Full title: I Need You to Spill Your Guts; Until Then You Can Runaway
I'm very sorry to say, my dear readers, that I won't be updating next week. It's exam week for my end-of-term, and for the first time in my life I'm legit-failing two classes.
I sighed as I fell into a familiar place against Emerson's fore…claw, So, you feeling any better?
Emerson stretched beneath me, his claws scraping through the hay and into the wooden floor in a way that was probably dangerous, Could be worse. Could have had one of them stab me in the eye with a knife. They I'd be out an eye and still very sore. Instead, I'm just very sore.
Maybe we should cancel our lesson tonight, I suggested, trying to keep all ulterior motives from my mind, I mean, if you're sore, what can you and Thorn really get done?
You just don't want to have to deal with trying to make the pebble float again, do you?
Emerson's tone was accusing, and I quickly agreed, fighting to suppress the memory of Murtagh as he walked down the hall next to me after breakfast, bathed in the mid-morning sun. Sure, we'd very obviously seperated, but it was like he was forcing the image of himself into my head just to see how long it would take to drive me crazy. The problem isn't him and the way he's kind of handsome, or even the way that the sunlight looked when it reflected of his hair, which in turn had somehow fallen in front of his grayish-brown eyes. None of that was as disturbing as the look of genuine laughter that filled his face and almost lit up the hallway of its own accord.
No, no, I'm not letting Emerson know about any of that. I don't actually have a crush on Murtagh; I think Murtagh is disgusting because my dragon intrinsically knows that we don't agree with him and his side of the war. And yes, for the record, that all sounds very ridiculous indeed, but that doesn't change the facts anymore. Those are all facts. Except the crush part. That part's just a… a theory. As to why I can't stop thinking about him. A theory that's WRONG!
Yeah, I really hate having to float those pebbles, I tried to be genuine, and I would've succeeded if the relief that he'd bought the lie hadn't flooded through my body at the end. Irony – my celebration that I got away with it was the sure sign that I'd actually gotten away with anything.
Child, what is it you don't want me to know, Emerson's deep tones filled my head, and I closed my eyes in a vain attempt to somehow defend my most recent memories from his inquisitive eye. All I have to do is not actually think about them, or anything. Just clear my mind; even if Emerson suspects something, he won't be able to prove it. A shocked feeling flooded through my mind, then, a feeling that was very much not my own. Emerson began to roar, and I quickly scooted away from his twitching claws and towards the stone wall of the stable. WHAT DID HE DO TO YOU?
"Nothing, nothing," I screamed back, panicked by his shock and how he was expressing it physically. The guards, though, took it as their sign that 'nothing, nothing' was wrong, and they didn't have to storm in and defend me. I saw them ready, looking at each other should I change my mind, "Stand down," I ordered them, and at that moment the memory of Murtagh saving me from having my head bashed in on my first escape attempt came to mind.
Emerson nearly roared, but instead suppressed it, instead only letting a deep, rumbling growl trickle out. It was still menacing, though. You are not to act on these… things. Is that clear?
Oh God this is awkward. These things? There are no things – it was a passing thought; a momentary attract- Emerson growled again, and I skipped over the ending of the word –that was really just momentary and he'll never know about it or even notice anything is different. We can escape tonight, if you want.
Carefully, Emerson tucked his legs underneath his body so that he looked more like a roosting chicken than a menacing dragon. His neck arched gracefully, and I sucked in a breath when I thought about the dream I'd had the night before. Emerson's eyes flashed to mine, and with a few quick moments he saw the main points of my nightmare. I watched as his body relaxed a little, a complete contradictory to mine tensing at the idea of Emerson dying, before he stretched his neck out towards me, nudging my chin carefully with his nose, Not while you're still in this world, my child.
The last thing I wanted to think about were the implications of what he'd said – that he could die once I left this world – but they came to mind. Would it be worth it for me to leave if I knew Emerson would have to die in the process?
My eyes blurred out of sheer laziness as I continued to stare at the pebble for the second night in the row, this time with an idea as to what should be happening, but no real drive to do it. Magic just… isn't my thing. I want to go back to stick-play; that's fun. I get to randomly hit Murtagh in the head. And then he screams and curses and I just laugh at him. Now that's what I call good schooling.
I sucked at my teeth for a moment before deciding to ignore my teacher's instructions, confident that I could get away with it here in Alagaësia, most of all with Murtagh. He's just not being very strict or angry tonight, and with no Emerson no one is here to tell me to concentrate when the dragons randomly fly over, twisting and turning and mock-fighting.
I looked Murtagh dead in the eye, nearly knocking him physically off-balance he was so surprised. "How can I block a memory from my dragon?"
Murtagh's brow pulled down into a scowl as his eyes searched my face slowly; he hadn't forced his way into my brain all night, for whatever reason, and I guess he's trying to refrain from doing it now. I appreciate the thought, but I'd also rather he didn't care why I do what I do at all, so go figure. "Why?"
I sighed, "Because there are things about my life before him that I'd rather not know." Heh, that's actually kind of the truth.
"It's not an easy concept; you should probably learn to float the pebble first. It is a very basic first exercise." If he says that it's a basic exercise one more time I'm going to very basically shove that pebble in his eye. See, that threat I think is very original – I take credit for that one. Only no one heard it.
"I want to learn what I'm going to use; this is something I need to master now."
"Why would you even want to keep a memory from your dragon? One of the best things about your dragon is that you don't need to keep secrets from them. They're a part of you." Had this been yesterday, I would have been shocked at Murtagh speaking so candidly of an actual human emotion, but his emotions, though still rare, fairly exciting, and exceedingly attractive, are not my main focus at this moment.
"Please, just teach me," I would've begged, but I'm a Lady now. Lady of the castle, to be exact. I'm pretty sure if I was technically the Lady of the castle I would have to be married to Murtagh, but I don't care. Lady Liaden sounds really awesome.
Murtagh sighed, his lips pulling back into a very sloppy looking frown, "Alright, I'll try. You keep memories from your dragon like you keep memories from everyone else who is in your mind, or like you'd keep people out of your mind in general. You build a wall around your mind, and you make it sound. No cracks, no missing pieces. Reach out for my mind."
And… he lost me before he started. "Huh?"
"Reach out for my mind – extend your mind's consciousness towards me; try and read my mind." Does anyone else get the feeling I should put a few fingers to my temples and hum obnoxiously so he actually thinks I'm trying? "Close your eyes and envision reaching out towards me, only don't move."
I closed my eyes, carefully picturing my hand moving forward. It moved forward slowly, mostly because the further forward it moved the more I felt my consciousness expanding. I heard Murtagh telling me something about being able to focus the consciousness, but I wasn't actually listening to him. I was… caught up. I could hear everything around me in that ring of consciousness that my mind had created. Sure, there wasn't a lot to hear, but I could hear what little there was.
And then, just as I was about to reach Murtagh, I hit a brick wall. I flinched, shrinking away from the nearly-burning contact, but then pushed forwards, trying to figure out what happened to Murtagh. I could reach anything passed him, but his entire being was protected by what felt like an actual, physical wall. Only… in my head. "That's what I mean by build a wall around yourself. The only thing you really need to do is concentrate on building a strong, solid wall of defense around you. Now pick a memory you want to keep private – a real memory you want to keep private. It helps you to actually want to do the exercise. Desperation will make any student work harder."
Psh, like I was going to fall for that one. And then when I fail, which I'm expecting to happen, and he's able to see the memory, he gets to know something about me that I don't want him to know, and before you know it he finds out that Philayork is actually two cities from one different world. "How do I know that when I'm protecting that memory you won't try and go through all my others?"
"I would never take advantage of someone's mind when I'm teaching them," Murtagh's voice was firm, and angry. It, like his brick wall, made me physically flinch, and I sucked in a breath. Who knew Murtagh would be so defensive about his teaching moral code? Teaching is usually one of the few times he can still force himself to force expressions he thinks he should be feeling on. At least, that's what he does when I'm not prying. "Now, close your eyes and build that wall. I'll come slowly, so you can feel what it's like to have someone's mind approach you."
I closed my eyes, my legs crossing pretzel-style and my hand falling to my knees in the stereotypical meditation-style of sitting. I quickly chose something that I didn't think was important but I'd still he rather not know – my last arguement with Garret – and built a wall around the memory as best I could without, you know, physical labor.
True to his word, Murtagh approached my mind slowly, and I could feel every agonizing move his mind made towards mine. Panicking would've been an option, if I was protecting a memory truly worth protecting. Instead I just focused on the wall, concentrating so hard that my fingers were shaking.
Once Murtagh was in my mind, he made fast work of quickly sensing the wall and breaking through it. Like a dam had burst in my head, my last conversation with Garret flashed before my eyes. The argument – oh god, the argument. I forgot how truly bad it was until I had to watch it all over, from my point of view, knowing that Murtagh was watching this same movie flash before him. How embarrassing.
"What…" My eyes flashed open, only to see Murtagh's own eyes closed and his face contorted with confusion as the memory continued to play out before his eyes, "Wha… What is this?" He shook his head as the memory faded in his mind, "Who…" I never realized that me having an argument was so… confusing.
"He's an ex… suitor." Yeah, that's about right. In old-time speak. Simplified.
"Well, I wonder why he never proposed," came Murtagh's biting remark. I immediately felt inexplicably defensive – he didn't actually know the whole story behind Garret and I. "What kind of family do you come from? Or maybe you don't really want suitors."
"Shut up," was what came out first. Really, if he talked less I could have more time to think and be witty. "There were… mitigating social circumstances." He doesn't need to know what kind of circumstances.
"Circumstances by the name of the Lady Jen?"
"She is not a lady!" Oops. "I mean, no. There was no…" Ooh, we might have said her name in that argument. That's… actually pretty likely. "She's his…" Alright, nothing I can say is going to explain this. "You don't get to know! You didn't unlock that memory!" I hope that actually works.
"Would you like me to search for it?"
"NO!" … What? That sounded like he might be serious. He… very well could be serious. I refuse to doubt that he's serious!
"I wasn't serious." Of course he wasn't. I'm just a little paranoid is all. Leave me alone. "I made you a promise, Lady Liaden. I do not break my promises."
The sudden intensity in Murtagh's eyes drew the breath from my body, and I spent a few seconds sputtering desperately to get it back. I felt my hands start to tremble, and quickly shoved them behind my back. The colors in his eyes started to swirl as my vision blurred, and I recognized the lack of… actual bodily functions as something much, much worse than a virus or bacteria.
We're going, the thought was desperate as I rushed into the stable. Emerson's head jerked upwards as he woke. I carried a saddle awkwardly under one arm and the one outfit the tailor has finished in the other. I'm not bothering with food – Emerson hunts. He hunts, right? He'll learn – I'll learn, if I have to. Get up. Right now. I spent three hours lying up trying to convince myself that I didn't see what I saw, and then I realized the watch was changing. Now's the time.
Hmm? Child? Emerson's thoughts were vague and weak as he stumbled to his feet. I shoved the saddle onto him before realizing that I put it on backwards. I switched it back around as Emerson's thoughts slowly morphed into articulated words. Why are we leaving just now?
The guard watch is changing – now or never. I would've thought he'd be ecstatic.
Or… any other day; I thought we were staying to learn about our powers. Oh, no. No, that was never agreed on. He cannot make that decision for the both of us! I never agreed to that!
No! Now – we're leaving. The rebels are… around. We'll find them if we fly in enough circles. I rushed to the other side of Emerson and tugged on his girth until he coughed. That… should be tight enough. I'm not quite sure about the rule-of-thumb with dragon saddles.
"It's rather early for a ride, isn't it Lady Liaden?"I froze at the sound of his voice, quite thankful that Emerson blocked him from my view. If I saw him, there might be awkward babbling. "So dark I doubt you'd be able to see, so much for staying awake." His voice was retaining the eerie, morbid, dead tone that he used when, well… when he makes facial expressions that don't reach his eyes. Those times. I hate those times.
Maybe that makes it safe to look at him. I can retain in control. He's not Garret. I ducked under Emerson's neck, which was very slowly falling towards the ground. The dragon waited as long as it took for me to get to the other side before collapsing back into a deep slumber. Some help he is.
Looking at Murtagh was… hard. Because even though the emotion Murtagh was attempting to express wasn't reaching his eyes, his eyes were still… expressive. He was disappointed in me; he knew exactly what I was doing, and it hurt him. It actually hurt him.
"I'm sorry." I'm not really, but how much does he fake with me? I'm allowed to do this – especially if it has a chance of helping him to feel better. "How… how did you know?" For future reference, of course. My eyes fell to Emerson's straw bedding, and I decided multi-tasking would be the best choice if I want to avoid giving something away – listen to Murtagh and make pictures out of the straw.
"I know you're not sorry." My eyes shot up to him – thoughts were one things, but emotions? How does that happen so easily with him and me? Murtagh, of course, sensed my question immediately, and answered it, his face slowly fogging over with disbelieving amazement, "The presence of your mind is so… loud. I can barely ignore it when you're in the same room." As an after thought, he added, "You woke up Thorn; don't be so loud on your next escape attempt."
Murtagh turned on his heel to leave – either he trusted me to not try and leave tonight or he was alright with letting me leave. Or there's a third option, I just can't think of it. Maybe it's a mix – that's not important. The moment he left, a cold wind blew through the stable. I shivered, and Emerson reached his nose towards me in his half-delirious state. Slowly, he wrapped his neck around my stomach and slowly tugged me backwards into his heat.
But I just… watched the door. I really didn't know how to respond. He looked so… hurt.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Murtagh blew out a careful breath as he stood next to Thorn in a large, cavernous throne room, awaiting their 'merciful King.' What are you going to tell him? Murtagh drew in another breath, his eyes shooting around for any visible signs of their king. None, of course; Galbatorix would keep Murtagh waiting as long as he felt appropriate, and when the King appeared there would be forewarning.
Today, a week after Lady Liaden's training had started, was the first official report of progress. Galbatorix wanted a full briefing on what was going on with the new dragon and dragon Rider. Of course, Liaden had managed to distract Murtagh during every lesson they'd had this week, and Murtagh wasn't sure what he should tell Galbatorix – what would be the normal pace of a dragon Rider who was completely new to everything? Was it even plausible for her to be new at everything? Murtagh believed her, but Galbatorix would be a completely different story.
Carefully, Murtagh tensed his legs for a few seconds and was about to respond to Thorn's question when Galbatorix appeared from behind the throne, Shruikan lumbering in after him. The dragon's eyes, which almost glowed with a white-hot fire from the way his heart and mind had been twisted, locked with Thorn's, but Thorn submissively broke the connection and bowed, his nose brushing against the floor.
Murtagh fell to his knees, his neck muscles relaxing, ironically enough. "What is the status of your training, Murtagh?"
The younger rider racked his brain for something that would make sense, or was at least the tiniest bit honest, "The Rider's progress is insufficient; I wish to leave my report at that and depart as soon as possible so that I might continue with her training so that I might return and… catch her up." Murtagh flinched at the way he'd worded the last bit of his speech – Liaden's influence, no doubt.
"Insufficient." Falling casually into his throne, Murtagh noticed the shine of Galbatorix's knife as he pulled it out and started to toy with it. Murtagh took a deep breath before letting his head fall back down.
"Yes, sire."
Galbatorix nodded, "Look at me, Raynor." Murtagh couldn't fight the magical pull against his body, and he looked straight into Galbatorix's black, wide eyes. With a gasp of breath, Murtagh watched as Galbatorix threw his knife towards them, his eyes squeezing shut in pain as the knife embedded itself in his thigh. He could feel the blood start to trickle down to his knee, but was more horrified at the fact that Shruikan sprang into action at the bidding of his master, pouncing onto Thorn's back and ripping at his back.
The king was on them before Murtagh could apologize for the progress again, and he kicked upwards into Murtagh's jaw. Flying backwards onto his feet, Murtagh fought every bone in his body that told him to fight back. He couldn't – it wasn't his place. It would never be his place.
Thorn screamed helplessly as Shruikan bit into whatever he thought would be most painful, and Murtagh's eyes shut as Galbatorix sauntered over him. "I am going to attack the Varden in three months time. Jierda." Galbatorix said the words simply, as if it were a mundane part of the conversation to utter words that sent Murtagh flying into the wall. The king followed him, drawing his sword and pressing the blunt end into Murtagh's stomach to force the air out. Murtagh coughed, his body pained at the action, as Galbatorix continued. "And when I attack, I want two dragons fighting for me, not just one. So I suggest your training becomes increasingly sufficient."
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I sucked at my teeth as I thumbed through the book, trying to pretend I was actually reading it as I waited for Murtagh to come back from his meeting with the King. I'm exceedingly curious about this dynasty that I'm going to pretend to be fighting for. Maybe somehow Emerson is wrong – maybe the king is good. Maybe Murtagh is good. Maybe this whole thing won't just be a test of my emotional and moral being.
With a slight tremor of the ground, I knew that Thorn had come back, and I burst out of my room and hurried towards the hallway, gasping at what I saw. Thorn was glittering in the sunlight, looking quire beautiful, but also quite alarming because Murtagh was passed out on his back. Urgals swarmed him, pulling him off Thorn and throwing him to one another. It looked like a sick game, but their shouts told me they were just confused.
"Thorn," I called to the dragon, bursting onto the balcony and memories of the first time I'd been here playing through my mind. Thorn caught on to what I was doing and lifted his wing to the railing, which I happily jumped over. I had to get down there, to help him – anything was better than the confused rag-doll way the Urgals were treating him. "Stop it, stop it!"
I know the spell to heal him. I was shocked for a moment as my feet hit the ground, Thorn's voice filling my head. His voice was… deep, like Emerson's, but also it had the musical quality that Murtagh's laugh had when he wasn't trying to hold everything in.
"How did this happen?" So what if it's the first time Thorn spoke to me? Murtagh is still almost dead.
Our king was… disappointed. Murtagh healed my wounds and then fainted trying to heal his own. Thorn moved stiffly, and I slapped an Urgal on the arm to get his attention.
"Stop! Cease and desist! Take him to his room!" God, these Urgals have no brain. The guard stared at me for a few seconds before shouting out the order in his native tongue, and one guard emerged from the fray with Murtagh slung carelessly over his shoulder. I nearly fainted, but hurried after the Urgal. Thorns voice rang clearly in my head as he instructed me what to do.
It's powerful, but concentrate on Murtagh. Imagine his wounds healing, touch them to help transfer the magic, and say 'Waíse heill.' I gulped, suddenly wishing Murtagh was here to teach me this. Murtagh is actually a very good teacher, when he's not being grumpy. I repeated the words to myself as I sat on the edge of Murtagh's bed, uncertainly putting my hand against a wound in his thigh.
"W… Waíse heill." The words sounded strange coming out of my mouth, but the magic obeyed my shaky command and flowed through my fingers and into Murtagh's wound, burning and draining me. I gulped at the sensation, wanting to pull away but also wanting desperately to heal my teacher. I sighed as the magic faded, a scar being all that was left, Alright – what else can I do?
There's no point in running 'less you run with me
It's half the distance through the open before you cut me down
So let me introduce you to the end
And I feel a cold wind blowing beneath my wings
It always leads me back to suffering
Time will soar until the wind whips me down
Leaves me beaten on unholy ground again
So tired now of paying my dues – I start out strong but then I always lose
Shackled by Vertical Horizon