A/N: Wow! I am really surprised to have received such supportive and some very helpful reviews. Please feel free to critique... I am not afraid of receiving advice. Let me know if something doesn't flow smoothly, or if I start to lose your interest. This chapter might be a bit confusing, as it is a conversation spliced with numerous flashbacks. Anyways...
Oh yeah... CP is not me... duh...
Chapter Three: Mere Tolerance
Seeing his brother choke on his ale had lightened Eragon's mood considerably. He hadn't been there long, but he had observed the last part of the drama. There, in the dark corner of the tavern, he'd seen enough to know with certainty what was going on. If that woman had given Murtagh even half the trouble she had given the blue rider, then he only wished he had been there earlier to have witnessed the fun.
The sight of the angry blonde flying out of the tavern made Eragon wonder why he hadn't tried to dissuade her using similar tactics. But then, more was expected from Nasuada's rider. He had responsibility to uphold an appropriate image, and not cause his liege lord to lose face. He couldn't afford to go about pissing off the people of the Varden.
Now that he thought about it, he noted that he actually envied Murtagh that freedom. As strange as it seemed, Murtagh now had more freedom than the blue rider did, and that didn't set very well with the younger brother.
This simple thought regarding freedom triggered an involuntary response in Eragon. It was as though his mind was being attacked from within... memories unbidden flew into his mind... only it wasn't his own past he was seeing, it was Murtagh's...
.
For weeks it had been the same routine... dragged from the dungeon before dawn, healed of the previous day's torture, and being presented to the king for more abuse.
What does he want? Murtagh asked himself, slowly lifting his gaze to meet the king's scrutinizing eyes, and shaking... always shaking. Why doesn't he just kill me and get it over with? he wondered.
The king had broken his mental barriers weeks ago, and pried, ripped, stolen all his private thoughts and feelings. Most of his information had been known already, divulged by the twins upon their return. But this... this was more like being violently torn apart and then pieced back together over and over again. All the while the dark whispers of lies and truths were woven into the fabric of the prisoner's fractured remains. What was the point? Somehow the broken youth knew that there was a point. Galbatorix was not one to waste energy simply to pleasure himself. He wanted something.
Blinding heat, pain, light suddenly seared through the prisoner, and painful memories flared up one after another, magnified for maximum agony and distress. Minutes, hours, days... it all blended together in this cacophony of anguish. Then, finally, the intensity slowly diminished, leaving a gaping openness filled with receding pain and the echos of his own screams.
A low chuckle of amusement slowly became the predominant sound in the room, and a chill of foreboding crept up the prisoner's spine. In spite of the swirling images and emotions, a thought hit him with unbelievable clarity... Whatever the king had been searching for... he had found it.
A shadow fell across him there on the shiny black marble floor, and then the king's reflection was right there in front of him. A smile lit with assurance and satisfaction grew stronger as the hated face bent closer still, and he whispered. The words were unfamiliar, almost nonsense... but they had a suffocating effect on the prisoner... restraining him both in body and will. Somehow that pompous bastard of a king had managed to chain his spirit.
Eyes wide, Murtagh struggled but to no avail... Words he didn't even understand poured from his mouth at the king's bidding... And a tear of confusion rolled down his face, as he realized he was lost forever... and so was his freedom.
.
Eragon forced his way past the memory, and frowned. What had brought that flashback? It worried him a bit that he had yet to gain control of the images he had acquired, but he covered that up by throwing a mocking glance of accusation at his brother. Letting his eyes dart to the exit that the angry female had departed through, he told Murtagh he had seen the the improper handling of that situation.
The red rider held his brother's gaze as the younger crossed the room and took a seat across the rough wooden table.
"I suppose you want an explanation..." Murtagh began defensively.
"No, I don't think so..." Eragon responded evenly. "I just want a drink..."
The proprietor lost no time serving Eragon with some of the tavern's best ale, and just as quickly left the two to their business. For long minutes, they both drank in silence, and strangely neither seemed to mind. Perhaps it was left over from their friendship, their travels on their way to the Varden, but there was something comfortable between them. Murtagh didn't want to believe it, and Eragon didn't want to admit it, but it was there, nonetheless.
The younger boy seemed to be deep in thought, so Murtagh allowed himself to relax once again. His brother was certainly a quiet drinker. Of course that was fine with the red rider. He simply wanted to find some small sense of normalcy, even if that meant spending a few hours in a dark corner of a local tavern.
The brown eyes of the younger brother found and fixed on the grey of the older. And there in the dimly lit room, Eragon contemplated the notion of freedom. To him things were often either black or white... but with Murtagh, he realized everything had taken on varying shades of grey. Sure the red rider had been raised as a noble rather than a farm-boy, and sure he'd been exposed to a different set of values, but what galled Eragon the most was that the elder boy was almost always certain of his own decisions... How was it that he refused to regret his choices... his mistakes... Why was he so cocky?
One example of this was the red rider's delayed escape from Uru'baen. He had eventually fled the presence of the king... but only after weeks of secretly being free. The risk of being discovered by his master had been enormous. And Eragon knew that he himself would have not stayed a breath more than necessary, if it had been him. Reaching into the store of Murtagh's memories, he studied the moment when the red pair discovered their freedom. The images came welcome this time, as the younger brother strained to comprehend the elder's bizarre choice...
.
Murtagh was so tired he could barely keep his head raised. And as weak as he felt, the dragon was even more drained of energy. Turning his head wearily, he beheld a scene that only a dragon and rider could imagine. It was early morning, and the landscape rolled peacefully below, as the pair flew awkwardly but steadily towards a dark smudge on the horizon. Throbbing pain flared in what would have been his tail if he had one. And concern mixed with anger flooded him over the damage done to his partner.
Thorn, we are nearly there... do you need a break?
I will make it, my fierce one, the dragon responded. The total lack of sarcasm worried Murtagh enough to doubt his words, but Thorn had never lied to him before. Still the rider fed as much of his own energy as he could spare into the maimed and exhausted dragon. With Uru'baen on the horizon and approaching quickly the pair tried to quell their pain and remorse at the deaths of the golden pair. It would do them no good for the king to see them mourning the enemy... mourning the growing distance between them and freedom... if there was even such a possibility for them anymore.
Murtagh couldn't help forcibly shoving away the thoughts of the elder pair, for it could not be undone. None of it could. What good would it even do the red pair to be able to escape? There would be no place of refuge for them to pursue. They had virtually cut all of their ties to the outside world with their evil deeds. The Varden, the dwarves, his brother, and now the elves... Of all the inhabitants of Alagaësia, the only welcome they were ever going to receive would be that of the king, and as that was never pleasant. It was a welcome they would gladly pass up if they were able, but here they were, almost upon the cursed place.
Thorn's breathing had begun to come in short gasps. Between the sheer exhaustion and the dread that crept up his long body, it nearly choked him. Noticing this, Murtagh laid his hand on his partner's scaly shoulder and sent him a surge of confidence.
We will survive this somehow Thorn. We will survive and we will escape.
I don't want to go there... he will be mad that he had to 'do it' for us...
Yes, he will... and he will torture us for our failure... but we... will... survive.
Even through the thick surface of the well crafted saddle, Murtagh felt the dragon shudder beneath him, and suddenly he veered off towards the sun, and in the direction of the dessert.
Thorn... where are you going?
Anywhere but there...
But how... we were oathed to return...
Shock resounded between them, as they both realized that their bonds had been lifted. This was the moment they had both yearned for, a chance to determine their own actions, a chance to fly free... A deep seated urge took hold of them, an urge to simply run/fly as fast and as far as they possibly could. But even as the excitement of freedom thrilled their senses, a dark heavy presence pressed against Murtagh's mind... Galbatorix...
Murtagh, get that runt of a dragon under control, and return immediately.
The feeling of panic and indecision flared within the red rider.
We are trying to my king, but a gale took Thorn by surprise, and without his tail he is having trouble stabilizing his flight.
Get back here now.
The rider turned his mind from the retreating king, and back to his dragon. As much as he was tempted to just flee with his dragon... to turn tail and escape this virtual hellhole known as Uru'baen... as much as the thought of returning to his prison life caused fear and bile to catch in the rider's throat, and his chest to tighten with dread, Murtagh pressed with urgency the need for them to remain where they were.
Thorn, please trust me, this is the only way...
Though the red rider was worried for the safety of his dragon, and the dragon for the safety of his chosen, both reluctantly accepted the unavoidable fact that they had to return to the place of their bondage in the hope of retaining their freedom.
What if he takes your memories again?...
We'll deal with that when we come to it.
The dragon's flight wobbled, as much from emotion as from the injury, as the pair made their gut-wrenching turn back towards their captivity.
.
Once Eragon had finished examining the memory, he leaned forward slightly with his elbows on the table, and returned his focus on his brother.
"So, Murtagh... can I ask you something?"
Murtagh looked up at his brother's scrutinizing gaze, and nodded hesitantly.
"When you and Thorn returned from Gil'ead, and found you were free... you still went back to the king... that baffles me... even Thorn wanted to flee..."
The elder brother knew that the other had seen all of the memories regarding the incident, but he couldn't blame him for asking. As he himself struggled to come up with an acceptable reply, he had to admit that there was no real easy answer.
"It is difficult to explain. We just really had no choice. There was still the fear that the king would discover our traitorous intentions, but at least it was a chance... Remaining there at the castle while Thorn recovered, biding our time till an opportunity to escape presented itself... it was a huge gamble. But trying to escape, right there at the gates of Uru'baen, with Thorn severely wounded, and Shruikan there ready to chase us down... We would have surely been caught, and tortured again until he found our new names..."
Murtagh's voiced dropped to a whisper. "We'd have been re-shackled..." Clearly this thought made the red rider very uneasy.
"Returning to the side of the king, it seemed the only chance to remain free..." Murtagh had to loose a choked laugh at the irony of that image. "And even that depended on him choosing not to examine my mind upon our return... Having just occupied my being so recently and so completely, he must have felt no need for the usual examinations... He didn't even bother to punish us himself, but sent us to be punished by his dungeon magicians..." an expression on the edge of sincerity clouded Murtagh's normal aloofness. "In other words, we got lucky..."
Additionally, Murtagh had modified his attitude towards Galbatorix... becoming more willing... more broken... lost. And miraculously the king had believed it. It wasn't a far stretch either, for both Thorn and his rider had been badly shaken over their parts in the deaths of the elders.
But Eragon had already known all of this, as he had meticulously examined those memories. He also had focused on those images surrounding the killing of the dwarf king, Hrothgar. In Eragon's mind these two events had been the most difficult to overcome and forgive. He still didn't know if he would ever be able to look at his brother without feeling a surge of hatred well up within him.
The red riders words continued describing the event with calm cool clarity, in a voice so deep and detached that it drew Eragon's attention back to focus on his brother.
"Those next few weeks went by agonizingly slow. I had to time things right if the escape was to be successful. Thorn needed to recover... and Shruikan had to be adequately diverted, hunting would have worked...though the great black dragon didn't hunt often."
The red rider paused to take a swallow from his mug. An appreciative glint sparked momentarily in his eyes before they moved from the ale towards Eragon. Part of him couldn't fathom why his brother was interested, and the other part had no clue why he was baring himself further. But here they were, and it gave him a sort of hope that something between them might be recoverable.
"As it turned out, we didn't have to wait that long... When the king got word about the attempted theft of his precious dragon egg, his new orders provided us the perfect opportunity to escape."
Both riders recalled the moment as if with one mind, which was actually true due to the fact that it was Murtagh's memory that they were both viewing.
.
Murtagh, wake up!
The voice of his dragon burst in on his colorless nightmares. It wasn't as if there was anything pleasant to dream about in Uru'baen. So even though he was jolted awake, the rider felt no irritation at the interruption. He simply blinked as dream became reality... the damp walls of the dimly lit dungeon, with its splintery bench of a bed, dissolved into the much more comfortable quarters in the rider's wing of the castle. He resided there, in one of the rooms of the foresworn. At least he did on the rare occasions that he found favor with the king. His bed felt wonderful beneath him, and the sheets were satin and cool against his skin. This was about as good as he ever felt in the king's castle.
What is it Thorn? came Murtagh's reply. It wasn't often that the dragon sounded panicked.
There's trouble out here. There are soldiers everywhere...
Is the city under attack?
No... the focus of the activity is the castle itself. See for yourself.
Confusing aerial images assaulted the rider... guards could be seen far below, rushing towards the castle with weapons ready, as well as small groups of men rushing off to complete whatever tasks they had been assigned.
Murtagh shook off the dragon's vision and frowned. What could it mean? Worry gripped the red rider as he wondered if he had waited too long to attempt his escape... and he felt a similar emotion from his bonded partner. Knowing that remaining in his room now would be faulty, Murtagh rose from his bed, and stuffed some of his belongings into a large leather carrier. Once he was satisfied with the contents, he flung the bag out onto the balcony for an easy pick up, should they get the chance to flee. Clothes, coins, rations, and his dagger were among the articles stowed for the occasion. Next he threw on his regular day apparel, tunic, vest, pants, and boots, before heading out into the hallway in hopes of making his way outside unobserved. All his hopes for a well planned escape were dashed in this unexpected mayhem.
Murtagh, do you think he knows?
I don't know Thorn... I don't know.
Moments of uncertainty flooded their connection as the red rider heard the approach of a squad of the king's personal guard. They turned up the passage and literally ran past him without a second glance. Now he was really confused.
Morzansson, thundered the king's mind inside Murtagh's head, making him wince with pain. But he answered immediately.
Yes my king, he responded mentally. He was unable to hide his confusion from the stronger mind, and in fact he hardly tried.
Get to the throne room now, there was a theft attempt on the last egg.
I'm on my way, my lord, the rider replied gathering a more alert and defensive stance. Was the Varden here?... his brother?... he had to be even more careful, as the thief could literally be anyone... and that 'anyone' would likely kill him as look at him. Within moments, Thorn was informed of the news, and a couple minutes more saw Murtagh at the doors to the throne room.
As iƒ on queue, the doors parted to allow him entrance, and the rider felt the chill as he stepped into the dimly lit room. His footsteps echoed hollowly on the shiny, hard surface, and brought him halfway to the center of the room where he dropped to one knee.
"What is your command?" the rider asked, his eyes fixed on the black marble floors.
Galbatorix eyed the son of Morzan with a critical eye, for never before had his rider been as compliant as he had been since returning from the battle over Gil'ead. And now that the king was seeing the behavior again, he couldn't help but be suspicious. Still, he slowly imparted his orders.
"Murtagh, you are to escort the last egg from Uru'baen to the warded treasury room at your father's old estate. You know the place I mean. You will keep the egg safe while the perpetrators are hunted down and eliminated. You will go straight to the dragonhold where Thorn is being prepared for the journey. You will leave immediately, is that understood?"
The red rider wished he knew just who the thieves were, but wisely accepted the orders, rather than venturing to ask.
"Yes my king. I will leave immediately, and do as you have ordered." The rider rose to his feet as he spoke. "I will guard the egg with my life, Vel eïnradhin iet ai Shur'tugal." Murtagh's voice was devoid of defiance, and yet it held a determination that seemed to make the king even more hesitant to trust his servant. Still, the rider had just oathed to do his bidding. That was when it must have hit him, for the king's eyes flew open wide, startling Murtagh into near panic. The son of Morzan had never before given an oath to him freely, not in all of his days. Each and every previous order had been forced on him through the use of the boy's True Name. And here he was pledging his sword to his master, willingly, for the first time ever. Something had changed, and judging by the king's expression, he was not sure whether he liked this new forsworn or not.
"Tell me the truth," Galbatorix said dangerously, imparting Murtagh's True Name as well, "Why is it that you are suddenly so willing to serve the one you hate?"
A tremor of fear coursed through the rider as he felt the distant echo of the pull that those words had once created in him. And though he was not bound by the language to speak the truth to him, for that name no longer held any power over him, he knew that the king would not accept anything less.
"My king," he spoke through a hardened expression, "I have resolved to spare my dragon any more needless pain. And I have accepted that there is no longer anyplace in the whole of Alagaësia that will receive the son of Morzan while there is breath in his body. The deeds I have been forced to commit have destroyed all possible avenues or alliances... You've left me with nothing, but a cursed legacy to carry. Oh... I do hate you... more than ever... but I will do what I must to survive. Eka thorta du ilumëo"
The son of Morzan's eyes shown with the truth of his words, and the hate of his heart. He had spoken the truth. The rider simply hadn't mentioned the additional fact that he was also free of the king's power, and that he planned to desert him at the earliest possible opportunity.
Galbatorix glared at the youth for his boldness, and Murtagh suspected that he was very close to being sent off to the dungeons and punished for his insubordination. The only thing saving him was the fact that the situation required immediate evacuation of the egg. No the king did not appear happy with his rider, but the hard edge to his expression had lost its previous spark of suspicion. At least now the king appeared to have been reassured, seeing in the rider, a flash of the Murtagh that he knew and loathed. From somewhere under the king's cloak, he drew a large black leather satchel, which he then handed to Murtagh with an ominous warning.
"Do not disappoint me again, or there will be no place, in this life or the next, that you can hide to escape my wrath." And with that the king waved him to be on his way.
"Yes, my king," the rider acknowledged, bowing as he turned to leave the room with the leather pack in tote. He was halfway down the long hall outside the throne room as the dull sound of the heavy doors thudded closed. And it barely registered that his feet were leading him to the dragonhold.
Only now was the full ramification of his orders sinking in, and he had to hold back the wave of euphoria that hit as he realized it. This was their chance. They were being ordered on a mission away from Uru'baen. And once again, Murtagh found himself in the ironic position of choosing to follow the kings orders... only this time it would lead to freedom... freedom for himself and for Thorn...
.
Murtagh's voice took on a relaxed tone, as the memory seemed to bring him to a place of peace.
"Besides obtaining the last dragon egg, the only positive thing about returning to Uru'baen was that we were able to completely heal Thorn's tail. That would not have been possible without the king's proficiency in the dark arts."
The red rider unexpectedly shuddered as his mind flashed briefly to when the great golden dragon had bitten down, severing several feet from Thorn's perfect ruby scaled tail. Agony coursed through him, almost as if he were re-living the moment. Blinking, Murtagh leaned back gripping the table, and reconstructed his mental fortification, for the brief image had shaken the reclaimed barriers of his mind. The last thing he needed was to have his brother gaining access to his inner sanctuary again... though Eragon had already seen everything he had wanted to... and more.
A fresh wave of anger and indignation rolled over the red rider anew at the reminder of the privacy that had been stripped from him. Still, Murtagh had to refrain from feeling spiteful over the incident, and admit, at least to himself, that the blue rider had been critical in obtaining permission for Thorn and him to remain among the Varden. And because of that, Murtagh grudgingly felt beholden. In lieu of an actual expression of gratitude, the red rider settled for a mere mention of the other's efforts.
"I really don't know how you did it... got them to agree..."
"Me either..." Eragon shrugged noncommittally. He had noticed a change in the demeanor of his brother. It felt like a chill had settled on their conversation. Long silent moments elapsed as each studied the other. During the pause that passed between them, the two used the opportunity to take another swallow of their drinks. But then Murtagh lifted his eyes to regard his brother intently.
"What I'd really like to know, is why you did it..."
"Well it wasn't because you're my brother..." Eragon said more sharply than he had intended.
Murtagh heard something telling in the voice of the other rider, and he frowned.
"What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing," Eragon said looking away.
"Liar!" his brother snapped angrily.
"You can't prove that..."
"Say it in the Ancient Language," Murtagh challenged.
"I don't owe you anything Morzansson, so just drop it."
Murtagh tilted his head back with disdain at the reminder of his parentage... of their parentage...
"You're in denial, brother," he spat the last word, insinuating the rest with the unspoken silence. And Eragon's self control burst like a broken dam.
"You're not my brother, and Morzan's not my father... Brom is."
Ice and shadow fell across the red rider's world as the truth rang out. Eragon's disgust, his hatred, his self satisfaction, his vengeance... it was sharper than any sword, and the elder 'not-brother' quickly covered up his stunned/injured expression. A frosty calm settled on him, and he forced himself not to react. Somehow it all made sense. It was ironic, tragic, poetic even, that he alone be the one to carry his father's sins though life. Eragon was never suited to the task anyway, and Murtagh was not suited to be a big brother.
"Then things are as they should be..." the red rider muttered lifting his mug of mead and turning his cold gaze towards the fireplace across the tavern. His actions clearly signaled an end to the conversation, and Eragon glared as he tried to process what had just happened.
Why should he feel bad about telling Murtagh the truth now? He would have found out sooner or later. Why should he be concerned if hurt had flashed in his not-brother's eyes? He surely seemed to have gotten over it quickly enough. And in truth, Eragon owed him a lot more pain, more than he had just witnessed.
The fact that Murtagh had all but dismissed him, suddenly began to gnaw at his pride.
Scowling at the disregard of the red rider, Eragon tried to call to mind the scenes that had always seemed to justify his hatred of his one time friend. But this only made things worse. When he attempted to picture the red rider's betrayal to the king, all he could see was the memories of Murtagh being beaten, whipped, flayed, burned, and still refusing to give in.
.
Involuntary shaking had become an expected part of Murtagh's existence. Pain, weekness, hunger, shaking... but only on the outside... Inside his mind was nearly as strong as ever, in spite of repeated torture and mental attacks by both the twins and the king. Still it had only been a couple of weeks and the treatment was starting to take its toll on the youth. It was only a matter of time and they all knew it... even the son of Morzan. Eventually, everyone fell to the king.
"Murtagh, son of my great friend, why do you insist on continuing this folly, when with a single action... 'obedience'... you could find yourself back in my good graces... Who else that you know of, has received such a generous offer from me?"
Sweat drenched and bloody, the prisoner's body lay prone on the floor. Still he did his best to look at the king. It was difficult to answer through the pain, but he was just able to get his answer out...
"no one," he gasped through his broken jaw.
"Don't you see that these friends of yours don't deserve your efforts? They deserted you... abandoned you... just like every one else..."
"No... they'll come... when you're not looking..." the injured voice panted.
"FOOL," snarled the king. "I am always looking... which is more than they did. They didn't even try to look for you... Tell me this boy, why would these people waste their time trying to recover the son of Morzan?... the son of their enemy?... You are expendable... disposable... more trouble than you are worth. Believe me... they were relieved to have you gone..."
"Nooo," Murtagh whispered, desperate to hold onto hope.
"Yesssss," the king purred bending close to speak his twisted words into the boy's ear. "They abandoned you... for him." At this, a heaviness gripped Murtagh's chest, and in his heart he knew the words were true. Even if they had wanted to rescue him, it would be too great a risk. It wasn't worth the possible loss of the blue rider... for the son of the traitor.
"They abandoned you for him..." the king repeated, "just like your mother did..."
Murtagh's gaze widened fixing on the king, and even if he had been able to move, he would have been frozen there by the implied meaning behind the king's manipulative speech.
"Yess, Selena... she left you... over and over again... didn't she. She didn't want you... didn't love you..."
"no..." came the strangled gasp.
"Yesss... and that last time she left you, do you know where she went?... She went to Carvahall... to give birth to the son she loved... her second son..."
The king watched with glee as understanding dawned on the broken pawn lying on the floor. Terrible anguished understanding was more visible in the boy's expression than the pain from his torture.
"Yesss, and you know it's true... She abandoned you to flee with him... to keep him safe... For he was the one she really loved... not you...He was the one who was raised with a caring family... not you... He is the one with friends that will fight for him... the one who is respected and loved... the one chosen to be a dragon rider... the one who is free..."
The agonizing cry echoed throughout the palace throne room as the king renewed his mental attack... "nooooo..." and the memory faded...
Eragon shuddered shaking off the remnants of the image. This was only one of many he had seen that had placed a seed of compassion in his heart. Even if he wanted to, he would not be able to erase the powerful images and emotions that he had received from his not-brother. And he could tell that it was going to take a lot of effort on his part to process through it all. It seemed that the memories themselves were trying to do battle with his anger, leaving him feeling concern for the red rider, when he was trying to feel justified in his hatred. And this was not acceptable to the younger boy.
"Uhm... Murtagh," he began hesitantly, both wanting to, and not wanting to apologize for his harsh rejection of his half-brother. But he was interrupted before he could finish.
"Don't say it," the red rider hissed, his oblivious eyes still on the glow of the flames. "You don't mean it, and I don't want to hear it... You've made your position perfectly clear, so let's leave it at that."
Eragon swallowed hard. Oh, how he wished he could peek into the other rider's mind once again, just to know what he was feeling at that moment, for Murtagh was flat and unreadable. And suddenly the self righteous boy felt a pang of loss at the sad turn of their 'not-relationship,' even more so because he knew it was his own fault. Heaving a heavy sigh, he rose from the table and turned away in retreat.
"Sure... we'll leave it at that," he spoke with a resigned voice, as he left the tavern, "at least for now."
Murtagh heard Eragon's parting words as well as the regret that laced his voice. At the last moment, his eyes followed the blue rider as he disappeared out into the evening twilight. What the red rider just couldn't understand was why the actual rejection of his not-brother, was so much more painful than the assumption that he was rejected. He had fully believed that he was not acceptable, but now he felt it as well. And that was the difference.
His heart pounded, thick with pain and grief. Now that the floodgates of his feelings had been released, it was simply impossible to close it back off. Now, the best he seemed able to manage was the appearance of apathy... that, and to ride the emotional surge until it subsided.
Why was he no longer capable of shutting out the consequences of his heart. What had pried a crack in his protective armor? As if in answer to his question, the image of a girl's face flashed, her eyes, frightened and sorrowful. Somehow, seeing a misery that echoed his own had empowered the restricted emotions within him to a point where he could no longer pretend they didn't exist. There was no any escaping them.
This staggering realization did nothing to resolve the issue. This new situation was alarming, and almost as dangerous as life in the king's court had been. These cursed emotions had the power to drain your energy, distract your attention, leave your vulnerabilities open to the enemy, distort your focus on reality, and confuse your perception. Not to mention, they were just plain miserable.
Suddenly the red rider was facing a new enemy... and it was himself.
A/N: I know I have more ground to cover, and there will be additional chapters, but I have not figured out what is going to happen next... at least not yet anyways. So because of this, it may be a while before the next chapter happens. If anyone has any thoughts or suggestions, I would willingly entertain them as possible inspiration for a more timely update. Thanks everyone for the wonderful input.
What do you think so far? :D
FYI: If you like this chapter, you might be interested in knowing that I was aided by some candid advise from SomewhereBeyondReality. And if you did not like this chapter... well that is probably my fault... ;) LMAO
This chapter was edited on 5-01-2011 in response to the wonderfully helpful reviews of InkWeaverabc and SimplySupreme. The latter will also be responsible for the main subject of the next chapter... Thorn and Saphira finding "Mutual Ground."