Fun Fact: Garrett, Liaden's kind-of boyfriend on earth, is named after Garrett Hedlund, who plays Murtagh in the movies. Moreover, I based Garrett lookwise on how the real Garrett looks in real life - Murtagh with blonde hair. While I did this mostly as a tribute to Garrett, I also thought it would make sense for Garrett (in the story) and Murtagh to have something in common so there would be at least a little bit of a jumping off point for Liaden's crush, even if she doesn't realize it.

Even after everything that had happened, all that I could concentrate on was how Murtagh was holding my hand and leading me towards wherever he decided that he wanted to talk. The huge argument that I'd gotten into with Emerson on the ride back, how horrified I was of Murtagh despite the physical attraction I felt for him, how he'd sounded slightly desperate when he said he wanted me to come back, it all took a back seat to the present gentle touch as Murtagh held onto my hand, even if he knew that I was following. No pulling, just holding.

At first, I thought we were headed for Murtagh's bedroom to have our talk, and I grimaced as I heard Emerson's tail thrash at the passing thought in the courtyard. He was staying, for my sake, but he was not at all happy about it. He would've just flown away originally but, apparently still not trusting me or my connection with my dragon, Murtagh pulled me onto Thorn and had started home before I even thought to protest.

To my surprise, instead of the bedroom, we instead walked one door passed it and then turned into Murtagh's private study. I hadn't been in here in… I don't know how long, but even when I'd been in here I hadn't looked around much. I remember being shocked at Murtagh's semi-naked body, and then yelling about being taken away from Emerson. The room's motif seemed to be dark red wood and a fire place. The room was cramped, and every bit of wall space was taken up with books and bookshelves.

Sighing, the door slammed shut, no doubt a bit of magic from Murtagh, and Murtagh turned, not bothering to look me in the eyes but instead staring at the wrist he held on his hand. He muttered the semi-familiar healing spell, and a soft red glowed around my wrist as the bruises faded away. Even after the glow had moved to the wrist, healing it before fading away itself, Murtagh held my right wrist in his hand. I wasn't quite sure how to react, especially since he wasn't even looking at me, but I thought it might be best to check how Emerson's doing with the calming down.

I started to reach out, recoiling as I hit an unfamiliar wall; almost exactly like Murtagh's, only distinctly not human. There was no aura around it; I had no idea whose it was. Moreover, it completely surrounded me. For the first time, I couldn't find any other mind to tap into, nothing else in the world except Murtagh. It was lonely, but also very… intimate. It was like it was meant to be for Murtagh and me to have a heart to heart.

"Liaden…" Murtagh's voice trailed off with an annoyed sigh, "I… I don't know what I can say to…"

His voice trailed off, but the circumstances were drastic enough that I could tell what he wanted to say; at least, I could imagine. My voice was cold, even if I was still letting him hold my wrist, his thumb starting to carefully caress it. "An explanation is in definite order." I could've added that if I didn't like what I heard I would be out of this castle so fast helmets would spin, but I didn't. What are the chances of that getting me anywhere?

Outwardly, it didn't look as if Murtagh had been affected by my blatant honesty or the slight hostility in my voice. His eyes remained transfixed on my right wrist, which he slowly started to bend upwards. I had no idea what he was going to do with it, nor did I care since the moment it bent a slight pain ran through my body and I cringed. Murtagh caught the movement and dropped the wrist.

"I need to hear your explanation first, I think," Murtagh responded, still not meeting my eyes as he turned towards the one chair in the study, "I need to know whether or not you're a Varden before I tell you anything about myself."

"Why?" I was quickly starting to feel offended, angry, and scared again. I knew Murtagh wanted me to sit, and that this conversation would require my sitting somewhere, most likely on the desk, but I couldn't. If I have to run, I want to be standing next to the door and ready. "You're the one who threw me into the wall."

Murtagh's dark eyes narrowed naturally, his mouth pursing at the reminder of his earlier actions. Not that he could have forgotten, but still. "I need to be sure of where your allegiances lie before I start to tell you about the kingdom and the war in detail."

"I'm not with the Varden, Murtagh," I glared back at him, still not comfortable sitting, "I don't know how many times I've told you that I don't know anything about the war or the Varden."

Murtagh's sigh bordered at the edge of being a snort, still refusing to actually meet my eyes in any way. I wasn't sure whether to be comforted by this action, suspicious, or hurt. All three seemed plausible enough. "I… I had a dream that you were with the Varden," Murtagh finally admitted, much more quiet than he had been since I'd first known him. I thought this quietness was due to the fact that Murtagh was ashamed for basing so much off of things that were just a dream.

My voice was harsh, possibly unnecessarily so, "You thought I was a traitor because of a dream?"

Murtagh shook his head, "Rider's don't have just dreams, Liaden. At least, any dream that they can remember clearly isn't actually a dream. They're more a glimpse through time and space, usually. To anywhere, to see anything. And I saw you, with a Varden leader, talking."

"I can solemnly promise you, Murtagh, that I've never knowingly met a leader of the Varden in my life," I offered, hoping that explanation would suffice for our heart to heart. I mean, I'm about ninety-nine percent certain that it won't, but I can dream, right? "I don't know how many more ways I can say it; I was never outside of New York before now."

"Then how did you manage to find your way to my castle so quickly? Why my castle, out of everywhere you could have gone? Couldn't you have simply stayed in New York and out of the war? How is it possible that you're living in the one place in the country that is not touched by war?"

I sighed; I knew this was going to happen. I just wish Emerson was here so I could talk to him about it, first. Emerson isn't going to be any kind of happy with my decision, but what choice do I have? I have an angry Dragon Rider nearly jumping down my throat he has so many questions for me, and I can't be sure what will happen if I don't answer them all. A lie that would pacify Murtagh would be so elaborate it would be nearly impossible to keep track of, especially considering I still didn't know very much about the war or Alagaësia.

Murtagh sighed, "You don't need to tell me; I've found your hometown."

My heart skipped a beat, "What?" How did he find New York?!

"On an old map of Du Weldenvarden, I found your town." Oh… shit. This could be bad, or very good. "Nyrta Yrkja, that sound familiar to you?" And… he's completely off. And I thought Alagaësia was somehow once a part of Earth. Apparently I'm the ridiculous one.

"No, it doesn't, Murtagh."

"You grew up with the elves, probably, and when they stole Emerson's egg he transported it to you and they forced his growth, didn't they?" I never thought he could be so invested in a theory that could be so totally wrong. "Then they sent you here."

"Murtagh, I've never met an elf in my entire life." Murtagh's knuckles clenched, and so I quickly sat on the desk and started to explain my story as vaguely as possible, "I come from a place called New York, which is a completely separate world from this one; there are no dragons or magic or anything."

If there was one moment in my entire time in Alagaësia that I wanted to photograph, it would be Murtagh's face at that moment. He looked so confused and hurt and pissed off at my lying to him, all at once in some sickly gorgeous combination. It would have been perfect, especially if he knew that I wasn't lying. It feels good, to turn Murtagh's world upside-down, like getting him to show emotions, only I'm more in control.

"Emerson's egg just blasted out of nowhere while I was riding, and I just knew I couldn't leave it there. I didn't even think it was an egg, I thought it was a stone or a jewel. And then I was sitting with my friends and Emerson hatched. We all freaked out and ran to our horses, but Emerson started crying and I felt bad so I let him touch me, and the next thing I knew I was here, in the desert. I was only a awake for a few seconds before Emerson stole some more of my energy to force his growth."

"And how did he know how to do that?" Murtagh was obviously skeptical, and as ridiculous as it sounds I couldn't blame him. Sure, he was skeptical of my entire life previous to my recent finding of a dragon, but then again I was skeptical of the fact that I actually had a dragon, so go figure.

"He claims he was exposed to dark magic when he was in his egg and that being exposed to such dark magic morphed him so that he remembered some things, like how to force his growth." There, the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God of dragons. May Emerson fly away and leave me forever if I'm telling a lie."

Murtagh bit his lip and stared at me for what felt like a shortened, condensed eternity. I didn't want to risk getting lost in his eyes, less I start babbling about something else embarrassing, like how I lost my swim shorts at the third grade class pool party or how since getting here I've only stayed as long as I have because I'm so… so contented with Murtagh. Only more passionate than contented. There wasn't a word to describe how I felt when I was with him, nothing was powerful enough.

"I… I want to believe you, Liaden, I swear I do, because if you're telling the truth then everything makes much more sense but I just… I can't." Murtagh shook his head, "I mean… a completely separate world? I've never even heard of…" At that moment, Murtagh's deep purr of a voice trailed off and he stood quickly, his chair scraping. It was only when my neck snapped up that I realized just how craned my neck had been. Was that how Murtagh felt whenever he was talking to me?

The dark-haired Rider was searching a bookshelf in the back corner of the room, muttering words to himself as his fingers lightly traced the book titles until he found the one he was looking for. It was a grey, tattered thing with a title written in the Ancient Language. It's words were unfamiliar, given the flickering firelight and my sadly small vocabulary in the Ancient Language. But I didn't have to be a genius to figure out what Murtagh was looking at, even if being a genius would've helped. Probably something on old folklore in which a parallel universe was happening.

I shook my head, certain that even if I could describe that parallel world in perfect detail, Murtagh wouldn't be satisfied. Murtagh wasn't the bookworm type, that much I knew, and he was too paranoid not to believe that I hadn't just found that certain book and memorized it. Moved by either an urge to save time or because of some more primitive urge to make Murtagh believe what I'd said because of, well, me, I stood and walked over to him, mildly timid.

He didn't notice, though, thumbing through the pages full of an ancient language I couldn't hope to comprehend. Of course, once I got to Murtagh I had no idea what to do; I hadn't come over here with some spectacularly flawless plan, I came over here based on instinct alone. Instinct and a lack of Emerson to advise me to do anything better.

He continued to flip through pages at a furious rate and, an idea hitting me that sparkled with a momentary brilliance that marks all bad ideas, I grabbed his hand and jabbed up towards my temple, willing the memories into Murtagh before he could resist. They were selective memories; bicycles, the television, a fleeting memory of Garrett in PE class, and then the explosion of finding Emerson in the woods. Everything slightly slowed at that moment, by some internal controller, and then faded away, Murtagh's hand finding a reason to stay perched next to my temple.

When I finally opened my eyes, I was greeted by the intensity of the gray-brown stormy eyes that had come to easily capture me whenever he let me stare at them long enough. And in that moment, there was an almost tangible connection between us, painfully obvious and aching. I stood there, unable to figure out what else to do, slightly trembling and taking great comfort in that I still could run my tongue across my teeth.

I was expecting something big to happen to punctuate such a close moment, like a revelation from Murtagh own past, or something just as exciting. Anything just as excited, really. I knew he believed me; he had to after all that. I just showed him my life on a silver platter. There wasn't even a platter involved, really; just his hand and my temple. His hand which is still there, by the way. I kind of want him to either wrap it in my hair or cup my cheek or pull it away, because it's starting to drive me crazy.

Hoping in vain to force his movement, or his honesty, I stood on the balls of my feet and angled my head in an attempt to bring him to life. Of course, Murtagh makes everything as difficult as possible and instead suddenly turned and headed for his desk, "Erm, thank you for that, Liaden; you can go to bed now, if you want."

… WHAT?! WHAT?! I can go to bed now? I just told him the biggest secret I've ever kept in my entire life, I feel like there's a string somehow connecting us now, and I all of EARNED THE RIGHT TO GO TO BED?! "Mu… I…" I wasn't quite sure if I was hurt or pissed off. Mostly I was pissed off, I assume, but I just didn't know how to articulate it. "Murtagh, that's it?"

Of course, Murtagh had already settled at his desk and pulled out a worn, tattered-looking book. He straightened from hunching over it and glanced over the back of the chair at me, "What else do you want from me, Liaden?"

"Something! Anything!" For a second, Murtagh's mouth gasped like a fish out of water, and I was in absolute shock. Had his childhood been that deranged, that he didn't understand the give and take of information? Didn't he get that I just gave him everything, everything, that I had to give, and all he could do was tell me to go to bed, and that was the single most insulting thing he ever said to me? That, possibly combined with the remnants of fear left over from that afternoon, prompted my next few words, "I'm leaving."

"No, Liaden-" I wasn't sure how I got out the door so fast, but I beat Murtagh to it by a long shot. I think I was only so angry because I knew that Murtagh knew what I wanted; it may have been deep down and buried, but he knew something about social graces. He knew something about equality, and he just didn't think it was necessary. He didn't think he owed it to me. "Liaden, I'll tell you something, I'll tell you anything!"

By this time I was halfway down the upper hallway connecting to the other half of the castle, and in spite of every instinct that told me to run away before I could get more angered I turned; Emerson was asleep in the stable anyway, I could tell, so Murtagh would have caught up with me eventually. Mine as well make it on my terms. "Oh yeah? Tell me what?" I think I'm even more angry because now I know that he knew all along.

"Anything, what do you want to hear?"

"Tell me about your past, why you returned to the King." The request spilled out of my mouth before I could think to stop it, but it seemed the most fitting question, anyway. It was the last piece of the Murtagh puzzle, politically. Wouldn't it be fair for him to tell me that after I just told him that I'm an alien?

Immediately, Murtagh's jaw hardened, a stark contradiction to the slight earnestness that made up the rest of his face, "Liaden, I can't, you should know that, but I'll tell you anything else, anything." I shook my head, the corners of my mouth turned down in a freakishly-natural frown. So much for telling me anything. I had to get out of here; Emerson was right all along. I should have known Emerson was right all along. I turned on my heel, only a few steps away when I felt Murtagh's hand wrap roughly around my arm, "Liaden-" Whatever he meant to say he cut off by swinging me around to face him, pressing his lips to mine before I could start screaming.

Eragon sighed as he stood on the Western facing balcony, the only place he could conveniently slip to from his bedroom to the outdoors. Saphira arched her neck elegantly so that she could lay her head on the stone fence Eragon would usually be sitting on, his back pressed against the castle wall, but today he felt antsy. He felt like every bit of him was on fire. Most importantly, he was waiting to spring out the door and be at Arya's side the moment she got to the castle.

Even after months of denying Eragon's feelings for her, Eragon was not deterred. Whether or not she felt for him the way he felt for her was an insignificant matter to how he felt when she was around. Please, Eragon, don't torture yourself like this; she's never going to give into you.

But she likes me too; I know it. His dragon huffed at the information, possibly thinking over her infatuation with Glaedr. That, too, had been an improbably romance with someone much too old, and looked how that had worked out. Eragon shook the thoughts from his head stubbornly; he should be thinking of battle strategy, anyway.

Currently, the Varden had set their sights on the coastal cities, hoping to eventually take the coast, push past the mountains, and come at Galbatorix from all sides. As Eragon stood there, watching as the morning sun cast sharp shadows on the landscape all around him, there were dozens of ships awaiting his specific command. Well, technically Nasuada was waiting for him to make his decision about what he thought should be done so that she could make her decision.

There was a light knock on the door, and Eragon fought every bone in his body to not run from the balcony and sprint to meet Arya; this particular trip to Du Weldenvarden had been the longest that he hadn't seen her since they'd met, and while he'd never imagined that a simple crush could evolve into such attachment, Eragon knew better than to follow his instincts. At least, not when it came to Arya; if he followed his instincts with her, he would have gotten himself into a lot of trouble by now.

The knocking person turned out to be Nasuada, more than just a mere person by Eragon's standards. She led the Varden, a task that seemed impossible to him. He bowed his head when he saw it was her, as was customary. She nodded back gracefully before joining him where he stood, standing and watching the sun set. "Have you given any more thought as to our situation on the coast?"

The 'situation' was whether or not to have the ships conquer towns from one end of Alagaësia to the other or to split the ships and have them work towards the center. Eragon had been mulling over the question for the past few days, and had only come up with this for his leader, "Well, the way I see it, if we keep the navy whole and work the coast from end to end, then we'll take the first few towns quicker but eventually run into Galbatorix's army and eventually we'll need to start leaving ships behind to defend the towns we've won. If we split the navy, though, we have more of a chance of losing at each town, but Galbatorix's army won't be able to get through and, if it's timed right, then they can bear down on his army from both sides in the center."

Nasuada nodded, probably hearing these arguments for the thousandth time, if not nearing millionth. Eragon could think of no single factor, though, that could give one strategy an advantage over the other; lose more ships but possibly have a greater chance of defeating Galbatorix, or stay stronger but face Galbatorix with less of an advantage and probably under more dire circumstances.

"I would personally recommend the splitting of the navy, if you think it's strong enough or large enough to be able to stand the being split. After all, depending on the size of the town, it may be possible that less ships means more maneuverability for the ships, in spite of less actual power." Nasuada nodded again, the customary reaction for an undecided leader, apparently.

A second knock on the door disturbed them both, and this time it was Roran who poked his head in to see his cousin, "Eragon? You might want to come see; Arya's returned, and she's a little sick."

Eragon nodded, feeling horrified as he always did when he saw his cousin, even if it meant Arya was there. Eragon had not found a time when he could safely go to Helgrind and save Katrina as of yet, only because Galbatorix's forces had surrounded it since her capture. Arya, Eragon repeated her name to himself, Concentrate on getting to see Arya.

Well a strangled smile fell from your face
Oh it kills me that I hurt you this way
The worst part is that I didn't even know
Now there's a million reasons for you to go
But if you can find a reason to stay
I'll do whatever it takes to turn this around
I know what's at stake, I know that I've let you down
And if you give me a chance, believe that I can change
I'll keep us together, whatever it takes
She said, "If we're gonna make this work,
You've got to let me inside even though it hurts
Don't hide the broken parts that I need to see"
She said, "Like it or not, it's the way it's gotta be
You've got to love yourself if you can ever love me."
…
I know you deserve much better
But remember the time I told you the way that I felt?
That I'd be lost without you and never find myself?
Let's hold onto each other above everything else
Start over, start over, I'll do whatever it takes

Whatever it Takes by Lifehouse