Post by devilinthedetails on Sept 3, 2018 1:08:10 GMT 10
Title: Candlelight Confessions
Rating: PG
Prompt: Candles
Summary: Numair confesses the limitations of his power to Baird.
Candlelight Confessions
It was approaching midnight, but heedless of the late hour, Baird and Numair were hunched over dusty books and scrolls cracked with age yet brimming with timeless magical knowledge. The crooked shadows they cast in the flickering candlelight loomed over the maple table where they read.
Numair, Baird often thought on nights like this, was a perfect research companion not because they shared the same passions—they didn’t, since their magics were different as day and night, creating interests just as distinct—but because Numair was willing to be silent, not interrupting Baird’s reading, while still providing the comforting assurance through the steady sounds of his breathing and flicking pages that Baird wasn’t alone. The largest library in the palace would have felt eerily empty and the inconstant light of the candles spooky if Baird didn’t know that he had company. With company, the quiet in the library became soothing after long days of healing everyone but himself and the candlelight became serene rather than scary.
Perhaps Numair found the candlelight less peaceful, because he commented, abruptly dragging Baird out of a treatise on back pain in the elderly, “You could put out any one of these candles without strain. Likely you wouldn’t even need to speak a word or wave a hand. It would happen just if you willed it.”
“Yes.” Baird’s forehead beetled. He didn’t see what was impressive about that except to someone not born with the Gift. “It’s one of the first spells any mage learns. It helps him master control of his magic.”
“I once had that control but I lost it.” Numair stared, bleak and regretful, into the sunset orange, red, and yellow of the candles burning on the table, oblivious of their discussion. “When I specialized in the great magic—the conquering war magic—that was the crown jewel of the university in Carthak I surrendered that control in exchange for more power. Now if I tried to put out a candle, the candle would revolt, causing a conflagration that would consume this entire library. That’s what my great power would do. I admire your control, Baird, your ability to winnow your Gift to such a slender thread that you can slip it into the tiniest vein without overburdening it to the point of eruption.”
“I admire your power all the more so because I know the price you paid for it.” Baird bowed his head in respect for the mightiest mage he had ever met, the man who could transform a person into a tree.
“Sometimes I wish I had become a healer like you.” Numair’s sigh was wistful as he considered magical paths not pursued. “I used to heal the poor and the gladiators in Carthak before I became too powerful, too uncontrolled for that. I miss that feeling of curing somebody, of repairing someone who is broken.”
“Healers are a copper a dozen,” observed Baird dryly. Healers of varying skills were the most common variety of mage in Tortall, after all.
“Not healers of your strength.” Numair’s laugh was sharp and startled.
“Perhaps not.” Baird’s green gaze locked on Numair with a sternness he had learned from his endless efforts to keep his sarcastic son Neal in line. “Still the realm needs you with all your power more than it does another healer, Numair.”
Since he knew this was true, Numair made no reply, lapsing into a reflective silence.
Rating: PG
Prompt: Candles
Summary: Numair confesses the limitations of his power to Baird.
Candlelight Confessions
It was approaching midnight, but heedless of the late hour, Baird and Numair were hunched over dusty books and scrolls cracked with age yet brimming with timeless magical knowledge. The crooked shadows they cast in the flickering candlelight loomed over the maple table where they read.
Numair, Baird often thought on nights like this, was a perfect research companion not because they shared the same passions—they didn’t, since their magics were different as day and night, creating interests just as distinct—but because Numair was willing to be silent, not interrupting Baird’s reading, while still providing the comforting assurance through the steady sounds of his breathing and flicking pages that Baird wasn’t alone. The largest library in the palace would have felt eerily empty and the inconstant light of the candles spooky if Baird didn’t know that he had company. With company, the quiet in the library became soothing after long days of healing everyone but himself and the candlelight became serene rather than scary.
Perhaps Numair found the candlelight less peaceful, because he commented, abruptly dragging Baird out of a treatise on back pain in the elderly, “You could put out any one of these candles without strain. Likely you wouldn’t even need to speak a word or wave a hand. It would happen just if you willed it.”
“Yes.” Baird’s forehead beetled. He didn’t see what was impressive about that except to someone not born with the Gift. “It’s one of the first spells any mage learns. It helps him master control of his magic.”
“I once had that control but I lost it.” Numair stared, bleak and regretful, into the sunset orange, red, and yellow of the candles burning on the table, oblivious of their discussion. “When I specialized in the great magic—the conquering war magic—that was the crown jewel of the university in Carthak I surrendered that control in exchange for more power. Now if I tried to put out a candle, the candle would revolt, causing a conflagration that would consume this entire library. That’s what my great power would do. I admire your control, Baird, your ability to winnow your Gift to such a slender thread that you can slip it into the tiniest vein without overburdening it to the point of eruption.”
“I admire your power all the more so because I know the price you paid for it.” Baird bowed his head in respect for the mightiest mage he had ever met, the man who could transform a person into a tree.
“Sometimes I wish I had become a healer like you.” Numair’s sigh was wistful as he considered magical paths not pursued. “I used to heal the poor and the gladiators in Carthak before I became too powerful, too uncontrolled for that. I miss that feeling of curing somebody, of repairing someone who is broken.”
“Healers are a copper a dozen,” observed Baird dryly. Healers of varying skills were the most common variety of mage in Tortall, after all.
“Not healers of your strength.” Numair’s laugh was sharp and startled.
“Perhaps not.” Baird’s green gaze locked on Numair with a sternness he had learned from his endless efforts to keep his sarcastic son Neal in line. “Still the realm needs you with all your power more than it does another healer, Numair.”
Since he knew this was true, Numair made no reply, lapsing into a reflective silence.
Maybe once we'd have seen it during Smackdown!