Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING!!!except my oc and the majority of the plot
A.N. Thanks for the reviews. I have my basic plot mapped out, but am unsure where to go next. I have two or three options in mind. Sorry about the typos, I had tried to get my story out sat. but, had trouble uploading it to the site. This is my first fanfic so I'm struggling a bit. The only other pieces I've done have been two to five page short stories, of which I am particularly proud. I will have to read the rules again, but maybe I can post them as a one shot or (the shorter ones) on my bio. Anyway because of my inexperience, it's hard for me not to give to much away. My oc's(and some other words) were in bold because I copied them off a website to insure correct spelling, and neglected to proof read it. For that I am very sorry and embarrassed. : ( Any way here is the first chapter. I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!! R&R please!!!
Thorn arched his back and spread his wings, sales glistening in the torched light. His claws clacked against the marble floor of the dragon hold. A leather gloved hand gripped the horn of the black molded gold-encrusted saddle. Murtagh swung his legs over Thorn's flank. Releasing his grip, he landed agilely onto his feet. He unhooked the clasp of the leather strap, holding the saddle in place, and allowed the sashes to drop, before removing the load off of his companion. The rider raised his head to meet his dragon's sympathetic eyes, sighed and turned to the entrance of the chamber without speaking. From the carved marble wall a think, flat iron bar protruded; there he gingerly placed the elegant saddle. He turned once more to Thorn, not meeting his gaze, and asked, "Could I stay in the dragon hold tonight, I fear the dawn." This thorn answered by wrapping his tail around his rider. It isn't necessary to over think it. Tomorrow do what you must, but realize that your decisions no longer affect yourself alone. More importantly, take care that you never lose yourself. Walking to the rod-iron gate, elegant, yet worn from age, woven into symmetric patterns on either side, he spoke once more, "It's too late" The piercing sound of the closing gate reverberated off the walls of the chamber. Young one, you bear a burden unknown to any rider before you, yet if you can overcome it, in song your name shall replace that of the heroes of old. You will save the kingdom, but who will rescue you, from yourself?
Murtagh strode forward down the twisting halls. Darkness enveloped the corridors its walls of stone swooping into an arched ceiling parallel to the polished marble floor below. The torch that he carried only emitted enough light to see a few feet in front of him, though without it, the night would have been almost suffocating. As he turned a corner he saw, at the end of the hall, light creeping out from and door left ajar. Approaching he saw a young girl, seated at a carved wooden table. A single candle illuminated her figure. Her long, dark hair tumbled down to the middle of her back in waves, meeting a gown of amber cloth with detailing of silver thread. Books strewn across the desk, the girl was flipping pages and writing hurriedly on a scroll.
Murtagh stepped into the stream of light, clearing his throat to announce his presence. She jerked her head up; a look of intense fear flickered across her eyes, but vanished as quickly as it had come. Hesitantly, she stood and curtsied. He returned the gesture with a small bow of the head. "What are you doing up at this hour?" he asked.
"Researching," she answered, indicating the table with a sweep of her hand," Though, I could ask you the same." He replied "I have just returned from a long journey, Lady ..."
Finishing his response she said, "Adurna, and you sir?" "Murtagh" he answered. At this her eyes began studying him intensely, "I have heard of a Murtagh, son of Morzan, who left the court a year ago." "That is I," he answered. "Then it seems that you have returned," she responded in a low tone. Murtagh met her studying gaze and spoke, "It would appear so." Adurna broke their stare, her gaze drifting to the floor. In this they ended their mêlée, at a stalemate. With careful choice of words, they had not gone beyond pleasantry, and yet each had probed the other's strength. After a succinct silence, she raised her head," I have tarried to long in our banter, and have elongated your time away from rest. I shall return to room, thank you for alerting me to the lateness of the hour." As is polite custom, Murtagh asked," Do you need an escort to your chamber?" "Nay," she answered," I do not think it wise to return to my room accompanied by a man at this hour. The ladies of the court do love to gossip." She chuckled lightly and smiled. Murtagh bowed stiffly, and bid her good night.
He turned on his heel and marched down the hall at a brisk pace; she gazed after him, a puzzled expression occupying her features. "Curious," she thought. "Ebrithil" Without hesitation, or turning to the direction of the voice, she spoke," The letter is on the desk; dispose of the report books." She walked past the figure leaning haughtily against the wall, erect, head held high, with her dress trailing the ground.
Murtagh strode through the dark corridor. He stopped and lifted the torch to gaze at a polished wooden door, gleaming in the light. He raised his head to stare at the empire's seal, engraved at the top of the door. The indentation made in the wood had been carefully painted in with gold, signifying high rank and favor with the king. he gripped the handle of the door, muttering under his breath," A slave in gold chains." He sighed heavily, his breath causing the flame of his torch to flicker, "How easily can it be seen?"
Murtagh entered the room to wash away the stress of the events of the days prior, before rejoining Thorn in the dragon hold.