Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it's Tamora Pierce's.

A/N: For anyone who's interested, I did research to find the meanings of the names Numair Salmalin. What I put in this chapter is really what a search of Arabic names revealed.

SunfishSailor: You're psychic. I will get into their marriage soon , but this chapter only has a little more on Dad.

Hoshi-Ko88: Glad you liked it.

Nativewildmage: "Flew out the window like a cinderblock". That is so funny I might have to use that someday.

Alanna Cooper: Thanks!

Narm's Briton 44: Glad you're reviewing. Thanks again for pointing out the mistake.

Purple Eyed Cat: Yes this is the Tauros and no, Weiryn didn't pick up on his emotions from the night before but …

Sarramaks: It's like a tennis match. Score one for Weiryn, score one for Numair, score one for Weiryn.

Bitterosemary: I hope you aren't really still hopping. You'll be quite tired if you are.

Kit49: Hope is blooming very strong after a long stretch of none.

Bibliopheliac: The "overexertion" was actually a quote from text. She was referring to Daine's walk up the hill.

Starlit Emerald Eyed Empress: This story will go slightly past the end of RotG. The last regular chapter will end when Daine comes to him after the fight with Hadensra but there will be a big epilogue – very fluffy.

Chapter 12 - Overemotional

In his dream, the tall, thin man approached. His salt and pepper hair was cut very short and he wore a mostly gray beard. His heavy brows were set above coffee colored eyes and a long nose. The man wore a canvas apron, like he had done nearly every day of his life. It had numerous pockets and textile tools were visible in each: a curved knife, sheers, hooks, spindles, extra thread – all things that Numair had been urged to memorize and name from the age of three. His name was Salam, but he was "father" to Numair and he had been dead for seven years.

In a flash he was a boy again, eager to earn his father's acceptance and somehow aware it would never come. He bowed – a show of respect to this man who had shown him none. He realized now that he was taller than his father, something he had somehow never put together. When he had last seen Salam Draper, he had been eighteen and was nearly the same height. He would grow for three more years – an unusual fact, but there it was. It seemed strange to look down on his father, when it had been his father who looked down on him both figuratively and in reality.

Numair glanced at his father's magic. It was a unique form of gift, appearing to be woven into his skin in lines of charcoal. There was a time when he was very young and had described this to his father, when his father became enraged at Numair's suggestion that he could see magic in that detail. Despite Numair's abundant power, he had always feared Salam Draper. The fear rolled over him now but he pushed it aside.

"Follow me," Salam said and motioned. Numair wasn't sure why, but he followed this ghost through a dark room to a tall door. When he opened it, light bloomed in the distance. It began to grow closer although he wasn't sure if it approached them or if he and his father somehow flew to it. A ring of people stood there, arms overlapping, hands clasping their neighbor's shoulders. In the middle of the circle a woman with gray hair and golden skin seemed to be melting into the floor – no, shape-shifting. She became a yellow and orange snake and struck at one of the people in the ring. He threw her back with silver fire.

Numair turned to his father. If this was a mage fight, it would be the last place his father would ever lead him. While some men might have been proud their son was as powerful as Numair had turned out to be, he was put off. He had told Numair on numerous occasions that the Gift was no good if it didn't give a man a living and war was not a living. Numair could hardly argue. He was a war mage with a proclivity toward pacifism. Although he had never run from a fight, he hated every one. Though he had killed many, he never forgot even one of those he sent to the Black God and he sent prayers for their families each midwinter. "Why have you led me here?" he asked Salam.

Salam glared in the way Numair had seen him do thousands of times. "Pay attention, boy," he barked. So Numair turned his attention back to the circle, only to see the snake woman now shaped like an odd tree with gray twigs that seemed to be reaching to escape the circle and roots that spread like tentacles in the bottom. He was surprised. No mage he had ever seen could shape shift like this. Even Daine was limited to animals. In a blink, the tree became a giant shark with wings and a blow hole like a whale, which spurted a shower of multi colored drops, all of which poured over and around the circle of people and took a form of their own – a swarm of bees. But the swarm was forced back to the strange, ever-shifting woman in the center. He felt a stinging sensation and looked to see that a few bees had escaped, unnoticed by the circle of captors.

Numair turned his gaze to the people that made up the circle. The first one he recognized was the Goddess. She wore a determined look on her painfully beautiful countenance. Next to her was the Black God in his deep cowl and long robe. Next was a large powerful black man in gold armor, Mithros, who Numair would know anywhere from his numerous years of study. In fact all of the great gods were there, save one – Gainel. Now he knew the creature in the center must be Uusoae, the Queen of Chaos.

He tried to speak to the gods to tell them of the bees, but with a motion from Mithros, his mouth was bound shut and he was unable to utter a sound. The graveyard hag appeared. "They won't listen, dearie," she said. They refuse to believe they might actually lose." She cackled and left. Numair turned to his father, who motioned for Numair to follow again.

The scene changed. It was as if they flew to a strange place where two large towers stood. The towers were identical in every aspect except color. One was made of glittering gold stone. The other was the multiple colored splotches of Uusoae – green, orange, yellow, and gray. A familiar form straddled both – Gainel. Struggling to maintain his balance, he had one foot firmly planted on the edge of the chaos tower and the other firmly planted on the gold tower. He stared at Numair through his fathomless eyes and looked pained as the chaos tower began to grow and the gold tower began to crumble. He seemed unable to pull his stance from either until a vast ripping sound was heard and Gainel plummeted toward the ground.

Numair turned to his father and said, "Why have you brought me here? Of all people in my past or present, you would be the last to bring me a message."

"I am a messenger," Salam said. "And your mind chose me."

Numair saw the message in the rest of the dream but was distracted by his father – a man who hated everything he had ever done. He stared at his father and really looked at him for the first time in years. Everything was precisely as he remembered; the hair, the eyes, the apron, the look of fear. The look of fear. Eyes opening wide, Numair asked, "Do you fear me?"

He awoke in his room in Weiryn and Sarra's house. The revelation was true. His father had been afraid of him. He had wanted Arram to follow in his footsteps and carry on the business built by Arram's grandfather. Arram had been a powerful boy – so powerful he had nearly burned down their business unintentionally. Salam had worked tirelessly to afford the university and sent Arram away without any intention of every seeing him again. Each time Arram had visited his home, it seemed a little more crowded and a little less welcoming. And when Arram needed his father the most while Ozorne hunted him, Salam had called him a traitor and a blight on a solid family name. Numair Salmalin was not a name he took out of vanity, though he had been so accused. It was one he took to appease his father. Numair means black panther in an ancient language, a fact he was sure would tickle Queenclaw. He chose it because of the color of his magic. Salmalin, meaning haven, had been because he was using it to hide. Few had the patience to examine the meaning of his new name though, and to date, no one had ever asked what it meant.

He sat up in bed. A stack of clean clothes had been added during the night. Numerous shirts, breeches, loin clothes, and socks were all neatly folded. Clearly he and Daine were expected to stay for a long time. He cleaned up, shaved again and brushed his teeth. He also smoothed his hair into his usual horse tail using a hair tie that had been provided. Looking around the room, he discovered that seven large books on magic had also been placed there during the night. It was as if someone had written, "See, this place could be a nice distraction," across the wall. It would not work though. Their friends needed them and he knew Daine would concur on this subject.

When he walked into the main room, Weiryn was walking toward him. "There's someone outside who would like to see you," he said gruffly.

Numair followed Weiryn to the front stoop where he could see a stormwing. He couldn't imagine what Weiryn might be thinking until he realized who the visitor was.

"Rikash Moonsword!" he said in greeting. Rikash had long blond hair with numerous bones braided into it. He also had a face that was almost kind – a good representation of a personality rarely seen in stormwings. The creatures were designed to be offensive. They were an unpleasant blend of steel wings and talons with a human head and chest. And they had a strong stench about them. Stormwings befouled the sites of battles. They fed on fear and despair, leaving behind even more devastation for the families and friends to bury.

Numair sat down on the stoop next to Weiryn out of range of the smell. "How did you come to be here?" Numair asked.

"After my role in the events in Carthak, Weiryn and Sarra kept track of me and invited me to dinner. I visit every so often. Those of us who didn't side with Ozorne are hunted, so we stay here in the divine realms."

"I thought you were going to kill him," Numair said.

"I would have if I could have. He killed King Jokhun from behind and took his crown. Now 248 of my kind follow him and do his bidding. There are 68 on our side of things and we have continued to try our best to kill him, but so far he just reduces our numbers and escapes every time."

Numair sighed heavily. "I cannot tell you how often I wished I had torched him on the spot."

"Don't question your decision. My kind would have a hard time trusting you if that were your nature."

Weiryn snorted. Numair tried to ignore him.

Rikash looked between the two. "Trouble in paradise?"

Numair shook his head as if to say "now is not the time". He glanced sidelong at Weiryn, who remained stonily silent. "I assume Lord Weiryn explained how Daine and I came to be here," he said.

"Yes. The Stone Tree Nation was among those Sarra and Weiryn questioned about the origin of the creatures you call Skinners. They were not immortals of any sort. I cannot begin to imagine what sort of creation they were. And since I know you're wondering about Ozorne, I can tell you right now that stormwing magic cannot do anything like that."

"I actually surmised as much. I also knew they weren't immortals because Daine cannot sense them. In fact probing them with her magic nearly killed her. It made her shift forms abruptly and she was in eagle form at the time."

Rikash shook his head and clicked his tongue. "And you didn't blow them to pieces?"

Numair shot a nervous look to Weiryn. Does everyone know about my feelings for Daine? "I umm – I tried. I tried to burst them, bury them, shift them into water.."

Daine came walking up over the rise wearing only soggy and mostly transparent breastband and loincloth. She had a muddy red garment slung over one arm and a filthy towel was folded in one hand like a sling. Her face was tear streaked and her lips were pressed together in a determined expression he had seen many times. He saw her toss aside a pair of rocks as Rikash turned to look at her.

"What happened to you?" the stormwing asked.

Numair realized he was on his feet. A storm of emotions swarmed through him. She looked like she had been in some kind of attack. Whatever it was had been bad enough to make her cry and forget all modesty.

"Broad Foot will explain," Daine said as she ducked between Numair and Weiryn. "I need to clean up."

Broad Foot appeared in a burst of silver light and Weiryn immediately demanded an explanation.

"A tauros crossed between realms and went after her," the duck mole answered. "She killed it, but she was upset about it."

Numair had heard himself gasp at the word "tauros" and worry, fear, rage, protectiveness, and a strong desire to comfort Daine fought for primary focus within him. He looked up and saw Weiryn staring at him in shock. Then he remembered that Queenclaw had said that if he got overemotional, Weiryn would be able to read his thoughts. He had definitely gotten overemotional. He sighed as he watched anger bubble in his host's eyes. At least he wouldn't have to think about how to get back to the mortal realm. Weiryn was going to kill him.

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