As they soared above even small traces of mist belonging to night blackened clouds, the black city merely a dot on the horizon, Eragon turned to their new passenger. He was getting tired, for their venture had gone well passed midnight and early into the next day. But still, there were some fundamental this he had yet to learn about their Elven friend. And there were many things she did not know about them yet.
He sighed, finally deciding he'd have to start; for now, she simply stared at his with an odd combination of shock and disbelief. "I guess we really need to know a bit about each other before we can call it a night. After all, I don't know about you, but I find it hard to camp with someone I really don't know a thing about…"
"…I guess so…" she answered in a soft tone, the soft winds of the deep night almost completely stole her words. Her face contorted for a moment with countless emotions. Fear, confusion, anger, hatred, betrayal, even love. Then it went into an unreadable, distant gaze.
Wondering if she was really listening, he stated. "Well, I guess I'll start. I am called Eragon Shadeslayer. My dragon's name is Saphira Brightscales and this…" he pointed to Roran, who sat up at the mention of his name, "numbskull is my cousin Roran Stronghammer, Garrow's son." With that, he got a light sock in the arm. He grinned; it had not pained him at all obviously. "Don't worry. He's completely harmless…most of the time."
"Except if you hurt Katrina." Roran added. Eragon agreed lightly.
"What can we call you?" Eragon asked as nicely as at the moment possible.
"Aiedail." She answered quietly, looking down at her feet.
"Got a last name to that?" Roran asked in sheer curiosity.
"I…don't know. I don't even know if it really is my name. But it's the only one I have…" As she spoke, her hands fell to a small gold locket in the shape of a six pointed star. As her fingers shifted the cold metal by moonlight, it shone off light of the stars, forming a goldish light around her fingers. Eragon and Roran waited with quizzical eyes for her to explain, but no answer came. Instead, all she did was take off her bag, put it off to the shadowy part of Saphira's saddle, and look off to the distance, as if waiting for something or someone. A soft, small tear streaked down her face, leaving a glazed stripe all the way down her face like slick ice. It landed on the locket, the fell from there to the earth below.
The manner which she acted reminded him of someone he knew, though he couldn't put a finger on it. Then came a small moment where a wave of nausea over took his body as he found the answer. The way she said things, the emotionless face, even the way she fingered her locks of soft, brown hair…they reminded him of…
Murtagh.
Eragon relayed this thought to Saphira. She didn't seem to have any answers, keeping to her own conceal behind the walls of her own mind.
Not even Saphira dared as to as Aiedail what she was crying about. Each man was far too caught up in his or her own thoughts about it. The silence that ensued was far too indestructible even if she wanted them to know. Countless time went by with no more then the whips of night wind, the ache of a body unused to dragonback travels, and tension which could be cut by a knife and useable against even dragon scales.
Suddenly, Eragon realized they were slowly drifting down towards a forest clearing. He gave a concerned look to Saphira, the dragon in question's eyelids were drooping. And he could not blame her. She had shown an awesome performance in the battle. She deserved the rest. As they landed, they could feel the forest waking at the presence of the blue dragon. But that was not what concerned them.
The moon lit scene was a sight to be seen. The area was clear, with long grass tall enough for Saphira to disappear into. Nearby, a stream that fed off the Ramr River babbled softly. There was a corpse of trees only a sort distance away. One or two trees grew closer. Dew clung to the grasses, making them all wet fast.
Drowsily, somehow Eragon and Roran managed to set up camp. Aiedail simply crawled next to the nearest tree, laid down her pack, took some items out and used it as a pillow. The elf fell down to no more rise after that.
Eragon was too tired to unsaddle Saphira, who was already nearly asleep anyway. So, instead, he simply gathered their food and hung it from a nearby young oak to protect it from animals in the night. He, then, carefully as not to wake her rolled his sleeping roll out next to Saphira and laid on it. He looked to the heavens, watching the stars before sleep began to put its cozy embrace on him. They shone brightly overhead; guarding him from danger as the night deepened.
As sleep claimed him, Saphira's blue eyes groggily opened. She gently shifted her translucent blue wing over Eragon's sleeping form. She cooed gently, satisfied at their day's work. Then her massive bony eyelids met her softer scaled under eyes and she followed Eragon down the road of sleep.
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Thorn, do you think I did the right thing? Murtagh asked. He had remained silent to Thorn about his plan to save Aiedail and another prisoner he'd sent away. That is, till just minutes ago when the dragon finally wised up and demanded the truth. And he'd been glad to get it off his chest.
I think that last part will surely come and bite us in the butt. But I do agree with every choice you made. Though I think you should have told me… It was clear that the last part had hurt Thorn a bit. And Murtagh certainly knew why.
I had to leave you out, Thorn. Galbatorix has gotten suspicious. I don't think I could have kept up the charade for much longer alone even. He might have learned what I was planning had I told you. You understand. Plus, I shall be the one held responsible should he find out. Murtagh sighed as Thorn gave a low growl. He obviously didn't.
That gives you no excuse! I am bonded to you, human! And, there for, I am subjected to everything! Everything! Do you even know what that means!
Thorn… Murtagh interrupted. But Thorn went on.
I get a share in everything! Your pain, your tears, your love, your fears. I should get all your thoughts as well, but no! You seal your mind off from me even still when you know that I am a part of you and should know everything you do! Murtagh broke in Thorn's angry rant.
Stop it, Thorn. He mumbled. But Thorn continued like he had not heard Murtagh.
-And I don't. You know why that is? Cause you have to be Mr. Secretive all the time! It took me months to find out when my own rider's birthday was; not to mention all that stuff about Morzan and Eragon! Honestly Murtagh! I think you shared your thoughts better with Aiedail! And you still told her lies! And-
Murtagh had enough. "Thorn! Shut up! This is much bigger then you and me! You can't just respect that, can you?!"
But-
"No, shut up! I've heard enough from you! I tried to tell you about it quietly, but no! Now days, everything has to be a fight! I can't do it anymore, Thorn! You're the only person I have to turn to now. Aiedail's gone. Even if she wasn't, I don't think I'll ever be the same with her again! Eragon won't even look at me! Much less hear what a traitor to his own family has to say! Galbatorix certainly doesn't care! And you know, I can't even trust you to trust what I do is right anymore!" Tears poured out of his eyes as emotions he'd always seen fit to bottle up exploded in front of Thorn. Said dragon was so shocked, he didn't want to look at Murtagh. But he knew he had to…"My mom is gone, Thorn. My father is dead; but even if he wasn't, I would be. All I have is you. Even if the rest of my remaining family will have nothing to do with me, I always had you. And I can't bare to loose you..." his voice trailed off into sobs. Thorn gingerly rested his muzzle on his back. Suddenly, Murtagh grabbed it, holding it in his arms. Thorn was shocked; Murtagh had never been the one to give hugs. Only comfort and receive.
I won't. I never will. Thorn said. But then, he pulled away, looked Murtagh in the eyes, and reverted to the ancient language. But promise you shall never lie to me again. We will take the punishments for our actions together.
For a moment, Murtagh hesitated. Then, he vowed. "I will never lie to you."
Good. Thorn replaced his comforting muzzle into Murtagh's grasp. Only, this time, the rider's mood had been changed and he did not hold it. Still, it was a while before he finally was able to get himself together and move on with his duties.
So, we're outside of Daret? Murtagh asked Thorn. The dragon nodded his scaly head; a grim light in his eyes.
Murtagh, I don't want to do this. Is there anyway around it? Thorn stared intensely into Murtagh's brown eyes.
I wish. Just keep dreaming, Thorn. Maybe one day Eragon can free us, but for now, we'll need to numb ourselves. The lives we take here tonight shall be avenged in blood of Galbatorix one day. I swear it. Murtagh vowed. Then he spoke again. "Vico en'ynuvi!(numb mind)" Instantly, they felt Daret as enemies, not civilians. It worked only to some extent though. For if they completely numbed their minds, they might kill each other.
Gods have mercy on their souls. Murtagh said before he, with a wild war cry, made his way through the mists and into they city…
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Suddenly, a yell broke the darkness. In the middle of the village blood sprayed from fresh wounds. A woman screamed as a malevolent figure beheaded her. Her blood splashed onto a babe strapped to her chest. Its cries filled the night before a demonic red dragon smothered him in flames, cooking him from the inside out.
Screams ran wild as men were struck down where they stood over their families. Children stabbed in their beds so that their own homes became their pyres. With a simple word, lightning stuck down three able bodied men, killing them before they could defend their homes. The village turned red as bodies were falling dead where they stood. Families fled to the forest; only to be hunted down later.
Then came thousand degree fires belched from the belly of hell's monster. A brother and a sister, holding hands tightly as they tried to flee the fallen village. They grabbed a chestnut horse. Both swung their legs through the saddle. Men and women swamped the horse, begging for a ride. The horse tried to leave with them and succeeded with only one man still clinging to the saddle. The man yanked at the girl's cloths and she fell to the ground with him. The child stumbled forward, but her foot caught in a piece of fallen wreckage. The boy could only watch in shear horror as the girl's own home came crashing down on top of her, killing his last family.
Slowly families were disintegrated on spot; executed for no cause. Old men, women, children, even young men. It made no difference. They were given no chance. The figure stood over a mountain of dead. He breathed heavily.
Then he broke down and cried. His skin red and his eyes blood shot, he cried as flames hissed and spat. He cried as blood spewed from half dead half alive bodies, then suddenly silenced. A river of blood flowed into a nearby river, turning it red. The river broadcasted news of the terrible massacre to every part of Alagaesia.
Finally, the dragon came to the man's side. He jumped on; as they took off, but no before they set the bodies on fire. Then the man washed off in the river; hoping to wash away the terrible deed…
Aiedail awoke in a cold sweat. Though she had not shown it, she had only an hour and a half ago found sleep though they had been there over six hours. It was unwise to say the least that they had not designated a lookout, but since sleep could not find her anyways, she found it fine to stay awake. And after what she had just seen, she felt as though she could not sleep or eat for at least several hours.
She looked over their camp. There were no bloody carcasses. No screams of pain. No fire. Only the little safety night could supply. Though it was more dawn then night now. And she knew she would not sleep for long even if she tried. So she began trying to occupy her time.
Her gaze caught a black sheath in the dwindling moonlight. Dre'gui rest near her feet. She unsheathed the beautiful emerald blade. It shone with an unearthly light in the moonlight. Dre'gui. What did that mean? As she thought over lessons she had with Murtagh, it dawned on her. Broke heart. Dre'gui meant broke heart. She remembered how clumsy she'd been with it before. She hadn't ever really fought with a blade before. Only been taught moves. Murtagh had always thought it was too dangerous. Dre'gui seemed to fit her; though she assumed it could never be hers. An onyx pummel on the hilt of the blade shone in the new light of the day. She sighed and replaced the blade to her side.
Somehow, her hands found her pack. She began to look at all she had left of her childhood in those seven pockets. Six held things she had ever held dear. In the first were several items. A farth made by a skilled magician of her and her dad. A beautiful gown Murtagh had had made for her for when she got older. An arrangement of fine linens, laces, and other valuable items Murtagh had made her inheritance. A short, emerald studded dagger Murtagh had made for her.
In the second were considerably smaller items. A small red scale Murtagh'd given her without telling Thorn; she's turned it into a necklace. A heart-shape jewelry box filled with gems, pearls, and gold given to her as trinkets of trade by Murtagh. A small purse filled with money Murtagh had given her.
In the next three, there were clothes and other supplies. Some clothes were for the future, but all were made specially for her. All but one. She'd stolen a shirt long ago from Murtagh while he was on one of his little mad crusades. It still smelled of him. She kept it so she could hold it when she missed him.
Then, in the final pocket she could put things in, she stored her most prized possession. Though now she wore it. It was a necklace, the first gift Murtagh had ever given her. She'd always had it. It was in the shape of a six pointed star. Elegant designs framed a simple word. Aiedail. It was hers and hers alone. To loose it would be a punishment worse then death for her. For she counted on always having it. Not only was it something she'd had for long, but it was enchanted as well. The locket, when opened, could show what was truly in someone's heart. But getting it open was the glitch, for it had very specific conditions. She only discovered how to open it by accident. It needed to be touched by star dust. She'd been taken on a ride with Murtagh and gotten closer to the star of her namesake, trails of dust charged with the star light.
So many memories attached to the items in the pockets. And they all hurt now that she knew the truth. She struggled with herself to stop from crying; thinking of anything to keep from it. She eyed the last pocket. It budged in the new sunlight with an unknown item. Curiosity seemed to be just what she needed.
She remembered Murtagh's strange instruction.
"Only open it when the time is right." He had said. But when was the time right? Could it be now, when the sun had not yet fully rose and no one else dared to stir? She reached out to it, striking its surface. Surprise took her when a metallic echo resonated from her touch. Her hand found the zipper and slowly stared to…
Something stirred. Her hand instinctively pulled away and rested on the emerald dagger, drawing to it for safety and comfort. She glanced over to see Eragon had risen. He looked her way but then took a double take at seeing her awake.
"Didn't you sleep?" He asked.
"The only time I did it was bad." She answered, trying not to sound tired but failing miserably.
He dug around in the now wide awake dragon's saddle bags. After several failures and a slight curse as something sharp caught his hand, he unearthed a bag of powerful smelling herbs and a cast iron pot. He went over to the stream mumbling something about needing to clean out the saddle bags and filled the cast iron pot, and put the herbs in. Saphira blew a steady torrent of flame, quickly melting the herds into the boiling water. Quietly he murmured something over the pot and then grabbed two glasses. He evenly dispersed the liquid between the two.
He gave a glass to Aiedail, saying to her, "Here. This should give you energy for today. Trust me." And with that, he took a big gulp.
Aiedail wearily looked at the liquid. She breathed in the aroma of the fresh spices and decided to trust it. The moment her lips touched the drink, energy surged through her like a lightning bolt. She felt her heart racing and her body stronger then ever. Any exhaustion disappeared like morning dew before the hot sun.
"Thank you." She took another sip, smiling slightly.
"No problem. All of us need it. You should have seen Roran a few days ago. You see, he had been injured on our last trip. Could have died if not for…" he paused as Saphira gave a low growl. Suddenly Roran sprung to life as well.
"Jesse. What a wake up call!" he then addressed Eragon. "Got anymore of that tea stuff left."
"Sorry Roran; you're too late. I'll go make some more." He said. And then he took off
"So inconsiderate…" Roran mumbled as he pulled out some particularly dry jerky. He had just taken the first bite when they heard Eragon's voice.
"Umm…guys. I think you should come see this." He appeared from behind a bush with the cast iron pot still empty.
"Why?" Roran questioned with his mouth full as he sat on a stump.
"Just come with me." Eragon pleaded. Aiedail got up and so did Saphira. Then, pouting, Roran got up too. They all followed Eragon, who made his way to the river. And soon they all saw what Eragon had wanted them to see.
The stream was blood red.
Aiedail's mind instantly flashed to the people of the town she'd dreamt of. It was real. She concluded. She saw people running for their lives; some burning to a crisp, others stabbed in the gut. They didn't deserve to die that! The fresh images of the ended lives danced in her head. Nausea took her. Her stomach gave back its contents to the environment. Eragon flashed a concerned look to her.
"What's wrong?" He asked.
"What's wrong? What's wrong?" she asked, her tone rising with every word. "What's right? What is? Death, tears, blood, so much blood. And for what purpose? For what motivation? Why? For the sake of doing it again?" No tears fell, but her face turned red as any ripe apple. She left, still slihtly dignified, to go to a small tree. Visions of the villagers' deaths flowed through her mind like an endless river. She felt lost in the dark, till suddenly she felt warmth beside her. She looked to see Eragon next to her.
"Quite a display." He commented softly.
"It wasn't a display." She said softly. "Last night, I spent five hours trying to sleep. When I finally did, I wished I hadn't…" Eragon gave a concerned look, but said nothing. "I dreamt of a village. A war cry. Death. Blood. So much blood. And it all burning. A shadow figure responsible. And you know what he did?" Eragon looked interested. "He cried. After killing men and women and children, he cried. How dare he! He had no right to cry! He killed them! He killed them and he was crying!"
"But it didn't actually happen, did it?" Eragon asked.
"I was just getting to that. The blood formed a river which flowed into another one. It wasn't real, till I saw the blood in that stream. It is theirs. It is theirs, I know it!" She looked nearly hysterical.
"Listen. It sounds like you had a vision…" Eragon sighed. He felt bad about t, but he had to know. He snuck into her mind, snaking through vivid memories.
A young girl racing with a familiar face. Through black halls, the young girl and Murtagh raced. Both laughed and smiled all the way, despite sneers from prissy nobles. She took a sharp turn on freshly waxed halls. Murtagh followed.
Suddenly, she began to lose her balance and tumbled forward. Murtagh desperately tried to stop from running into her, but wound up on the floor in a twisted mesh of arms and legs. Behind them, a red dragon made his presence known. He snickered slightly, and then stopped abruptly as he stared at the two laughing on the ground.
Eragon pulled back, taking in all that the memory meant. It meant she had not only known Murtagh, but been friends with him…or more…but he'd heard him called her his daughter. Could it possibly be? Eragon coiled at the knowledge that his niece may just be standing before him. After a deep breath, he drove back into her fresher memories, careful not to cause her pain.
A firm hand on her shoulder, she turned to see Murtagh. She embraced him, whispering "daddy." Eragon pressed on, carefully paying attention to every detail. A serious light appear in Murtagh's eyes as he said, "Sweetheart, you know how much I love you, but you must leave…"
"Why?" Aiedail answered.
"You know well why." He gesture to her ears.
"Why does that matter? Why am I any different then you? Your ears are pointed too!" she exclaimed as hysteria began to take her.
"Sweetheart," He answered. "your ears and my ears are pointed for totally different reasons…"
"What are you saying?" her tone got louder and more violent with every word. "Are you not the man who raised me? Are you not my father?" she looked at him in shear anger.
Murtagh was silent. He bit his lower lip hard under her stare.
"It can't be true!" She screamed at him. Tears fell she her eyes as continued. "You are my father, right?"
"I'm afraid, my dearest Aiedail, the answer is nay…" Suddenly Eragon felt a powerful force, trying to push him out. He tried to catch what else was happening as he strongly resisted, but other images flashed into his head instead.
Pain, blood, death, a lone man crying over a mountain of people. Women, children, men; families annulated no matter the sex or age. The images were so pain staking, Eragon withdrew to the safety of his own mind. But the presence followed; stabbing through his most painful memory.
Two men on an elevated surface. The two dueled intensely. One with a red sword; another with a hand and a half sword. In the skies, two dragons hovered overhead; willing to help when need be. Sweat dripped off their backs. Soon, the one with the red sword fumbled. The other one moved in for the death blow.
Suddenly, the other man rolled away, regripping his crimson blade. The other flicked it out of his hands with a flick of the wrist. Horror flashed into the man's eyes as he eyed the sword and fighting techniques.
"I know you!" he shouted before plunging at the other man; grasping his helmet firmly. With one yank, the helm came off, exposing Murtagh beneath.
Saphira, help me…Eragon pleaded as iron fingers ripped through his consciousness. She entered his mind to aid her rider.
Get out! She screeched. In the real world, her tail swiped forward; knocking Aiedail off balance. She fell to the ground as the presence faded from Eragon's mind.
Eragon fell back, sweat dripping off his forehead. His body was held up only by his dragon's lithe neck. Gently, she picked him up by the shirt with her jaws and daintily placed him in the saddle.
Thanks, Saphira. He said as she walked off.
No problem. But next time be careful. She said, concerned for him.
What happened? He asked.
It was your elf friend here. She answered, picking up the unconscious elf with her jaw and placing her beside him. By the way she acted, I don't think she can control her magic. It's strong, but it seems to have a mind of its own. You need to be sure she doesn't do that again. The power of her probe…it could have put you in a coma, Eragon. If I had not been there, it would have.
It's just…strange. He looked off into space.
No, it's not. Don't you remember your lessons? She said when he gave her a quizzical look. Well, if you did, you'd remember what he said about elves. They grow fast. Mature faster then even dragons. But till their tenth year, they cannot control their magics. Their magics control them instead. Even if they became a rider, they still have troubles controlling it till then.
Oh ya. That's right. So, you're saying she's young? The dragon nodded. Well, that makes sense. She didn't have many strong memories…
Well, just don't try it anymore with her. You never know what's going to happen with a young elf.
Kind of like you never know what's going to happen around a rider…
…Ya…
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Pain. Suffering. Death. Tears. Victims of Daret, burning, slowly dying. It was all his fault. He was a monster. A being even the devils would quake around. And he felt alone. For that was not him. It was his master… A far off pair of green eyes, watching him disapprovingly. A faint roar and a distant green bird as it few on the horizon. As he watched, a child fumbled. She could only sit there while a burning house collapsed onto her.
Murtagh awoke drenched in sweat. It felt like he was still there. He still didn't know exactly what happened that night, and he didn't want to know. His hands were stained forever red with blood. She was a child. An enemies' flesh and blood. All he knew was that he killed her. She looked just like Aiedail had only a month ago and he killed her. He could never forgive himself. At least he felt right about what he did with Aiedail.
And he knew it was now the right thing. Aiedail, and all she carried with her, would be safe from harm's way. By now he knew she was probably gone, on Bronco, galloping towards Surda or Du Weldenvarden.
He turned on his side and saw the final deep breath of sleep Thorn took. His big maroon eyes opened; pupils focusing in on his smaller counterpart. Murtagh smiled at his friend. He had always needed him. More then anything else. And he would die for Thorn if he had to.
Good morning, Murtagh.
Murtagh sighed as he eyed a billow of smoke coming from the demolished nearby village. What could be good about this morning? He kicked a large stone away from his feet.
Don't let last night dishearten you. At least we let the survivors go.
Did we, Thorn? Because I have no memory of it. Were there even survivors? We just ruined a harmless village for naught…
It is not your action, Murtagh. We had no choice.
Suddenly, he heard Eragon's voice.
"You have become your father." He was right. This was something Murtagh would not do, but Morzan would. Yet Eragon was Morzan's son too, but he had found himself in no way, shape, or form like him.
"Why is Eragon the lucky one…?"
Hey guys. be sure to keep in mind what happens in this chapter. For everything comes into play in the end...
