Disclaimer: I own nothing! Power to the hobos (no offense meant)!

A/N: See, I told you not to get used to the frequent updates. I don't mean to sound callous or anything, but I did warn you. I'm very, very sorry. I will try to update faster this time.

Chapter 3

It was funny, Daine thought, although a little annoying, that Numair got more upset about Bayard's reaction to her identity than she herself did. It was sweet, she supposed, how protective he got of her sometimes—in fact, it was quite endearing most of the time. Now, however, was one of those times in which it caused more harm than good.

As if Bayard's hasty (and dynamic) exit had not caused enough of a scene, Numair had gone positively livid at his response. It had actually been somewhat frightening; she could feel his magic growing with his anger, and she had wondered if this was because his anger caused his grip on it to slip a little or if it was because he was debating whether or not to use it on the innkeeper. From her position close to him, she could hear him beginning to mutter a steadily crescendo-ing protest to the Gallan's treatment of his Magelet. Daine had felt that this would be an opportune time to drag him up to her room—before the surprised men across the room, not having heard all of the exchange with Bayard, could hear what he was saying.

So there they were, with Numair pacing the room in a picture of barely supressed rage, and her sitting on her bed trying to calm him down.

"You saved the world, Magelet!" he was exclaiming, most likely in reference to her defeat of Ozorne all those years ago (she couldn't think of anything else that qualified as saving the world, after all). "I refuse to let you be subject to such behavior!"

"And how do you plan to do that?" Daine wanted to know. "Keep me in here until I'm well again?" This comment made the mage look somewhat sheepish, but it was obvious that it had done little to cool his temper. She sighed. "These people don't know what I've done these last years, Numair. Most of them don't even know that I'm sane now, or that I won't go mad again. Can you blame them for being a little afraid of me?"

"Yes!" he yelled, gesturing violently. "If they had any common sense at all they could see that—"

"People see what they want to see, Numair," the woman interrupted rationally. "It doesn't matter if it has wings; if they want to see a snake, all they see is a snake."

"But you're not a bird or a snake!" was the not-so-logical response.

"I can be!" she reminded him pointedly, and coughed a little from the illness she was recovering from. "These people have never even seen any Gift stronger than that of a hedge-witch; how can you expect them to even comprehend the existence of Wild Magic, let alone accept it?"

"So now you're defending them?" Numair demanded, fixing her with an angry and disbelieving gaze. "These people abandoned you, then tried to kill you! Why are you taking their side?"

"Did you think I had forgotten that?" Daine asked in return, her voice now sad and soft rather than argumentative. "That's why I'm glad all Bayard did was call me names. They're only names, Numair; they can't hurt me anymore."

Some of the anger ebbed out of her lover's eyes, and he crossed the room to sit next to her. "They hurt me," he told her, placing a hand on her shoulder. He let out a slow breath, bowing his head. "I'm sorry, Magelet. It's just–I can't just stand by and let them treat you like that, after all they've already put you through."

Daine relaxed into his chest, relieved that the argument was finally resolving itself. "You should be thanking them, you know," she remarked off-handedly. She could feel Numair's penetrating stare boring into the top of her head. "If it weren't for them, I would never have met you."

Numair chuckled, and with her head pressed against his chest the sound was curiously distorted. "That, my dear, is the only thing they have redeeming them in my eyes." Daine turned her face up to look at him, and was greeted by a soft pair of lips upon hers. She returned the kiss briefly but warmly, then scooted out of his reach.

"So, Master Salmalin, are you ready to behave yourself?" she demanded mock-sternly, despite the fact that she was quite serious in her demand. The man sighed.

"For the moment," he conceded good-naturedly, but added darkly, "Although I can't make any promises if I find their manners less than satisfactory." Daine laughed at this and stood.

"Well, as long as you don't turn anyone into a tree I can't complain," she teased as he rose gracefully to his feet. Numair made an indignant noise.

"This coming from the girl that single-handedly destroyed a palace?" he demanded. "Besides, would you rather I had let Tristan annihilate you?"

"I suppose I can make an exception if I'm in mortal danger," she amended with a small smile. "And it wasn't single-handedly; it was the dinosaurs did most of it."

"Dinosaurs that you revived," he pointed out, getting the last word. His lover frowned at him.

"That's quite enough of that," she told him. "And if you have nothing more important to say, I for one intend to get something to eat."

Numair cursed briefly as he followed her to the door of the room. "I'm sorry Magelet, I completely forgot. It should have occurred to me that—"

"Numair, if I haven't gotten used to you being scatterbrained by now, I never will," the Wildmage interrupted she began the descent to the common room. "If I was hungry before, I would have said that I was."

The man looked uncertain still, but allowed the subject to drop. Daine was relieved; she didn't want to start another argument so close on the heels of the last, and about something so trivial.

What kind of service they would get at the inn, her identity having been revealed, she was uncertain of. However, she was fairly certain that they could find someone willing to provide them food and shelter should Bayard's prejudices get in the way of his love for money. After all, not every person in Snowsdale could hate and fear her, could they?

Their entrance to the common room was greeted by an uncomfortable silence, one that Daine suspected had a great deal to do with her presence. Had Bayard told them who she was? Her question was soon answered as the serving girl—Amily, she thought—approached them.

"Your pardon sir, miss," she began somewhat nervously, "M'lord Bayard gave me instructions not to serve you." She gave them an impish smile. "But he never said nothin' 'bout lettin' you serve yourselves. The kitchen's back there—" she gestured at a door leading off of the room, "and I don't think a little bread and soup won't be missed."

Numair and Daine looked at each other with relieved smiles.

"Thank you very much for your assistance," Numair told her with a smile that probably melted her heart (it never seemed to stop melting Daine's, and she had had time to grow accustomed to it). "But I would hate to see you take the blame for our actions. I'm afraid we must decline."

"Oh, it's alright," Amily declared with a brilliant smile. "I ain't got nothin' against you, and Bayard's a right fool if he ain't gonna take good money. If you don't mind me sayin' so," she added as an afterthought.

"Thank you," Daine put in before Numair could think about protesting again. "We could've managed on our own, but I like this option much better. Is there anything we can do to thank you?"

"It ain't nothin'," the young woman said modestly, but then shot a coy look up at the pair. "But if I was to find out why Bayard was so flustered…"

Daine exchanged a brief glance with Numair, in which his eyes warned her not to take any unnecessary risks and she in turn replied that she would take as many risks as she liked, thank you very much. As she returned her gaze to Amily, she smiled as warmly as she could manage given the circumstances, although she had a feeling that it was a hollow gesture.

"You'll have found out sooner or later anyway," the Wildmage said, partially for her own reassurance, and partially for that of Numair. "News travels fast here."

"Oh, I know, but I rather heard it from you," the young woman explained. "Rumors spring up like weeds too, and if half of 'em are true I'll eat my apron."

"Then I'll be honest," Daine replied with a sigh, and steeled herself. She could feel her lover stiffen behind her as if anticipating trouble—which wasn't really such an unreasonable assumption, come to think of it. "It's because most of Snowsdale thinks me raving mad at best."

"Really?" Amily seemed surprised. "Why'd anyone think that?"

"Probably because I was, for a while." She tried to be nonchalant about it, but was altogether unsure of whether she was succeeding. "After the bandit attack ten years ago…"

Amily looked like she was trying to place something at the very edge of her mind. She stared intently at Daine's face, and suddenly a spark of recognition flared into her eyes. She straightened in surprise, but from what the Tortallan could tell there was no malice or horror in her expression.

"Daine?" she asked disbelievingly. At the nod of confirmation, she proceeded to gape even more dynamically. "They said you was gone feral—thought you was a wolf, didn't know who you was! I knew they was lyin', I just knew it!"

Daine winced, but thankfully Numair took over for her. "Actually, they weren't," he informed the maid, placing a loving hand on the former outcast's shoulder. "Daine's magic caused her to lose touch with her human self. She is in no danger of doing so now because of her training, but back then she had none of the control she has now."

Amily looked skeptical about this explanation, although she had not missed his possessive gesture and was now sizing him up in a new light. "Your pardon, sir, but I think I'd like Daine's side of the story. If you don't mind?"

With this, the Wildmage felt her elbow being seized and used to steer her into the kitchens. She was just able to catch Numair's wry comment "I believe I have been dismissed" before she was led away entirely.