_Diamond Cut Diamond_

Chapter 14: Need

Arya was silent. She allowed herself to watch Murtagh, registering every move. She had allowed herself to accept that she loved everything about the man and was now drinking every bit of him in.

But she was still afraid. She tried to tell herself she was not, her rational mind told her she had nothing to fear, but there was an undercurrent of terror that flowed in her subconscious. He was capable of hurting her just as she had been hurt so many times before. Arya shoved such thoughts deep down in her mind. They were still there though, and occasionally lapped at the shores of her mind, chilling her ever so slightly.

"There's no sense in going anywhere, the results will be back soon" said Murtagh, sitting down rather gracelessly on a bench in front of yet another fountain. This one was much more elaborate though, with five tiers of flowing water and intricate designs.

Arya sat beside him and fidgeted with her hands, wanting to touch him in some way.

"Do you think your mother would sabatoge the vote?" asked Murtagh.

"No," said Arya, shaking her head. "She wouldn't have the power—and she doesn't count the votes."

Murtagh looked satisfied. "What will you do if you're not elected?"

Arya shrugged. "I won't stay here," she said. "Nasuada will find a use for me. But talk of something else. It only makes my nerves worse," said Arya. "I've staked too much on this job."

"Like what?" asked Murtagh.

"Besides the practical reasons for wanting it, there's nothing else to do. I never knew if I was going to live through the war or not, so I never risked plans. Now I wish I had made some."

"I know the feeling," said Murtagh, with a bitter laugh. "But another subject…Jarnunvosk's eldunari. What of it, do you think?"

"There are so many questions attatched to it," said Arya. "How it was saved—I begin to think of necromancy! Why the Ra'zac chose to keep it—and what's to be done about it?"

"I wonder if it—she will want to continue existing," mused Murtagh.

"I don't know," said Arya. "After all those years in Helgrind and after such a loss, I don't know."

"One can exist after living through hell," said Murtagh. "We're doing it."

Arya nodded and then asked, "When do we leave?"

"Nasuada expects us the day after tomorrow. Will everything be sorted by then?"

"It should be," said Arya. "If I am elected, I'll spend most of tomorrow in meetings. Then I relay most of what I've learned to Nasuada."

Murtagh fidgeted for a moment, and then put his arm around Arya.

"Whatever happens, it'll be all right," he said.

"I wish that were true," said Arya. She seemed tense for a moment, but then relaxed into his embrace. She twisted her neck to look him in the eye. "Murtagh, I don't feel as if I have a purpose anymore. And if I'm not to have this vocation, what am I to have?"

"I don't know," said Murtagh. "That's up to you."

"That's a more optimistic way to look at it than I've seen," said Arya.

"I suppose I'm seeing it through my eyes. The end of the war left me master of my own fate for nearly the first time."

"What plans have you?" asked Arya.

"I was hoping to teach at the school Eragon wants to start," said Murtagh. "But honestly, I'll do anything if I can be with you."

Arya smiled. "You sound like a poet. I never thought you'd be so eloquent—but then again, it seems I'm always finding more of your virtues."

Murtagh chuckled. "You're alone in that, I think," he said.

Arya ignored him. "And there's another—how you when you smile. I wish you did it more."

"If you keep up with your flattery, I will."

Instead, Arya kissed him.

Every nerve in her body was alive with both fear and want. He was gentle with her and did not force her to deepen the kiss, for which Arya was grateful.

When she pulled away from him, he met her eyes.

"You are," he said thoughtfully, "absolutely beautiful."

Arya blushed. "If someone had told you that you'd be saying that a few months ago, you'd have laughed in their face."

Murtagh shook his head. He was about to reply, when Arya said: "Come on, let's make our way back."


She lost. Arya knew she shouldn't have been so distraught, but she had to restrain herself from crying. One of the older Elves had beaten her. It was fair, and he would have been her second choice, but Arya was still in despair.

She reached for Murtagh's hand after Islanzadi read the verdict, and Murtagh took it, whispering, "I'm sorry."

Her mother caught her eye, and lifted her chin regally. As if to say, "I won. I will always win."

Murtagh pulled Arya away, and she knew that if he hadn't, she might have burst into tears.


He brought her to the dragonhold, because he would have has to pass Islanzadi to get to Tialdari Hall. The look in the queen's eye had incensed him. He felt sure that she had had much to do with Arya's loss.

Personally, Murtagh took the verdict in stride, but he knew it meant more to Arya than a job. She now had no idea where she was going or what she was doing. And whether or not she admitted it, she was hurt by her mother's actions.

"Arya, it'll be all right—" he began, but she put up a hand.

"I don't want to talk about it," she said.

And then, she surprised him by pressing her lips to his, much more ardently than ever before.

They forgot the vote, they forgot the verdict, they forgot anything and everything besides each other.

Arya seemed to have changed drastically. Where she had been shy and modest, she was now bold enough to strip off her shirt (under which she wore something light and gossamer.) Where she had seemed afraid to initiate anything, she was now demanding. She knelt on him, kissing his neck and chest, shoving her hair out of her way in uncharacteristic desperation.

Murtagh was too enamored with everything about her to recognize the doubt in the back of his mind. He drew her into an embrace, and his hands were ghotsting up her sides when—

Arya shoved him, hard. She backed up into the center of the room, her eyes flitting form side to side.

"Arya, what the hell? What's—"

"Stop, don't touch me," said Arya, her words coming out so fast they jumbled together.

"All right!"

Murtagh put up his hands and met her eyes. "Arya, what's the matter?" He softened his voice, and wished he could calm her, but he was too afraid to make any movements. His mind was drawing inexorably to a conclusion that he hoped wasn't true.

Arya was shaking, and she held out a hand, her fingers splayed out. "Don't touch me. You can't—I'm as strong as you are. You can't force me to do anything."

"Hell, Arya, I'm sorry," said Murtagh. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I'm not going to do anything to you that you don't want."

Arya's hands were now clenched into fists by her sides; she was obviously trying to stop herself from shaking.

"I know," she said, through her teeth. "I think I know. I don't know what I know."

"Arya," said Murtagh, softly. "Arya, please. Come sit and tell me what this is about."

"You're going to hate me," said Arya, her voice suddenly small. "Or worse, you'll pity me. You already pity me."

Murtagh longed to hold her, to somehow soothe her, but he knew that would only make her terror worse.

"You'll be disgusted with me," said Arya, "You won't want to look at me, let alone touch me. Oh, damn, I didn't mean—but it was like—

She stopped at look a deep breath. Her lips began to move, silently, and Murtagh read them as best he could. She seemed to be counting.

"Arya," he said. "I won't hurt you. Just talk to me. Come on, we can sit over here."

He walked over to one of the chairs, giving her a wide berth. He hoped the table in between then was enough distance for Arya.

It appeared to be, because she walked, slowly, over to the chair opposite him and sat down, her legs pressed together, her hands clenched in her lap. She was still counting.

Murtagh rested his forearms on his knees. "Arya. Arya, I'm so sorry."

Arya looked up at him, tears welling in her eyes. "I was there," she whispered, hoarsely. "It was like I was there again."

"Where?" asked Murtagh, though he knew. "Gilead?"

Arya nodded mutely. "I lied. I lied to everyone. I came so close to telling Eragon, and then I lied. I couldn't bear it. What they would have thought, what their eyes would have looked like."

"I know what they did to you, Arya," said Murtagh, in a low voice. "I know. I should never have done what I did."

Anguish spread over Arya's face. "See? You are repulsed by me!"

"No," said Murtagh. "No, Arya, I should have known you wouldn't want it. Not now, after how your mother treated you, and you lost and everything—"

"I do want you!" cried Arya, her tears spilling over her eyelids onto her cheeks. "But I felt like I was back there in that cell with no sun and no air and Murtagh, I was there so long, I thought I would die there. He told them they could u—use me as they would and I told Eragon that I was able to fend them off! How the hell could I, I was drugged out of my mine and beaten a few times a day! It was all I could do to sit up and eat. And he—he had me too, the bastard. When Eragon stabbed his heart, I was so goddamn happy. I only wish it had been me who had killed him, I would have enjoyed it!"

Murtagh opened his mouth to speak, trying to formulate some comforting words around the string of curses that was running through his mind. He couldn't remember ever being this angry before. But Arya couldn't seem to stop.

"All I could think, for months and months was 'why?' And then I stopped asking because I didn't give a damn anymore. I wanted to die. I remember it all so clearly, I wish I could forget. I remember how cold I was; they'd take my clothes for days on end and left me naked on the stone floor, I was so cold, and they laughed. They laughed and then bargained for who got me next, I remember hearing them argue about whose turn it was. Oh, by the gods, why can't I forget?"

Murtagh quelled the desire to break something. He took a deep breath and leaned forward. "Arya, it's going to be all right. I'm not going to hurt you. Can I touch you? Just to hold your hands?"

Arya nodded, and held out her hands. Murtagh stroked his thumbs back and forth over her knuckles, attempting to calm her.

"I'm so sorry, Arya. I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault," Arya choked out. "I should never have taken it out on you. But I can't let you touch me like that, I can't, it makes me sick. Not you," she added hurriedly. "But anyone. And me. I make myself sick. I feel like I'm filthy and I'll never be clean again."

"There's nothing wrong with you," said Murtagh, through his teeth. "It's those pieces of shit that—Arya, look at me—"

She did look at him, tears streaming down her face.

"I love you so much, damn it, Arya, I'm so sorry."

He gripped her hands in his, and Arya began to sob.

Every impulse in Murtagh's mind wanted to hold her, hold her and never let her go, but he knew it would only make things worse. He forced himself to stop crushing her hands, and he shoved his anger, which was rolling through his mind like a tidal wave, down, away, to be dealt with later.

Arya was shaking, and she held on to him as if she were drowning.

"I s-shouldn't burden you w-with this," she choked. "You d-don't deserve it."

"You didn't deserve it," said Murtagh.

Her sobs became softer; slowly they faded enough so she could talk. "I thought I could manage—but it just all came back, and I panicked. Like I did the first time—I screamed, I fought like an animal. Does that count?"

"Count for what?" asked Muragh. Bewildered.

"It means I wasn't asking for it, doesn't it?" said Arya, miserably.

"Demons above and below Arya, no one in their right mind would say you asked for any of it!"

"He always said—"

"I don't give a damn!"

Arya looked up at him. "Can I—can I sit with you, please?"

"Of course, Arya, come here."

She slowly made her way to sit beside him.

"Can I?" he asked, as he tentatively put an arm around her shoulders.

"Yes," said Arya. She relaxed, slightly, and lay back against him.

"I won't hurt you," said Murtagh. "I will never force anything on you. I promise, Arya."

As an afterthought, he switched to the Ancient Language. "I'll never do anything to you that you don't want, Arya. I swear."

Arya appeared startled. Then she whispered. "I know how much that means. Thank you, Murtagh."

"It's nothing to swear to something I would do anyway," said Murtagh. "Bound by the Ancient Language or no, I would never hurt you."

"I love you," whispered Arya. "Oh, how I love you. I'm so sorry I can't be the woman you deserve."

"You're the woman I want," said Murtagh. "Just tell me what you need."

"Right now, just this," said Arya.


I dunno, man. I dunno. Feedback, por favor.