A/N I apologize for the very late update, I've been out of the country for the past six weeks.

Chapter 11 The Past is Meant to be Forgotten

His eyes opened in the sunlight.

"Here's to the only man I know who fainted when he heard we would not be fighting."

Thane knew the speaker well, "Shut up, Marcus."

The black haired man cocked his eyebrow. It seemed, his edges only softened when Kyra was in the vicinity, otherwise, he was as caustic as ever. Memories of the other night flooded in front of him and he immediately felt sick again.

Thane!

Solusar's voice came through pounding against his head. He took a bucket from the side, and vomited up whatever acidic contents lay in his stomach.

Forgive me, Thane, I did not think this would be the effect.

Do not worry, I was either going to faint and be sick then or in the battlefield, and I am glad it was then.

"How long have I been here?"

"Seven hours, you have been sleeping through the night."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Did I sleep well?"

"How do I know? You fainted, I suppose that is a good of a sleep as any."

The door opened to his chamber, and Eragon walked in.

"Are you alright, Thane?"

"Fine, ebirthil." was his swift reply. The elder Rider took in the bucket which contained the contents of last night's diet and he shrugged in response.

"Nari is here to see you. He said it was urgent and that he be sent the moment you awoke."

"He is the last person I talked to before I hit the ground."

Eragon furrowed his eyebrows, "Is there anything you wanted to talk about, Thane?"

He shook his head, and Eragon did not pry. The door opened once again and the silver haired elf walked through.

"Thane!" The silver haired elf looked at the ghastly image of this student. The usual pale skin was chalk white with little blood drained from his entire face and neck. The contrast of his ginger hair to his ghost skin and sunken cheeks made the red head look like he was dying.

"Ebirthil. How are you?"

Nari exasperatedly threw his arms up, and turned to Eragon, "He faints, and then asks me how I am?" But the amusement ran dry from his voice, only the remnants of a worried man.

Eragon bowed his head, leaving the student and master behind.

"You are sick from the travels, Thane?"

"Nay, ebirthil. Perhaps something I ate did not agree with me."

"Lying does not become you."

"I cannot ebirthil. Not now."

The red headed Rider picked himself up from the bed and stalked out the door, muttering thanks for his consideration and concern. He promptly mounted Solusar and flew to the only place he knew in the capital.

A large tree some kilometers out in the forest came into view. They landed, seeking a particular marking, and there it was.

To Thane and Sam, may you always find success. – Your father

"I thought you said you were from Aroughs."

Eragon's voice startled him from his thoughts. "I understand keeping secrets, but lying is never proper in any circumstance."

Thane ran his hands over the bark, feeling inscription, it had surprisingly withstood the years, at the same height, and the same depth.

"I feared you would not let a criminal in your midst, but an orphan you would."

"A criminal?"

Solusar nudged his Rider, the orange body gently blowing his hair with the heat from his nostrils.

"I killed them, ebirthil. I killed my family."

Eragon's eyes narrowed, "How?"

"And tell you to be condemned? No. Why I killed them should not matter. I killed them, and I deserve to be punished. Punish me, ebirthil."

"I deem that you provide the truth and nothing but the truth as testimony to your crimes."

A wry smile touched the Rider's lips. "And they say you stay out of people's lives."

"You told me, Thane. I am charged with your safety, whether or not you like it."

He nodded and began.

"My younger brother, Sam, was three when we came to the capital. My parents were visiting relatives, and he and I went into the forest one day. Our father found us, and instead of scolding us, he took us tree climbing, and that day he wrote this."

He took a deep shuddering breath. "The next day, I left Sam and my parents to look for this tree again. I had forgotten something…insignificant, I cannot remember. When I came back to my family, I found them on the floor. They were writhing in pain, vomiting blood, the force of it violently jerking their bodies around. They were given rat poison, why I do not know, and it was slow to take their lives. Father somehow handed me a knife and told me to end it, to end their suffering. They had not a chance to live. They begged and pleaded with me, and so I took their lives. Sam first, mother, and then my father. I was so scared about what was to happen that I fled the capital back to Aroughs. I was so dirty that no one recognized me back home. I stayed away from where I lived, and instead took to the streets, all while knowing I was the one who killed my family. I was the guilty one, and I deserved the nightmares in my head. But slowly, I stopped thinking about it, I began to forget more and more. And when Solusar hatched for me, he worked hard to keep any notion of my atrocious act out of my head, and so I ran even farther away."

"And yesterday?"

"I thought about taking a life, and I remembered. And I fainted."

Silence ran through the field, and Thane picked up his sword and handed it to his master, when Eragon made no motion to take it, he laid it down at his feet.

"My due punishment, ebirthil, as promised."

"You killed your family when you were not under my jurisdiction, therefore I cannot punish you. You are now a part of my jurisdiction, and you committed a crime under the jurisdiction of the law of the human realm, but they cannot prosecute you. You have no punishment to be served."

"I killed my family! I committed parricide!"

"You ended lives in mercy, so your family would no longer feel the pain of the inevitable. And a man with the strength to take a life for cause greater than his glory, but for the service of others, is one of the few warriors fit to their position. You know the price of taking a life, and you have the strength to kill those you care about for their benefit. As a Rider, you will rise to occasion, and you will fight and kill for the innocent people you protect, as is your duty as a Rider, as was your duty as a son. There is no shame in what you did, but rather pride that when it was asked of you, you put your conscience aside to end the suffering of innocent people."

"I killed my family, ebirthil. How can you accept that?"

"Your incredulousness at what my actions are stemming from your own inability to forgive yourself, not your amazement at my acceptance from it."

Thane looked ponderingly at him, "Then what would you have me do?"

"I cannot help you forgive yourself, Thane. When the time comes, you will have to take a life again, and I cannot help you chose then either."

"It is not fair, ebirthil."

"I will not tell you life is not fair, because it is. Life will not throw a hurdle you cannot overcome. If you are facing this trouble, then you have the strength to overcome it."

"But I am weak, ebirthil. I am not strong when it comes to this."

Eragon shook his head, and sighed deeply before answering him. "Anyone can be strong at their strongest. Only the truly strong, are strong even at their weakest."

"What if I fail?"

"Then you will fail, and no one will think lesser of you. Should you fail to attempt to overcome this hurdle, then you have shown exactly how weak you are. Courage is not fearlessness, courage is power to overcome fear."

The light layer of snow crunched under the Lord Rider's boots, his mind was wandering elsewhere. Thane needed to overcome this, the battle could not afford to lose him as a leader.

Kyra saw the commotion around the morning, her master was sitting down, a bottle of faelnirv in front of him.

"Nari-ebirthil? Is anything the matter?"

The silvery elf turned away, "I fear for my pupil, Kyra. Thane is not doing well."

Her eyebrows furrowed as he offered no other explanation. She sought out Victor, and quickly found him near the weaponry.

"Victor!" Kyra called him. The brown haired Rider looked up at her, flashed her a small smile and came out after washing his hands of the dirt acquired in forging blades.

"What is it, Kyra?" He had kind eyes, and a steady gaze. Victor was kind, easy to make friends with, and easier to laugh with. He never seemed to show interest in her as a woman, and perhaps that is why she did befriend him ever so more than the others.

"What happened with Thane?"

His eyes grew solemn, "I do not know the details, nor do I fear I want to. However, he fainted last night, quite unexpectedly, and became incredibly sick. Marcus was there with him when he awoke though. Curious, is it not?"

She frowned, "What is curious about Marcus being there?"

Victor shrugged, "Marcus is not very close with anyone. He does not smile, or even make an attempt to reach out as he did with Thane. He is a cold personality."

Kyra shook her head, "Nay, I cannot believe that. Marcus is anything but cold."

He raised his eyebrows, "To you, maybe." He chuckled a bit at her pointed look and handed her a quiver of arrows.

"Are you going near the castle?"

"Yes, actually."

"Good, can you give this to Ishmael? He used quite a few last night, and apparently, there was no way he could really recover them."

"He had to…"

"I do not see how he could have escaped it. And Ishmael never misses."

Kyra was humbled by what her fellow Rider had to go through, death was a sore word in their world, and killing, even sorer.

"Victor!" Maria's voice called out, but her words died suddenly when she saw Kyra there.

"Sorry, Kyra, I had not the inclination you would be here."

The elf shook her head, "No worries."

Maria let an easy smile through, "I got word from Therinsford, Father and Mother are coming with the recruitment soldiers. Apparently, they got wind the Riders were here."

Victor smiled broadly, and hugged his sister, "I never thought…"

"I know…"

Elves knew when they were needed, and when they were not. And she was not needed on this brother-sister moment.

Alas, had Kyrian been a Rider, would they have been this close?

"It does not do you any good to watch them out the corner of your eye. You are not them."

She closed her eyes, letting the deep voice wash over her. Marcus, she muttered silently to herself. And resolving her face, she turned to face him.

"Their parents are coming from Therinsford."

And the handsome face that haunted her dreams broke into a little smile, how could anyone think him cold with such emotion?

"Good for them."

Kyra watched him intently. "Victor told me you do not smile often." And just as quickly as it came, it was lost…a shame really.

Deliberately walking towards him with painstaking slowness, she watched as he remained rooted to the spot. She came close to him, standing perhaps a foot away, in front as if having a private conversation.

"I do not smile often." But he seemed uncomfortable with that admission.

"So I have observed, why the inconsistency?"

He turned away, "You should get that to Ishmael." But before he could leave her, she caught his arm, forcing him place.

"Marcus…please answer me." His hesitance took over his body for naught a second, and then he relaxed, or rather gave up his desire to protect himself.

"I am different around you because you mean more to me than them." And he gently pulled out of her grasp.

"What does that mean, Marcus?" But it was too low for him to hear, and she did not want her confusion to be shown so blatantly.

It means I love you, Kyra. Marcus heard her words perfectly clear, he was a human, but a Rider. He always made sure he 'seemed' to be out of ear shot, and he pretended not to see or hear things, especially considering the nature of some of them. But what he did not understand is why he pretended not to hear her words. And why he continued to walk away. Was his fear that strong?

The quiver slipped from her grasp and the arrows went sprawling on the ground.

"Damn." She lithely bent and picked them, before throwing one last glance into the shadows Marcus disappeared through. She could be mistaken, but he always seemed to avoid the sun, opting instead, for the shade of the tents or buildings, giant shadows to the light sun.

She found Ishmael's room, and knocked a few times to no avail. Just as she was about to reach out to him from her mind, a door opened behind her.

"Kyra? Is there something you need?"

She turned gracefully at the sound of that familiar voice. Handing him the quiver, she stated, "Victor made these for you, saying you used a lot of arrows last night."

Her voice was even, but even she wondered what he was doing, looking like he just awoke in Amatria's room. Everyone had their secrets, and she knew not to pry into unwanted affairs.

"Thank you, Kyra, and thank Victor for me if you get the chance."

"Ishmael, I…" his head drooped a little, waiting for the inevitable, "I know when you lose an arrow, it means you have hit your target. And it is a war, and you have lost many arrows."

Her implication ran true.

"And we are friends, and for the sake of our friendship, I hope you are alright."

His eyes seemed to sparkle at her, golden hued eyes.

"Honestly, Kyra, I did not have the time to think about it. Circumstances are what changed. At that time, I would have done anything to make sure…anything, Kyra, I would have done anything."

She knew what he was trying to say.

"If you ever need me, come find me. And I am glad you are there for Amatria. We elves who treasure life so much, and we Riders who treasure it even more so are scarred in wars."

"Thank you, Kyra."

She nodded and turned away.

"Thank you, Kyra." He repeated. She turned confusedly, "I am not hard of hearing."

He chuckled softly, "Thank for not asking about…this." Referring to his presence and clearly night spent in Amatria's room.

"Of course." And she continued her walk past him to her room.

Marcus wandered about flittingly, muttering to himself and his stupidity. Thank fate he wore gloves, had anyone seen the gedwey ignasia on his hand, and him muttering to himself, they would have considered him a crazy Rider.

Ru'ali was off hunting, leaving him to ponder his thoughts alone. Though he was of a more morbid nature, he did not like the excessively bloody way Ru'ali hunted. He had heard from many others that his dragon was slightly sadistic in his eating ways.

But he had hatched for a child forced to watch as his father beat his mother to death, and then endure beatings for the next six years. What did people expect his personality to be? Kind, gentle, inoffensive…it was not possible.

Without realizing it, he found himself walking on a familiar pathway, and when he realized it, he could not stop his feet. Rather he started to run, faster and faster until he reached his destination. Whether he was sadistic as well, or whether he wanted closure, Marcus had to see, he had to remember.

Glancing around, he watched as the streets in front of him became bloodier and bloodier, he had memories coming back to him. Only he was closer to the ground, shorter.

His head hurt, badly, and blood trickled from it. He kept running. People were screaming at him, others were laughing. He from the slums, it was common sight to see someone like him. Hoarse cries behind him, and he turned momentarily, and tripped over a crack in the street. His father came over him, like a large shadow, and he was on the ground. He took his belt off, and slowly, excruciatingly brought it down upon the child.

"Bastard!"

"Little cunt!"

Insults were not new to him, but the street was…he was never beaten in this particular street before. The belt cracked down on him again, the metal part…

Screams of protest were heard, but no one came to his rescue. A crowd gathered.

"Fucking little prick!"

His father spat at his writhing body. He did not remember, but he must have been screaming, how else would he have lost his voice.

When he had left, the crowd dispersed, sparing a glance at the miserable, wretched boy on the streets.

Marcus fell to his knees, he glanced around. This was the market, and that was the place he was beaten. Again, no one spared him a second glance. Only the thieves, but they were easily dissuaded with the large sword by his side.

A child tapped his shoulder and he turned. He must have looked a fright, he felt his eyes redden with sadness or anger he could not tell, and his body be stoic and shaking.

"You broke it!"

He was taken aback, and looked down. He had fell on top of a wooden toy of some sorts, a bird or something.

"Did it even fly before I broke it?"

The child grew angry. "I make it fly!"

He broke down in laughter, amazed at his own reaction.

"Here." He took the toy from the child, put the pieces back together and made it grow.

"Make it fly once again." And the child, now with a smile, took the toy and went around spouting some ridiculous noise.

His strength renewed, he trudged forward.

Left, right, third left again. Straight for six blocks, and a right, and the first house on the left. The directions were still in his mind. Perhaps, even then, he looked to his place as a home. He stared at the building in front of him. It was…different, slightly. There was a fence, where there was previously mud. The fence was a sorry excuse for a fence, but one never the less.

A tear trickled down his cheek.

There were noises coming inside, someone else lived here. And when it stopped, and became inquisitive, he was greeted by some stranger.

"Hello? Can I help you?"

Marcus shook his head, "No, no. I apologize, I merely…" he did not what he wanted by coming here. "I used to live here, and I wanted to see if there was anything I remembered by coming back."

It was the truth, just not the complete truth.

"You are welcome to come in if you would like. My great grandfather bought this house from solitary man, some sixty years ago."

He smiled, "Let me guess, from a tall, muscular, black haired with a drinking problem?"

"Yes…how did you…"

"He was my father." Marcus simply stated.

"But that is not possible, you do not look a day older than five and twenty at the most."

He pulled off his glove, and let his palm glow a bit, "I am a Rider."

The man's eyes widened, and turned solemn. "Your father hung himself two days later."

Marcus' eyes snapped to his, of all the things he thought could have befallen that monster, suicide was not one of them.

"Did he say why?"

"No." A pause, "I am sorry for your loss."

"It was over sixty years ago, I did not expect him to be alive."

"But surely, the loss of family is devastating."

"I have my own family now." And he turned and walked away.

Was it possible, that however much his father had tortured him, that his father was more tortured himself? Was it possible that even with his hatred and rage, there lay a depression so deep it made him take his own life?

Marcus made his way back to the training facility, took off his cloak in the darkness, took off his Rider's clothes, until all that remained were a pair of loose cotton pants, a sleeveless black undershirt, and the breath in front of his eyes. A metal bar came above him, and he found what he was looking for…a large sack of sand, nearly as tall as him, and magically fortified not to break under Elven strength. It was for hand to hand combat training. He tied his hands with shreds of cotton, and began punching the bag with ferocity.

So engrossed in his training, he scarcely noticed Kyra sneak in behind him, and watch him silently.

A right hook.

"Why would your mother ever have ever stayed to protect you? She died because she was asking for it!"

A left jab.

"I will kill you, you little fucker!"

Two punches in quick succession.

"You're worthless, just like your stupid little bitch of a mother."

A roundhouse kick and the bag broke under his strength.

He sighed, closed his eyes, and slid down against the wall.

"Would you like a better sparring partner?"

His eyes snapped open. How long had she been there?

Why had he not known?

He sniffed the air, his own sweat and musky scent hit him. Kyra's was masked under it all, he could only have known had he been looking for her.

Marcus glanced at her figure, she was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed over her chest. Thick elven cotton pants wove around her legs, magically enchanted to keep her warm. She wore the traditional clothes of a Rider, a long sleeve shirt and a vest. Gloves covered her hands, but just barely, and only the palms. Her green sword hung to her side, and a boots rose up to just below her knees. She had a thin figure, just like all other elven woman, a beautiful figure, lush, yet not extravagant. Put simply, she was stunning. But what captivated Marcus were her eyes, they shone like neon beacons in the darkness. They never needed light to shine, just themselves would do. And her long blonde hair fell far past her shoulders, the kind of hair he dreamed of running his hands through.

He glanced at his own hands, and turned away in disgust. He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirror. The scar across his head flashed in his eyes, and turned away again.

How could he even think to compare to her in beauty? He did not deserve her, she should be with someone perfect, someone…unscarred. Someone that matched her in looks and in beauty, not him.

He shook his head."No, I was just about to leave anyway."

She furrowed her eyebrows, "But you are still tense."

"I think I will be fine, I just need time."

"You grew up here, did you not?"

Fear clutched through him, he knew he was not worthy of her – broken. But she did not have to realize it herself, perhaps, she could keep the same opinion of him and never know.

"A long time ago, yes." His voice as curt.

"Marcus…" His name escaped her lips, nearly breathy, rather a plea than an actual call.

His closed his eyes shut, how did she expect him to do stay where he was? To do nothing?

"Marcus." She stated again, but more firmly. He slowly raised his eyes to meet her, and was at once transfixed.

He stood up, thankful for the cold, turned around and began undoing the cotton straps on his hands.

"Are you sure you do not want a better sparring partner?"

His hands stilled on the table, gripping it with a force. He turned around in anger, frustrated at their circumstances.

"What makes you think I could raise my hands against you, Kyra?"

His conversation on love with Eragon-ebirthil flashed before him, indeed he was handing her a knife to his heart. His breath caught in his throat as she stalked over to him.

Kyra took off her belt, and placed her sword and scabbard on the table, and moved even closer. Placing her hands on his abdomen, she ran them up his chest chastely, savoring the feel of the hard muscles. She did not stop until her hands were around his neck and jaw.

"Marcus…" and her voice fell even deeper, huskier.

On their own volition, his hands came up to her arms, sliding down the softness of the cotton, dreaming about the silken skin underneath. She shivered under his touch, and he continued to her hair. He gripped the thick locks just above the back of her neck, marveling at how soft it was, and brought her closer.

They were a hairbreadth apart, their forehead touching, and both breathing heavily. He looked at her, opening his eyes, and in her eyes, he saw himself, his reflection. And in his reflection…the scar on his face.

He jumped back, releasing her from any physical bonds between them.

"I apologize for my behavior, Kyra." He struggled with the words as he fought to catch his breath, his entire body protesting the separation. And abruptly left her.

Kyra remained, her face filled with confusion, disappointment, but mostly shame. Her hands fell to her sides, and she did something she never did in her one hundred fifty years.

She cried.