OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG ZOGRFL! I LURRRRRRRVEE SUGAR RUSHES!
Muses: Shut the crap up! You have a serious chapter to write!
Me: -giggles and bounces- BUT I DON'T WAAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNAAAAA!
Muses: -sigh- Now you know why we run away so often…
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9/6/101
Dinner.
Murtagh looked unenthusiastically at the lavish meal before them, unease churning in a pit of his stomach. He was uncomfortably aware of Galbatorix's eyes fixed upon him, bright and focused. The emperor had invited him to dinner for a purpose. He kept his eyes down, staring at a piece of roast duck as he waited for Galbatorix to speak.
"So, Murtagh."
The words were calm and quietly spoken. Murtagh glanced up slightly to see Galbatorix smiling at him, a smile that spoke of years of wisdom and kindness. "Don't be afraid," the emperor urged softly.
Murtagh exhaled slowly and returned to focusing on the duck. He forced himself not to flinch as Galbatorix's hand touched his shoulder. "Yes?" he said finally, trying unsuccessfully to keep his voice steady.
"How long has it been?" the emperor inquired. "How many months has it been since you first came to me?"
Murtagh's mind raced back frantically, flicking over the past few months. Finally, he said, "Nine. More or less."
"Nine." Galbatorix sighed, sitting delicately back into his chair. "Nine months. Have they been productive?"
A pause, then Murtagh nodded jerkily.
"I see." Galbatorix considered his thoughts for a long while, turning a knife over and over in his long fingers. "Are you ready, then, to serve me?"
Murtagh's breath caught in his throat, and he began to cough as he choked on his own spit. Hacking, he reached for the glass of water near him. Galbatorix watched him, dark eyes glinting. When Murtagh finally got control of himself again, Galbatorix asked quietly, "Well?"
Swallowing hard, Murtagh managed to croak out, "What?"
Galbatorix sighed, standing up. "You are aware of changes in the city?"
Murtagh nodded. Who didn't? Even in his secluded existence in the palace, Murtagh had heard the rumors. The number of soldiers recruited every day was increasing, and the main bulk of the army had been posted to Surda, but more companies were going every day… "Oh," he said slowly, feeling rather thick for not realizing it before. "The Varden."
Those two words brought a leaden weight to settle in his stomach. The Varden.
Eragon.
"Yes," Galbatorix said softly, confirming his thoughts. "We are going to confront the Varden…and hopefully, destroy them once and for all."
He stepped forward, touching Murtagh's hand lightly. "You, my Rider, will be there." He bent closer, eyes glinting with the powerful fervor that was both alluring and frightening. "Listen to me. This is what you must do." His words were laced with the subtle timbre of power, bringing in Murtagh's ancient name. Murtagh closed his eyes, feeling his blood hum with the summons as it heeded.
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You should start packing. Thorn's voice was mild as he settled down on the roof, claws clicking lightly on the tile. Even with flying, it'll take a day to get to Surda.
Murtagh grunted, flopping onto the bed. He stared up at the ceiling, glaring a hole into the marble. I hate this.
Look, sonny, don't we all? Thorn said, a touch of sarcasm lacing his voice. You think I'm in this hellpit for kicks?
Of course, Murtagh snapped, in no mood to be accommodating.
Thorn sighed. Look, if you do manage to bring them back, at least we'll have some company. That can't be too bad, can it? I'd finally be able to meet another halfway sane dragon, which would be somewhat of a relief, even if we did have to do…that thing. But hey, every cloud has a silver lining…
What if I don't want to? Murtagh muttered rebelliously. What if…
What if. That's exactly it, 'what if'! Get a grip on yourself. Look, we're going to ad-lib the whole stupid thing anyway. Play it by ear. Don't go around agonizing about big fat complicated plans to turn the tide of events your way or his way or thattaway. If we're bringing Eragon back, so be it. You know there's nothing you can do to stop it, anyway.
Murtagh grunted. What about Hrothgar?
Thorn grimaced. He's a rebel leader. He's bound to die at one point or another. Besides, doesn't he hamper that 'great Alagaesian dream' Galbatorix keeps yattering on about?
He…he doesn't deserve to die, Murtagh said slowly with a sigh. Damn. I hate this.
Brilliant statement, that is. 'I hate this'. Speaks of untold years of wisdom on your part.
Murtagh muttered something under his breath and sighed again, rolling over to stare blankly at the wall. Nine months in captivity, five in training. Had it really been that long? In retrospect…
His life had fallen into a pattern, a pattern that he took empty comfort in. Training, mostly, with Galbatorix. Some swordplay with varying soldiers, and more training with Thorn and Shruikan. He didn't care to remember his lessons—especially the ones with Galbatorix—but they filled his life and kept him from falling into the abyss of madness.
Thorn and he had reached an unspoken pact. Hate, especially the righteous hatred of anger, only kept you going oh-so-long. Thorn seemed to have resigned himself to life under Shruikan's tutelage, keeping his more bitter emotions to himself. Murtagh, for his part, didn't share his confused thoughts on Galbatorix with his dragon. It was a strange compromise, but it worked well in avoiding arguments and anger.
And Galbatorix…
Fear and respect. Murtagh weighed the two words in his mind, trying to extract some hidden meaning. Often those two terms were vastly different, but in his case, well, his convictions could only be described as a strange mixture of both. He was afraid of the emperor, a deep-seated fear that would always be there. But somehow…Murtagh respected him.
A nest of contradictions.
Mmm? came the lazy reply.
Murtagh shook his head, realizing too late that he'd spoken out loud. Nothing.
Thorn said nothing; there was a faint scrabble of claws on the roof above. Finally, the dragon said, Do you miss him?
Him? Murtagh asked, frowning. Who?
Eragon. Saphira. The whole lot of them.
Murtagh hesitated, debating whether to lie before admitting that the truth would be much easier. Yes.
When Thorn made no reply, Murtagh continued slowly. I mean…it's been so long. At first, I…I kept on thinking how best to escape. When I first came to Uru'baen. I swore that I would never fall again to Galbatorix, never be committed to his cause. And now…now I don't know. I just wonder…
As you wander out under the sky? Thorn said wryly.
What? Murtagh asked distractedly.
Nothing, Thorn said. That song's a child's lullaby, and completely irrelevant to the topic at hand. Go on.
He had lost track of what he was talking about when Thorn interrupted him, and now foundered. I...I don't know. I suppose I…I haven't seen Eragon for so long. He'll be at the Burning Plains too, I'll bet anything on it. And to see that…
Why don't you scry him? Thorn suggested. Less of a shock, anyways. I mean, you'll have time to get used to his appearance; he's probably more elf-looking now anyways from his jaunt inside Ellesmera. You can moon over him day and night if you like.
The idea was startling in a way it shouldn't have been. Scry…? Murtagh considered slowly. He remembered vaguely that Galbatorix had once said that he couldn't scry Eragon. If Galbatorix couldn't, then who could say he would do any better?
Stop nitpicking before you even start, Thorn advised. You won't know until you try.
Thorn was right. Murtagh grimaced as a waft of smugness came down their mental connection. Don't even say it, he warned.
I wasn't going to say a thing, Thorn said haughtily.
Right, Murtagh drawled. Well, snotty dragons aside, I suppose I better get started…
Looking around, Murtagh's eye fell on the flagon of ale on his bedside table. Taking it, he opened the balcony doors and poured the brown liquid onto the marble. It came out sluggishly, little black flecks gushing out with it. Looking at it, Murtagh promised himself never to drink palace ale again.
Shaking his head, he stared into the liquid and reached for the magic.
The Vault of Souls. Insanity, commotion, Salem. He had gained the first two and lost the third; it was a painful trade to make. Sometimes, it wasn't worth it—in order to control the voices and to hold the emptiness within him, severe restrictions had to be held over his feelings and emotions. The result of this training and practice alarmed him—in exchange for control, Murtagh couldn't allow himself to feel at times. No sorrow, no pain, no anger.
He sighed and stirred the ale idly with a finger. In return, though…
He closed his eyes with the familiar thrill as the magic flowed through him. It came from a wellspring in his mind, a well that connected with the infinite power stored within the Vault of Souls. The power thrashed within him, pulsing in his blood, searching for a way out. It wanted to be used.
To have such power, he thought, half-giddy, is it worth the price?
The voices surged inside his head; Murtagh did nothing to hold them back. Feeling almost as if he were in a dream, he fed the power into two words: Draumr kopa.
The surface of the ale twisted sharply with a maelstrom of color and turned a cloudy silver color. Murtagh held his breath, waiting for the surface to clear—but then, to his shock, it turned muddy brown again.
What the—
What? Didn't it work? Thorn said sharply.
No, Murtagh said. He sat back, feeling discouraged. I don't understand. It's draumr kopa, right?
Yeah…why don't you try again? Maybe it was just a fluke.
I don't think so. Eragon's protected, I think—it only makes sense. I mean, he's under Islanzadi's tutelage now. She would be sure to ward him.
Thorn was silent for a minute. When he spoke again, his voice was uncharacteristically soft. You'll see him again, soon. Don't fuss so much over images.
I'm not fussing, Murtagh growled, hating himself for being so transparent, gritting his teeth as the voices rose in parallel to his emotions. Stop hovering over me.
Literally or metaphorically? The dragon's voice was wry. Look. Don't worry about it, all right? When you finally meet again, it may not be the happiest of circumstances, but it's what Fate allows. Nobody can control the roll of the dice, all right? Don't agonize over it.
Murtagh exhaled, staring fixedly at the railing of marble. His disappointment cut far deeper than it should have, really—after all, Islanzadi was only expected to have warded him. He should have expected this.
With practiced control, he forced down his frustration, letting a sense of calm detatchment flow through him. Inside his mind, the clamoring voices surged one last time, and then faded to a soft murmur. All right, he said finally, his own voice distant and indifferent. I won't.
Thorn said nothing. A heavy silence descended over them, darkening with the night.
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End of Chapter Thirty-Nine
Does this clarify things up about the whole Murtagh bitterness issue? I mean, he keeps himself distant most of the time. Can't let his emotions get out of control, no matter how conflicted he is. That's sorta the impression I wanted to give here.
The date of the Burning Plains will be 9/11/101, btw. Want to make it symbolic even if I can't update on that actual date.
I'm going to surround my room with barbed wire from now on, because GUESS WHAT! THE ATTACK OF THE PLOT BUNNIES! What does that mean? ANOTHER FRICKIN' CHAPTER BECAUSE THE AUTHOR WANTS TO KILL CONNAC OFF!
Wait? What?
-whistles innocently and strolls away-
Jatterquist: I'm dead lazy, haven't you picked up on that yet? A bonding scene would be great, though…if I had the motivation and inclination, I might expand on that idea. It would add to the relationship and all.
-stares at computer glumly- But with the plot bunnies hitting on me all the time, it's all I can do to keep on tappin' out the chapters…
Silver pup: OH. MY. GOD. July? Wow. ALL YEAR SCHOOL? That sucks to the pits of hell! It's all I can do to slave through 5-day weeks now, much less all year. Yeah, more vacations, but they're all so SHORT!
I bet Paolini is going to kill Murtagh off. Wahaah! If he does that, I'm going to sit down and sob my worthless little eyes out. Gah, I have no life.
Ariel32: -evil cackle- Hello? Connac is at my mercy, not Galbatorix's. I'm going to kill him off no matter what, you just wait. It'll be an interesting end; also, a chapter from Connac's POV will help me enlarge on what Galbatorix's army did while Eragon was busy beating up Du Vangr Gata and chasing Elva.
I never abuse my characters. Beat them up? Kill them? Oh yes. Abuse? Never.
Mrs Pierre Bouvier: Yech, don't you just HATE it when technology fails? Many a time I have been reduced to kicking the computer when the next chapter didn't load properly.
NOOO! SUMMER! –sobs and clings to July and August- WHY ARE YOU LEAVING ME! WHY! COME BACK!
Gewher: I tend to reuse lines and crap, and because I'm lame I'll say this one more time…the title of the fanfic is Thorn and Misery!
Depression galore. I'm a pessimist by nature and sugar rushes only make it worse, plus ever since I found my muses again they're been very depressed as well, adding to the complete despair factor. So yes, sadness all around. Glad to see you've joined us! Don't want to be the odd one out, now do you? O.o
Rotem: Gah, once a week, what more do you want from me! –breaks down and sobs-
Coffee Grounds: Good idea! I should start locking up my muses from now on; maybe they'd actually be USEFUL FOR A CHANGE –glares pointedly at muses- How big a cage do you need for muses?
The French Roast! –squeaks- ISN'T THAT THING DEAD! YOU SAID IT WAS! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!
Well, I'm buying barbed wire this weekend for the plot bunnies anyway. I'll get a coffee grinder while I'm at it for extra protection. And a cage for the muses. Anything else?
Emerald Tiara: I find a special sadistic pleasure in making Galbatorix cheerfully evil. It seems more convincing than to make Galbatorix all passionate all the time anyway; happiness can be very disconcerting when you have too much of it.
Mistress-of-Misery: Yeah, soon as Murtagh kicks the bucket, Salem will too. Whenever that is.
Two chapters of miserableness, actually. The one where Connac dies (inevitably) and the one where…um…Murtagh kicks Eragon ass, and then the one where sugar rots my brain and teeth and churns out a complete random chapter. –nods convincingly- The last one won't be miserable…sugar can only be so pessimistic…
Fallonaiya Sedai: SCHOOL. SUCKS. EGGS. Dear god, I will simply fall down and die. Honestly, I find myself counting the minutes that every single bloody period drags ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND ON AND—
-is cut off for being insanely irrelevant-
It makes me kinda sad to see how Thorn and Murtagh have changed. They've become so cold! Waah!
Tallacus: Well, nyah, now they do. –sticks out tongue- Besides, I wanted to make Thorn emphatic, and 'dung-grubbing sockmucker' doesn't quite give the same impression as the more commonplace swearwords.
I find that Paolini didn't do a very good job with the parts containing Murtagh. I mean, when Murtagh is first captured…I have a tendency to skim when I first read, so I skipped on and it wasn't until I got until when Eragon tried to scry Murtagh that I'm WTF! Where did Murtagh go! I mean, that was just way too short and undescriptive.
Alsdssg: Oh yes. But you know, since Galbatorix is a powerful bottom sucking shit-feeder, there's basically nothing he can do about it. How sad. –wipes away tear for effect-
Amantine: It kind of depends on what you mean by 'himself', I suppose. Brilliantly sarcastic? Yeah, you got that. But he's also much more cynical, or at least he's supposed to be…
Aurora: Fear not! You mourn far too soon. Honestly, I'm popping in new chapters every single week, so I don't anticipate this story ending for…two weeks, maybe? Which effectively means two chapters, but god knows how many times I'll keep on delaying the BP chap. –sigh-
K.A.T Hiwatari: -slavers at mouth- Well, this chapter is maybe…what, four or five pages long? That counts, right? Say it does. GIVE ME THE FRICKIN CHOCOLATE!
I don't think my interpretation of the book really fits your ideas, though. What I'm saying is that Murtagh…he's…I don't know, confused. He has to keep himself an emotionless rock most of the time, and can't really lay out his thoughts about Galbatorix…hrm…
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