A/N: Here's a Murtagh chappie! (they're my favorite) Hope you guys like it, if you do…review!
Endellion: Thanks so much! That means a lot to me(:
YouWon'tForgetMe: yeah, again sorry about the wait. I'm really trying to do better. (but school will always be school…)
Policin' Yer Grammar: Yep. Mariel's a regular smarty:)
Chapter Six: A Misleading Truce
"Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another."
- Homer
"Dead."
Mariel was sprawled out on the floor, her sword having been knocked moment before from her hands. But she refused to give Murtagh any satisfaction of his victory and repressed the several choice oaths that bubbled up inside her, threatening to spew out. Instead, she pictured that one perfect moment where she had stabbed him clean through the leg – except this time, she imagined herself stabbing him through his heart. She knew that she'd made a promise, even if it was only to herself, to get on his good side, but right now that didn't matter. Something about him was completely, utterly infuriating – and it made her blood boil.
Mariel smiled sadistically up at him, narrowing her eyes menacingly; almost daring him to put out the pressure on his sword that would send it cutting cleanly through her neck. She was acutely aware that he still held Zar'roc pointedly, well, pointed at her throat. The red blade was cold to the touch, despite its outward exterior.
She allowed her eyes to travel up from the crimson blade, which almost seemed to have a liquid consistency swirling inside its depths. Her eyes stopped when she met Murtagh's own silver ones, and she was somewhat surprised to find that they weren't on his blade; they were on her. Mariel's taunting, burning gaze contrasted deeply against Murtagh's own frigid and apathetic one. Several moments of silence agonizingly crept by until he was forced to look away, not being able to bear her searing gaze for a moment more. She smirked victoriously.
"I cannot believe that you are Galbatorix's best," Murtagh remarked coldly as he lifted Zar'roc from the exposed skin of her neck.
"I cannot believe that you are my teacher." Mariel countered, without missing a beat. "Shouldn't you…oh, I don't know," she then pretended to search for her next word, "teach?"
Murtagh spared her a withering glance, and with that glance he saw that she hadn't yet pulled herself from the ground. She shot him a dangerous look, but made no move to get up.
"You aren't exactly an ideal pupil, I mean – look at you; you can't even get off the ground."
Mariel let out a mock sigh of regret and stealthily fingered the dagger at her belt. She could tell by analyzing his face that he hadn't noticed the movement. She had an idea forming in her mind, which formed along certain terms; win at any cost. The beast inside hummed with a maniacal glee at the thought of carrying out her plan.
"Sorry," she finally spoke, "but Galbatorix's best doesn't see why she should have to get up herself." Another pause and a feigned frown. "It seems more like something Galbatorix's second best should do."
For the slightest of moments, Mariel thought she caught a glimpse of an approving smirk twitch at his lips but then it was gone, before she'd had the chance to confirm her suspicions.
Without another word, Murtagh leaned down and grabbed at her, pulling her up by the arm. Even as he did so, Mariel used the hand that was free of his grasp, the one so subtly clasped about her dagger, to unsheathe it. Not wasting any time, Mariel plunged the blade deep into his chest. It wasn't anything fatal, but it was painful enough to sake her blood lust. That outraged fury at constant failure vibrated with pleasure, setting a self-satisfied smirk on her face.
Murtagh let out a choked cry of pain, mixed with the right amounts of surprise, as Mariel shoved him off her.
She walked several steps away from him, facing a nearby wall. She'd never noticed before, but the grey stones had an intricate swirling pattern about them.
"God, you are so gullible." Mariel turned on her heel so she could face him again. He'd managed to rip the dagger from his chest and blood poured onto the floor. She was vaguely concerned that it might permanently stain the stone. He placed his other hand on the wound, stemming the flow of blood. "Did you think me that pathetic?" she continued "That lazy?"
She came to a stop in front of Murtagh, careful to keep her shoes from coming into contact with his blood. She dropped to her knees, so as to meet him at eye level. She then placed a comforting hand on his arm, adopting a tone layered thick with sarcasm. "Does it hurt terribly?" Her eyes flashed menacingly up to meet his own. "To be honest with you…well, I would have expected better. I mean, taking into consideration how I'm such a lackluster student. You should have seen this move ages before it even entered my mind." Her smirk grew deeper as he winced painfully, muttering out the words that would knit his flesh back together.
Humans are so weak, the Beast supplied snidely to her. She had to agree on this one.
"If you ever so much as glance at me the wrong way again…" The muted fury in his voice took Mariel somewhat by surprise; she'd become accustomed to his customary apathetic mean. Now that some emotion was surfacing, she wasn't entirely sure how she would deal with a Murtagh who exposed his emotions, rather than burying them deep inside, festering, and waiting for them to explode.
Well, maybe this is him exploding, she mused thoughtfully to herself. Never the less, she decided to push him further, responding with her customary sardonic tones.
"Aww…looks like somebody can't crack it as a big, bad warrior." She let out a sympathetic glance in his direction. She enjoyed infuriating her; this way she could let out some of her own pent up anger – and this time, she didn't need to strike out physically.
"You are deranged," he shot back furiously, getting to his feet. An ironic smile twisted its way onto Mariel's features.
"You and me both, dear."
"Get up," he snarled contemptuously. Mariel shot up almost instantaneously at his words. She was pleased to see that her swift movements still took him by surprise, even if it was muted by his fury.
"See how hard that was?" She taunted, leaning in until she was mere inches from his face. "I really could have used your help." She enjoyed this; putting Murtagh on edge. She could hardly believe that goading him hadn't occurred to her earlier. It was nearly as satisfying as stabbing him – and this way she didn't need to be afraid of getting carried away. And besides, it was a nice reminder for her to see that he actually did feel…that he could get angry. And she was going to push him as far as she could.
Yes, it was quite likely that he would hate her now more than ever – especially considering they had come to somewhat of an understanding when last they'd met – but she held a hope for a different future; a more realistic one. Perhaps if she constantly assaulted him, then he would let down those emotional barries and show any measure of emotion – not just anger – on a more regular basis. Going through life as cold and hard as he did could very likely lead to his undoing. He needed to trust in his comrades on the battle field, not be afraid they'd stab him the instant his back was turned. If she could just get him to feel more, then maybe he'd do the rest on his own. Of course, she wasn't going to be one of those comrades he'd trust in, but she wasn't about to lose any sleep over that.
Without warning, Murtagh swung his sword out with lightning-like alacrity, tearing Mariel from her thoughts. She barely managed to dodge out of its way, but didn't do so unscathed. A long gash ripped its way through her flesh, starting from the middle of her abdomen and stretching all the way to her right hip, growing increasingly deeper from whence it began. It oozed blood and Mariel winced at the blow.
Fury welled up inside her as she realized what his intended target had been; her heart. Before she could voice this injustice, he shot his sword out again, creating a musical, if not deadly, note as it swung towards her.
Mariel barely reacted fast enough, ducking below the swords radius and then dancing away. Her violet eyes flicked assessingly about the room, desperate to catch a glimpse of where her sword had fallen from their previous battle.
Perhaps she had pushed him too far.
Her eyes snagged on the glittering metal of her blade as the sun glinted off it from beneath the open window of where it lay. She tried to move towards it, but Murtagh must have sensed her intentions and swiftly moved in her way, blocking any immediate access.
Just as Mariel made a go at getting past him, he jerked his blade out again, aiming to incapacitate her legs. She just managed to hop up in time, avoiding the entirety of the blow.
Time seemed to slow as Mariel took in the situation about her. There was no possible way for her to reach Laeranír, her sword, in time to win the battle, and her one remaining dagger would only prove useless against his massive sword. She flicked her gaze back to his own and then she made her decision.
Just as Murtagh brought Zar'roc up again, intent on landing a critical blow, Mariel struck out in a swift jab at the better hand – his right one – that wielded his crimson blade. It hadn't had enough impact to send Zar'roc clattering to the floor, but it took him by surprise, interrupting his swing.
In that small opening, Mariel launched herself at him with a fierce scream tearing from her throat. She sent Murtagh sprawling where she could not send his sword; to the ground. Before he could catch his bearing and have another swing out with his weapon, Mariel wrested it, this time successfully, from his grasp. It landed noisily to her left, just out of his reach.
Each of her knees was planted on either side of him and her forearm, which was propped up against Murtagh's collar bone, supported her weight. Her hair fanned out around his face, forming a dark-brown curtain about the pair.
His breath came in short, ragged gasps as he attempted to regain the air which had been so recently knocked from his lungs. Mariel surveyed him victoriously and her fingers twitched towards the remaining dagger at her waist. She unsheathed it in a moment, never taking her eyes from his. She pointed it meaningfully at the skin of his throat, right beneath his jaw.
"Dead," she panted out triumphantly. It took every last ounce of her strength and willpower to hold her limbs in position and not give out, collapsing on him from both sheer exhaustion and blood loss.
The wound on her side was still bleeding profusely and the painful throbbing it gave off reminded her that she should heal it before it became too unmanageable. A fine layer of sweat worked its way onto her brow and the air of her lungs came in short, quick and jagged gasps.
Murtagh was staring at her, with his own victorious glint in his eyes. She frowned slightly, confused by that look.
"May I?" he asked, gesturing – as best as one can when being pinned to the ground – towards her wound.
She nodded, unable to find her voice, and shifted slightly, so as to allow him proper movement. He reached up towards her right hip, placing his hand on the gushing wound. That familiar surge of magic coursed through her and the touch sent chills of its own, of a different kind, through her.
"Waíse heill," he murmured, not taking his eyes from hers. Instantly the pain vanished, and her skin grew back together. But for some reason Mariel's heart was still pounding profusely as she looked down at him. She was met by his own intense gaze. He slowly brushed his thumb against the now clean skin of her waist, as if contemplating something. That simple touch sent tremors through her which, try as she might, she couldn't shake off. His gaze flicked down towards where his hand was, and her bare skin there, and then back up to her eyes. He repeated the motion once more, his thumb lightly touching her exposed skin, and then he returned his arm to its previous position.
A few seconds passed before Mariel remembered what had happened. That's when her previous fury came flooding back to her, sending a burning red to her cheeks, as she remembered his attack.
"What the hell was that about? You attacked me!" she snapped out viciously, still trying to regain her breath from both the attack and Murtagh's touch.
He seemed to find her question highly amusing, which merely fed more to her anger. His amusement was the most emotion he'd shown in the entirety of her knowing him. This should have made her pleased that her goal had been achieved before she'd rightly put any effort into it, but it didn't. She narrowed her eyes at him wishing now, more than ever, that looks could kill.
"It worked," he said smugly, "you finally managed a win."
A long silence followed as Mariel attempted to process his words. "Excuse me?"
Mariel analyzed Murtagh deeply with her piercing gaze. His own eyes were glancing up at her amusedly. Another smile twitched threateningly at his lips before he managed to iron it out. A sense of disappointment washed over Mariel and she realized how much she'd wanted to see him smile.
"You won," he purposefully slowed his speech to ridiculous levels, which served to infuriate Mariel further. She could only manage to gape at him, rendered utterly speechless at this complete one-eighty in character. Some backwards part of her mind supplied that this was the second time the two had been atop each other in the past weeks. She quickly squashed the traitorous thought away.
"You tried to kill me!" she quickly found her outrage again. "You aimed at my heart!" Her face grew flushed with anger once more.
"You stabbed me," he countered. "Twice now." That maddening humor had returned. His eyes were shining with amusement as Mariel could only gawk at this drastic behavioral change. She was quite sure she preferred the unsociable and taciturn version of him – at least he'd made more sense.
She had stabbed him twice. By any normal standards, he should loathe her, and rightfully so. By her expression it was made quite obvious to him that this explanation wasn't going to cut it.
He sighed, but this time the exasperation stemmed from her inability to properly comprehend him. "I figured that since you'd gotten so angry earlier today – so angry that you stabbed me – that you'd manage in a proper win if I retaliated accordingly." Her murderous gaze didn't lessen one bit. "I knew you'd see the move coming before anything happened."
"Oh, really?" Mariel challenged, reaching for the dagger she'd only just returned to its sheath. Before her fingers had even brushed against its hilt, Murtagh had grabbed a hold of her arms and rolled himself over her, keeping her down; their roles had been reversed. Her arms were pinned on either side of her head and she struggled, futilely, to break his grasp.
Surprisingly, he didn't seem the least bit angry. That ridiculous humor was still there and he grinned mischievously down at her.
"You really are a violent little thing, aren't you?" Mariel could hear the smile in his voice, even if none would yet grace his features. She realized that, once again, she yearned to see a smile light up his face. This insight came as a jolting shock to her. When had she come to care so much?
Even though he'd managed to cut through most of her rage, she wasn't going to let it show to him.
"Quite," she shot from beneath him, glaring venomously into his silver eyes. Something about them…they weren't right. A slight frown found itself upon her brow as she continued to stare into their mesmerizing depths. Shouldn't they be…green?
Yes, she remembered distinctly now; one green, and one blue. Yes, there were tiny flecks of blue deep in his eyes, if you looked deeply enough, but collectively they still clung to their grey hue. And that meant…
Mariel's thoughts were interrupted as she realized just how close they really were. She'd been this same distance from him in the past, take a few inches, but she'd never felt this way before. Something about the shape of his lips intrigued her, drawing her closer to him. That customary burning bond of magic coursed between the two, scorching her skin wherever his touched her own. She felt that familiar intoxicating power swell within her, threatening to burst.
All she had to do was lean up a few more inches and…no. She hated him! What was she thinking? And he hated her…or did he? He hadn't drawn away either. He seemed to be equally struggling with their sudden intimacy; it was intoxicating. Indecision was flickering back and forth between Mariel's torn and roiling thoughts. But before she could make a decision, Murtagh made it for the both of them. He pulled away from her, rising to his proper height. He proffered his hand, gesturing for her to take it.
"Truce?"
Mariel analyzed the proffered hand skeptically. Surely he had to be wary of this action. She had, after all, stabbed him the last time he'd done so. Her gaze trailed from his hand up towards his own and, once more, his piercing silver eyes shot into her. It felt like a burst of frigid water, and she wondered what exactly it was about her that had intrigued him so.
Mariel reached out apprehensively and clasped his hand, allowing him to pull her off of the floor. All the while, she never took her eyes from his.
They weren't right. They were too…well, not innocent but…pure. They didn't have that sadistic light searing through – like they did in her visions. And then of course, there was the fact that their color didn't match either.
"You're doing it again."
Murtagh's voice pulled her out of her twisting thoughts, ripping her from whichever path it had been taking her down. For a few seconds she did nothing but stare at him, and then she managed to regain her composure.
"Doing what again?" She feigned ignorance – it was better than the alternative; telling him she had crazy visions. Then another thought struck her, almost as shocking as the first revelation; he hadn't given her those unnerving, both frightened and curious, glances at all that practice. That alone should have set a few alarms off in her head, but she was preoccupied with leading Murtagh off her trail.
"Staring at me – but," he hesitated and then his electric eyes glanced towards her again, sending a chill up her spine, "but not like all the other girls. Almost as if…" he trailed off and then shook away the frown that had found its way onto his features.
Mariel flushed at this statement; not like other girls? She hoped that her burning cheeks didn't give her away as she remembered their proximity just a few moments before. She was fairly sure that qualified as 'other girls'. If his looks were anything to go by, then he probably had his own cult of crazed girls who flocked about him if he ever stepped out in public. Mariel smiled slightly at the thought; at least she didn't have to deal with that. Being kept in secrets did have some benefits.
"It's not normal." Murtagh finally concluded, once more breaking Mariel out of her reverie.
It didn't come out cruelly – which surprised Mariel even further. If he'd said the same thing earlier, even an hour ago, she would have guessed it to have been biting and vindictive.
"I'm not sure I follow…" she replied, somewhat stiffly. She refused to meet his eyes.
"But you do know something." The amused tone had crept back in, tempting Mariel to look over at him.
With a few seconds of further deliberation, she decided that the pattern on the wall before her was much too captivating to look away from.
"You can tell me," he whispered. Mariel instantly stiffened as she felt his breath upon her neck. She took an uneasy step away from him.
For a moment she considered complete denial, but she still remembered all she'd put him through; stabbing him twice, practically killing him by ripping every last molecule of oxygen from his lungs, and then clawing at him. And after all that, he'd still offered her a hand up. She sighed, resignedly; he had said truce, after all. She owed him that much.
"Fine. I was…" she took in a steadying breath, preparing herself for the crazy looks to come back. She'd only just gotten used to him not running her through with his murderous, and simultaneously curious, glares. "looking at your eyes."
Murtagh repressed a laugh at this. "Really – you can do better than that. At least try making your lie believable. No one would believe you're as weak-willed as the other girls who infest this god forsaken city."
"I was!" Mariel protested, and then clarified for him, "they're different. You see…I've seen you before. In a vision – inside my head. But it wasn't you. Your eyes were different." She finally managed to tear her eyes from the wall, daring to meet his own. He was looking at her bemusedly, trying to understand what she'd said. "One was blue. The other was green. He looked just like you – but he…" Mariel cut herself off, refusing to describe what Murtagh's doppelganger had been doing.
"He…?" Murtagh continued for her. When it was clear she wasn't going to respond he prodded again. "He what?"
"His eyes were different. That's all."
She could tell by those features in question, and the set of his face, that he didn't quite believe her. None the less, he let it drop.
"So…he looked like me?" Murtagh questioned again after a few moments had passed.
"Exactly like you. He was you." Mariel paused, and then corrected herself. "Or so I thought."
Murtagh narrowed his eyes for a moment, and then a thought struck him. "My sword," he gestured towards the ground, where the weapon in question still lay. "Did he wield it?"
"Yes," Mariel answered slowly, studying his face. If this news meant anything, he didn't let it show. He only nodded slightly, almost as if it confirmed a growing suspicion.
"Does that mean anything to you?" she asked.
He shrugged, turning his eyes back to scrutinize her. "Did you see anything else?"
Mariel's throat tightened. She still felt uncomfortable discussing this in front of him. Murtagh seemed to sense her discomfort, and switched tactics.
"When did you see it?"
"What do you mean?" she asked uneasily.
"What triggered it?"
Her eyes flashed back towards where Zar'roc was, and then back to Murtagh in an instant. She hadn't meant to give him an answer, but her flickering gaze had been enough.
"Zar'roc," he concluded.
There was no sense in denying it now. "Yes."
"What else did you see?"
"You – him," Mariel corrected herself, "using it." She concluded evasively.
"Against?" he asked patiently.
Her vision snapped back onto him, almost of its own accord. "Innocents," she breathed, her voice came out more menacingly than she'd intended.
"People then?" he concluded dryly. An apathetic note had crept back into his tone, which wasn't lost on Mariel.
"How old are you?" Mariel's penetrating stare never wavered. The smile that curved onto his face was humorless, and not the one she'd been previously hoping for.
"They were dragons then?" His voice was biting, as if he masked a great wound from her.
"Yes. People too – and children."
Murtagh flinched at her words, averting his gaze. If she hadn't known better, she would have sworn she saw a flicker of emotion in those suddenly frigid eyes; pain. But then he blinked and it, along with the water glazing over his eyes, was gone.
She waited what she deemed was an appropriate amount of time and then voiced her own question. "You know who it was?"
"I've an idea," he confirmed, and already she could hear what she now assumed was false humor, coming back into his voice. He didn't elaborate further.
"Ah." Mariel nodded, never taking her contemplating eyes from him. She had gained her own understanding from his behavior. "I'll leave you to yourself, then." She paused, "and your dragon, naturally."
He nodded gratefully at her, and she turned from him, stalking across the room as she snatched up her weapons. She suddenly knew why he'd had such an abrupt character change; he wanted information.
She sheathed her weapons, and pulled her mask from where she'd hidden it on her armor. When she turned back around, Murtagh was gone.
She smiled bitterly to herself as she wound the mask swiftly about her face, careful to leave her mouth exposed, as always. Well, he may have gotten information from her, but she'd gotten a truce. It didn't matter whether or not he'd meant it, he was far too proud to openly renounce it now, and admit he'd been playing with her. And, if he wanted any more information, then he'd have to keep playing nice – this suited Mariel just fine. After all, who said the information she gave him had to be true?
With that parting thought, Mariel walked from the room, a dangerous smile playing about her lips.
