Diamond Cut Diamond
Chapter four: Arguing With Elves
"Stupid elf…"
"You should stop thinking about her," said Thorn.
"I only just remembered now because I want that book. I haven't thought about it all day."
"You thought about it while you were listening to Nasuada talking," pointed out Thorn.
"Only because I would have understood what she said better if I had the book!"
"You brood too much. This is a perfect example."
"I do not!"
Murtagh sighed. That had been childish. Thorn, hatchling though he was, seemed to agree.
"This has been happening far too often lately…" he thought in annoyance. "Damn elf. Damn Eragon…he had to dredge everything up again."
Murtagh paced his room. It was still the same room he'd lived in while serving the king. He'd wanted to move but couldn't come up with a good enough reason to go to the trouble. So he was stuck moodily rattling around, remembering.
After about the seventh lap around the carpet, Murtagh made up his mind.
"I'm going to get the book. At least it will give me something to with my mind."
"That might not be a good idea," said Thorn. "What if the pointy-eared female is there?"
"She isn't always there. She's probably at dinner with Nasuada."
Doubt emanated from Thorn, but Murtagh ignored it.
The sun set as Murtagh began the long ascent. By the time he reached the tower, it was fully dark. A whispered word set a ball of light into the air, and then, for some odd reason, Murtagh hesitated by the door.
"You could forget about it…"
Murtagh grimaced. He'd walked up all these stairs, he'd just spend an hour or so reading. He wouldn't take the book; the elf probably kept tabs on every single volume.
Murtagh pushed the door open.
Damn it!
Arya looked up from her scroll, startled. Her face was unreadable, as usual.
Before she had a chance to say anything, Murtagh held up a hand. "I do not want to argue with you, elf. Just let me read in peace."
Arya raise one eyebrow. "As you wish," she said.
She did not, however, give up the window seat.
Murtagh found the book he'd been about to take earlier, and leaned against the wall and opened it. It was one of the earlier volumes, and described the first time the court the riders had devised had been used. The case had been about a man who had killed several people and appeared to have no intention of stopping. The riders had argued about whether or not his insanity should count him worthy of a pardon, or whether he should simply be put to death.
Eventually, he had been taken to the elves to have his mind examined and treated.
"The enlightened choice," thought Murtagh, wryly. "And yet, it's never noted what the people thought of this. Because the riders didn't care, did they? They knew best, of course. No lowly peasants could possibly stand on a jury. At least in the empire most cases were dealt with city by city, not brought to the king to decide."
"What do you think of the riders' court?" asked Arya.
Murtagh was startled. He wasn't sure why the elf had asked the question, but it held a hint of challenge.
"I thought it was fundamentally flawed," he said, not looking up.
"Oh? How so?" asked Arya.
"Rulers do not live in the countries they rule over, nor among their people. Thus, they are in no position to judge criminals. The populace should decide the fate of criminals."
"Is the average population as well-versed in ethics as you or I? Most are uneducated," said Arya.
"You degrade humans because you are not one. Education is not needed for a sense of justice."
"You are no human either," pointed out Arya. "And the more refined commit less crime."
"What of corrupt politicians whose deals may cost many people their livelihoods? They are educated and cause more strife than the thieves who rob out of necessity," argued Murtagh.
"But violent crime—it is generally the province of the lower classes."
"Only because the high can hire it out."
"Still, look at the riders. I have studied much, and can find few instances of injustice, and none where they were violent without cause. Surely they are better to judge wrong-doers."
"You place them upon a pedestal. Riders were humans and elves—as fallible as either race is. Certainly they were powerful and learned, but they were as susceptible to flaws as the rest of us. And as they lived in a high-class environment, they were not fit to judge all levels of society."
"Neatly tied up—and I agree," said Arya.
Murtagh frowned, nonplussed. "So why did you argue the other side so fiercely?"
"I wanted the exercise," said Arya. "I have not been able to indulge in a decent debate for quite some time. Too often much lay in the balance of my arguments. That was quite enjoyable."
Murtagh was unsure whether to feel used, or take the gesture as a friendly one. Oddly, he felt the same satisfaction he would after a good sparring match. He inclined his head to Arya, and she nodded back.
Murtagh replaced the book, being careful to find the right space on the shelf and walked towards the door. He half-expected Arya to return to her usual, cold self, and make some nasty remark, but she did not, and so he closed the door and began the long descent.
"That was improvement," commented Thorn, and Murtagh could think of no appropriate response.
"I wonder if she could have won if we'd reserved sides…" he mused.
LINE BREAK
"—What do you think, Murtagh?" asked Nasuada.
"Damn it! Thorn, what was she saying?"
"Agree with her," said Thorn.
"I agree with you, Lady Nasuada," said Murtagh, wondering exactly what he'd just said. Thorn had a mischievous streak that even King Galbatorix had not managed to fully quell.
"Eragon?" asked Nasuada.
"Yes, I'd agree as well. Terms shouldn't be more than ten years, or it'll be too easy for one ruler to change too many things."
"Oh, not this again. I thought we finally settled on sevenyear terms."
"But if we change too often, no leader will be able to accomplish anything," said Jormundur.
"This discussion has gone in so many circles we could probably draw energy from it…"
"Five years is a good balance," said Nasuada firmly.
"People will never adjust to having their leader changed every five years!" said Orrin.
"Why he's advising us, I have no idea."
"Change was the point of this whole rebellion!" said Jormundur.
"I have that line memorized…"
"Too much change, too fast! Seven years, or better, ten!" said Orrin.
"The futility…"
"Look at it this way," said a new voice. "The first year will mostly consist of forming a strategy to deal with whatever problems have arisen at the time. The second, third, and fourth will be implementing them. The next one or possibly two, will either involve watching over the reign the leader has established, or creating a new strategy if the first did not do its job. If the latter is the case, then add one more year. Thus, seven is the right number." Arya looked around the table, anticipating challenge.
"And now we're right back to where we started."
"The elf has a point," said Thorn.
"She does…and she illustrates it better than any of the other fools. Hopefully no one will be able to argue with her and we can move on."
No one spoke, and Nasuada cleared her throat.
"We've gone around is circles long enough—shall we vote? Seven-year terms, yea or nay?"
The only dissenting vote came from Orrin, and Nasuada made a note, which everyone signed.
Murtagh hated the official obsession with signing everything that anyone agreed to. He didn't see what good it did. People broke promises on which lives hung—a piece of paper was not going to change anything.
And he hated his name. That really went without saying, but every time he wrote it (in elegant handwriting, something that he'd been forced to practice as a child) it reminded him of several things he preferred to keep hidden deep down in his mind.
Murtagh has considered changing it, but could think of nothing. After all, he hadn't killed a shade, hadn't really done anything of importance in the war. Really, all he had done was remove himself from the other side, setting the scales in balance. Oh, maybe he'd fought, he'd killed a fair amount of the king's magicians, lent Eragon energy his is duel with the king, but he hadn't done anything noteworthy. Nothing worth a title, anyway.
The session broke for lunch, and everyone went their separate ways. Murtagh went to visit Thorn, who was in the dragonhold with Saphira. He was relieved when he found it empty save for Thorn, Saphira, and Shruikan.
Shurikan, by some benevolent (or perhaps cruel) twist of fate, had survived the war. As Galbatorix died, his bonds had been broken, and Eragon had argued fiercely for his pardon. The black dragon was in much the same position as Murtagh: free, but hated and aimless. He spent his time in the dragonhold, apparently having no other place he wished to go. Murtagh had only felt his mind a few times, and he could not make sense of Shruikan's consciousness. By turns, the dragon seemed filled with insane rage, regret for what he'd done, bloodlust, love for the king, hate for the king, confusion, and sadness.
"Saphira tried to talk to him again today," said Thorn.
"Oh?"
"It ended like it always does—she gave up. But I think I saw something in his eyes…some kind of recognition."
"Maybe."
Murtagh doubted Shurikan would ever be anywhere near sane again. He honestly pitied the dragon, and Murtagh's pity was a rare commodity. Still, there was nothing he, or anyone else could do for the black dragon.
Thorn was in a sleepy, complacent mood, and Murtagh leaned up against him, thinking about Nasuada's plans. They seemed far-fetched; nothing like her system had ever been done before. Even the elves had a monarch. They and the Dwarves seemed to get along fine with their laws—it was humans and Urgals who managed to destroy each other.
"Humans and Urgals…what's the real difference?" thought Murtagh wryly.
"Urgals have horns—they are less ill-equipped than you puny humans," replied Thorn. Murtagh wondered if the dragon would ever understand rhetorical questions.
"Really, it is a good thing you have me. Otherwise you would be helpless," continued the dragon.
"Not completely, Thorn."
"Oh? Look how much trouble you got into before I hatched for you!"
"Look how much trouble I got into after you hatched for me," pointed out Murtagh, actually smiling. Thorn nearly always managed to cheer him up.
Idly, Murtagh wondered what his true name was. Galbatorix hadn't told him his first, but he had hinted at it. Murtagh knew it had been long, and, worst of all, had contained his father's name.
He was fairly sure that had been what had changed.
But he would never know.
"Add that to the list," he mused.
Even so, Murtagh was as close to content as he had been for a while. Eragon had been avoiding him since their altercation, something Murtagh felt no guilt whatsoever about, no one had thrown anything at him today (he would say nothing about the muttering and whispering), the councils were as intolerable as ever, but at least Arya has resolved one issue. And Arya…well, that was interesting, if nothing else. He hadn't been forced to interact with her all day, and he was still mulling over the previous night's debate. He felt cheated—the elf had no exactly let him win, but she had been arguing a side she was less practiced at.
All of this reminded him of the secluded library, and before he could talk himself out of it, Murtagh began the ascent.
I'm moving things along now…we'll see where it goes. Thorn is so hard to write…I've characterized him as young before…but now he's sort of in the middle as he's a few months old. So he's still "stunted-thoughts-red-scales" but a little older and wiser.
Anyone catch the Harry Potter Reference in the title? I'll give you a hint…Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, (Third Class) Honorary Member of the Dark Force defense League, and Five-time Winner of Witcy Weekly's "Most Charming Smile" Award might have written it.
