Update A/N: Once again, nothing rewritten, just some editing. I didn't have to, but I have numerous voices in my head, each demanding, that like to play at being my muses and have already stolen my sanity. Ah, well—sanity is overrated.
Disclaimer: Once more: I don't own Numair, Daine, Jon, Thayet, Onua, Buri, Raoul, Cloud, Hakkon, or any of the characters which Tamora Pierce created, nor the world they inhabit. If I did, you would notice—because Numair would be MINE!!!!!! ALL MINE!!!!! Mmmm, yummy Numair, so pretty… coughs Ahem, sorry—mild psychotic episode, all finished now. I have only taken liberties with the characters and story world. No suing, please.
Lingering Ghosts
Himura Seraphina
Chapter 3) Worry
Daine wandered through the Great Fair of Cría, surrounded by the sights and sounds of so many animals and people. Six years earlier, almost to the day, she had meet Onua in this very place—lying about her age, escaping from her past and its pain. It was this place that had set her on her path—to Tortall, to the Queen's Riders, to all the people she had met. Numair, Alanna the Lioness, George, Thayet, Jon, Sarge, Evin, Miri, and all the others who had helped her move beyond her origins to become what she was now: the Wildmage of Tortall.
She greeted the People she meet, mostly horses, cats, and dogs here. There were other animals at the Fair, but they were domesticated, and frankly she had no use for chickens, pigs, and goats—or for the rats which also inhabited the city. The fact that horses gathered at fences, and dogs and cats stood side-by-side peacefully as she passed drew attention, but Daine wasn't going to ignore her friends the avoid making two-leggers nervous.
There were whispers and stares, though—especially when a prize stallion stood calmly to receive her attentions, before playfully lipping her hair. The horse had been named Fire Eater by his handlers—it had taken six men to hold him when he'd been shod.
Daine ignored the two-leggers as she walked to the camp outside of the city where the Tortallan company was set up. She'd fallen silent and solemn after they'd crossed into Galla, brooding over returning home.
Don't be daft. Tortall is home. This little trip—which you volunteered for, by the way—is just lancing a wound. In a month we'll head home for real. So stop moping.
Daine chuckled at the acid tones of her long-time friend, the pony Cloud, who had obviously decided that she had been wallowing long enough.
The stork-man is fretting—he's here, under a tree, staring at the air and worrying. I can smell it. Get back here and make him stop.
She laughed again even as she reached the camp; laid out in perfect rows, the tents of the Riders and the Own separated by the tents of their respective Commanders. Cloud had called Numair the stork-man for years and, as a result, so did most of the People who they met. Numair found it unamusing.
She found him, indeed fretting. Away from the camp, beyond the horse picket-lines, he'd stretched out his long form under a shady tree. In simple breeches and shirt, he didn't look like a world-famous mage, but he still looked powerful—and handsome.
Daine dropped down beside him and laid her head on his chest. One of his large, long-fingered hands came up to tangle in her curls. "Magelet?"
"Cloud wants you to stop fretting."
"That's unlikely."
"Well, she also wants me to stop brooding—which is also unlikely. But I should be more—I don't know—myself, I suppose. I just—"
"Magelet, do you remember when we went to Carthak?"
She snorted. "How could I possibly forget?"
Daine felt a rumble under her ear as he chuckled. "Don't worry, sweet, I sure Carthak will never forget you either. But, as I was saying, it was hard for me to return—you noticed that yourself. Memories are difficult things. An enemy can be fought, but a memory? It's part of you."
Daine sighed, cuddling closer. Numair always knew what to say. "If that's so, then why are you fretting?"
He tightened his grip on her. "I know how you were treated there—not after your mother died, but before. I don't want you to have to face that."
Years ago, Daine had tried to imagine falling in love, and couldn't. She'd seen the relationships in Snowsdale—marriages for gain or status; young love becoming bitter disappointment. Now, with Numair, she knew how far removed those memories had been from real love. She loved Numair with everything she had, and his understanding and love of her was the greatest gift she'd even known.
She rolled, rising on her elbows above him, her hands resting on his chest and lips level with his own. "I can face anything, including Snowsdale, with you."
Passion, desire, love—all glittered in his dark eyes, and she felt their match rise in her. Lips met, gently at first, but swiftly delving deeper. Hands moved, roaming, and Daine eventually found herself on her back, Numair's weight pressing her down gently as he rested in the cradle of her hips, his warm breath teasing her neck and ear as his lips toyed with her skin. In the last year, passion had never waned—had, in fact, grown as they were free to indulge in it.
Long moments later they drew apart—slightly—so Daine could turn her face into the juncture of his neck and throat. They caught their breath, clothing rumpled, hair mussed, flushed and disheveled—and content.
"I love you, my magelet."
She never, ever tired of hearing the words. "I love you too, Numair. I'll be alright—I have you and our friends with me, and Tortall to return to."
He rolled onto his back, arms tightening around her to draw her close onto his chest as they fell silent, allowing their troubles to drift away.
Fluffy much? Eh, who can't use a bit of sugar? Review, please.