Mrs Pierre Bouvier: That's an interesting idea, about the elves. It could work out something maybe. :)

in these chains: Thanks! Not much torture this time around, but there will probably be just a teensy bit more as I'm trying to make these a wee bit dark. Still, it's rated T so it can't be super gory.

Crazy Ape: Thank you. I like your pen name.

Here's the story!

Disclaimer: Own nothin' (except what's mine). Don't sue.

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4/1/101

The man no longer resembled a human as much as a torn, mutilated carcass. Yet, miraculously, he still lived.

A last, waning spark of electricity and a weak pump of his heart kept him alive. He clung to last wisps of thoughts like a drowning man onto a rope, constantly dipping under a flow of insane mutterings. He had to remember. He had to.

aliyasilícataliniainthecastleeggGalbatorGalbatorixstopbetrayedtaliniaaliyaheadwho?Whowillwho—

Sleep was so tempting. He could no longer feel the pain of his torn body, swaying constantly in and out of consciousness, kept alive by sheer willpower.

heknows…mindknowsknowsdragonfindaliyaperegrine…

He knew so much, and loved her so deeply. They would know now. They would know everything. They would find her, hurt her. They would kill any hope left, destroy Peregrine beyond repair.

Defeat weighed him down. Joshua, otherwise known as Heii, let go. There was nothing left for him or Peregrine.

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Salem was tense for the next two days, flinching from shadows and curt with everyone she knew. Reynold, who had rapidly become her best friend in the palace, took her aside one day to confront her.

"You're being such a grump," he said frankly. "Nasty, sharp—Salem, is something wrong? You're so mouse-like, too, scared of your own shadow. Kind of like Yanice."

Salem winced. "Um. I'm sorry, Reynold. Gods forbid I ever be like Yanice. It's just…" she hesitated, looking into his familiar, open face. Behind that look could lurk a spy, an informer placed by Galbatorix among his own servants. No, Salem decided. I can't.

"I haven't, uh, I haven't gone home in a while," she lied after a pause. "I'm homesick. Charis, the folks, you know." She shrugged. "I'll get over it."

Reynold eyed her skeptically. "Right," he drawled. "That's the case, isn't it?"

Salem squirmed under his look, hating the doubt in his eyes. "Yeah," she said. "That's it."

He took a step back. "Salem, stop lying to me! I'm your friend, all right? I can tell when you're lying, partly because I know you, and partly because you are a horrible liar. Salem." He took her hand, his face wide and earnest. "Tell me."

She wanted to tell so badly. He was her friend, for gods' sakes! She knew him, just like he knew her! Salem's mouth opened slowly. "I—I—can't."

Reynold dropped her hand, his eyes sad and disappointed. Leaning forward, he kissed her gently on the mouth. "I'll always be here for you," he whispered into her ear. "Remember that."

He walked away, his footsteps muffled on the plush carpet. Salem stood limply, her mouth open with shock, a strange ringing in her ears. "Oh, my," she whispered to herself.

You idiot! one part of her mind called. Don't just stand there! Call after him!

No! her sensible conscience said. Don't, Salem…you don't know what you might say…

Oh, screw it, she decided. Wrapping her arms around herself, she called softly, "Reynold!"

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Thorn was inconsolable, broken-hearted over the inability to control his own actions. Murtagh shared his misery, but was separated so often from his dragon that they didn't get much opportunity to talk. Galbatorix seemed in an inhumanly good mood for the next few days, taking the time to drill Murtagh in the area of manipulating water. Within three days, Murtagh was in a thoroughly bad mood, sandwiched in between Thorn's own sorrow and Galbatorix's endless cries of, "Become the water!"

One day, after nearly beheading his sparring partner's head in a sudden flare of temper, Murtagh stalked back to his room only to bump into two servants in the hall, kissing discreetly. They jumped apart like startled rabbits when he came near. "Oh, beg pardon!" the girl yelped.

Murtagh eyed her grumpily. "Go on," he said finally. "Just don't do it where people can see you."

She curtseyed, dropping her eyes to the ground. Murtagh sighed. Everyone in the palace thinks I'm crazy, he thought for the umpteenth time. "Just don't," he repeated as he entered his room.

To his surprise, Thorn was on his balcony, tail coiled neatly around his paws. Murtagh walked towards him, mildly alarmed. Thorn was rapidly growing, almost too big to fit onto the balcony these days. What, Thorn? he asked, reaching out in the connection. Is everything all right?

Thorn turned red eyes onto him, glaring balefully. Yes, everything's all right! I hardly even talk to my Rider, Shruikan tried to stomp me today, and I can't even hunt properly because the trees are too close together in the woods. I'm fine! Just fine!

I can't talk to you more often because Galbatorix gives me lessons, Murtagh growled.

The red dragon reared, hissing. That doesn't matter. You literally close me off, Murtagh. You block your mind with the same block you give to everyone except Galbatorix, and that's only because you can't, or else you would. What is the matter with you? Are you in denial or something?

In den—Murtagh spun away, absolutely infuriated. In denial of what! I have my problems, and so do you, Thorn, but I am not in denial.

I had to rip that man apart! Thorn screamed. I should think my problems are the tiniest bit larger than yours, you self-centered, egotistic—

Murtagh shook his head, incensed. Egotistic! What? Look, Thorn. I understand what it must have felt, but bloody, terrible things happen. His tone softened, and he sighed. People do things for no reason, and if you dwell on it, all it will serve to do is drive you insane with your own pain. You can't let it possess you, Thorn.

The dragon was silent. I guess, he said finally. But still…

You didn't do it of your own will. Murtagh watched Thorn turn his head away, red eyes scanning the horizon determinedly. We are two beings, Thorn, but we share one mind. Anyone who could possibly understand us are—His throat gripped involuntarily as he thought of Eragon, his brother, and the dragon, Saphira. Nasuada, for whom he had nursed a tentative love. Ajihad and Hrothgar, both men he had respected. All of them, fugitives, pursued by the man who held his chains. They're far away, he said finally.

Thorn stuck his head into the room, nuzzling Murtagh's hand gently. Were they good friends? he asked, gleaning the images of people as they rose to Murtagh's mind.

As good as any, Murtagh replied softly. Gone, now.

We'll see them again, Thorn said reassuringly. We will.

Grabbing Murtagh's shirt, the dragon pulled his Rider into the balcony. Come on, Murtagh, he said. You're a Rider, I'm your dragon. We haven't talked much lately, have we? C'mon, let's fly.

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I hope that moment was suitably happy. Or wistful, pick an adjective. Anyway, next chapter will start with a little note that Salem was right. Or her conscience, anyway.

You may gather what conclusions you wish from Heii's ramblings. In case I didn't make it clear, though, he has been driven insane by constant torture. As a result, his thoughts might not be entirely truthful.

I'm trying to keep Murtagh in character, but I only have a copy of Eldest right now and Murtagh doesn't appear too much in that. So please excuse anything that might be incorrect in his character.

Please review! Reviewers are super funky cool!