So sorry - I just had the uber bad week and a half. Like, the uber bad.

I woke up with a headache that was actually pounding through my head, my arms cradling my head carefully. Most of my extremities tingled, and my calves refused to stop twitching. But much more importantly, I was surrounded completely by an intense heat, and the bottom of my feet were pressed against the distinctly scaly side of a dragon. Somehow, I knew it was Emerson. I knew I was safe. I knew that by some crazy design of fate, my plan had worked.

The first thing I bothered to do was yawn, following up said yawn with a groan. My back was stiff, presumably from sleeping on stone for so long when I was used to a plush bed with lots and lots of comforters. Emerson's thoughts filled my head as soon as he heard my groan, Child, are you alright? What did they do to you?

I shook my head, yawning again and trying to stretch against the stone, which was luke-warm thanks to Emerson's amazing body heat. They didn't do anything. I think I touched an electric fence. The assessment made sense to me – the tingle that was slowly fading from my body felt nearly identical to the time I'd accidentally touched the electric fence that the stable back home used to keep the horses from jumping out of the pasture.

What's electric? I finally opened my eyes just in time to roll them and experience their tearing up at yet another yawn. I keep forgetting I'm in a world without indoor plumbing or television. So much for explaining what electricity is.

Nothing, nothing. How long have I been out?

About two hours, Emerson informed me, lifting a wing and bending his neck to peak inside at me, Are you sure you're alright, child? It wouldn't be too big a chore to eat one of the guards; it doesn't even have to be one of the same ones that hit you. I could even eat that Murtagh fellow if you want.

"No," the idea of Emerson eating Murtagh shocked me into actually speaking. I shook off the sound of my own voice, which rang awkwardly in my ears, No, he saved me from them, remember? Pursing my lips at my dragon, who was still glimmering and shining even without the sun, I showed him the memory of Murtagh somehow protecting me.

And what is it that gave you this... electric sickness? I snorted in laughter – only Emerson would call getting shocked a sickness.

It's not Murtagh's fault; I probably would've been fine if I hadn't touched it. Why am I even defending this guy?

You'd probably be alright if he'd let us go, too, now wouldn't you? I sighed – whatever it was about Murtagh that somehow had turned him into a decent person in my view, if not also creepy and possibly sadistic, it obviously wasn't translating to Emerson feeling any kind of sympathy towards him.

Whatever; I need something to eat, I informed him, crawling towards the opening at the front of Eragon's wing, cringing at the cool air that fell over me as I emerged from the dark, protective cover of my dragon. The door was on the wall to my left, and I headed towards it immediately. It didn't even occur to me that I might, you know, be restricted from food or whatever. What are they going to do – give me a paper plate? I need food, for heaven's sake. I stuck my nose obnoxiously through the small bars on the window, "Guard! Guard! I need something to eat!"

A guard appeared suddenly just in front of me, and I jumped at his large stature, as he glared down at me, "Why should I give you food?"

Oh God, this is ridiculous. "Because..." Alright, so I might not be able to think of an exact reason as to why he should give me food. Not a big deal, right? "Because I'm a good person." I sighed up at him, licking the front of my teeth and figuring that if that wouldn't work, than what would. I gave up quickly, the rumbling in my stomach persistent and almost mocking of my position – as if it was telling me that if I had just sat there and eaten the food like a good girl, I wouldn't be in this situation. "Look, just go get Murtagh and speak with him." The guard turned his head, mumbling something in his language before looking back at me and continuing to glare. "Mur-tagh," I over enunciated, figuring it hadn't understood me, "Man with red dragon! Comprendez?"

"It is being done," the thing informed me stiffly, and I wrinkled my nose distastefully at it before sitting down against Emerson.

I don't like those things, I informed him stubbornly. They're weird and look funny.

Emerson's laugh rang through my head, slightly shaking the very core of my being before he settled on words to express his feelings, Says the girl with a dragon; it's lucky you don't look so odd.

You do look odd, I informed him, giggling to myself, You're just also nice to me. They're just mean. All militant. They're probably some crazy paramilitary group that wants to take over the world. Of course, at that moment Murtagh came swooping in like the King of the Dragon Riders, his chin held high and his sword's holder glimmering like it was made purely of jewels.

"You called for me," Murtagh questioned, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword and his eyes darting from me to Emerson.

Did you do something to him when he came to leave me here, I questioned, sighing as my only answer was a few assorted images of Emerson's jaws snapping and the prison door slamming shut. "Yeah, just tell your goonies I'm allowed to eat food."

Murtagh swallowed, finally letting his arms fall to his side and leaning back into the wall just next to the prison door, "Yes – that was their instructions."

I scoffed, "So much for only keeping me here for my protection. What, scared I'm going to choke on a chicken bone?"

"No, from now on I've decided you will dine with me, upstairs. And once I think you're capable of taking any sort of care of yourself, you'll be given your own room."

My jaw dropped, "I'm completely able to take care of myself, thank you very much."

"And a master of forethought; you will be given dress for dinner."

My jaw dropped, feeling very obviously offended at what he'd said. Emerson, half in jest of me and half in annoyance with Murtagh's being within twenty feet of him, roared so loudly that the room shook and I had to dive for cover when a few of the ceiling stone's shook loose. His laugh filled my head, I can hear him dodging stones out there, too.

I snorted, despite myself, and settled against back against Emerson's torso, suddenly all-too-ready to be out of this castle. Before, when he saved me, it was like he was actually following through with his promise that I wasn't actually a prisoner. Now, not so much. Now I'm stuck in here, admittedly with my dragon, counting the minutes until he's willing to feed me. I mean, I have to earn myself a scrape. So, what's the plan?

Emerson didn't seem phased by my change of heart, I don't think either of us will be able to get much done while we're locked in a dungeon.

So play diplomatic queen Rider thing? The plan seemed... almost cowardly, but at the same time it made sense. Somehow, though, I felt like I should just run him through with a sword and get this all over with. Like that will make everything easier for me, or whatever. God, I'm weird.

I grimaced as I looked down at the skirt, which was inordinately big on me and poofed out in random, uncomfortable places. Emerson, I whined at the dragon, who at this point it pretty much my better half. Emerson, I look like a doll, don't I?

Emerson's amused laugh rang once again through my head as he tried to suppress his body's physical convulsions. No, no, you look fine.

Show me then, liar, I challenged him, and groaned as an image of me, pouting with frizzy hair and a large, gray-splotched poofy thing wrapped around my body. I mean, really, is all this lace necessary? It itches like it's pure wool, or a billion mosquito bites. Maybe this is my punishment for trying to run away; I knew being allowed to stay with Emerson was too good to be true.

I honestly think you are wearing the style of the times. Emerson's gaze was finally sympathetic as he absorbed how completely ridiculous I looked.

Screw the style of the times; I look like I stepped out of a scrap drawing bin in Walt Disney! And it swims on me; when are clothes that don't fit ever actually in style? How could anything on this dress ever be a style? Feeling authoritive, and more importantly comfortable, with my dragon, I picked up his front paw and used his claw to cut a large gash around the front of my waist and down the sides, smiling as the lace fell to the ground and revealed a light, flowing under dress. Or is it a petticoat? Hold on, don't coats go on the outside.

Whatever it is, it's more comfortable than scratchy lace, and I turned and carefully traced Emerson's claw along the base of my back. Emerson had completely let his arm go loose, probably out of fear of hurting me if he tried to fight me or do it himself. The claw was heavy, but I just managed to lift it high enough to cut off the puffy, middle part of my sleeves.

There, much better, I decided as I confidently rested my hands on my hips, licking the front of my teeth as I looked at myself, I can actually wear this, now.

It's still much too big, Emerson reminded me, and I rolled my eyes at him. It wasn't like Murtagh left me string in case I wanted to alter my dress; all I have to work with is whatever my dragon coughs up and a few bits of straw that I guess is supposed to be bedding, or something. Maybe if I could get the chains off the wall I could pretend to be all gothic/emo style, but I don't think that would be a good idea.

With an astoundingly loud grunt, the guard opened the prison door and motioned for me to come towards him. Emerson, as if it was a reflex, started to growl menacingly, but the guard obviously took no notice of his threat as he continued to grunt at me. I'm pretty sure he's telling me to hurry up, but I'm just inferring it from his grimace and his sporadic hand motions.

I sighed as I stood there, glancing between Emerson and the guard. I don't wanna go, I told my dragon stubbornly, taking a moment to pout at him, I don't like this plan anyway.

This plan is going to get you food, Liaden, Emerson told me firmly, Go. I thought you were starving.

Yeah, but then I remembered what the food looked like when Murtagh tried to feed me before, and I've lost my appetite. Emerson was both amused and annoyed, obviously wanting me to eat more than anything else. I could only bring myself to roll my eyes in response to his worry, which was completely unnecessary in my opinion. I mean, if we just break out of here fast then food shouldn't be an issue. My starving to death could be our motivation!

But I've also learned better than to argue with Emerson when it comes to me and my welfare – he always seems to think that he knows best. And so instead I let my head hang low as I stumbled towards the door, refusing to look back at my dragon in a vain attempt to make him feel guilty. Of course, instead his feeling of being satisfied spread through me, and I grit my teeth. Nothing about this dinner seems appealing… at all. It's got Murtagh, disgusting food, and no dragon.

Heh, who would've ever thought that a dragon not being at dinner would be a con, or even a part of the list in the first place? It amazes me, how much my life can change in just a couple of days. How much my attitude changed in the face of danger, and how natural it felt for me to be this way. Words seemed to flow easily, and my thoughts were uninhibited.

The stairs I followed the guard up were steep and jagged-looking, the torches flickering threateningly against the wall and the horns of the guard almost wavering in the quivering light. By the end of the steps, my breathing was slightly… off. I found us in the stables, just like Emerson had told me, and my heart broke when the first horse I saw was Pappy, his withers bloody and his ears pressed flat against his head in a threatening manner.

The guard grumbled as he walked passed Pappy, my own feet glued to the floor in shock as I looked at my horse; Pappy, the noble bay gelding who was almost as tall as the guard the punched him in the face as he walked by.

My heart squeezed in my chest – punching horses was a common practice in horse racing, meant to make horses more aggressive when they actually raced. Too bad Pappy is not a race horse, he's my big teddy bear. In the same way that I grew frenzied at the sight of Emerson being attacked, I nearly lost my mind at the sight of my horse being punched in the face by that thing's big, blue, hairy fists.

Akin to Xena, I let out a savage cry and dove from the thing's horns, some sort of strange logic telling me that they were the weak point and that if I could break them off, I could also win the fight. Digging my nails sharply into the thing's back, I tried to climb up towards the delicate-tips of the horns, Emerson's roar shaking the floor beneath us. The thing screamed, reaching around his back to try and get me. I felt like I was Tod in the Fox and the Hound when he tries to fight the bear, but Tod won, and I'm trying like hell.

Of course, it only took a matter of seconds before the thing grabbed me and flipped me over it's shoulder, grunting as it continued to drag me forward. I screamed, biting it's dirty arm and ignoring the taste of soot as I tried to rip it apart. Really, I don't see why anyone bothers to mess with what is mine anymore. And trust me – that horse is mine.

I screamed all the way out of the stables and out the door. It was when the cool breeze hit my face that my thoughts cleared enough to hear Emerson's scolding, Study the landscape, child! If we ever want to make our escape, we need to know where we are going and what is where.

I murmured a few obscene words under my breath as I spun and twisted in my guard's arms, trying to get a clear view of the landscape. Of course, it being just passed dusk, I couldn't honestly see anything to clearly, but I shared the image with Emerson begrudgingly, There, happy? We're so getting my horse out of here ASAP; if I get him back and he so much as thinks about biting me I'm going to run them all through with-

Save your breath, child; I didn't come all this way to forget the damn equine. I sighed in contentment, momentarily relaxing the guard's arms. Of course, it was at that moment I realized I was in a huge, blue-being-with-horn's arms, and of course my initial action was to rebel savagely. Not to the point of biting them, which the more I think about it the more embarrassing it is, but I can't just let them think that this is comfortable or anything. It's not – my knee is twisted at a weird angle and I'm freaking out about my horse.

In what could have been hours, we made it to the Dining Room, my journey there completely passing by before I even realized we were in the castle. The Dining Room was… kind of scary. Everything was made of a sickeningly red wood or painted black. Jewels sparkled in everywhere – in the surface of the table, on the silverware, in the candlesticks. It honestly seemed a little overdone for my tastes, and I couldn't imagine Murtagh having specifically asking for this, even if the red color was close to his dragon's. I mean, I know I don't want my kitchen done in emerald-green.

Murtagh was already sitting in a large, ornate chair that resembled a throne more than just a basic chair. His hands were crossed, and he didn't blink when he saw me being carried into the room. His hands were resting peacefully on the table in a position that almost made it look like he was praying, but in reality was more like Mr. Burns from the Simpsons whenever he says 'excellent.' Without so much of a word of greeting, the guard plopped me into a seat at the opposite end of the table and made his way towards Murtagh, obviously the commander of the entire thing-army.

With a few hushed words, Murtagh nodded curtly and the thing left, heading back out the door he'd brought me in through. Murtagh let a bit of a smirk find it's way onto his face as he leaned back in his chair, flicking his hair out of his face to see me clearly, "I've been told you attacked your guard on the way up here."

"I wasn't trying to escape," I snipped back at him, looking around for rolls. Do they do rolls in the eighteenth century? "The guard punched my horse; I retaliated."

Murtagh quirked an eyebrow, this time his face becoming serious, "And did the dress I had sent to you also attack the horse you so graciously left in my care?"

I glared at him, choosing silence over an actual answer. I mean, really, the horse I left in his care? I was tricked by my dragon – I thought we'd taken my horse with us! I would never leave him to the likes of an abusive Dragon Rider who is probably just tenderizing my horse for his dragon. I, personally, like to keep my animals alive and healthy, but just call me the crazy one.

Looking for a distraction, I looked around the room hopefully. It wasn't like there was a lack of things to look at – the room was covered in realistic-looking pictures in frames that were made almost purely of ruby or onyx. The shininess of the room alone could have amused me, if I wasn't fuming and an unwilling participant in this dinner.

Murtagh sighed as a bunch of trays were brought out to us, presumably the first course. Maybe the first course is a nice dinner roll and some butter. "So, I supposed you have a lot of questions for me; about dragons, about training, about the King…"

My eyebrow arched; the king? Training? "Uh, right." Emerson, what do I do?

Lie to him, Emerson offered, the complete anti-moral being. If he thinks we don't know what's going on, he'll take advantage of us.

Emerson, I was raised in a world where none of this existed and am now in a world where we are, in all seriousness, prisoners. How in the world could he take advantage of us anymore? I smiled bracingly, though, "Just tell me how it all… fell into place for you."

"Well, I was once foolish enough," Murtagh started, the cover on the tray opening to reveal soup. Well, at least it's recognizable, "To have joined the Varden rebel army and fight against the King, forgetting entirely the way the world was before he came to our rescue." My nose wrinkled – I'm an American girl; kings sound like a bad idea to me.

"The way the world was?"

"Ruled by fat and lazy Dragon Riders – we were once a noble band of people; we lived above the king's laws, and enforced justice. But the last Dragon Riders, before Galbatorix led the revolution, put our people to shame. Thanks to Galbatorix, you and I can be proud to be Dragon Riders."

My brow furrowed, "If we can be so proud, why is there a rebel army?"

"People don't always like what's good for them," Murtagh shoved a cold smile onto his face, and I flinched at it. How does he always manage to look so… harsh? The soup was taken away by that moment, and I cleared my throat as I noticed the distinctly human servants who came and went throughout the meal. The next course was some sort of meat that I shoved into my mouth without discrimination. "So, Liaden." Again, he sounded harsh – I was already too used to being called 'child.' "Where did you find your dragon?"

I shrugged, How much should I tell him?

Just make him believe that you know what you're doing in Alagaisa, even if it wouldn't make sense for you to not know about your country's war. "I found him a bridge outside of the town where I live." There, honest enough without being too specific.

"And… where do you live," Murtagh continued to question, not even bothering to try and contort his face into whatever crazy shape would be appropriate with this question.

"Up North," I quickly made up. I hope they do things by North, South, East and West here. Because otherwise I'm so screwed.

"What village up North?" Oh… I should have seen that one coming.

"Oh, just a small one. Phila…York." I mentally slapped myself – like that was actually a real city anywhere. I could have just gotten away with Philadelphia or New York. That pause just gave me away.

Murtagh smirked at me, and for a second I remembered that there was a part of Murtagh that felt real feelings, as opposed to the ones he obviously painted on for whatever reason, "You know, you don't have to lie. I know all the villages. I have no intention of hurrying there and burning it down, if that's what you think."

I let out a sigh of relief and shook my head, "I'd really rather not tell you. I'm… very protective." Hey, that isn't even a lie!

Oh joy, Liaden. I pouted before I remembered that Emerson couldn't even see me, and instead of Emerson I was talking with a real, live person.

"What did you say about training," I questioned, trying to seem casual. Because if this is like school, I'm just going to go back to my world now. Or die. One of the two.

"Training – for you and your dragon. Swordplay, battle techniques, how to use magic and such." Murtagh was rambling off a list of words I never thought would be applicable to my training in anything. Except swordplay, which I do know quite a bit of. Then again, I feel like if I lose a match here it's more than just shameful. It's dead…ful. "We can start whenever you're ready, although I would hope to start sooner rather than later."

"When are you going to train me?" If I ask the right questions, this boy just doesn't stop talking!

"After dinner – I'm busy during the day." Can we all say sketchy in sync, now? Sketch-y.

"Well, then let's start tonight," I offered. Rather get all this done sooner; that way we have some idea of what to do when we get out of here.

Agreed.

"A…" For a second, Murtagh just stared at me, completely speechless. "Alright. Just let me…" Murtagh droned off then, and I smiled as I slipped into secret conversation with Emerson. Every now and then, I caught sight of Murtagh's genuine smile, and I felt myself blush. It was like the more he spoke to me, the more comfortable he felt, and the more amazed he was. It was cool, to see anyone transform like that. And when he smiles, he's actually really cute.

I'll not be bothered by you until I'm picking sides and pulling strings
I'm living lies and shredding the skin; I'm open wide and letting you in
I'm wronging rights

Believe by Breaking Benjamin