If one were to come upon the two at that moment, a mere spectator that had perhaps lost their way along the winding path that is this tale, he or she would most likely say that the air between the two humans was calm, tranquil even. Both of their figures were relaxed, bereft of surprise or wariness. If not for the outwardly tense, growling dragon that paced in between the man and the woman, one would perhaps consider the two to be close acquaintances.

Evelyn did what was natural to her when confronted with strangers; absolutely nothing at all. Moving would cause even more scrutiny, and so she remained perfectly still, not even daring to look at her dragon. In her peripheral vision, however, she marveled in the brilliance of the creature when it stepped into a patch of sunlight. Its scales were more vibrant and beautiful than the lush, glossy grass that was decorated with small watery diamonds, with slightly upraised wings that looked like parchment that was being held up against the sun; translucent and delicate, dyed a creamy bottle-green.

Her eyes remained locked onto Murtagh's dark ones, as was customary when meeting someone of equal or lower status. Evelyn knew instinctively that this man was nobility; it was clear by the finely cut, clean quality of his clothing and the slight arrogance to his stance. The young woman had seen so many nobles in her lifetime that the subtleties of noble behavior had become blatantly obvious. She had been conditioned to fear and submit to them; it was only natural that she would work to better understand them.

But she was no longer a servant girl who hid herself in the shadows, striving to find something to live for. Never again – Evelyn refused to think of the dark king – would she lower herself to those who did not deserve respect; she would be independent in determining the merit of those around her. There was a strong power residing in her now, and Evelyn knew that it was her bond with the emerald dragon before her. She was more than just a human woman; she was a Rider.

Murtagh did not show any emotion on his face in response to her blatant staring, instead flicking his eyes up and down her frame. His gaze lingered on her dress, and the symbol boldly stamped onto the breast of the threadbare fabric. Murtagh's gaze was not intruding or malicious in any way, and yet Evelyn felt the sudden, shameful urge to cover the mark from sight. But she managed to restrain herself, and remained motionless. The silence grew until even Evelyn's dragon decided to cease its growls, moving quickly to Evelyn's side. The creature curled up in her lap, eyes never once leaving the young brown-haired man.

"How did you do it?"

The sudden question, as well as the surprising deepness of Murtagh's voice – she had never heard any of the male slaves speak, not even when the slaves were left alone – startled Evelyn, and her shoulders jerked slightly as if flinching away from an impending blow. It was so instinctive that the young woman didn't notice it until Murtagh gave her a deep, searching look, his eyes scanning her face solemnly. Evelyn flushed and turned her head away – she was humiliated by her cowardly reaction, even though it was no fault of her own that she was conditioned to fear direct questions. As a slave, any unnecessary attention paid to her was a sure sign that torture was soon to follow, and death was a definite possibility.

Murtagh's brow furrowed slightly in confusion, and he subtly shifted his weight so he was leaning more comfortably against the tree trunk, idly crossing his legs at the ankles. When Evelyn's voice continued to escape her grasp, he spoke again, his tone more hurried, his eyes burning into her face.

"How did you do it? I've been inside of that castle, it's extremely well guarded," he repeated, and Evelyn just stared at him, too surprised to consider responding.

For in that brief moment, when he frowned, his features had become familiar. She…she had seen him before! Where had she seen him? He wasn't a slave…so that would mean that he was among those who willingly served Galbatorix. No, that would mean that this man was an enemy! He was here to take her back, to put the chains back…on…

"You lived in the castle," Evelyn stated, her eyes wide. Murtagh hesitated, and then slowly nodded, his mouth tilting downward in a displeased scowl.

Icy jolts of terror dripped down her spine, and her heart began beating panicked rhythm against her ribcage. Her dragon was picking up on her fear, and was reacting in kind, not comprehending anything beyond the fact that this man, Murtagh, was the enemy. It began snarling, and flapped its wings fiercely – much more threatening than the creature's mock intimidation of before – sending a clear warning to Murtagh. The world began shuddering and shaking, and Murtagh's face shifted in obvious confusion. Evelyn knew, deep down, that the world was not shaking…she was. But no matter how she tried to calm herself, the panic would not leave.

She couldn't go back to that place.

"Scream, my little pet, as loudly as you want. Everyone can hear you, but you want to know the truth? No one will ever come to save you!"

Evelyn gasped as the memory bombarded her already agitated mind, and she scrambled to her feet. Her bare skin slipped in the wet grass – a few minutes ago, it had been beautiful, but now it was terribly cold and seemed to claw at her ankles – as she struggled to back away from the young man. Evelyn stared at Murtagh, not daring to turn her back on him. The sound of her thumping pulse roared in her ears, and the ground swam before her eyes. Everything was spinning…

Murtagh, a blur of darkness and tan skin, moved forward, and Evelyn held her arms across her face, a weak attempt to shield herself. Murtagh stopped as her dragon leapt to her defense, the small creature biting and snapping in the man's direction.

Murtagh's face was shadowed, and his eyes were hard with understanding. "You were a slave, weren't you?"

It wasn't a question, and Evelyn lowered her head in response, clenching her fists in an attempt to restrain the cruel thoughts streaming into her mind. The expression on Evelyn's face was not afraid – it had not shifted in the span of her panic – instead perfectly smooth, her eyes glazing over in the customary way of hers.

Evelyn was putting away dishes when a magician stormed in, so furious that his magic was spiking and flaring unpredictably. The other slaves were able to slink into the shelter of the numerous shadows, but Evelyn – this occurred two summers before her escape – was unlucky enough to be in the man's line of sight. She heard the door slam, and barely had time to turn when a violent burst of magic tugged her toward the opposite wall.

Her body smashed into the stone, and a groan left her as her muscles cried out in agony. The slave's head had cracked against the shelf, and blood began to trickle down her forehead, down the side of her cheek, finally pooling in the crevice of her slightly parted lips. Tangy rust filled her mouth, and the girl coughed, bleakly noting that she would now have two lumps on her head, one on either side. Like horns, Evelyn imagined. Her lips twitched at the thought.

The magic dropped her, and a gust of air left the slave's chest as she fell on her stomach. Evelyn remained sprawled where she fell, staring at the legs of the table, waiting for the magician to get his fill of hurting her.

Evelyn had learned quickly that fighting it only led to more pain, and so her brain had become strangely numb when magic was used on her. She was able to disconnect herself, almost, and it offered a reprieve from the humiliation of public torture. After a time, the pain became a dim, echoing annoyance, so utterly disconnected Evelyn was.

"Enough. It's almost dinnertime, Fordic," a man barked, and the magician stopped by Evelyn's head. He was wearing long robes of sickly purple, and a flap of the fabric washed over Evelyn's face when the magician viciously kicked Evelyn onto her back. The purple cloth smelled of rotten straw – the magician must have been in the stables at some point.

Evelyn lay, silent and waiting, her eyes staring up at the ceiling. The candles suspended there were oddly hunched, as if the slender tubes of wax were afraid of drawing the attention of the magician. The man was balding, and his face was creased with a thousand wrinkles, even more pronounced when the magician scowled – as he was doing now.

"All right, I understand," he murmured, and he moved his face so that it was looking down at Evelyn's. His eyes were a unpleasant shade of greenish-brown, but Evelyn was so sucked into her own world that none of her disgust crossed her face. The man flinched back, his expression uneasy, and hurriedly exited the chamber.

Evelyn waited a moment, and then stood up. Without a sound, she wiped her face with her bare fingers, brushing her bloody hands on her coarse skirt.

Then, she returned to her dishes.

Murtagh sighed, sitting a distance away from her – her dragon stood guard over her still, its mind reeling with confusion at why its Rider's emotions were suddenly so erratic – and he took the time to really look at her. Evelyn looked down, her teeth biting her lower lip so violently that blood began to flow. The sharp tang roused her from her delirious panic somewhat, and she was able to look at him more clearly.

"I'm not going to hurt you. I just…I just wanted to know how a slave escaped that wretch of a place, because I barely did, and I had plenty more resources. That was all. If you don't want to tell me, I understand," Murtagh said, and Evelyn's attention perked somewhat at the raw emotion behind his words. She had been fooled many times when she was younger, foolishly buying into the smooth and deceptively soothing voices of the magicians. She had learned to distinguish the difference between honesty and a false sense of comfort.

What intrigued her most was that Murtagh sounded completely truthful. Why would a noble willingly leave the comfort of the castle? He must have lived in the castle for his entire life, Evelyn reasoned. Cannel had mentioned that Murtagh had only been there for a few weeks, which was proven by the cleanness of his garb – it was impossible that he had done any extended traveling.

Evelyn wanted to walk away from this stranger. In all honesty, it was probably the best thing to do. If Murtagh was indeed telling the truth – as a highly prized Empire noble, she couldn't be sure if he was truly honest – than he would have soldiers out looking for him, and Evelyn was treading a fine line between freedom and peril as it was. The small dragon whipped its head to peer at her, sensing her conflict, and it growled at her, sternly this time. Evelyn could sense its dissatisfaction; it was only a hatchling, after all, and it was already being forced to engage in the complex instability of a human woman.

Explain yourself, the dragon's jewel-like eyes demanded. Of course, no words were spoken, but the plaintive frustration behind the stare was understood with perfect clarity.

The young woman in question sent a glare in her dragon's direction. The scaled beast snorted in response, indignant and hurt by its Rider's inexplicable anger. Murtagh was watching the interaction, and a twisted grimace passed across his smooth, distinctly masculine features.

"Why did you take it? Surely you knew what would happen if you were caught," he questioned curtly, and Evelyn flinched ever so slightly, but much less violently than before. The world had ceased its sickening spinning, and her heart was slowing to a more manageable pace. Panic ebbed away, slow and reluctant, and the small dragon quickly waddled to her side, nuzzling her thigh. It was still irritated with her for refusing to explain the situation, but its love overpowered everything else. Evelyn was shocked at the level of devotion present within such a rare and beautiful creature. Surely Evelyn wasn't worthy of such tender adulation.

Evelyn couldn't remember a time when she had been so unconditionally loved. She remembered nothing of the time before her servitude, and so she could not be certain if her parents had showed her the same affection. The young woman was not silly enough to assume that they had, and so she put it out of her thoughts, as it was useless to ponder a life that was no longer hers.

Evelyn sat silently for a few short moments, eyeing Murtagh suspiciously. Then, with a silent exhalation, she relented.

"I knew that it was mine," she whispered, shocked at how easily the answer came to her. At the time, she hadn't really understood what had prompted her to take the egg. The moment she touched it in Galbatorix's chambers, something just screamed inside of her, urging her to hold it close and give it everything she had.

The egg was the answer to everything.

The words hadn't been there, but the tugging desire had, and so Evelyn had taken the egg without a moment's hesitation.

Murtagh frowned. "You couldn't have known that."

"I did," Evelyn refuted sharply, sensing his skepticism, and Murtagh shrugged noncommittally. The two settled into a stiff silence, both reluctant to break the quiet air once it had been established. The moments passed, and Evelyn's dragon slowly sniffed in Murtagh's direction, snorting when the scent of leather reached its nose. Evelyn could feel its desire to investigate the new scents that accompanied Murtagh, but even so, it did not move from Evelyn's side, too intent on protecting its Rider.

The young woman was frustrated, not knowing how to interact with this strange enigma of a person. She had never had the need to develop social skills; in fact, the idea that she would ever escape the castle had been but a distant dream. It was what kept her sane and determined to survive, but subconsciously, she had seriously doubted her chances.

So why had she even attempted her plan?

"Wiol pömnuria ilian," Evelyn murmured in answer to her silent question.

For my happiness.

It was the response she had given herself many times before, and it was the honest truth. Living in a world where those around her made themselves blind to the misfortunes of others had proven her theory; there was no use in caring for others, because in the end, everyone ended up alone.

Her dragon perked at the sound of the lilting language, and its tail twitched eagerly. Evelyn was delighted to find that the dragon understood the gist of what she had said, and reached out to rub the creature's neck, feeling a surge of warmth when it began to croon in pleasure. She wasn't sure how the dragon understood the Ancient Language, but it was very intriguing to discover. Evelyn made a note to test it more thoroughly when she and the dragon were once more alone.

Murtagh looked at the young woman with an expression of curious reluctance on his face. Evelyn blinked, unused to such close scrutiny for such a long period of time, and scowled, turning away with a huff.

"Do you wish for me to go?" Murtagh asked in response to her turning away, and Evelyn did not respond. Did she wish him gone? To respond in the affirmative would result in him leaving her alone, and that was very good. But at the same time, she didn't want him to leave. Murtagh was not harsh and cold, nor was he pestering her with questions that she would rather not answer. He was merely there, another warm-blooded human being, watching the forest brighten as the day wore on.

"No," she replied.

And so Murtagh stayed, and silence reigned once more.

~x~X~x~

Nothing more was said between them until the sky – barely visible through the thick leafy canopy – lightened to a soft dusky gray-gold. Sunset was approaching, and Murtagh spoke, for the first time since asking Evelyn if she wanted him to leave her alone.

"I'm Murtagh," he offered, his eyes still scanning the trees and their twisted branches. Evelyn looked over at him, startled by the sound of a voice after so long of a silence. The dragon crooned in her arms, stretching its limbs languorously – it had just been awoken from its light doze. Evelyn studied the young man's face, forcing the panic away as the thrill of recognition returned, more strongly than before. How was it that she knew his face so well?

But, to her fierce disappointment, the answer continued to elude her, with no hope of revealing itself any time soon.

"My name is Evelyn," Evelyn offered in return, her tone unintentionally brusque. Murtagh sensed her irritation, that much was clear, but thankfully he did not take offence. Perhaps he was able to discern that her anger was more directed toward her faulty memory than with Murtagh himself. Or maybe he had decided that she was insane. Maybe…maybe…?

The young woman grimaced. There was no end to the confusion!

She was feeling tired even though she had done nothing more than stare at the sky all day. A large pressure was pushing down against her breast, reminding her of the many things she was ignorant of. Evelyn's world was the castle of King Galbatorix, as much as she wished to deny it. It was a place of terror and of unspeakable evil, but it was also her sanctuary.

Evelyn had touched every single torch, had memorized every stairway and hall, and adored each and every dusty particle of the great library. The slaves around her were not her friends – not even Elris, who was more like a distant guardian who had become less and less present as time went on – and Evelyn felt secure in the knowledge that she would have no regrets should she manage to escape. Her duties, as laborious as they were at times, gave her something to do each day. Her studying of the library scrolls gave her a false sense of hope that she would have something to offer if she ever did rejoin society.

But that hope was quickly fading as reality swept down upon her. Sure, she could clean and cook, but those were skills that only got one so far. In order to receive those jobs, one had to be sociable, likeable, and knowledgeable.

Evelyn was none of these.

Evelyn was skilled, but in very narrow areas. She knew how to read, write, and speak the Ancient Language, but that was a skill only fully utilized by the elves, and their kind was shielded from the rest of Alagaësia. She knew how to speak the common human language, but reading and writing it was beyond her – there had been no scrolls explaining the basics of the language, as there had been with the Ancient Language.

Ordinary magicians that spoke the language fluently were extremely rare, if Evelyn's dealings with the king's spell casters had been any inclination. Although the magicians in the castle knew much of the language, Evelyn had found over time that their knowledge was limited to words of pain and simple phrases. They had to refer to scrolls for anything more complex, which hindered them. Outside the elvish community, the Riders had spoken the language with perfect ease – Evelyn assumed this, seeing as how proficient and intricate Galbatorix's magic was – but they were gone now.

She could clean and cook, but she knew nothing of how to interact with others. Her life had been consumed by the safety of silence and the wisdom in ignoring those around her, it wasn't within her nature to branch out and feel concern for others. In her mind, it was a sort of logic; she had been forced to experience and learn the pain of the world on her own, and so everyone else should do the same.

Evelyn knew nothing of the world. That was the most jarring realization. Outside of Urû'baen, she was as lost as a mouse that has wandered too far from its hole. Evelyn, much like the lost mouse, was waiting for a prowling calamity to strike when she was least expecting it. Of maps she was completely naïve, and when it came to different cultures she had no basis from which to begin. Of etiquette she knew nothing, of relationships she was painfully unaware.

The other slaves, those who had come into slavery at a later age, did not share their knowledge with her, and it had not occurred for her to ask. Had she truly been so comfortable – she could not think of a more fit description – that she hadn't had even the slightest inclination to learn of the world outside? She had imagined it, dreamed about it even…and yet something had prevented her from questioning those who had been outside the castle walls.

Cannel's voice suddenly filled the silence, making Evelyn's body jerk automatically. The dragon by her side rasped its tongue against the top of her hand, tracing along her index finger, huffing in contentment as it licked in earnest. Evelyn was befuddled at the obvious pleasure the creature received in the act. Did it like the taste of the salty sweat on her skin?

"Evelyn, are you out here?"

Murtagh sighed, getting to his feet. Evelyn scrambled to her own, glad that he had not offered her a hand. That was crossing the line that Evelyn had put in between them, a barrier that would stay in place for as long as Evelyn decided necessary. Murtagh didn't seem evil, but the most charming nobles were often the worst, and so she kept her distance.

Her dragon pawed at her bare feet, and Evelyn felt the warm bubbly feelings as the creature's mind brushed against hers, exuding waves of adoration. Evelyn knelt down and lifted the dragon onto her shoulder, tentatively sending similar waves of warmth across their link. The green-scaled dragon let out a squeak of satisfaction at the contact, and curled its tail around her shoulder in order to stabilize itself.

Murtagh's eyes watched the two of them, and they were as dark and calculating as they had been when Evelyn first set eyes on him. They were standing closer, now, and Evelyn noted that the man's eyes were gray, the color of clouds preparing for a thunderstorm. Murtagh turned and strode toward the sound of Cannel's voice – which would lead to the house, no doubt – without another word.

Evelyn waited until he was a good distance ahead of her, and then quickly followed, her arms folding across her chest and – quite unknowingly – covering the mark of Galbatorix.

~x~X~x~

A whole lot of thanks to senses-freedom, who beta-ed this chapter. You're AMAZING! I don't think I tell you enough...