AN: Okay, okay, I admit it, I haven't updated for an abominably long length of time. I am very sorry, but I just couldn't think of ANYTHING to write. Writers Block is a very debilitating disease. So, I've finally written this. It's probably awful (I did write it with a KILLER headache) but here you go:

Disclaimer: I'm not CP. So don't sue me. Thank you.

Murtagh POV

Walking into the inn, I made sure to cover my face. Lessons learned from the last time. My last visit to an inn had resulted in four men with a serious concussion and my quiet evening ruined. I'd had to leave the next morning, before the rest of the village decided to end my stay permanently.

I don't know why we didn't just do what we had planned and clear off to the wilderness. Do you really want another fight?

Of course I don't want to fight!

Liar. The only question is why.

What do you mean, why? I do not wish to fight, so it follows there cannot be a reason.

Through our link, I could sense Thorn's puzzlement turn into growing curiosity. Clenching my fists, I forced all thought of her out of my mind. I wasn't quick enough.

Her? Again? Why do you insist on torturing yourself over someone you cannot be with?

That could change.

We've been through this before, it won't. Staying in the Empire, amongst a country of people who hate you, is utter folly. You know this. It's what made you leave.

Thorn, I get your concern-

And you're going to take no notice?

I promised her.

We both know you cannot keep that promise!

I'm getting a drink.

Murtagh-

Abruptly, I broke off our connection. Walking over to the bar, I kept my head down as I asked for a beer. The innkeeper's eyes stared at me and narrowed. I knew I looked a sight. My cloak was muddied and wet from the long flight, my hair was unkept and spilled over my forehead, and dust and grime covered my body. He lingered, mulling over whether to fulfill my request of refuse to serve such an outlandish character. Sighing, I let my hand drop to the ruby red pommel of Zar'roc, as if by accident. It worked. The innkeeper stared at the sword, his mind working furiously as to what to do.

"A drink?" I repeated, smiling at him. Muttering under his breath, he turned towards where the mugs were, a disgruntled look on his face.

Was that really necessary?

I'm not in the mood to be polite.

Thorn accepted my answer and carried on searching the small wood out for any deer. I leant back against the counter as I waited, surveying the room. In one corner were three obviously very intoxicated men in the midst of a drinking game, who were being egged on enthusiastically by a small crowd. In another, who must be the local bard was beginning a tale, another crowd listening raptly. In the last corner sat a woman of about 20, who was staring at a piece of paper as if her life depended on it.

"Here you are then." Came the annoyed voice of the innkeeper, interrupting me in my observations. Looking at the drink he had presented me with, I noticed that he had given me what appeared to be the most cracked glass he had.

You did threaten him.

Only a little.

Through our connection, I could sense Thorn smirking. I realised I was smiling myself, for the first time in months. I turned to the innkeeper, "Thanks," I said. He gave a grunt in return, now almost looking guilty. I looked around for a solitary table, but there was none. The only space left unoccupied was opposite the lone woman. Grimacing to myself at the prospect of mundane chatter from her, I walked over and sat down. She looked up.

"Aren't you meant to ask first?" she said, glaring at me with ice cold blue eyes, so unlike- Quickly I cut off the thought before her name entered my mind. Doing my best at a smile, I replied with all the courtesy I could muster. "Sorry my lady, there was simply nowhere else."

"My lady? Since when did common travellers speak so eloquently?" she asked, not knowing anything. "Is that a yes I can sit down?" I answered, sidestepping the question and returning her gaze. She smiled and nodded, gesturing to the empty chair.

I sat down gratefully. The months of forest floors and Thorn's hard scales had hardly been very comfortable, and even the rough wooden chair felt nice. Sipping my drink, I studied the woman. She was definitely no older than 25, and no younger than 20. She has golden hair that was tightly bound into a braid around her head, accentuating the sharp features of her face. Her cheekbones were very prominent, probably because of her thinness. The village was on the outskirts, and in winter, I guessed that food shortages would be rampant. Still, she was pretty enough.

I realised she was looking back at me, an almost quizzical expression on her face. "Why do you keep on staring at me?" she asked, tucking the small piece of paper she held back into a pocket.

"I didn't mean to. What is your name?" I said, making up my mind to engage in some form of conversation. She looked at me for a second before answering. "Ingrid. And yours?"

For goodness sake don't tell her!

"Mur- Murton. I'm Murton." I hesitated, unsure why I had been about to tell her.

What kind of pathetic name is that? Do you want to make her suspicious?

I shut Thorn out of my mind for the third time that night, and tried to look as sincere as possible.

"Murton. Strange name for these parts. But then I guess you're not from around here are you?" she said, almost accusatory in her tone.

"..No. I'm from the west, nearer the cities."

"I thought so. Not many people around her carry swords with rubies in the hilt."

I tucked Zar'roc back under my cloak, concealing the gem from view. Ingrid noticed, I could tell, but she didn't say anything. "So why are you here?" she persisted, taking a sip from her own drink. I decided to be honest.

"Getting away from some stuff." I replied, running my fingers over the mug's handle absentmindedly, trying not to betray the anguish in my heart.

"What kind of stuff? A fued? An accident? ...A woman?"

My answer was drowned out by the sound of the bard beginning his newest tale.

"Tis only seven months into our new Queen's rule, and aren't we all sleeping mighty fine?"

A hearty roar went around the inn as the man continued.

"We have known for a certainty that she truly cares for us, but tonight I am going to share some proof of this with you. Before her coronation, our Queen was going through her palace and making changes to various things with her advisors, and by all rights should have been happy. Then, people began to notice the way she walked. It was as if a great weight was bowing down upon her shoulders, and a constant pain was hurting her, for her face was always sad. People began to talk of the reason. They said that she had fallen in love, and was in love still, but her love had been taken from her in the Great War. During her imprisonment in the King's castle, she had endured long weeks of relentless torture and pain, but she had also found hope-

My hands were hurting. My nails were cutting into my palms.

"- in the form of the traitor. Murtagh."

A murmur went around the room before the man continued.

"Yes. Murtagh. For during that long imprisonment, it is whispered that the two fell in love, but of course, it could not end well. During the Final Battle, when the King was finally smote down by the Great Rider, Murtagh turned against the King and back to the Resistance. The King was destroyed. Yet, after even this final redemption, Murtagh left. Our people were unforgiving and relentless in their hatred of him, and so the Queen was forced to relinquish him. To this day, no-one knows of his whereabouts, and the Queen still walks with a memory on her face. Yet now, because of her sacrifice, we as a people are more prosperous than we have been in over 100 years."

The bard having finished his tale, he stood up and went to the bar for another drink, leaving the crowd restless and full of opinions. I felt my eyes moisten as I remembered her face the last I had seen her. That look of loss. Looking up at last, I saw Ingrid's gaze boring into me, her question still hanging in the air.

"Mur...ton?" she asked me, and instinctively I knew what she wanted to know.

Looking straight at her, I answered truthfully.

"Murtagh."

She nodded, and we both returned to our drinks.

Okay, so that's the end of this chapter, well done for reading it all :D Hopefully the next update will not be so long in coming... Oh, and before any of you kill me, no, Murtagh is NOT going to get together with Ingrid. This is a MurtaghxNasuada fic, not a MurtaghxOC. She might be a recurring character though...