No excuse I can offer will make up for my missing last week.

If it helps, I was getting my wisdom teeth out and have spent the time since madly trying to make up the work I missed while out with sickness and surgery.

Hope this chapter helps to satisfy everyone - you all have given me such lovely comments I feel endebted.

And I just came my philosophy class and am typing in the style of the teacher. Go figure.

Murtagh's lips were still firmly pressed into mine as my mind regained full control of my body and I remembered all the reasons this was all wrong. This is, after all, Murtagh. He's a bit of a jackass with more problems than I'd care to think about, and I'm not from this world. I'm not staying forever with him, so really none of this has any point. I'm pulling away. Right now…

I gave myself a few more minutes to literally melt into him before pulling away, breathless and spinning around in my head. My thoughts, though clear, weren't exactly straight in that they were all contradicting and I think I'm lying to myself. I don't want this to happen, but I do. This can't happen, but it is. I don't know anything about Murtagh, not really. His dragon's name is Thorn and he apparently is all for the Empire and he has trust issues like you wouldn't believe along with a violent temper that he's not scared to give in to.

I also know that even if I were a rebel spy there is a reason that he's keeping me around, and if I'm gullible and naïve enough I might even believe that it's because he genuinely likes me. And that when he hears a sandstorm at least one of his first instincts is to make sure I'm not out on the balcony.

"Do you even do relationships," I questioned, my eyes still closed and my head shaking a little. I'm not going to kid myself into thinking I can look at him; he's got me too wrapped up with his smell and his breath and his touch to risk losing another one of my senses to him. One more sense and I'll be on Murtagh-sensory overload and then I don't know what I'll do.

His arms were still wrapped around my waist, one hand dropping dangerously low towards my hips. My hands were fairly platonic, I guess; pushed against his chest is either platonic or rebelling against this love. Not love. Wrong word.

Murtagh's snort, which blew more deliciously minty air into my face, brought me out of my horrified denial of everything I'd accidently let enter my mind, "That's not exactly how things are done around here."

"Well, too bad; that's how I do things." And that's if I even want to do this. I'm not even sure I want to still be considering it; that's just how ridiculous this whole place is.

"Well I just don't understand the way you do things," came his automatic response. Damn it, Murtagh. Why is he playing dumb? I've made it very clear that I have total ditzy-rights in this relationship. This non-existent relationship. Whatever, I'm not from this world!

"Well how do you do things around here?"

"Pretty much the same," Murtagh laughed in my face then, which generally shocked me into opening my eyes. Not just because of his minty breath, but because of how strange and crazy it was for Murtagh to be openly laughing. The Murtagh I knew when I first got here, ions ago, had his lips permanently cemented into a disapproving frown. Now he's laughing as his own jokes. It's like watching a flower bloom. "Except there's more of a focus on honor and marriage and less of a focus on the physical stuff, which I think is what your relationship would've focused on."

"Oh really?" He makes me sound like such a bad girl; like I'm a sex addict, or something.

Of course, I did nothing to help this reputation when I smirked devilishly, almost as if my body were acting without even bothering to consult my brain. I think it has to do with the Murtagh sensory overload. "Oh really?" I stood on tiptoes then, placing a slow kiss on his lips and running my hands up his chest and into his shaggy black hair.

Murtagh made a noise of pleasant surprise before smiling into the kiss and tightening his arms around me. Through the kissing, he muttered something about coming round to my way of doing things when I suddenly felt the urge to pull away, mysterious though it was.

"I could love you."

…

Oh. My. God.

That wasn't supposed to come out. That wasn't an even articulated thought! That was words that have nothing to do with me or my feelings coming tumbling out of my mouth in the wrong order!

I stood there, gaping like a fish at my confession as Murtagh's smile dropped from his face. He didn't look angry or horrified, but I'm waiting for him to run away screaming. I once talked about loving a book to Garrett and he ran away like a dog with his tail between his legs. Imagine what Murtagh will do, with his trust issues and probable lack of any other female relations.

"I could love you too."

And just like that, Murtagh and I were together. I was doubting this togetherness like nothing else I'd ever done, but it didn't feel like something I could fight. It felt right. Right like how I was meant to be with Emerson, or right like the feeling between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth. Cosmically right, like even though I could never imagine it and I'd fought it with all the logic I could muster in a world with dragons, it was still happening. And more importantly it happening was absolutely perfect.

With a dangerous smile, Murtagh leaned back in for one final kiss before my stomach rumbled and Murtagh let his head fall back and laugh at me. "Hungry, m'lady?"

I blushed for lack of better action as he took my hand, leading me out the door and turning towards the dining room without another word. Carefully, Emerson slipped back into my mind, Did everything go well?

I sucked at my teeth as I continued blushing at the awed looks on the Urgals' faces, Yeah, everything went great. You're going to kill me.

I stopped suddenly as, for the first time since Murtagh barged into my room, I thought about dragons. "Hey, Murtagh," I questioned, pulling him back with my hand that he was still holding.

I had to physically dig my heels into the ground to stop him, he was so excited about going to lunch. Or, you know, other things. And I'm excited too, but I'm also myself and I just have to know. "Why was Thorn going crazy earlier?"

Murtagh snorted at the thought as, like a rubber band, he rebound back from my pulling and stopped much too close. I was Murtagh overload all over again and I'd only just recovered from my last episode. All minty and gorgeous with his gray-brown eyes all wide and shining with happiness. How can I not mentally delve into taking note of everything about him?

"He, um, he was rather angry with me for not… for not telling you everything. It took a bit of threatening to get me into your room." My first reaction was to reach out and thank Thorn, but I quickly heard the rest of what he said and found it the slightest bit odd.

"You had to be threatened into my room?"

"I was nervous, Liaden," Murtagh reached forward with a slight tentativeness, taking my other hand and running his calloused thumb over the back of it. The sensation of his thumb on my hand resulted in a fair amount of tingling and mindless mental squealing. "You kind of tried to bite my head off the last time I'd been into your room, and I was fairly convinced you wouldn't have me."

"So you let the fear of rejection keep you away from me?" Now I'm just teasing. It's fun to watch him try and smooth everything over. I almost can't wait until our first big fight. Simply for the effect, I stuck my lip out into a pout. I swear, I never knew relationships were this fun, probably because my relationship with Garrett had never been this amusing.

"I…" Murtagh trailed off before realizing I wasn't serious. He sighed in mock annoyance before turning, continuing to drag me and force lunch down my throat.

Yeah, I'm still doubting this, but god this is the best thing I've ever doubted.

Murtagh cleared his throat as he sat next to Thorn on the dark beach next to the lake, his eyes glued to Liaden as she clutched to Emerson's back, trying to adapt to his quicker turns and more daring stunts. Murtagh could feel her enjoyment, her happiness radiating from her; she was completely content here with them. It disturbed him a little, even as it warmed him inexplicably.

Thorn poked his nose towards his Rider in spite of the fact that he was supposed to be watching Emerson, critiquing him and thinking of things to be working on. Instead, he spoke to his Rider, his curiosity seemingly gentle and nonchalant as he concentrated on hiding the slight excitement and pleasure he took in knowing his Rider was happy. You are happy, aren't you?

Murtagh sighed, shaking his dark hair out of his eyes as he tensed his calves watching her scream with the joy of flying, something she'd slowly become accustomed to. Yes, I'm happy; happy and worried.

If Thorn had thought Murtagh wouldn't respond with an inordinate amount of unpleasantness, he would have tsked at his Rider. The bond that they shared meant that Thorn knew exactly what Murtagh was worrying about.. The bond and the fact that Thorn simply knew Murtagh about as well as the Rider knew himself. You shouldn't worry about that, Murtagh. We could leave, you know.

Murtagh shook his head, still thoughtfully watching as Emerson turned sharply over the middle of the lake, diving and dipping his claws in the water before pulling back up at an uncomfortably steep angle. He wants her, Thorn; he's planning an offensive attack on the border of Surda and he wants her to fight for him. His head falling for a second, hanging between his bent up knees, Murtagh continued to tense his legs as he thought of the idea at her flying.

Thorn nodded; he'd been at the meeting the same as Murtagh. Thorn also understood that the more Murtagh said, and not to Liaden, the less he felt like he had to tell Liaden. And not just tell Liaden, but tell her everything. About how it had been their job to convert her to the Empire's side. About how in spite of the fact that this was their job, and they continued to report to Galbatorix whenever he requested an audience to discuss her progress, Galbatorix was quite possibly the worst thing to happen to Alagaësia and while the rebels weren't perfect, they were better. Anything was better than what Galbatorix would put her through.

This was exactly the kind of confliction that Murtagh had hoped to avoid by avoiding Liaden and all relationships with her. Obviously, it simply hadn't worked, and now Murtagh was caught. He couldn't think of any way to get out of the things they'd promised to Galbatorix, so they were stuck with him, but he couldn't bear what his King would do to Thorn if they let Liaden leave. So she was stuck with them, as far was Murtagh was concerned.

Only he had to get her away; he felt this overwhelming urge to protect her.

She's not a soldier, Thorn, Murtagh shook his head at her as she whooped again, her red hair making a dark blaze in the sky as it whipped around behind her. Murtagh had told her to tie it back for her safety, but when had she ever listened to him? She just doesn't have it in her.

Thorn nodded silently along with his Rider's worries, quite aware of every consequence of every action that ran through Murtagh's mind. Murtagh contrastingly shook his head at everything he thought about, wondering how Liaden managed to be so contented with him. Even if he sent her to the Varden, if he told her to go and told her how to find them, there was still a chance she wouldn't go. A small chance, in Murtagh's mind, but a chance nonetheless. She seemed so happy with them Murtagh couldn't imagine she felt the itching need to leave him.

Emerson would take her, Murtagh reassured himself, even more horrified at the idea that she wouldn't want to leave than he was at the fact that he didn't want her to leave. No matter what she did, Murtagh couldn't image ever wanting her gone. Not as long as she kept smiling, kept distracting him from the war that had made up his childhood and now his adulthood as well. As long as she was completely willing to ignore the world outside, he'd want her around.

Liaden, be careful, Murtagh half-shouted in his head. He wasn't sure how many times he'd told her to keep her hands on Emerson's back while he was rolling. Did she want to fall and die? You have to keep your hands on his back at all times. You're not fighting – focus on his moving.

Murtagh, she chided, her tone smug with knowledge, I've been riding since I was a kid. The last thing I need to do is concentrate on how to stay on. With that, Emerson flipped forward low over the water at Thorn's request. Liaden flipped around on his back, still whooping into the air. If he wasn't horrified at images of her falling through into the water, Murtagh would have smiled at her joy.

Emerson rolled again, this time tucking his wings in closer to his body at Thorn's request. Murtagh's stomach contracted as he watched in slow motion as, for a second after he'd straightened himself out, she kept her balance sitting up before somehow being hurled sideways, her body flailing as it fell the twenty yards into the lake.

Murtagh was up and on Thorn's back as Emerson tucked his wings into a dive in the water. Liaden, don't move! We're coming, Murtagh's mental voice screamed, trying desperately to keep her tied to life as the pain coursed momentarily into everyone's head. It was stinging, like a belly flop multiplied by twenty.

Emerson dove into the water without much thought. Simultaneously Thorn was speeding, so close to the water and flying so fast that the wind they were creating forced the water away in giant waves. Those giant waves made Murtagh nervous, thinking of Liaden under them, but he was more concerned with getting to her than her being comfortable while he got there.

Just as Murtagh and Thorn had prepared to dive and help Emerson search for her, the green dragon surfaced with the limp, wet, mostly unconscious Rider on his back. Murtagh could hear her coughing as Emerson stream-lined his body and flew as smoothly as possible towards land. Of course, typical of any barely mature dragon, Emerson landed too bumpy and Liaden slipped from his back, or would have if his tail hadn't whipped around for her to land on and slide off slowly.

As Thorn landed next to his pupil, who immediately launched into lecture that easily mixed concern with scolding. Emerson shivered, either because he hadn't been prepared for how cold the water would be or because he felt guilty and scared at having almost killed his Rider. Of course, Murtagh reasoned privately as he slipped from his dragon's back and hurried towards Liaden, who was still making a show of coughing up water, If she'd been holding on properly like I taught her to, she wouldn't have fallen at all. Only the Gods know why she's so antsy to act like she's in battle.

But Murtagh was also aware that a sixty foot plunge into icy lake water was more punishment than he could ever hope to administer, and rather than lecture he pulled her into his lap, pulling her hair out of her face as she collapsed against him. "Murtagh, I'm cold," she muttered after a few minutes, almost mindlessly. She was slowly starting to lose consciousness, something Murtagh was both grateful for and worried about. If she wasn't awake, she wouldn't feel the sting he could tell was still coursing through her body, but if she was asleep he'd have no idea what her condition really was.

"Shh, I know," Murtagh cooed, unsure of what else he could do to comfort her but wait for either recovery or unconsciousness. Quietly, hoping the pain wasn't internal, Murtagh whispered the words to heal her, taking the time to consider whether or not he should try to dry her. What would he think of that he knew the word for – fire? No, that would risk actually setting her on fire.

As if answering Murtagh's nonexistent prayers, Emerson curled his neck, his head hovering just over Liaden's body and creating an artificial area of warmth in the chilly desert night. Murtagh sighed almost instantly as the warmth flowed through her, her displeased frown soon replaced with a contented smile as she pushed her head further in Murtagh's lap, obviously taking comfort in both the warmth and his presence.

Murtagh wasn't sure which urge was stronger once he knew she was alright – to make her promise to never do it again or to utterly slaughter her for being so careless when he'd warned her so many times. Didn't the girl ever learn? Was her head actually filled with rocks, or did she actually think that it'd be nice to take a swim? Murtagh tried to shake the thoughts from his head, but his rage was strong as his desire to protect her. It wasn't a violent rage, but a rage nonetheless.

The darker haired Rider lost his sense of time as he sat there, watching and waiting for Liaden to be mostly dried of the lake water before taking her back to the castle. Everything seemed to pass so slowly due to a mixture of boredom and the 'watching the pot boil' syndrome which resulted in time all but standing still. Occasionally Liaden whined or flinched in her sleep, but almost always found comfort in shoving herself closer to Murtagh until she almost pushed him over by head butting him in the stomach.

Taking that as a sign of recovery, he scooped her up easily and threw her over Thorn's back in front of the saddle. Emerson tensed as he watched Murtagh do what he couldn't – picking her up and throwing her around. Begrudgingly, the green dragon noted the care in Murtagh's eyes, and gently extended his nose towards the Rider, Thank you for taking care of her.

In spite of the fit of joy that Liaden would have insisted on having at hearing her dragon thank Murtagh, he himself could only manage a grunt of acknowledgement as he swung onto the red dragon's back. Thorn quickly reached in and touched Emerson's mind, playing the go between for the two stubborn males, He thinks it's what he needs to do; it's his duty to her.

Emerson nodded as Thorn pushed off into the air, following his teacher and mentor and placing himself carefully underneath them, always keeping one eye on them to watch in case Liaden fell off. He found it increasingly unlikely, considering the more Emerson saw of Murtagh caring for Liaden, the more confident Emerson felt not in the Empire, but in Murtagh and Murtagh alone.

Upon reaching the stables, Emerson could feel Liaden's consciousness slowly resuming. Not enough for her to be ready to go flying or do anything tonight, but enough that if they gave her a few minutes she probably wouldn't need to be carried like a damsel in distress up to her room. She might limp a little, but she could walk.

The first thing I felt was a blinding headache, making my first official thought that it was ridiculous that healing spells could only close wounds and slightly soothe the area where the wound had been. Falling into a lake didn't include getting any gaping holes, just a lot of stinging and a bit of numbness in the legs and arms. It's like my entire body is on pins and needles, only they've all been sharpened to be more painful than Emerson's teeth.

I groaned, trying to turn around and find Murtagh. He was a good pillow, or at least that's what I remember before I passed out. Of course, I couldn't find him, "Murtagh?"

"Can you walk," came his voice, harsher than I remember it being before. I flinched at it, but the movement set my face on fire. Experimentally, I wiggled my ankle, considering his question simply because it gave me something to think about besides the blinding pain. It was, of course, a bit counterproductive that what I had to think about included the studying of the blinding pain, but at least there was a purpose.

My ankle stung, but seemed workable; the same for the muscles in the other ankle, both pairs of calves and thighs, and my knees were able to bend slightly. Making a split decision about which would be more painful – speaking or nodding – I whispered a very not-annunciated, "Yes."

I finally opened my eyes to find Murtagh's eyes mixed with anger and concern. Almost as soon as I made eye contact with him though, meaning to try and investigate the emotions, they faded into their stony, unemotional color. He nodded once, almost understanding that I wasn't actually sure I could hold my weight, and somehow managed to flip me into standing, all the while supporting me so I never fully held all of my own weight.

We wordlessly made our way up the staircase towards our rooms, all the while Murtagh's eyes nothing more than the brilliant mix of brown and gray. No emotion at all. "Murtagh, are you alright?"

"You shouldn't have done that, Liaden; you should have been holding on. That was really stupid," Murtagh said, trying his best not to let his anger escape in his voice, "You know better."

I nodded, my submission a mixture of slight dizziness, genuine guilt and the tiniest bit of fear. Sure, Murtagh said he'd never hurt me, but he'd said that before. I believed him when he said it, but I almost couldn't control the fear that made my heart bit a millisecond faster when he was genuinely angry. "I'm sorry."

The second half of the journey was just as silent as the first, Murtagh helping me into my room and in all seriousness tucking me into my bed. I giggled, but it was quickly transformed into a yawn as Murtagh sat down on the bed next to me, his arms pinned to the mattress on either side. His brow was furrowed, meaning he was either confused or angry in a new, possibly nonviolent kind of way. "You know that I'm no good for you, right Liaden."

"What?"

"I'm no good for you," Murtagh repeated, his brow still furrowed but not reminding me of a very petulant child.

"Murtagh, it was my fault I fell," I yawned again, covering my mouth as an afterthought in courtesy, "You couldn't have done anything."

Murtagh shook his head slightly, obviously rethinking the whole thing in those two small shakes, "Don't worry about it, Liaden."

That's no way to live - all tangled up like balls of string
And we woke at dawn and watched the sun climb over the hills
I just said the first three words that popped into my head
Let me off the bus - I'm tired, sore, and should probably change clothes
And the circuits are blown, my woman is cold
Our children are stoned and worthless
We're all waiting for you to tell us the truth
But truth is a line that you'll never use
And her dignity shown so bright, like a light on a hill
And she burned for me, and no other man came near the flame

Light on a Hill by Margot and the Nuclear So & Sos