Thorn grunted in his slumber as Murtagh bolted upright. He scrambled to his feet, desperate to know who the person who wriggled past his mental barriers was. He pulled on his boots and stomped out from the safety of his camp, Zar'roc in hand. After a quick pit-stop in a bush, he found his determination replenished and he began storming towards the horizon, using the humming in his mind as his map.
Finally, after three hours of solid walking, Murtagh found the remains of a castle and the humming stopped completely. He cheered then began tripping over rubble to reach a set of stairs that, he presumed, lead to a dungeon. He used magic to light the murky corridor and, at the end of the narrow hall, found a door with a large notice on it.
"Leave all weapons outside and be on your guard at all times."
He prepared himself for a giant beast but, once inside, found himself gazing upon a sleeping woman with matted filthy hair and grey skin. He checked for a pulse; it was faint but it was definitely there. He unbuckled her rotted chains, scooped up her limp, malodorous body, making sure to breathe through his mouth and not his nose for fear of passing out. He set her down on a patch of grass outside before brushing away cobwebs, dead insects and slime from her thin frame. He remembered a small stream about half an hour away and he trudged to it with her thrown over his shoulder.
Once he arrived at the bubbling stream, he peeled away her half-eaten slip with averted eyes then dunked her into the weakest and shallowest part of the stream he could find. She did not stir as he scraped away as much of the nasty gunk from her shoulders, arms, stomach and breasts. He dared not let his fingers stray lower for fear of being accused of some foul deed if she woke so instead he began to untangle the knots in her hair with his fingers.
When he had finished cleaning her up to the best of his ability, he dressed her in his shirt then fashioned her a makeshift bed out of moss and grass before reaching out to a drowsy Thorn, I found someone. Bring everything to us. He sent Thorn a quick mental image then knelt beside the now beautiful woman.
Soon a pair of heavy wings blasted cold air over the couple and a dull thud showed that Thorn had landed. Murtagh stood and gathered blankets and spare clothes to make her a proper bed which she was quickly shifted into. Then he set about making up the rest of the camp in silence.
I have a bad feeling about her Murtagh. Thorn warned his rider as surveyed the sleeping woman, How do we know we can trust her?
She's asleep you pansy. Murtagh snapped as he began to skin the rabbits he had just killed, You're just being stupid.
Thorn sniffed, You smell funny. He grumbled then refused to speak to Murtagh further.
Murtagh chuckled then placed the rabbits onto a stone over the camp fire before glancing down at the woman beside him. He stroked her fringe from her closed eyelids and held back a gasp; he should really have suspected what she was. No human could have looked that perfect while covered in several inches of muck. Her pale pointed ear twitched; she was an elf.
...
Murtagh stumbled through the remains of what was once a great fortress, collecting anything that might be of value to trade to Nomads or... Well in fact, he was collecting anything really. He stepped into a room then grinned, he had found what was probably the lord's chamber. A large grimy bed stood in the centre of the room with various broken tables, ornaments and shelves scattered around it. The items on the floor held no value to Murtagh, merely the thought of a lord only having a grand wardrobe he could raid propelled him further towards the crumbling cupboard.
He yanked the door open with a grunt and was surprised to find only dresses in perfect condition. He quickly came up with two conclusions: one, the lord liked to dress as a woman and parade around in the finest lace money could buy, and two, that the room he was currently in was actually a lady's room. He shuddered at even thinking about the first thought then asked himself where the lord would have stayed...
What if the lord slept in the servant quarters to avoid an assassination? Thorn suggested from the camp by the stream; Murtagh had ordered him to keep an eye on the elf in case she woke but so far nothing had happened. He nodded; it seemed like a valid point. He then decided that when the fortress was attacked, the stone jammed the door shut in such a way that the wardrobe became airtight, allowing no fabric eating creature to enter. He scooped up the fourteen dresses and shoved them into his never-ending bag before deciding to leave as this was the last accessible room and he was tired.
He returned to camp as quickly as he could then relayed his findings to Thorn; several golden candlestick holders, a gilded hand mirror, a silver hairbrush, eleven thick quilts and blankets, a few odd trinkets, the dresses and an elegant silver locket. Without any permission, he knelt and clipped the locket around the elf's thin neck then placed his palm on her forehead, reaching his mind out towards her.
Can you hear me? Murtagh asked softly, settling into a seated position beside her.
Yes. Came the feeble reply, I was wandering when you would rescue me. I began to think to myself that no one would come... But you did Murtagh, son of my captor.
He frowned, Please don't... He pleaded softly; his hatred for Morzan showing through somewhat, Will you wake soon?
No. She replied bluntly.
But you can't sleep forever! Thorn jumped into their mental conversation with ease and they both felt her mental conscious jump in surprise then settle slowly as she became accustomed to the dragon's presence. Your name at least before we let you return to your rest. He chided gently like a mother might coax a child from danger.
She let out a mental sigh before replying with a slight indication of humiliation, I had a name a while back; Aurelia is what the elves called me... But then the soldiers took me and I became their curse... Their Jinxx...