Hi everyone! This story is not dead--just a little down. I wasn't sure whether I could keep up the angst for another three or four chapters, so this one'll be a bit of a filler. In other words--hardly any angst.
Thanks to anyone who reviewed at all, but especially deathtobeauty (for the pickup) and Rutu (for Morzan's dragon's name--he'll appear in the next chap).
The Dreaded Disclaimer: I am not male and I do not have spots. I like Murtagh, and I would definitely give him more than, what, two chapters! (calms down) Anyway, the pint of me getting riled up is that I don't own Murtagh, Thorn, Galby, Nasuada,or the Inheritance trilogy.
Warning: I use the word 'screwed' here. Alot.Perhaps too much.
On with the fic!
I blink, feeling soft tears well up in my eyes. Dammit—I thought I could handle it! The remembrance—oh gods it hurt. It hurts, somehow, to remember the freedom I lost, the freedom Thorn may never have—not to mention, Nasuada.
It's insane, fundamentally wrong, that she can affect me this way—she's what, the queen of the Varden now, and I'm the traitor who's destroying them. Eventually, he may make me kill her!
Or maybe not; he wouldn't want to alienate me over that.
Not now, at any rate. Not while I was still newly-captured.
My life is so screwed up.
My dragon has been listening to my turmoiled thoughts, and he now says, rather quietly, I'm sorry.
What for?
I shouldn't have made you remember—you're sad, now.
Oh—Thorn, no! Gods, what have I done? I didn't mean to make him feel this way! It wasn't your fault; this was bound to happen at some point. I mean, have you looked at my past?
I just lived through it. Wryly. Ah well, if Thorn can be wry, he must not be too depressed. I hope.
So, now that you've seen freedom, what do you think of it?
Before Thorn can answer, a familiar voice rings through both our minds. Report. Now. We are not pleased.
Of course his Royal Highness has no need to introduce himself. I sigh, and am mildly surprised to hear my companion mimic me. He's never done that before.
I've got your memories, remember?
Oh. Right. Should we go?
We turn around in the air, heading for an audience with His Highness.
My life is so screwed up.
You know the drill--r and r, and I'll get back to you asap.
Fluffly