Well, Happy Holidays to you all; as a gift, I plan on having an extra-sweet next chapter and, on Christmas (to distract myself from my family and the impending doom of Christmas dinner) I'll post the finished version of 'Savin Me.'
Thorn felt himself sigh as he twirled easily through the air, watching with mild boredom as Emerson flew and drifted on the wind with Liaden, obviously making plans to attack. Really, Murtagh, I see no reason as to why this is so horrifying to you; really, it makes a lot of sense, if you would just think about it logically. It's almost like fate.
Murtagh growled at what his dragon was hinting; to suggest that anything was alright with the Rider's recent onslaught of feelings was just… blatantly wrong. There was nothing alright about it and Murtagh refused to believe anything else. After all, to have feelings for Liaden would have dangerous repercussions: he would want to protect her, and doing so would be so instinctual that Murtagh was bound to get himself or Thorn into trouble. Not to mention that he was supposed to be gaining her loyalty and trust only to win her for Galbatorix, which his protective instincts would simply not allow.
But then if he didn't win her for Galbatorix, he and Thorn would pay the penalty. And the last thing Murtagh was willing to do was put Thorn or himself in jeopardy. Nothing Murtagh could ever imagine would be more important than himself and Thorn, especially not some insignificant new Rider. Of course, a total refusal of these emotions was not acceptable in Thorn's apparently romantic views. Murtagh was stuck using a different tactic - brush it off and hope Thorn forgets about it. Look, Thorn, whether or not I feel this way, nothing will ever come of it, so let's just drop the subject.
Thorn growled, unsure and uncaring as to whether or not his Rider heard or felt the action. His eyes narrowed as he saw Emerson start in a lazy, wide turn back to them, Emerson, turn more sharply; she flies well enough to stay on. That's what she's trained to do. Quite aware of his pupil's apprehension, Thorn felt satisfied nonetheless as Emerson's turn became more direct.
Tilting his wings, Emerson flew just above them and rolled, leaving Murtagh to duck and curse loudly into the wind as Liaden slashed the sword she'd been recently allowed to have at Murtagh. Slightly livid, Murtagh started to scream instructions at his student. Of course, the wind made it agonizingly clear that screaming did nothing and, not bothering to shield his thoughts from Thorn or Emerson, Do you really how dangerous what you just did is?! When your dragon rolls, you concentrate on staying on!
But you say you don't care about her, Thorn thought smugly, carefully guarding his thoughts from both of the students. Thorn snorted at the irony, the smoke momentarily obscuring his sight as Emerson attempted to dive and attack. Thorn's neck swung to the side, easily flicking his tail and body around to slap at Emerson's back end.
Murtagh openly tensed, sharing his anxiety with his dragon, Could you not attack her so viciously, please? She doesn't fly that often. At that, Thorn rolled his eyes.
You do realize that you've been protecting her since the moment she got here, don't you? It comes natural to you to continuously be her hero, for whatever reason. Maybe it is fate. It was Murtagh's turn to roll his eyes at his dragon. But he couldn't fight the overwhelming memories that Thorn forced onto him. You've been taking care of her since she got here; nothing would change if you at least admitted it.
Everything would change if I admitted it, Murtagh contradicted his dragon, for first off, I'd be a liar. Secondly, I'd be faced with a slight crisis: who to take care of, you or her? By not admitting it, I save time. And continue to at least be honest with myself, if no one else.
You can't deny this forever, Murtagh; eventually, you'll have to accept the fact that you have a crush on the Lady Liaden.
I coughed in an attempt to fill the awkward silence that ensued immediately after Murtagh and I exited the stables. It last until we were supposed to be parting, but somehow my body was going crazy; it was simple things, like bumping the back of our hands together, that made me twitch and suck at my teeth. It's like ever since the tailor told me to be honest with Murtagh, I was suddenly being constantly reminded that, buried under every other feeling and memory Murtagh, there was that little bit of physical attraction.
It was… horrible. Every part of me burned and contracted and I wanted more than anything else to just relax. I was trying to channel Emerson, who was already sleeping in his stall, completely oblivious to my pain. Well, he knew that I was slowly opening up to Murtagh about my personal feelings, which predictably annoyed him, but he isn't quite sure about the actual impact that Murtagh has recently had on me as a result of my opening up to him.
Pausing awkwardly, I looked up at Murtagh. I could see a slight indentation in his cheek - was he chewing on it, or was that just the dim firelight? "So, uh, the… the robes worked out. I stayed… reasonably warm tonight." That was a concern that was discussed over lunch - whether or not I would be warm in just tights and a miniskirt. But the tailor was right - warmth was not an issue.
"Well, you were with Emerson; a dragon's inner fire can keep you warm better than any real fire or clothing." Oh.
"Oh." Really, what can I say to respond to that? "But he doesn't breathe fire; not yet, at least." I guess I could say that.
"It doesn't matter - he still has his inner fire; it's something they have from birth."
"They develop it in the womb," I provided, the silence that followed physically confining me. If I was claustrophobic, I'd be freaking out right now. "Uh, guess we'll have to… find out tomorrow how warm it is."
"Actually, we've been neglecting your riding skills; Thorn and I were figuring that you'll be working on that for the next few days, at least."
"Oh." He's a really… conversation slaughterer tonight. Pure irony - I'm finally opening up, and without my constant pressure to force him open he's snapping shut on my neck. I feel like I should watch out at risk of that metaphor becoming a reality.
"Well, goodnight, my Lady." My heart skipping a beat and my throat constricting seemed manageable after the physical-reaction hob-job that was my walk up the stairs.
Murtagh, though, didn't seem affected by anything that was happening; he turned on his heel and walked to his room easily, his step the same measured, click-clack sound that always managed to amaze me. I felt disappointed as I watched him walk away; it was like all the work I'd done to force him open had been for nothing. I could have been standing here on my first night and I'd see the exact same thing.
Obviously deciding to surprise me, Murtagh stopped as he reached his door, pausing before looking up at me, a small smirk stuck to his lips, "And if you could just go to bed, now; I'd rather not have to wake up to a sand storm and save you again. It really takes more energy than it's worth."
My jaw dropped, the corners my mouth simultaneously managing to twist into a smile. Murtagh continued to smirk at me, and unless my eyes deceived me he also threw in a heart-shattering wink. The ground trembled, but I had to remind myself that Thorn mentioned not sleeping in the stable tonight because he wanted to get an early rise without waking anyone else up.
After Murtagh slipped into his room, I realized that I couldn't sleep. Only this was a completely different reason than last night; tonight, every bit of my body felt alive because of the last three seconds before the cursed boy left. Last night I just plain old was not in the mood to sleep. Very different.
In spite of Murtagh's joke-warning, I headed away from my bedroom and towards what I call the back balcony - the balcony that overlooks Thorn's area. Maybe talking to Thorn can help me figure out what is going on in his Rider's head; if anyone would know, it'd be him.
I smacked my lips, trying to seem nonchalant as I bounded onto the balcony, continuing to romp enthusiastically towards the fence in an attempt to work out some of my tension, Hey Thorn; what are you up to out here?
Thorn's ruby eye popped open at me, squinting; in the time between his landing and my getting out here, he'd managed to curl up into a tight ball and fall into a half-slumber; what is it with dragons and how fast they can fall asleep? Is flying really that tiring for them? Because if it is, they might want to consider another form of transportation. Thorn's answer was short and simple, Sleeping. Get back inside; I know what Murtagh said to you before he went to bed.
I rolled my eyes as I swung my legs over the edge of the fence, trusting that if I fell Thorn would manage to get to me in time. Really, Thorn's a good dragon, even if Murtagh is a complete and total enigma and either very evil or very good. Either way, I've got no idea, and I'm more than willing to use Thorn to try and figure it out. I'm not tired; besides, he probably thinks I'm already asleep, so he has no reason to worry.
He has plenty of reasons to worry, Thorn responded, and I knew that the dragon knew something I didn't. Finally, I might get some answers. The red dragon stretched, glimmering in the moonlight like a gem, making me miss Emerson; I really wish he had a courtyard that he could spend the night in so I could sit out here and talk to him. You aren't going to sleep anytime soon, are you?
I shook my head, smirking triumphantly. Of course, the fact that I was smirking soon reminded me of Murtagh, which in turn was just horrifying and I stopped immediately. So, uh… I could be blunt, or I could have tact. So… you enjoying teaching my dragon? Alright, I have no idea how that's going to eventually relate to Murtagh and what he's thinking, but I've got faith.
He's a good enough pupil, Thorn's eyes twinkled, and he was obviously suspicious as he crossed his two front claws, his neck arching and bending. Are you enjoying being taught by your Lord?
I snorted at hearing Murtagh being called my Lord; sure, he called me 'my Lady' all the time, but it was completely different to hear him being referred to as my Lord. It makes me sound like his property, which I'm definitely not. The titles are just a little outdated; a little pre-feminism. Then again, it does give me an excuse to talk about Murtagh. Success. Yeah, he's a fun teacher; does he like teaching me?
You know, that had a lot more tact before I… thought it. God, I hope that Thorn isn't letting Murtagh in on this conversation right about now. Because if he has, I'll never live it down; it'd be ten times worse than when I told him I didn't want him in my fitting room because he makes me nervous. Ten, maybe eleven, who knows.
Thorn looked upwards, stretching his short, stubby neck to get a better look at the heavens. If I thought it were possible, I'd swear I saw a smile on the red dragon's face, but when I blinked in surprise it was gone, and I passed the split-second facial expression to my over-worked imagination. He does enjoy your company, yes… to a degree.
And I thought all the lore about dragons being cryptic was just that - lore. Who knew that Thorn makes up honest to God riddles? The real question, then, is whether or not he'll give me the answer, or he'll make me figure it out myself. What is that supposed to mean?
He enjoys your company, as far as I can tell… Aha! An answer! If only my calculus teacher had been so straightforward. You confuse him. He think's you're off. I snorted, and had half a mind to fall back into the balcony and laugh. All that I put myself through to try and figure Murtagh out, and all the while he thinks I'm the freak with a weird head. Like he has any right to talk - I still occasionally doubt his having feelings.
He thinks I'm weird? He could be made of metal and still be able to show more emotion than he shows me now.
That's what he doesn't get about you - all he really sees of you is the emotion, I think. He doesn't understand the reasoning behind your emotion. Even coming from a dragon that was actually very deep. Murtagh doesn't understand the reasoning behind my emotions, which confuses him. That should be on a fortune cookie, or something. 'Always let people know the reasons for your emotions.'
"Well, now I know what the Lady thinks of my advice, and her care for my peace of mind." A chill ran down my spine, and I tried my best not to turn and look at him. If I don't see him, maybe he'll just go back to bed and I can continue to sleep. And then I can talk to Thorn more about a less harmful subject.
Instantly, my connection to Thorn resulted in a connection to Murtagh, and I felt very uncomfortable. Murtagh's mind is dark and slightly cavernous, and even though I know there's nothing dangerous in there I'm still not comfortable anywhere passed the huge wall he's built up. The wall is there for a reason, if you ask me. Did we wake you?
"To wake me I'd have to have been asleep; I was wide awake and decided that conversation was preferable to silence," Murtagh offered, thankfully deciding to not use his connection to Thorn to speak. If he did, I might be dragged further into the depths of Murtagh's mind, and I'm not even alright when there's a dragon between the two of us. Going any further is dangerous for… my sanity.
My brow furrowed when I noticed something about Murtagh, and I couldn't keep myself from questioning it, "So do you always sleep with a sword, or is there something special going on tonight that I should make sure not to interrupt?"
Murtagh had, instead of leaving when I didn't look at him, made his way to the fence and sat down next to me, making it hard to ignore the sword that was hanging from his belt. Murtagh fingered the hilt of it as I sat there, recognizing the jewel in the sword that meant that this wasn't just any sword - this was Murtagh's red sword. It's the same shade as Thorn and I think he once dared to eat me when I got too close to him. "I sleep with the sword next to my bed, for safety purposes, and I never leave my room without it."
I nodded - it made sense, if you're a paranoid dragon rider. And Murtagh is a paranoid dragon rider if he's anything. If Murtagh lived on Earth, he'd be one of those conspiracy theorists that everyone thinks is completely and totally nuts who never pays taxes so the government will have no record of him. But then he'd mysteriously appear on the evil dictator's side as his right hand man. Strange.
What would you have been dreaming about, I wonder, if you'd been asleep? Thorn sounded mischievous, which of course made me curious. What was so secretive about Murtagh's dreams? Well, more secretive than everything else about him, at least.
After a few seconds, a there was a flash of very jumbled, blurry images before flying sideways at the feeling of being pushed physically out of Murtagh's mind. I oofed as I hit the wall, but had enough sense to dig my nails into the stone wall when the ground shook, probably because of something Thorn did. A warm hand encased my ankle, like that would keep me on the wall, but after a few seconds everything stilled and I shook the hand away.
"What was that?" I tried my best to sound annoyed as I sat back up, now a considerable distance away from Murtagh and nowhere close to his mind. I'm not even attempting to reach out and see if any sort of connection is possible. I don't want to see his mind again.
"That was… not meant for your eyes; what did you see?" For the first time in his life, Murtagh sounded panicked, and not about anything to do with his dragon. He was looking at me with honest to God worry in his eyes about what I'd seen. It was tempting to pull his leg and make up something very vivid, but I don't think I could make up anything close to what actually happened, and the genuine worry could turn to genuine anger if I decide to play a joke on him.
"Just some blurry images; it all happened too fast for me to be able to see what was actually happening." Murtagh nodded, the tiniest bit of the breath he let out hitting my face and making me start. His breath smelled like peppermint, which I didn't think was possible in a world with no toothpaste or gum. Then again I think there's something natural that smells like peppermint; they could have that here.
"Good, good; you… you wouldn't want to see it," Murtagh muttered, carefully placing his palms on the back edge of the large stone railing and resting some of his weight on them. I flinched - the edge of the stone was sharp, and of course he had his palm resting on the edge. Logic told me that it would soon cut into him and his hand would be bleeding, but then again he is Murtagh.
I think she may have found it amusing.
"Drop it, Thorn; I don't dream and you know it," Murtagh responded, his normally deep voice taking on an animalistic quality, as if he were growling. Thorn didn't seem as disturbed by the… unpleasant emotion as I was, seeing as how he just stood, resettled in a different position, and laid back down. I, on the other hand, considered resettling a little further away; what would happen if I could actually decipher what I saw?
Quite opposite of what I wanted, Murtagh scooted closer to me for whatever reason, leaning in to question me, "Are you cold?"
"What?" Where did that question even come from? Or does he randomly do that and I just never actually listened to him before? "Uh… no."
"Because if you were," Murtagh continued as if he were in my mind; he's not, but that doesn't change the fact that he's responding like he is, "We would know to tell the tailor to make the rest of your outfits with a heavier fabric to keep you warmer."
Oh. I should be thinking more clearly than that, but Murtagh's peppermint breath is puffing in my face again and the recognition of the smell is making my brain go haywire. And yes, that is the only reason. I've made my decision.
I groaned as I twisted and turned, fighting the arms that were keeping me away from the green dragon. With sickening detail, I was forced to watch as Murtagh fought with it, scrambling around his neck and attempting to stab at it with his swords. Everything slowly started to glitter and fade, but I fought against it, trying to figure out why Thorn hadn't come to help Murtagh.
With a roar, the dragon flicked his neck as the sword scraped his dark green scales, obviously disturbed that he'd come so close to death. "MURTAGH, SAVE EMERSON!" But Murtagh was too concentrated on the dragon at hand, and continued to stab and miss. What felt like an eternity after the fight, an eternity of feeling Emerson's life slip away from him, one of the whip-like movements of the dragon's neck sent Murtagh flying, and as the vision faded completely to black I just made out his back snapping against the rocks.
But when the visions faded I didn't wake up, even though I was sure I was dreaming. Instead I floated in pure blackness, just a scientific theory, and watched, waiting; I instinctually knew there was something more my subconscious had to show me, because otherwise I'd wake up or stop dreaming. And, on some magical cue, a very blurry picture flashed in front of me like a movie screen.
Slowly, so slowly I was almost bored, the picture started to focus, and the dark colors began to separate into lights and shadows, until I could make out the picture very clearly: a man, lying as if he'd fallen down the stairs that were underneath him, with large shoulders and dark hair, the same color as Murtagh's. Only it was disturbing, because Murthagh's distinctive red sword was sticking out of his heart.
As soon as the image was discernable it changed, this one more orange in nature. Eventually, it faded to a dark-haired boy, smiling and laughing as he built a small fire next with the sun setting behind him. A few more images flashed by in that fashion: a dark-haired woman with soft gray eyes but a fierce expression; a red dragon much larger and much more menacing than Thorn; and, finally, two dark shadows, obviously one male and female, standing very closely in the dark, overlooking the lake.
"Liaden, it's time to get up," Murtagh's very distinguishable deep voice was almost humming above the fire, and I miraculously managed to open my eyes after his bidding only once. He smiled, one of his arms splayed out behind him and propping up his torso. "Good morning, m'lady."
I bit my lip, my heart skipping a beat as I slowly started to forget the second part of my dream, except for the first disturbing image. "Hey." I paused for a moment, trying to accept that whatever had happened with the sword was probably for the best in some cruel, twisted way. Something about what I'd seen didn't seem right, anyway.
"Did you, uh, sleep well?" I nodded, trying to form a coherent thought to use to respond to Murtagh.
"Yeah, but why are you waking me up?"
"Because it needed to be done."
"But this is the… second morning in a row, I think." Really, I could be smarter right now.
Murtagh smirked, looking disgustingly smug, "Well, usually a lady in waiting would wake the lady of the castle, but you made me send yours into the desert to her rightful tribe."
Restless tonight cause I wasted the light
Between both these times I drew a really thin line
It's nothing I planned, and not that I can
But you should be mine across this line
If I traded it all, if I gave it all away for one thing
Just for one thing
If I sorted it out, if I knew all about this one thing
Wouldn't that be something?
I promise I might not walk on by
Maybe next time, but not this time
Even though I know, I don't want to know
Yeah, I guess I know, I just hate how it sounds
One Thing by Finger Eleven
*Note: This is on of those chapter titles that might not seem to fit, but it fits the overall story arch.