Disclaimer: I am not Tamora Pierce. Therefore, Daine and Numair are not mine. Don't sue, please.
Nocturne
I love her. I see now that I've loved her from the first – since the moment I saw her weep over me when she thought I was merely a strange sort of bird, since she conquered her distrust to share with me the horrors of her past life. Since she began teaching me, all unwitting, what had been missing from my life until she came into it.
What I needed to be whole.
To love her.
I love him. I guess I always have – since those early days, before I knew he was a great and powerful mage, when he saw I was sad and told stories and juggled to cheer me up. Since I told him all the worst of my past and he looked at me, unflinching, and said it didn't matter – that I wasn't what the gossips back in Snowsdale said I was. Since he took it on himself to help me learn who I was.
Who I am.
And this is who I am now: a woman who loves him.
But what will become of us now? She's said she loves me; I'm sure she believes she does. It wouldn't be like her to flatter me or to pretend to something she doesn't feel. But what if … She's so young, so new to the idea of love. There are fourteen long years between us. One day – and the day may not be far off! – she'll look at me and see an old man. Could I bear to see that look in her eyes? To hear her tell me she no longer loves me?
And now what? He mentioned marriage. I can't marry yet! I'm not sure I want to marry at all. And he'll come to his senses on that score. He'll want a woman, not a child. What was it Onua said, all those years ago? He likes women blonde and buxom – and haven't I seen as much with my own eyes?
It's only this mad journey we're on that makes him think he loves me … loves me like that. All this talking to gods and skirting Chaos vents has done something to his head. Once we're back in Tortall he'll look at me again and see a child. His student, his friend, maybe, but not … not a lover.
But I do want to be that. I've never wanted anything so much.
If only she knew how it tortures me to stay on my own side of the fire, night after night … with her so close, just feet away – an arm's reach, if it came to that. To hear her breathing, to see her sleeping face, and yet not touch her.
No woman has ever affected me this way. It was always so easy – I asked, and they went with me – sometimes they offered, and I never turned them away. I enjoyed it, and so did they. Until lately. Until I knew. Has she noticed, I wonder? Does she realize how long it's been? Half a year – since Midwinter, since the barrier fell.
Did I even know how love felt before? I thought I had loved plenty of women, but it wasn't love – what it was I'm rather ashamed to admit, even to myself. It was all light-hearted and harmless, no one was ever hurt … but now it all feels like a betrayal.
A betrayal of her, and of what I now know is love.
If only he would touch me. Even to muss my hair or put an arm around my shoulders. I s'pose he's worried what I might think, or where it might lead. Didn't he say he was afraid of taking advantage of me? As if I didn't know my own mind!
Suppose we live through the desert, and the dragons, and the passage back to the mortal realms. And the battles that're sure to follow. Then what? Back to the stables for me, and the Tower at Pirate's Swoop for him? How will it be without him? How will I be? After all this time, how will I even sleep without him on the other side of the fire?
If only he wouldn't always stay on the other side of the fire.
I love those eyes of hers that hover between blue and grey. I love the way she struggles with her hair – she can make herself into a bear or an eagle, but she can't get her hair to behave. I love that she isn't awed or cowed by my power or my reputation – that she's not afraid to challenge me, to laugh at me, to call me "dolt" when I deserve it. That she is so beautiful – so irresistible – without realizing it. That I trust her with my life. That – much as it sometimes terrifies me – she trusts me with hers.
I love the strength and power of her magic, the joy of it. The delight she takes in communicating with those she calls the People. Her joy when she can heal an injured animal, her sorrow when what she can do is not enough. Her infinite capacity for friendship. (The way she'll feed anything. Her determination, her bravery, her humility, her strength.
I love those little hands of hers, callused but gentle, soft but strong. The way she slips back into the speech of her childhood in times of stress. The feel of her in my arms. Of her arms around me. Of her lips on mine.
I love his slow, sweet smile. I love the smell of him, spicy and warm. I love the way he lets me tease him about his hair, about losing himself in his books, just as if he wasn't the great all-powerful Black Robe Mage. I love knowing, knowing for absolutely certain, that whatever happens, wherever I am, he'll come and find me – nothing and nobody will stand in his way. And I worry about all the trouble he might get into if I wasn't there to look out for him. I wish I could be with him all the time, just in case.
I love the way he uses his Gift, as though it was easy, nothing special, to be the most powerful mage in the Eastern Lands.
I love his strong hands, his voice calling my name, his dark eyes that twinkle when he laughs and darken when he's tired or sad, angry or in pain. I love it when he calls me his magelet. His arms around me, holding me tight. His lips on mine.
She flattened a palace and nearly killed an emperor to avenge my "death." Yes, she had help – but the fact remains …
How many times – starting with that first time, in the swamp – has she saved my life, and put herself in danger for my sake?
He turned Tristan Staghorn into a tree for threatening me. He came back to Carthak for me, knowing Ozorne wanted him dead – knowing I was bait in a trap for him. He killed those three spidrens all by himself, today, even believing they'd already killed me. How many times has he saved my skin?
Great Goddess, when I thought I'd lost her … I felt my heart would shatter. For that moment, my duty to my country, the love of my friends, nothing else mattered – I felt nothing could make my life worth living again. And then, to hear her voice … Is it any wonder that I lost control of myself?
I ought to wish that kiss back. But, Gods help me, I cannot. Far from it.
But she is so young … so young.
Too young.
He used all his Gift to get to me. He saved my life, but it could have cost him his. It was foolhardy, that's what it was. But where would I be now if he'd thought it through instead of just doing it? It should frighten me that all this time he's had my picture and my hair without my knowing. It should – if it were anyone else, it would – but it doesn't. If there's one thing I know, absolutely know, it's that: he would never hurt me.
Never. No matter what.
So why does the thought of marrying him scare me out of my wits?
What is it I want? Do I know, myself?
Yes.
I want to keep her safe – if she'll let me! I want to sleep beside her; I want to wake next to her tomorrow, and all the tomorrows after. I want to belong utterly to her, and she to me. I want there to be no secrets between us. I want to stand before the world and declare my love for her.
Sometimes in dreams I see little sons and daughters with stormy blue-grey eyes.
So, then – if not marriage – what do I want?
I don't know.
But do I know I want him.
"Numair?"
"I'm here, magelet."
"I can't sleep, Numair."
"Nor I."
I wonder what Snowsdale would say if they could see me now. Daughter of a god. Foster ma to a dragon. Travelling the Divine Realms with the world's greatest mage.
No – sleeping rough with a man who's not her husband, that's what they'd see. No better than she should be.
"Numair?"
"Yes, sweet."
"What were you thinking about?"
Only you, my love. Always you.
"All sorts of things, magelet."
"I'm scared, Numair. I wish we could be sure this will all turn out all right …"
And what do I mean by "this," I wonder? All of it, I guess.
"I know, sweet. But think how far we've come."
And which of our two journeys do I mean? Both, I suppose.
"You're right, I guess. All we can do is keep going, and hope we get back in time to help. Hope the darkings are doing what we asked, and Broad Foot is all right, and … Well, at least we're together. That's something."
"Yes. Yes, it is."
"Numair?"
"Yes, magelet."
"Could you … could I bring my bedroll over there, closer to you? I think I could sleep, then."
Oh, Gods. But how can I refuse her that?
"Of course, magelet."