_Diamond Cut Diamond_
Chapter 10: Passengers
"Awkward."
The word was a new one for Thorn. Murtagh felt the dragon rolling it over in his mind.
"So, it doesn't mean wrong?"
"No. It means that it's odd, and strange, and everyone feels uncomfortable and it's best not talked about."
"How is flying awkward?"
Murtagh sighed. "You will understand when you are older."
Disapproval emanated from Thorn, and it was all Murtagh could do not to chuckle.
"Why do you sigh, Shurtugal?" asked Arya, twisting her head back to look at him, pushing her flying hair out of her face.
"Thorn is being rather obtuse," said Murtagh, leaning slightly forward so he would not have to raise his voice above the wind.
"I would be careful calling the one who is keeping you in the sky names," said Thorn, allowing both of them to hear him.
Arya laughed. The sound was so different than a human's laugh, so much clearer and more musical, that Murtagh nearly gasped.
"Are we on course?" asked Murtagh, who wanted to keep the conversation going.
"As I see it, yes. We have roughly another day's travel," said the elf, gazing at the horizon, and shading her eyes with one hand.
It was getting late in the afternoon, and their shadow was growing larger on the ground. They had stopped once for food and water and now had every intention on flying through the night. It was growing colder. Murtagh hoped there would be as little wind as there had been all day; it allowed for quicker travel and comfort for the passengers.
"What is Du Weldanvarden like?" Murtagh found himself asking.
Arya twisted her head back again and her green eyes seemed a shade brighter. "It is the most beautiful place in Alagaesia or beyond. The trees are so huge that two humans could not span them with their arms. Our dwellings are sung from nature with the Ancient Language. The cities do not stand out, bare of nature, but blend with the woods we call home. We sing to the trees to nourish them, and magic flows easily throughout the forest."
"It sounds beautiful."
"Like you. What? What did I just—"
"It is. It is so beautiful. You have never been there, so you will see it for the first time in all its splendor, for it is summer now and everything is bursting with life. At least there."
"Then it will be welcome relief from the rest of the world."
"Aye. That is part of the reason I am so anxious to be there."
The word home should have been in the place of there, Murtagh thought, absently.
"And you will see your mother; that is good."
Arya was silent for a moment, and Murtagh rifled through his mind, trying to think of how he could have cause offense.
"Forgive me, Arya, I did not intend—"
"It is good. Why would it not be good?" Arya's voice was hard.
"I never said—"
"I do not want to go home, for that precise reason. Must you remind me of it?" asked Arya.
"I did not know such a passing remark would cause you offense, elf," said Murtagh.
There was a pause, in which Murtagh mentally kicked himself repeatedly.
"I am sorry," said Arya, and her voice was softer. "You do not know of my relationship with my mother, and why returning home causes me such anxiety. I should not have taken out my stress upon you, who have agreed to accompany me to my homeland."
"Instead of an apology, give me an explanation."
There was another pause, and Murtagh began to wonder what the hell was wrong with him.
"My mother expects things of me which I will not and cannot deliver. She is very used to getting her way. I lived out of her sight for many years, and only recently reconciled. It is a wound that is not healed yet."
"I see."
Silence stretched out too long.
"I'm sorry."
Silence again.
"Thank you." Arya's voice was slightly choked.
Murtagh was unsure whether or not he should show that he noticed, and the moment passed.
It was late night before thorn began to spiral lower and lower into the sky, over a woodsy area. Murtagh, who had been dozing slightly, shook himself awake and glanced at Arya, who was staring at the cloudy night sky with a sort of preoccupied intensity. Thorn banked his wings and Murtagh leapt off the dragon. His legs buckled beneath him; they were stiff from the hours of travel. He recovered his balance as he watched Arya lightly spring to the ground.
"I'll build a fire. Do you want food or just sleep?"
"Elves don't sleep."
Murtagh was slightly taken aback. "Really?"
"Really. We dream, in a state of suspended animation, conscious and yet not conscious...I am not overly tired, shurtugal. Rest."
And she began gathering wood. Murtagh leaned against one of the trees, closing his eyes and listening to the noises of woods around him.
There was food in the saddlebags, bread, apples, and cheese, all of which Arya partook of. Murtagh contemplated shooting a rabbit or some other small game, but decided against it because he was unsure of the effect it would have on Arya.
"I can't have her going insane over some small animal. She seems upset enough," he thought.
"Mmm. I'm going to see what I can find. Dragons are not elves for a good reason," responded Thorn.
"I'll watch, you…rest," said Murtagh.
"There is no reason to keep a guard here," replied Arya. "It is deserted for leagues around."
Murtagh said nothing, and then: "I don't honestly know if I can sleep in such a situation."
Arya chuckled wryly. "I was thinking the same thing."
"How long will we be jumping at shadows?"
Arya shrugged, spreading her arms wide. "Forever, perhaps."
"What an existence. We live in fear of that which we have killed." Murtagh found himself laughing. "You know, no one talks about this."
"Of course not. It would be…unfitting. Un…patriotic. We ought to be celebrating the new and altogether perfect Alagaesia!"
"Yes of course. How could I have possibly forgotten the perfection in which I am now privileged to live."
"Did you ever finish the tenth volume?" asked Arya, stretching out her legs and arching her back like a cat to release the stiffness from their flight.
"No," said Murtagh. "Did you?"
"No. I wonder if it'll be gone when we get back."
"So you're coming back? Not staying tucked away in the forest of the elves? No one there to bother you, you can read in peace."
"Peace and quiet is highly overrated."
Murtagh looked over, and met Arya's eyes, eyes that looked les old, for a moment. "We should rest. Cynical comments can wait until the morning."
"Of course, shurtugal," said Arya, demurely, and there was something about her tone (sarcasam? Was an elf being sarcastic?) that made Murtagh chuckle again.
"Good night, Arya."
"May your dreams be pleasant, Murtagh."
I...can't...write…romance. Oh goddess. Ah well. Cynical Murtagh is amusing, at any rate.