Alright, so funniness was not what I was going for but it'll have to do. Or cluelessness for that matter. So I hope this chapter might clear a few things up, if not, tell me and I will explain further in another chapter. Oh! One last thing, see that little button at the bottom? Yeah, the one with reveiw on it. Click it and write something nice in the box :) Enjoy!
Murtagh groaned and rolled onto his side, rubbing his eyes. His fingers ghosted over a bandage strapped around his forehead. He opened his eyes then bolted upright, eyes darting wildly to take in the dingy room; four peeling pale blue walls, one small cracked and dirty window and his bed.
He massaged his temples with a moan; he felt as though someone had split his skull in half with a dull blade then fried his brain over a dragon's hottest flame before dropping the charred ashes back into his skull.
He shoved aside the blanket and swivelled to his side to stand. He rose to his feet, swayed dangerously then stumbled forward into the wall. Supporting his weight on the wall he shuffled towards the door swimming before him with a pained expression.
"I shall not have that beast in my grounds for a moment longer!" The yell disturbed Murtagh, causing him to topple to the ground while gripping his head with his eyes squeezed shut. "It's eating my swans!"
"He's been starved sir, you can't blame him!" A male voice snapped back then added, "Now be quiet, this patient has been inhabited!"
"Inhabited…?" Murtagh croaked to himself as he began the long process to stand without causing pain.
"I don't care if he was dropped from the top of the Watch Tower or dying from a poisoned blade! His oversized mutt shouldn't be touching my swans in the first place!" The voice increased in volume as the male paused outside the door.
"Sir! I must ask you to be quiet!" The door burst open and Murtagh glanced up at them with gritted teeth.
Murtagh mumbled something that was supposed to be, 'He could have woken the dead with all his shouting' but ended up spewing out a mixture of jumbled consonants and vowels which left his jaw hanging open and his head screaming in pain. He slowly slid down to the floor and closed his eyes his fingers tugging at his hair to release the dull throbbing in the back of his mind.
The doctor crouched beside him, placing a hand on his forehead to check Murtagh's temperature, "Your fever seems to have lessened." He mumbled; a sound that didn't attack Murtagh's conscience as much as his normal voice would have. He slid an arm around Murtagh's middle and tugged him gently back towards the bed.
"Thorn…?" Murtagh croaked as he felt his back hit the blankets.
"You named that ridiculous creature?" He cringed, every muscle tensing as the sudden outburst penetrated his sore brain.
"Keep your voice down my lord! Can't you see he's weak?" The doctor hissed, pressing a finger to his cracked lips. He didn't look like a doctor; he looked more like an elderly man who had finished serving his duty and had been pressured into being useful once again.
"Do not tell me what to do!" The warning came in a low whisper; at least the Lord had obeyed the doctor. The bed beside him sunk as two pairs of hands sunk into the mattress, "The thing you rode in on has eaten my swans and he won't stop!"
Murtagh held up a finger then coughed weakly, "W-Water." Liquid immediately dripped down his throat and he spluttered a little. "Thorn h-hungry." He wheezed while inching up into a sitting position.
"I gathered that but why my swans? My swans!"
"Sir, you ordered us to hide the cattle." The doctor scratched his chin as he replied from the corner.
"Do not interrupt me!" He yelled and Murtagh let out a yell purely out of reaction as the headache ceased.
"I'm going to have to ask you to leave sir," The door closed with a loud bang and Murtagh jumped. "My sincerest apologies, Lord Dewhurst is rather attached to his swans."
"Attached." Murtagh echoed, breathing deeply as something churned in his stomach. He groaned then tilted his head and vomited. He felt better immediately despite the foul taste in his mouth.
"You're certainly healing faster than the others," The doctor muttered then called for someone to clean up the sick. He put on a professional tone, "You've been, what we can 'Inhabited' which, in some ways, is excellent but not good in others. You see, if you survive being 'Inhabited' you're left as though you're a shell of a man filled with dark thoughts but with no recollection of what has occurred. However, there have been countless cases of villagers who either didn't survive being 'Inhabited' or they died for various reasons after."
"Inhabited by… W-What?" Murtagh rested his head on the wall behind him, panting heavily.
The doctor sighed and picked a scab on his elbow, "By…" He shook his head, "I daren't say. No one will. We live in fear of it. It chooses a victim then controls it to…" He halted and shook his head again, "Nay, I can't even describe it."
Murtagh sipped at his water as he waited for the doctor to change his mind and continue. He didn't. "Where am I?"
"Magdalina of course! The greatest city ever created!" He announced boisterously, flinging his arms open with a grin on his face. "One of the watchmen saw the beast in the air and was curious." He trailed off again then forced a smile.
"Oh." Not a single word registered in his mind. The doctor left after he closed his eyes. Murtagh pushed aside the covers, determined to leave the dingy room before he was ill again. Unfortunately he teetered several paces toward the door before he opened his mouth to vomit again.
He stumbled forward with a groan, stepping over his regurgitated lunch from the past few weeks. His fingers fumbled at the door and he stepped into a sun-filled courtyard where three women chased twelve chickens across the cobbles. He became painfully aware of his bare upper-torso.
Tenderly, he let his mental barriers down and called out for Thorn. Thorn? He hissed as linking to his other half felt like antiseptic on a deep, open wound.
Thorn almost immediately dropped from the heavens with a loud crash. You're awake! His rumbling thoughts sent pain through Murtagh's mind and he winced.
Yes, I am awake. Did the swans taste nice?
Absolutely divine; the little hairless man ruined my fun by poking me with his silly little stick. He shifted his weight and whipped his tail irritably while Murtagh chuckled. I presume you are hungry as well.
Hunger hadn't occurred to Murtagh as he had struggled against a mental war but now that it had been mention his stomach felt hollow. He scrambled up onto Thorn's back and flew from the courtyard at a leisurely pace.