This is weird - because these chapters are twice as long, I'm at the point in the story where the romance starts to really develop; the problem is that in my head I'm like 'but it's only chapter seven!' Wierdness.

Fun fact: [for those of you who don't read my other stories, fun facts are random little tidbits about the story, production, concept, etc.] Originally, Liaden was going to be named Faylinn and Jen, Garrett's girlfriend, was going to be named Lillith. But then I realized that Paolini has another character with a nearly identical name to Faylinn - Fäolin

I slowly started to suck at my teeth as I stared at the pebble that Murtagh held in his palm in front of me. Apparently, I'm supposed to make it hover now. Of course, I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing and was eavesdropping on Emerson's conversation with Thorn the entire time Murtagh was explaining the complexities of magic to me. Tonight just… isn't the kind of night to work, you know? It's strangely warm, here in my wool tights and short school uniform, as I've come to call it. And the lake looks so sparkly in the full moon.

Murtagh sighed, his fingers folding up and his voice a little harsh, "Do you even know what I want you to do?" I rolled my eyes, feeling particularly playful.

"Uh, duh, I'm supposed to be making that pebble levitate." For another few minutes, we sat in silence. I, personally, was perfectly content staring at the pebble, which was a strange, deep blue color with flecks of white that swirled endlessly before my eyes. I don't mind that Murtagh is slowly getting annoyed with me – Emerson and Thorn are within distance of seeing me, and apparently Emerson is freakishly fast. He'll get to me in time.

"Do you realize how frustrating this is to watch you try and do," Murtagh questioned, and instead of getting offended I fell onto my back into the sand, which was scratchy and made me squirm like a small child.

"Do you realize how epically boring this all is," I asked him right back, my voice whiney. Really, I just want to actually do something; he talked about magic and its responsibilities with me for, like, an hour before he even told me how to do anything. And now what am I doing? Levitating pebbles. I don't even know the true name for a pebble.

Murtagh rolled his eyes, "It's a basic exercise."

"Exactly,"I replied emphatically, "It's basic. Do you know what I would be doing back home?" God, I never thought I'd miss everything they gave me, but I never realized how boring doing things slowly really is. "I fence, I ride horses competitively, I paint, I'm tutored, I tutor, I take all accelerated clas-"

"And on top of all that you breathe as well, I assume, but I don't really care. Magic is dangerous and the first thing you need to learn to do is focus it on something that isn't dangerous." Murtagh dropped the pebble onto the ground and brushed his hands together before falling back onto his palms, glaring slightly at me.

"It's dangerous, but you offer up your hand as a platform? What happens if I misdirect my magic and your hand goes flying off?"

"I'm confident in my ability to defend myself from any magic you can perform as of yet," the boy, man, responded, the glare remaining in that same, stony place, and yet just a hint more lively than most of his other facial expressions. I kind of want a real facial expression… what can I do to make him feel so intensely that he'll look like a person?

"Tell me about the happiest moment of your life," I offered. Hey, I figure either the question is so off base it will surprise him into a real expression, or the memory will actually be happy enough that he'll forget he's supposed to be all stoic and cold. Either way, I'm figuring on a win-win situation. And maybe a story is just what I need to help me remember how to focus. Maybe I can't focus because I was up so late last night.

"The day Thorn hatched for me; now, about this pe-"

"No, no, that's cheating," I waved my hands at him, forcing him to arch an eyebrow in a way that was so close to real I wanted to shake him, "You have to describe what exactly happened and what you really felt and such. You can just tell me about the happiest day of your life in all of five words."

"I did it in six; magic i-"

"More," I insisted; really, has he never told a story before in his whole life? Most of the time when I ask him about dragons or the empire he can't shut up. But ask him about one personal story that's not even completely unrelated to the previous two topics and he clams up and starts to lecture me about… boring stuff.

"What more do you want? This has nothing to do with your training." Oh, yes it does. Anything that has anything to do with dragons has something to do with my training, if I twist it the right way. Really, I have no attention span tonight. It's like I've got senior-itis, or something worse.

"It has everything to do with my training – I never got to have a day when Emerson hatched; I should know what it's like. For reference."

"You didn't have a day when Emerson hatched?" Oh… poop.

"Well… he hatched at night." This should be good. "I, you know, fell asleep."

Murtagh's head flipped back as he openly laughed for a split second at my horribly-crafted lie. Really, at this point it's just as dangerous to have me lying as it is to tell Murtagh everything and see if he… experiments on us. Really, though, what can he do? It's not like Emerson will have been the first dragon to force his own growth, right? And I'm certain that I can't be the first Earth…ian to come here. It's just… not possible.

I probably should alright this with Emerson. I knew he'd say no, though, and so I pushed on passed the childish part of me that claimed I needed permission to do this. It's my history too, right? "Emerson used my energy to speed up his growth; the amount of energy necessary to… do everything made me faint; when I came to he was almost six months, even though he says I'd only been out a day or so."

The moment the words came out of my mouth, I knew that I had gone too far. Murtagh's eyes lit up, and for a split second I thought he might call me a witch and throw me into the lake to see if I'd float or sink. I forgot that I was in a world where that kind of stuff isn't normal, but it's still amazing. I don't even think they have a cross to burn me at. But still, that look of genuine interest is… attractive, but disconcerting. As much as I like it when urtagh has an actual feeling, I get freaked out majorly.

After a moment, though, the look dulled, and he smiled, "Thorn's growth was forced, too; not to the extent that Emerson's was, and Thorn didn't do it himself, but it was forced nonetheless. In preparation for a battle." Murtagh leaned in, a genuine smirk finding its way onto his face, "Besides – I figured he'd forced it somehow. I'd only lost his egg a few days before you showed up."

I honestly have no idea whether that makes me feel better or worse; either way, I'm not throwing in the part that I'm from another planet. Of course, the part that is honestly mine to tell, and I can't even think of a decent way to say it. And to think – I do well in my English class. Then again, I'm not sure how being able to analyze the Scarlet Letter and figure out Hawthorne's opinion on the Puritans has anything to do with telling your Dragon-Rider-Mentor that you're from another planet. Hawthorne was simple; this is… awkward.

Murtagh pulled away from me, "Thorn was born literally the size of a small housecat, but solid like a tree stump. He didn't stumble or wander around when he was born; he walked confidently to me and he touched his nose to my palm, and I knew that there was no mistaking him; he wanted me, he'd hatched for me. It felt like the first time in my life that I could call something truly mine, and I… I loved it. I loved the idea of him being meant for me."

I wasn't sure which emotion was most prevalent as Murtagh finished his recounting of his happiest moment – shock that he'd actually told me something about his life, something that felt almost forbidden to talk about, or honor because he thought I was worth sharing something with. Maybe telling him about Emerson wasn't such a bad idea, I considered.

Murtagh shifted awkwardly, and I took that as my cue to jump in and offer up something sappy, "When Emerson first hatched, I thought he wanted to eat me." Murtagh snorted as he dropped the pebble into the sand, taking to drawing circles with his left forefinger instead. "But… he calmed me down, I guess. He seemed so scared that I wouldn't like him that I couldn't help but like him. And then I was pissed when he touched my palm and stole my energy. That killed."

Murtagh's face drew back into a half-hearted smirk as he studied to patterns he was drawing, his lips pursing more and more as he sunk, presumably, deeper and deeper into thought. I glanced towards the shore where Thorn was circling Emerson, and I felt the familiar pang of protectiveness take over my body momentarily. If you could not look at me like that; I'm training for land-combat and you're very distracting.

Well, make your lesson over; mine is. Seriously – Murtagh is lucky I paid attention through the stick-play part of the lesson, because that part was just painful. Really – I was distracted enough that Murtagh hit me in the back of my knees nine times and once in my stomach. He's a take-no-prisoners kind of guy.

Liaden, would you ple- My eyes had trailed away from my dragon eventually, despite the urge I'd felt to somehow fly over and protect him. But at the loud roar, followed by Emerson's exclamation of, DAMN IT, it was kind of hard not to look and see what had happened. It was one of those times, though, that as soon as I looked to see what was happening, I immediately wished for the ignorance of the previous moments back.

Thorn had leapt at Emerson, probably sensing that my dragon was distracted. Emerson was not struggling helplessly beneath Thorn, who was digging his claws into Emerson's stomach and biting at anything he could reach. I leapt to my feet helplessly, figuring that there had to be something I could do to get Emerson out of the fight. Besides, Thorn needs a good talking to about learning to respect a conversation between a Rider and their dragon.

Of course, Murtagh's arm looped around my waist just as I was about to dive into the lake; I looked over my shoulder at him, accepting that once Murtagh had a hold of me there was no way to get away. Murtagh looked… slightly livid, and a little amused. His eyes reflected the moonlight in a way that was… entrancing, especially as Emerson's cries of pain died away in my head and was replaced by a rare silence.

Murtagh smirked down at me, "You'll have to learn to be a little more subtle, and have a little more forethought, Dragon Rider." I huffed, whatever momentary spell the moon had cast entirely broken. I hate it when he calls me Dragon Rider – it's like the equivalent of calling me an 'it,' or something. I supposed Dragon Rider is something, but I'd much rather be called by my name, thank you very much.

"My name is Liaden; Liaden Ardal." He… probably didn't need that second part. Defiantly, I shrugged his arms off of around me and took a single step closer to the lake, refusing to look at him.

"And where do you hail from, Liaden Ardal?" The question was almost a challenge, like I wasn't telling him where I was from because I was scared or something. I'm not scared – he can't do anything to my world. It's literally worlds away. It's just… not a good idea to tell him. Murtagh knew I wasn't going to tell him, though; whether or not he knows why is an entirely different story, but he knew I wasn't giving up the name of my hometown that easy, "You'll learn to trust me, Dragon Rider."

At that moment, Thorn responded to a unheard command, leaping into the air before gliding carefully towards us. Emerson followed suit easily, despite where I could see gashes and bite marks bleeding from his side. The blood, which looked black in the lurid moonlight, hit the lake water with such force that a small wave erupted at each side, and grimaced. I couldn't ride him back. I can't ride you back. "I can't ride him back." And that, children, is called repetition. It strengthens my resolve.

Murtagh snorted, "Then how will you get back?"

Child, don't be stubborn – I'm fine. The fly back is easy.

"I'll walk for all I care – I'm not riding him back." Yes, that was necessary. "Bring me a horse. Point me in the right direction. I'm not making him carry me."

You weigh practically nothing! I'm a dragon, for goodness sakes! Emerson landed next to me with a snort, shoving his head between me and Murtagh so that I was forced to respond to him.

And you can fly faster without me on your back to get scared and slow you down. Murtagh had already jumped onto Thorn's saddle, and he rolled his eyes down at me.

"Please, just get on him. He'll be fine – it's what he was built for."

Exactly! Get on!

"No," I responded to both of them, my eyes attracted to the oozing cuts, "You mine as well leave me here because I'm not getting on you like that!"

I'm not leaving you here like this!

You're going to go get your cuts-

"I'll stay with her, dragon," Murtagh offered, slipping off Thorn's back fluidly, "You go get bandaged; the guards can bring us horses. I just hope her majesty realizes how much time this will cost us." Murtagh's glare was pointed, but I ignored his sarcasm in favor of sitting stubbornly on the ground. Emerson's eyes flashed at me, and I could feel his anger at the situation.

I won't leave you alone with him.

I rolled my eyes, "You do it every night." Emerson's eyes narrowed again, this time in annoyance at my bringing our argument into the realm of actual recognition. "Emerson – go; the longer you stay here, the longer I have to sit here, and the sand is itchy."

With a final glare and a protective nudge to my shoulder, Emerson pushed off the ground and started back towards the castle, following Thorn's example and stream-lining himself to catch up with his master. As Murtagh took a seat next to me, turning to face the lake, I began to suck at my teeth, the image of Emerson's wounds stuck in my head. They looked so… painful. I feel like an idiot for thinking anything different, but just the look of them was sickening.

Murtagh took a deep breath before he finally said anything, "You know – it could have been worse. It usually is, when dragons get into a fight. Tho-"

"Shove it," I responded immediately. I really don't need any reminding right now that Emerson somehow got off easy; nothing about that was easy. It was… unnecessary. Disgusting. Like a bad dream.

Murtagh's quiet laugh just barely caught my ears, "You're a strange girl, Liaden." At least now I have a name. "Why does him being hurt bother you so much? He's going to have to fight with worse; after all, we are in a war, and there are other dra-"

"Look, you're not helping," I snapped at him, taking a moment to glare at him before I went back to pretending he didn't exist. Well, hold on, I need to know something. "How long do you think it will take the horses to get here?" After this, he doesn't exist.

"Oh, another half hour, maybe." Great. Splendid. Fantabulous. Maybe I just should have ridden on Emerson back – I have the feeling Murtagh won't leave this whole 'refusing to ride Emerson when he is hurt' business alone until I'm either crying or I kill him. Or I get over it, but we've got a better chance of hell freezing over. I will not be the reason my dragon gets so hurt he can't fly again, or something.

At that moment, of course, the dust and sand that literally made up this forsaken desert filled my nose, and I was forced to sneeze and make noise. Very much against my will, might I add; Murtagh didn't respond, but still, I don't want this to somehow translate to friendly terms. He and I are obviously not friends.

"Why are you so protective of him?"

"Because he's my dragon, okay," I shot back at him, too frustrated with his asking to care about whether or not I should actually be telling him this. Anything to make him shut up. "He's the one thing I have anymore, now that you've taken my freedom and are keeping me from my home." That actually made a little sense. Never mind that it's a good ninety nine percent truth – I'm not spilling the rest of my guts out to him, even though I'm angry! "Do you get that, Rider?"

Murtagh sighed, looking at me for a moment and catching my eyes. In that second, he looked… human, for nearly the first time. I took advantage of the moment, wishing I had a photographic memory so that I could take a snapshot of all the hidden meaning I wish I could make out underneath the thinning layer of anger and coldness, "Yes."

It was one of those moments sent from God when I saw the Urgals galloping towards us on the horizon, the horses they rode too large to actually be horses as they dragged along two other normal-sized horses behind them. Of course, God ruined it all when I found that one of the horses they'd brought was Pappy, who despite looking a little better than he had last night, was in worse shape than Emerson. Really, do these Urgals have no brain? Is the area where their brains should be just the base of their horns, because if I was refusing to ride my dragon because he's hurt then why would I agree to ride my abused horse!?

Murtagh stood in preparation for our departure, even before the Urgals had slowed enough to a stop for me to be a hundred percent sure it was my Pappy; the horse was a huge bay with Pappy's face, and I was basing my assumptions on that. "I'm not going," I informed Murtagh, trying to sound polite. I don't know how I feel, except amazed that Emerson let them leave with Pappy, thinking I would be willing to ride him.

The dark-haired boy spun on me quickly as the Urgals pulled their horses to a short stop a few feet away, "What?" His eyebrows shot up under his unkempt hair, and I had to concentrate on the fact that no one was riding Pappy back instead of the fact that he looks genuinely surprised, an expression which looks unnecessarily amusing on him. "And why not? His mane is too short?"

"No – he's been abused. I've seen your men do it – he's got gashes all over him!" Murtagh's face hardened, his eyes burning into me. Frustration had taken the place of surprise, and stolen most of his beauty with it. What's sad is that I actually mean only most of his beauty – the intensity of his eyes, though… as long as he really feels what he's showing, he'll be beautiful because of those eyes.

"Then I'll ride him."

"No you won't – no one is riding that horse; he's my horse." I didn't think I'd have to give this lesson twice in one night, especially since I'm not supposed to be the teacher. Honestly, I expected more from Murtagh; when A equals B and B is mine, then you can't ride my abused animals! Whether or not that made total sense has nothing to do with the point; the point is that Murtagh needs a brain.

"Then what do you plan on doing to get back? Would you like my Urgals to ride back and get your dragon for you? Or perhaps a magic carpet?" I froze at the first… actually humorous thing he'd even almost-yelled at me spewed from his mouth. Murtagh took that as a sign of his victory, and leaned down to pull me up harshly by the arms, "Now, this isn't that hard; he's tall, but I'm sure you've done it befo-"

"No, I'm not riding him back; I'd rather ride with one of the guards than ride Pappy when he's like that." For a second, Murtagh looked down at me, and it was then I realized just how dangerous a position I was in; Murtagh, me, and two Urgals, with no one but a de-spirited Pappy to help me. This is starting to scream bad idea. Emerson…

If he heard me, he was too angry at my not riding him to reply. Murtagh, though, didn't take any foreboding step closer, and more importantly he didn't just roll his eyes, grab his sword and lop my head off. That part's key, too. I started to suck at my teeth, wondering why he looked so… pensive. What was there to think about? I'm not riding Pappy. Simple. If magic were that si-

Oh my God I'm in the air!

That was… shocking. Did you guys know Murtagh's shoulder is really bony and uncomfortable to be hoisted up on like a sack of potatoes? It's not a well-known thing, I'm sure. I get the feeling I'm one of the first people to be carried by Murtagh, Ruby Rider Extraordinaire. But really, I don't think it's possible to under-rate the feeling of his shoulder digging into my ribs.

My heart sunk as I felt my bottom be forced into strong contact with a horse; Pappy, no less. I shouldn't have pushed my luck – I should have just ridden Emerson home. I could be asleep by now if I'd only ridden Emerson home. Well, not home, but you guys get what I mean. Now I have to ride Pappy.

Pouting as I turned to face the right way in the saddle, I realized something… strange. Pappy was suddenly at least a hand shorter and chestnut with a skinny neck and almost no mane. "I've changed my mind; watch out – get on his neck." Murtagh's voice surprised me, but his strong hand pushed me over the palmal and momentarily onto the horses' neck, where I felt supremely uncomfortable. I tend to land on the horse's neck just before I fall to the ground.

But Murtagh kept one hand wrapped securely around my arm as the other did something that resulted in a few clinking noises, followed by the saddle being pulled off and my body sliding back into place behind the horse's whithers. "Now stay on, alright?"

I had half a mind to tell Murtagh that I was perfectly capable at riding a horse, if not better than he was, when he shocked me. Really, I should just stop expecting things from him, because he never ceases to surprise me. He shoved the saddle at one of the Urgals, who accepted it begrudgingly, before turning to Pappy and undoing his saddle.

Once that business was taken care of, Murtagh shoved handed Pappy's reins to an Urgal and said something to them in their language. Nodding, they took off at a slow canter, a pace that Pappy seemed comfortable enough with. I bit my lip, wishing that I didn't have to worry about him keeping pace at all, but I figured I was lucky enough that Murtagh wasn't making me ride him.

By the time I'd watched Pappy disappear into the distance, Murtagh had conjured up a stone tall enough that he could mount the horse we were riding behind me, his leg swinging out carefully. "Thanks," I muttered, honestly not liking that I had to thank him. I couldn't help but remember that if it wasn't for him, I probably wouldn't be in this situation.

Murtagh paused halfway through his motion of leaning forward to pick the reins out of my hands. His arms literally were frozen uselessly on either side of me, like the word had turned him into a statue. He sat there for a few minutes, and I wondered if I'd offended him; maybe 'thanks' means something else in this world, and I just told him to go… screw himself, or whatever.

Without another word, though, he leaned forward and took a hold of the reins, like it was safer for him to be driving or whatever. But, at risk of offending him more than I probably already had that night, I let him take the reins and instead dug my hands into the horse's mane, trying to feel out what we were doing before Murtagh kicked the horse to do it. Why? Because otherwise I'll fall off and die. I knew Murtagh had a reason for having me ride with him.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Breathe in, breathe out, tell me all of your doubts
Everybody bleeds this way, just the same
Breathe in and breathe out, move on and break down
If everyone goes away, I would stay
We push and pull, and I fall down sometimes
But I'm not letting go – you hold the other line
Cause there is a light in your eyes, in your eyes

Breathe in Breathe out by Mat Kearney