Sorry this is a day later than everything else - it's twice as long as any of my other chapters because I know I have more ground to cover. And a friendly note to all of those who haven't read the third book, someone left a complete spoiler of it in my reviews, so be careful. I'd delete it, because I'm assuming there are some people like myself who haven't gotten a chance to read it (or even buy it) yet, but the powers that be won't let me.

I let out a breath as I ran my tongue across my teeth, glancing between a very exhausted Pappy and a very large dragon. More specifically, my very exhausted Pappy and my very large dragon. Apparently, this big hunk of flying lizard hatched for me, and I'm its… hold on, let me think here. All of this if very new and I'm not quite sure of all the terminology yet.

Oh, right, I'm its Rider. I'm now destined to live in Alagaësia and fly around, righting wrongs and being Superwoman. I could even do magic, if I really wanted to. Hell, I even have a nice, new, shiny palm to match. Too bad I'm pretty sure none of this is real and I'm only going along on the off chance that the dragon will eat me if I fight him about it. Then again, for all I know, I'm walking along to my death right now due to an entire pack of dragons.

Anyway, after I had a mini freak-out, the dragon insisted that we both rest for the night and made me use his wing as shelter, like I had when he saved me from the sandstorm. And may I say, it was freaking hot in there. He says it's probably his internal flame, and not to worry because it gets so cold in the desert at night anyway that it's better to be too hot.

And now we're heading towards a castle he saw when he was flying around and scouting for danger last night, pulling Pappy along because he's very wobbly on his feet so I don't want to ride him. Apparently I'm lucky Pappy was with me because with all the energy it took to get the three of us from Earth to Alagaësia, I could've died.

I asked the dragon about how he knew how to get us there, and he said that because while he was an egg he was exposed to an extensive amount of Dark Magic, he could remember things from before he even hatched. It was also how he knew how to accelerate his growth using my energy and how he knows a bit of what is going on currently in Alagaësia.

"You know," I wondered out loud, not comfortable with using our super-dee-duper mind connection yet, "It's really inconvenient, to call you 'dragon' all the time – don't you have a name?"

The dragon didn't pause, continuing to take earth-shattering steps next to me as his thoughtful feeling fulfilled me, 'No, I do not. Normally, you would've named me when I was a hatchling, but because of the war I felt it was smarter to skip over my vulnerable phase.'

"What's this war you keep talking about," I questioned, feeling slightly irritable. After all, if I'm not actually in a mental institute, then a war might hinder the process of people getting me back home. And that's just not good for anyone.

'I'm not sure of the specifics,' the dragon confessed, his head hung low as he bent his neck to look at me, 'But I do know that you will be a part of it.'

"No I won't," I argued naturally, the words spilling out, "I don't belong here – as soon as we find someone who can help me, I'm going home."

The dragon paused, and then he tensed. I ran my tongue across my teeth quickly, my ultimate nervous habit, and wondered if my leaving would make it mad. I mean, he hatched, what does he need me for? 'Very well,' the dragon finally conceded, 'As soon as we can manage it, you shall return to your world.'

I let out a deep breath that I hadn't realized I'd been holding as I noticed a black speck in front of us. That would be the castle, no doubt. "Thank you," I replied politely, my feet starting to burn in the hot sand. I'm just glad I didn't wear my knee-high boots when I decided to go riding. "So," I questioned, my mind turning back to my original question, "No name, huh? Do I get to name you?"

The dragon nodded, his long neck stretching out in front of him, 'Yes, I suppose you do.'

"How about Emer-" I paused. My initial thought had been 'Emerald,' because of his startling color, but then I realized that it would be a girl's name. How to make 'Emerald' male? "-son?"

'Emerson,' the dragon tossed the name around in his mind before a wave of acceptance and pleasure washed over me, 'I like it.'

I nodded, "Great." Great, now I have a dragon named Emerson. Isn't that the name of a band?

Murtagh awoke to a panicked roar, and he jumped out of bed. His mind desperately turned to Thorn as he grabbed Zar'roc and made a beeline for the hallway. His castle was arranged in a boxy-eight shape, with two square courtyards. One was meant for Thorn's stables, the other for Murtagh to 'entertain royal guests.'

Murtagh specifically chosen the bedroom placed strategically to the side of the hallway that connected the two, so that he could run out and look at both easily. To his right, he saw Thorn, stretching lazily before reaching towards Murtagh's mind in question.

Flipping his hair out of his face, Murtagh looked to the other courtyard, and his heart stopped. There he was – the green dragon. Full grown and angry, he stood in defense of a screaming redheaded girl and a rearing, large bay horse.

'What is it,' Thorn finally enunciated his question, and Murtagh growled as he pushed open the door to a balcony, screaming at the Urgals in their language to back down and leave the dragon rider to him. His mind numb, he barely transmitted the image to Thorn before the ground shook as Thorn pushed off, cramming himself into the other half of the courtyard, placing himself just as defensively between himself and the green dragon.

"Peace, Rider," Murtagh finally managed, sighing as he used Thorn's outstretched wing to slide off the balcony and onto the ground, "We mean you no harm." Screaming once again in the harsh language of the Urgals to stand down, he reappeared in the green dragon's sight from just below Thorn's neck. 'Calm down, Thorn,' he warned his companion, 'We don't want to make an enemy of them so soon.'

"What the hell are those things," the girl questioned shrilly, pointing with fear at the Urgals as they continued to surround her. Murtagh pursed his lips as he caught his first full view of her – she was dressed oddly, to be sure. Her legs were covered in a strange blue fabric that tucked into tight black leather that seemed to fit over her black boot. Was she an elf? But then, if she were, why would she be so scared and helpless in the face of a few Urgals?

"What is your name, Rider," Murtagh questioned back smartly, trying to keep his face open, like she were a close friend who had dropped by unexpectedly. Or at least, this was the expression Murtagh imagined one would use. Close friends had so rarely dropped by unexpectedly that he never bothered to think about how he would look if they did.

The girl's face darkened before she looked at her dragon. Murtagh considered, for a moment, intruding her mind and listening to the conversation, but if she were an elf then she would know and consider him an enemy. That just wasn't a risk he was willing to take. She looked back at him, carefully, "Liaden. Liaden Ardal."

Murtagh licked his lips, trying to think and sound friendly. Then again, sounding friendly might seem more natural, and more believable, if only Galbatorix hadn't saddled him with these Urgals. "Liaden? I've not heard the name anywhere; is it Elven?" The girl tensed visibly, and Murtagh noted that as a yes in his mind. He took a step closer, which resulted in a step back on the girl's part.

"Elves," the girl's voice quivered a little, reminding Murtagh of a scared, baby rabbit who wasn't sure whether he was hunting it or he wanted to play with it. Murtagh smiled, glancing up at Thorn's ruby-colored eyes, which twinkled back at him disapprovingly. He knew what his dragon wanted him to do before he actually said it.

'Send her to the Varden, before Galbotorix finds out about her,' Thorn pressed, 'Think of her like a peace offering to Eragon. Galbotorix never told us what to do if the fully grown dragon came to us, much less if the Rider came. They need another Rider, Murtagh; we need to help them.'

Murtagh sighed as he stared up at Thorn; this was how the two of them got by – finding loopholes in Galbatorix's orders and laws. If it weren't for those loopholes, he'd have had to kill Eragon. After all, it wasn't Murtagh's fault that Galbatorix never specified what he meant when he said to "defeat" Eragon.

But if Galbatorix found out that Murtagh had let the green dragon get away… He shuddered before shaking his head slightly, turning his attention back to the Rider… Liaden. "Yes, elves. You do know what elves are, don't you?" The girl glared at him, but Murtagh thought it was a reasonable question. Obviously, this girl had no idea what was going on – who was to say she wasn't an ignorant farm girl? Eragon had been, once...

"Yes, yes I do," she replied smartly at him, and Murtagh couldn't help but smirk a little in satisfaction. At least she'd be a bit more interesting to have around, especially if her dragon was just as snippy and defensive. What was it, anyway, with dragons and being defensive?

"And where do you come from," Murtagh asked carefully, forcing the smirk from his face in turn for a warm expression.

The girl traded another apprehensive look with her dragon, their eyes flashing at each other. Her brow furrowed and she took a tentative step towards her horse. Murtagh felt his legs tense and he reached carefully for his sword, unsure if she was also armed. Could she really think he was stupid enough to not notice her moving for... a weapon that was attached to the saddle she didn't have. This girl is slowly becoming less and less of a threat.

She took a deep breath before carefully taking a hold of her horse's reins, her knuckles turning white. Was she really that scared? Murtagh took a second to mull things over in his head – there was no reason for her to be scared; she had a dragon, she was powerful.

Careful with her, Thorn advised, We don't know what she knows; she seems too innocent.

Murtagh's lips pursed, his legs still tense, as he mentally agreed with his dragon. "Where are you from," Murtagh questioned again. Would it be too ironic for her to be from the Spine?

"New York," the girl called uncertainly, flinching as her dragon's eyes turned on her. Murtagh tensed as the dragon's head flipped back around, his roar deafening as the girl scrambled up his wing, her horse rearing and bucking as the Urgals started to rush in towards her.

With one definitive swipe of his tail, the dragon knocked out most of the Urgals and pushed off the ground, Murtagh's legs trembling and the horse falling onto it's back, crushing one of the few human soldiers underneath of him. Murtagh started to yell orders furiously as Thorn curled his tail defensively around Murtagh, Should we go after them?

Leave them for now, Murtagh decided, watching with interest as the dragon stream-lined and dove over one of the far sand dunes. He's fast.

Thorn agreed grudgingly, I guess. Murtagh smiled up at his counterpart, grim and yet cheerful – if they couldn't catch them, than Galbatorix might not be so harsh in his punishment, and maybe the pair could find their way to the Varden, and Eragon would have a chance.

Murtagh gulped, knowing that he'd better put on a show, and started to scream at the Urgals to get their things and hunt the damn dragon down. Using Thorn's leg, Murtagh slipped easily onto his dragon's back, not bothering with the uncomfortable, bejeweled saddle, the only one Galbatorix saw fit for Murtagh to use. He smiled as he felt Thorn's wings pump underneath him, every strain of his dragon's tendons feeling welcome and familiar.

We'll circle out of their sights, Thorn guessed, and Murtagh smiled at his dragon's prediction, which was of course correct. Feeling Murtagh's approval, Thorn pushed into the air, and Murtagh was amazed at the distance that the green dragon had already covered. Larger than a speck, but still far enough away to be impressive.

I wonder if he can fight, too, Murtagh pondered, more to himself than to Thorn. Thorn heard him anyway, though, and growled as he flapped his wings hard against the air, fighting the wind to look as if he was going after the green dragon. Murtagh laughed at Thorn's near-jealously, patting his dragon carefully on the neck, Don't worry; he's young, rash.

Thorn growled before roaring loudly, putting on a show, And skinny. He looks like a girl. Murtagh laughed openly again, leaning into Thorn's neck and closing his eyes, letting their minds merge blissfully.

I screamed at the sensation of Emerson beneath me, clutching to one of his dangerous, pearly-white spikes desperately as he pressed himself into a thinner line. My screams died away in the wind, which was hitting my face painfully, stray grains of sand pelting my body. "STOP! DOWN! HEEL! LAND! ABORT!"

I don't know what I'm hoping to do – I don't think dragons have emergeny-landing gear. Besides, Emerson doesn't seem to be thinking very rationally right now. He keeps babbling about voices and magic and death. Nothing is in a complete sentence, and every now and then there's an image or the memory of a sound thrown in there, but his feeling of panic is what's getting to me the most, for obvious reasons.

"LET ME GO," I finally yelled, and this phrase seemed to bring Emerson out of his freakish-stupor. He turned almost immediately, and had I not been gripping that single spike for my life, I would've flown out into the air and fallen in a neat splatter to the ground. Emerson paused in midair, and I took advantage of the stillness. The castle was nowhere in sight, leaving nothing but undistrubed red-gold sand surronding us in every direction. The view was both confining and freeing. I felt all alone in this cold, dark world with no one but my dragon and Pappy with me.

Pappy! My mind screamed it, and I was shocked when Emerson responded, his tone amused as he started to gently glide towards the ground.

That is not the name you gave me, child, he joke-scolded, and I rolled my eyes.

My horse, I offered, figuring he wouldn't be able to hear me through the wind, Did you remember to get my horse? A feeling of dismay passed through me, foreign, and I had my answer. "Pappy!" I shreieked aloud, and my heart began to break bit by bit. There goes that one bit of normality left in this world. There's a bunch of normality in my world, but I kind of get the feeling my world is a little passed what we can manage right about now.

He is of little consequence to us; you won't need him for anything. I could tell that Emerson honestly believed that, even though I knew he knew better. I mean, he can tell what I'm feeling, can't he? The panic that's slowly engulfing my body? We left him with that... that man! What will he do to my Pappy? Make him work? Feed him to his dragon? Oh God, we're going back. We're going back!

No, we aren't, Emerson replied sternly, That man was... dangerous. Skilled, strong – we were lucky we got away at all! I am not putting you in danger anymore than necessary.

It's dangerous for me to not have Pappy, I insisted, the thoughts tumbling from my mind naturally, as if I were used to the complete lack of privacy, Please, you have to understand. I need him.

I could feel Emerson's disappointment reverberating through my heart, almost as clearly as if I felt it myself, and I felt bad. It was obvious that I was missing something about the bound between the two of us, something important. I was missing whatever was supposed to be our connection, whatever was obviously supposed to make me love him and care about him more than about my horse.

Emerson sighed, Very well, we will return for your horse, but not tonight. Tonight it will be too dangerous. Tomorrow night, child. I smiled, relief flooding through me. Even if we lack that cosmic connection, I trust Emerson. Maybe it's because I can feel most of the things he feels, or because I can hear his thoughts, but I trust him.

I took a deep breath as I knelt on a hill just in the sight of the castle I'd escaped from only a few days before. Even from here, I could make out Pappy's horrified shrieks and whinnies; I didn't even want to think what they were doing to him. He was so sweet and delicate and sensitive, not conditioned for working or being dragon-food.

Next to me, Emerson crouched, stuck in an almost meditative state. He was planning, trying to remember the layout of the castle and such. Every now and then I caught tidbits of his planning; he wanted to fly over and see what was happening exactly, but he didn't want to risk getting caught. Behind us, the sun had set about an hour ago, and Emerson was almost glowing in the late twinkle of twilight. It's almost hard to believe he was a boy, he looks so delicate.

I sighed, growing antsy at the sounds of my horse's panicked cries; at this point, I mine as well run for the castle and hope to not get caught, for all the good we're doing. My arm twitched, and I licked impatiently at the front of my teeth, Can I go yet? It was strange, how living with Emerson for all of two days had somehow resulted in a strange comfort between the two of us; it seemed like almost a hassle to talk.

Emerson growled, without any hint of actual threat towards me but more at the annoyance of losing his concentration, The more you disrupt the planning, the harder it is for the planning to get done. I rolled my eyes – I didn't see why any planning had to be done; we aren't even sure these guys are actually evil! We're assuming it based on what – mumblings from when Emerson was a fetus? The fact that his dragon is red? Ridiculous. Let's just go and... ask nicely.

Alright, so I'm sounding stupider as my plan is developing, but still, it shouldn't be taking this long!

The explosion of sand next to me was startling, and I screamed accordingly, diving away from my dragon. I grimaced as my head came into contact with the unyielding hillside, but I knew I had to ignore it. Emerson's thoughts, while normally carefully articulated, were jumbled and panicked, and assorted curses he'd learned from me were finding their way into his vocabulary.

I screamed again at the sight of the red dragon biting savagely into Emerson's neck, ruby red eyes glistening with an animal-like hunger as he tried to force Emerson onto his back. Emerson roared angrily, trying to use his tail to flip the red dragon off of him, and I felt sympathy pains coarse through my body as I watched Emerson struggle for the next few seconds.

After those few seconds, I grew frenzied. For the first time, I felt a protectiveness over my dragon, supposedly awakened by seeing him in actual danger. I dove towards my dragon, only to feel a strong arm wrap around my waist, holding me back with laughable ease. Literally, he was laughing at me, in a voice I recognized as the red dragon's riders – deep, almost melodic, but not quite flowing enough.

"Peace, Rider," he whispered in my ear, "Soon you will be safe." I screamed, biting at the arm and clawing at the air as I felt a light pressure on my neck. It occurred to me that he was trying to knock me out, but let him try; I'm so determined, I don't think horse tranquilizer could knock me out. Someohow, not even the knowledge that Pappy was possibly being tortured could make me as despearte as I felt watching Emerson be thrown around like a chew toy. It's like I never realized he could get hurt.

Slowly, my vision started to fade into splotches, and my angry shouts faded into mumbles as Emerson lay on his back, defeated but not dead. I could still feel him too strongly for him to be dead. He was still in me, a part of me; he could still hear my voices, and I could make out his angry, annoyed mutterings as he tried to fight back, one last time. And then, with his defeated growl, unconciousness overflowed from my vision, and I blacked out.

Murtagh sighed early the next morning as he let his weight rest fully on his dragon's neck, deciding it was much too early for him to be up after two long days of searching. Not that he was actually tired, he was just of the opinion he shouldn't have to do it. Ahead of him, Ura'bean grew larger and more threatening, it's twisted towers nothing short of the perfect representation of who the castle belonged to. Below him, the city seemed black and dead. It was eerie, but Murtagh simply closed his eyes and blocked the image from his mind.

Thorn was silent, as he always was when they went to see Galbatorix. Neither wanted to risk allowing any openness in their minds at all, lest Galbatorix find the breech, force his way into their minds, and hear what they truly felt. Murtagh was nervous enough, going to him to say that he had caught the green rider. A large part of him wanted to turn back and let the dragon rider go or, better yet, go with the green rider to the Varden. But Murtagh knew he wouldn't, he couldn't. Galbatorix had too strong a hold on them.

With a swift dive, Thorn landed in Galbatorix's main garden, where their master was practising his sword play. Murtagh wanted to spit in the man's eye and turn around, but instead he just slipped easily off of Thorn and onto the ground. He then fell immediately to his knee and pressed his fist to his heart in the customary gesture. Next to him, Thorn fell onto his front legs, his head arching as he pressed his nose gently to the ground. Murtagh ground his teeth together to try and hold in the customary rage at seeing his magnificent dragon so humiliated.

"Ah, Murtagh, what news to you bring me," Galbatorix questioned, not at all pausing in his sword play until he'd knocked the sword out of his opponents hand. At this, he turned to Murtagh, who was still kneeling, "Have you found me the egg, yet?"

"No," Murtagh choked out, and had to push the rest out before Galbatorix had a chance to get angry, "We found the dragon. And the Rider."

"The blue dragon?" Galbatorix was more than interested. He actually touched Murtagh on the shoulder, an unspoken premission for Murtagh and Thorn to stand. Murtagh took a deep breath, skipping a beat to give Thorn the time to inch away from Galbatorix's wrath. Thorn didn't budge, knowing too well what was going on in Murtagh's mind.

"No, the green dragon. He hatched." Murtagh flinched, but the slap never came. Nonetheless, Murtagh didn't raise his eyes to his king's, but instead flexed his left calf and right arm reflexively, clenching and unclenching the joints as discreetly as possible.

"Damn blue dragon; had to let her get away," Galbatorix murmered, wondering away. Suddenly, as if an after thought, Galbatorix turned and flicked a finger, forcing Murtagh's chin to smack up and his neck to nearly crack. Murtagh took the pain silently as Galbatorix tested his boundaries, and after a few seconds the pain stopped and Murtagh was allowed free movement of his body once again.

"What would you like me to do, my Lord," Murtagh questioned dutifully, pushing himself onto his feet and clasping his hands behind his back. Everything had to be very formal with Galbatorix; staunch, even.

"Well, she'll need to be trained - bring her to me and we'll force her dragon's growth; he's no use of us wh-"

"He's already grown, sir; we think he's almost six months." And suddenly, Murtagh was against the wall, the flat of Galbatorix's sword pushing on his throat violently.

"And you didn't think to tell me?!"

"Slipped my mind," Murtagh choked out, not bothering to raise his arms in defense. It wasn't a matter of stronger, but more a matter of power. Instead of fighting, which was his natural instinct, Murtagh kept his eyes locked on Thorn's, trying to pacify himself with the knowledge that Shurikan was nowhere in sight.

"A slip like that again and I'll have your pretty little dragon, boy," Galbatorix threatened, his lip curling into an unattractive sneer. Murtagh grimaced momentarily as Galbatorix pushed on the sword a little more before backing off, his lip still curled in the sneer, "What do you think we should do with her?"

A million thoughts flew to Murtagh's mind, but he knew the right one instinctually, "Bring her to you, and you can train her." Murtagh expected a smile and dismissal, with orders to bring him the dragon immediately, but Galbatorix managed to surprise him. Murtagh hated it when he was surprised. He felt it showed a lack of forethought, and that it meant he had to think things through more carefully.

"No," Galbatorix smiled, "No, if we train her, we may end up with another you; things may slip her mind." Murtagh shivered at the way the king said it, and took up his nervous habit of tensing his legs. Murtagh felt an inexplicable forebooding in his bones that told him nothing good would come from what Galbatorix was saying, even more so than usual. "I want you to train her; consider it your test. Gain her trust; do you know where she is from?"

"She told me she was from... New York, sir," Murtagh flinched, knowing that the place was obviously fake, "Her name is Liaden Ardal."

Galbatorix paused, his brow furrowed, "What a... queer name. Is she from the Eastern Deserts?" Galbatorix's eyes lit up at the prospect of someone who could control the lands that seemed forever beyond his control. Murtagh shook his head, letting his eyes stray to Thorn's.

"I have no idea, sir. She just said 'New York.'" Murtagh could leave out the, 'and then she escaped on her dragon' part. What would it do, anyway? He had her now, safe and secure and under control.

Galbatorix shook his head, a rare smile gracing his features with delight. He knew, despite how hard Murtagh tried to hide it, that Murtagh did not agree with anything his king did; he believed that the state they lived in was corrupt, and that training this dragon rider would both guarantee the victory of the war and prove the ultimate torture for Murtagh. "The answers are of no consequence; leave me, Raynor."

Murtagh flinched, but didn't feel any inclination to push his luck as he quickly jumped up onto a still-kneeling Thorn's back and prepared himself for the long flight back. Gain her trust, huh? Well, Murtagh figured he could accomplish that easily enough, with a few charming smiles and a bit of uncharacteristic charisma.

It's wrong, Thorn insisted, his displeasure at the order too obvious considering how far away they were from Galbatorix. Murtagh shook his head, trying to shake off Thorn's persistant intrusions.

I can't do anything to change his mind, and I'm not risking our hides for some girl.

Not even for Eragon? For Nasuada? They'll die if we don't help them.

We're training the girl.

Step up to me, step up to me
You wanna be a big-time player, it's not to be
Enemy by Sevendust