she is not beautiful. Queen Thayet is outstandingly attractive, it's true, but you have your own – something." He looked her over closely, careful not to keep his eyes lingering where they shouldn't. Her eyes seemed to call out in a way Numair had never noticed before.
He had always known that his student was attractive, filled with a kind of wild fire that appropriately matched her magic. But in this attire she seemed more of something that he couldn't quite place his finger on. "You should wear blue more often. It brings out matching shades in your eyes."
Daine seemed a bit flustered by his sudden attention to her physical appearance, which went to further amuse him. He was about to comment on the sapphire drops in her earlobes, his midwinter gift to her, when they were interrupted.
"I heard that about my looks," Alanna said as she joined them. She threatened him mockingly. "I'll get you later." Turning to Daine she grinned, "You do look good."
"Thanks," Daine mumbled. "So do you."
The sounds of people talking reached their ears and they noticed everyone joining them. Numair felt Daine tug on his sleeve. He leaned down slightly to show he was listening, but kept his eyes on the ships around them.
"I need to talk to you as soon as you can manage, it's really important."
He nodded, acknowledging her. Across the harbor a gong sounded three times, which immediately sent the Carthaki's on the dock to their knees, touching their heads to the ground. As steady drumbeats filled the air, a lavishly decorated boat, rowed by whom Numair recognized at once as slaves, came toward them. He winced inwardly at the memory of being waited on hand and foot by people who were no more happy to be there than he was. When he was a youth he had enjoyed the treatment, but now things were different, He was different.
"Who is that?" Numair heard Daine ask no one in particular.
Gareth the younger responded before Numair could see whom Daine was talking about. "Probably a lesser Prince, one of the Imperial court."
Numair noticed the young man they were speaking of. "This prince isn't a lesser one. See the lapis lazuli rod in his left hand? That is an attribute of the heir – what's his name?"
"His nephew Kaddar," someone behind him said. "Age sixteen, studies at the university."
As they got into the ships boat and were rowed to the galley, Numair thought over this information closely. The heir, Kaddar, was a close relative of Ozorne, and he would most likely be something of a personal guide for the Tortallans. Numair's eyes flickered over to where his young student stood. She was fifteen, almost this Prince's age. The Prince and Daine would probably end up spending a considerable amount of time together, and this irked Numair for some unexplainable reason. He mad a mental note to speak to Daine about the heir and safety precautions that should be taken in his company.
A ladder was dropped to them, and Numair waited for those more important to the delegation to climb up before he did himself. Once on top, Numair allowed himself a small smile at hearing Kitten making short indignant chirping noises, no doubt scolding Daine for something.
Somewhere someone called orders and a drumbeat was pounded. Slowly the boat began to turn.
Numair began to remember the importance of protocol and ceremonies in Carthak, something he had easily forgotten under the informal rule in Tortall. – Informal but Gods blessed practical – Numair thought to himself. Something that would take ten minutes to accomplish in Tortall could easily take over an hour in Carthak due to all the formalities.
Numair glanced over his surroundings with unease. He couldn't help but feel that he had escaped the jaws of the lion almost ten years ago, only to be back dangling himself in front of the hungry predator like fresh meat.
The Harold that stood to the left of the finely decorated prince interrupted his thoughts. "His Imperial Highness, Kaddar Gazanoi Iliniat, head of House Khazoi –"
Numair chanced a glance behind him and noticed Daine's interest had already wavered, she was looking around at the slaves and the oars. He hadn't even thought how different this must be for her. He knew by the look on her face what she was thinking. She was strongly against cages of any kind, and here were men chained to the boat in a sort of cage for humans.
He looked back to the prince and Harold. "– Majesty, Ozorne Mahassin Tasikhe –"
Numair shuddered. – I must really be a dolt, just like Daine tells me, for coming back –
The introductions began. First in line were Duke Gareth, Lord Martin, and Alanna. After they had been presented, he stepped foreword, inspecting the prince closely. With all the jewelry and eye makeup and stony expression, it was hard to tell what the prince was thinking. A nephew of Ozorne was a nephew of Numair's enemy, and someone not to be trusted. He bowed stiffly, hoping this prince wasn't a younger version of his uncle.
A/N: should I do more like this?