CHAPTER TWELVE: Think Twice

"She spreads her love, she burns me out.

I can't let go, I can't get out.

I've said enough, enough by now

I can't let go, I can't get out."

- Think Twice, Eve 6

Murtagh had to make a choice. Somewhere deep inside him, he always knew what the end result would be. He knew what the decision would be. He was an unwilling servant of a mad king. Why would he want to bow down to Galbatorix's wishes? Almost unconsciously, Murtagh found himself stalking down the empty corridors, moving down the stairs into the dungeons.

Am I doing the right thing, Thorn? He asked in despair.

Right in what regard? Thorn replied cryptically. Right is a matter of perspective. If you perceive 'right' as defying Galbatorix, then yes.

Murtagh's boots clacked down the steps and he grimaced at the noise as it echoed off the stone walls. He reached the locked door, but he needed no keys to get in. Leveling his hand with the knob, Murtagh muttered, "Jierda."

The door slammed open with a deafening report. Murtagh glanced around him and when no one came after a few moments, he descended into Hell. He'd been in the dungeons several times before – and he hadn't been visiting prisoners. The memories of this place were still fresh enough to make Murtagh push his mind away from the matter. He lifted his hood over his head, not wanting any of the prisoners to see who he was.

He paced past the cells, sickened by what he saw. Some of these people were half-dead. They gripped the bars with hope in their eyes, only to have that hope die once he passed them by. He pitied them as much as he pitied himself. They were prisoners of a dungeon, and he was a prisoner of his own mind.

Then he saw Ashen. She sat across the far side of the cell on the small cot, her knees drawn up under her chin. Her head was bowed and he expected her to be crying herself to sleep, as most of the prisoners did. Instead, he realised she was singing quietly to herself.

Murtagh was overcome by cold fear that clutched at his insides, knotting them together. No, not Ashen. The dreamy singing could be one of two things – either she was trying to shut away the pain, or she had already gone insane. Murtagh clutched at the bars, attempting to get a better look at her…except her long, lank blonde hair hung in front of her face, hiding her away.

"Mor'amr," he muttered, and the door to the cell screeched open. Ashen didn't seem to notice. He listened to her voice, eerily beautiful, haunted by it.

"Just one last dance, before we die…" Her words were almost whispered as Murtagh headed towards her, "I'll try my hardest not to cry…"

The words were vaguely familiar, though Murtagh had never heard Ashen sing before. Perhaps it was a poem that she had turned into a song? He crossed the room slowly, unwilling to admit that he was afraid of what he'd find in Ashen's eyes.

"I'll close my eyes, pretend it's real…maybe remember how to feel…"

Murtagh swallowed the hard lump in his throat, reaching over to touch the girl on the shoulder. This wasn't Ashen, the strong young woman he knew. This was only a shell. The girl whirled around at the contact, her dark blue eyes wild and scared.

"Ashen?" he inquired, uncertain.

She observed him with a slight frown. "Murtagh?"

As Murtagh looked critically over Ashen's slender form, he ground his teeth and clenched his hands into fists, feeling the strong desire to punch something. He was going to rip Zander apart.

Murtagh, calm yourself.

I am going to kill him. I'll rip him into little pieces and…

No. That is not calm. That is you deciding to act like a complete moron. If you do not desist, I will sit on you.

Murtagh did not want Ashen to feel as though he was invading her privacy, but he needed to see the extent of her injuries. Ashen's shirt was little more than tattered shreds and Murtagh felt his cheeks flaming.

Thorn sounded amused. Why do your thoughts indicate that you are pleased with Ashen's body? I do not think you are taking this seriously.

Shut up, Thorn! Murtagh snapped in response.

There were scars on Ashen's back when Murtagh looked more closely. He could see that she had been flayed with a whip…and had Seithr oil used on her. His lip curled in disgust. Zander truly was a mad, cruel individual. Ashen looked at Murtagh dispassionately, awaiting his verdict.

"Most of your wounds are healed." He sounded surprised.

A grim smile stretched across Ashen's lips. "Most of it was Zander. Except…I realised something, Murtagh. I can perform magic. I healed myself without meaning to. I…I didn't realise it consumed so much energy…"

Murtagh felt a wave of emotion for the girl and he leaned over and pressed his lips to her forehead. She had been through so much and yet she acted as though learning magic was the biggest challenge.

"I'm going to save you," he muttered.

Ashen drew back, shock gleaming in her eyes. "Galbatorix will kill you!"

Murtagh shook his head, a slightly smug look on his face. Galbatorix needed him and Thorn – for now. Besides, he knew that it would be dangerous for both himself and Ashen if he let her run from Uru'baen. That wasn't his intention. Instead he would take her somewhere she would be safe…but where?

Any ideas, Thorn?

I do not know any better than you do.

Murtagh sighed and pulled off his shirt, offering it to Ashen. He didn't fail to notice how Ashen's eyes examined his chest.

"You seem to enjoy taking your shirt off when I am around," she said in a flat tone, "You tend to do it a lot."

She bit her lip, cheeks burning red as she accepted Murtagh's shirt and pulled it down over her head.

Murtagh cleared his throat, feeling his own face growing hot. His shirt was too big for Ashen – she had to roll up the sleeves. When he looked at her, there was fire in her eyes, burning as brightly as it always had. He admired her, her courage and her resistance.

He leaned in and kissed her. She tasted of blood and tears, yet he didn't care. Ashen made a noise of surprise, yet she did not resist as Murtagh pushed her into the corner. He seemed to have a habit of pushing her into solid objects. His kiss was almost hungry and she surrendered to it completely.

Murtagh felt her hands moving up his bare chest, tentative. He grew bolder due to her daring and started planting kisses down her neck, slid the too-big shirt down her shoulders. He heard her sharp intake of breath.

Curse my teenage hormones. Murtagh groaned.

Ashen's hands moved down Murtagh's arms, running over the muscles there, to trace down his back. Her hands brushed over the scar his father had given him and Murtagh stiffened. That had suddenly broken the spell that Ashen seemed to hold over him. They were in the dungeons. It was not exactly the most ideal place for a romantic encounter.

Ashen looked almost disappointed as Murtagh moved away from her and she pulled his shirt back up her shoulders. Despite the serenity of the situation, she could still appreciate how handsome Murtagh was, how well-built…especially when he wasn't wearing a shirt…She chastised herself. Now was not the time.

They moved from the dungeons, Ashen's hand in Murtagh's. They hurried through the empty corridors, bathed in moonlight. Footsteps alerted them to the fact that they were not alone, but Murtagh did not really care. Let people say what they would to Galbatorix. He would convince the king that he could be responsible for Ashen.

It was only when he realised that the person's hair gleamed the same silver as the moonlight, felt Ashen's grip tighten on his hand, that he knew how much fate hated him. Zander strode towards them, an amused expression on his face as he took in the fact that Murtagh was bare-chested and Ashen wore his shirt.

"Tumbling a prisoner?" the magician taunted, "I should not have expected more of you. After all, you are Morzan's son."

Murtagh released Ashen's hand and stepped forward, cold fury etched across his features.

"Even if that was the case, at least I don't stoop as low as you." He snapped.

Ashen was confused, but she knew what Murtagh said must have insulted Zander…because although he continued to smile, the mirth died in the magician's eyes, leaving them horribly empty.

"I shall inform Galbatorix," Zander warned.

Murtagh shrugged as though he didn't care.

"Go ahead. I will explain my actions. I doubt Galbatorix will be pleased when he learns that you tortured Ashen to the brink of insanity."

Ashen was watching the two of them carefully. Zander's face was a mask of complacency – a lie considering how Murtagh was battering down his excuses. Murtagh had nothing but rage in his expression and from the gleam in his eyes, Ashen guessed that he might strike Zander down.

"I saw what you did to her," hissed Murtagh, and for just a moment, fear flashed through Zander's eyes as the Rider took another step closer. Fear was good. Fear made Murtagh powerful. "It was unnecessary."

"The king deemed it necessary," Zander replied coolly.

Murtagh shook his head slowly, a low chuckle escaping him – but there was no real mirth in his laugh. Ashen could see that he had become completely dangerous. She wouldn't want to be his enemy right now.

"I have my own methods of luring Tristan in." Murtagh's tone was icy. "It was not up to you to drag her from her room the moment I had left Uru'baen. I will speak to the king. Ashen is my prisoner."

Zander's lips curved into a vicious smile.

"Are you in love with her, Murtagh?"

Whatever self-control Murtagh possessed, it vanished at that instant. He threw himself at Zander, slamming his fist into the other man's nose. Zander stumbled backwards, clutching his face – except Ashen noticed, with some satisfaction, the scarlet liquid that streamed down from his nose. She hoped it was broken.

Murtagh did not stop there. The white-hot rage burned through him, screaming at him to attack. He had never felt this much hate inside him before, except maybe when Galbatorix had announced his true name. He punched Zander again, the powerful force of the Rider's blow sending him flying into the wall. The magician slid down and glanced up at Murtagh, shocked at the might of the Rider's wrath.

"Stop!" Ashen cried from what seemed like miles away.

Murtagh! Thorn sounded shocked, but a little amused at the same time. Leave the man be.

He deserves everything he gets. You know what he did to Ashen!

Despite how incensed he was, Murtagh let Thorn calm him down, as he was prone to doing whenever Murtagh was upset or angry. Thorn had the mind of a hatchling in some ways, but in others, he was very mature.

The red rage that clouded his vision faded and Murtagh found himself panting and sweeping his dark hair from his eyes. Zander was clambering to his feet, his face bloody. Ashen stood nearby, her small hands clenched into fists, her eyes smoldering.

"Don't you see what you are doing?" She yelled at him, blinking back tears. "Don't you see who you are becoming? By attacking – him…" She couldn't even bring herself to say Zander's name. "You are just as bad as him – no, worse!"

"Who?" snapped Murtagh, whirling around to face her, knowing and hating the name that she would say. "Who am I becoming?"

"Morzan!" cried Ashen, before clapping her hands over her mouth when she saw the pain in Murtagh's eyes. She had not meant to hurt him. She had just seen him so caught up in the storm of his fury, feared what he was capable of. For just a few moments, he had lost himself and that frightened her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, "I didn't mean that."

Murtagh just glared at his feet. "Come with me, Ashen."

For a second she hesitated, but then she looked across at Zander. He was grinning despite the blood which stained his face and teeth. When he started laughing manically, Ashen shuddered and followed Murtagh.

"You are doomed!" crowed Zander, "Both of you!"

Well, Thorn sounded like he was attempting to convey a whole range of emotions, but he finally settled with: You should be glad that the three of you didn't wake up the entire castle.