AN: So first off I'd like to thank DragonDaemon93 for making my first review! And on that note, if it seems a little slow at first then good! That's what I'm going for at the moment. Never fear, though! It'll all pick up soon ;D
Second, to anyone else reading this story... . ... I'd just like to encourage you all to review! It really does help with the moral to know that someone likes what I'm doing enough to take the time to say so.
Chapter Three: A Visit From the Past
The sun streaked through the cracked and molded shutters, raking across his eyelids with doggish persistence. He groaned, a broad hand reaching up to drag across the young man's face. A dark head turned toward the offending window, glaring at the cracks that left the cover hanging by a nail. The man frowned further, sitting up slowly while bending his knees out slightly, and let his head hang limply in between them. He hated the morning. Hated waking up in the middle of nowhere with the sun in his eyes, and his belly refusing to be still. Surely 'the morning' was the bane of his entire existence. "And what a humble existence it is…" The man grumbled sleepily, slowly sliding first one leg and then the other out from under the covers and over the edge of the bed. He paused for a moment, his head lolling from side to side on his neck with his hands bracing him on the side of the bed, as if gathering the courage or mustering the strength to actually stand. At last he could put it off no longer. Joints cracked and popped as weight was suddenly forced upon them, and the man gave a large stretch to help wake his body up.
The little shack he stayed in wasn't really anything special, in fact it could hardly even be called a shack at all. It was really just a box. A wooden box that he could crawl in and hide away from the world. A world that had probably forgotten him entirely by now. She had certainly forgotten him… He bit back the searing weight of loss and betrayal, forcing himself to complete his morning ritual as normal; forcing himself to forget.
A bucket sat in one of the corners of the small shack and the young man took the step-and-a-half that brought him standing in front of it. The water was cold as he splashed it over his face, much of it also spilling onto his bare chest as he was dressed only in a pair of leather leggings. He scrubbed his face well, the rugged scruff on his chin and jaw rough against his fingers. When his face shone red from the chill of the water, the man dried himself off with the bed cover and went about finding clothes while making a list of things he needed to do that day in his head. He needed to go hunting, his food stores were running low, and he also needed to get fresh water. A thin cloth shirt passed over his head, followed by a mixed fur vest that kept his vitals warm while still giving his arms room to maneuver. In all honesty, he didn't know why he bothered as it would come off when it warmed up. What else is there to do… He thought absently, sitting down on the edge of the bed to pull on a pair of thick soled boots. Well, he could always start trying to fix the shutters. A single glance at the pathetic excuse for 'shutters' quickly made him rethink that idea.
A few minutes passed and the young man still sat on the edge of his bed when the visage of a vibrant green forest running away beneath him came to mind. There is someone nearby. A familiar voice said simply, no indication given of whether that 'someone' was dangerous or otherwise. Still, any sort of visitor was a hassle. It seemed like everyone wanted to know why he was out here all alone and surely he must have someone with him to keep him company and perhaps they could stay for dinner so he wouldn't feel so alone and- The young man groaned and smack his palm against his forehead just thinking about it. I am coming down. They are waiting.
The man was interested now, it wasn't often that someone was able to slip past his defenses. Perhaps he was getting lazy in his use of magic? But that was unreasonable, a spell was a spell no matter how animatedly – or inanimately in his case – one said it. Oh well, might as well go check it out anyhow. Anyone who was that determined to see him or this shack that they would force their way through at least a dozen spells of protection and silencing was worth meeting for a little bit. The man grabbed his quiver, slinging it into its normal place on his back, and also his bow which he hung over his shoulder for quick use. Then, he headed for the door.
She was dressed as eccentrically as ever. Her fingers covered in rings and her neck heavy with necklaces of both intricate and simple designs. Her dress was perhaps the most normal thing about her, a plain creation of sky blue cloth that slightly resembled something of Roman origin though how could he know that? She sat cross legged in front of his tiny dwelling with a basket of mushrooms and herbs situated in the nest-like center. The years had been good to her, no more sign of age showing upon her face than there had been the last time the young man had seen her. However, her knowing gaze was still unsettling to him, and when their eyes locked he felt vulnerable and naked as if she weren't so much looking at his face as she was looking at his deepest thoughts and even down to his soul. "It's been a while Angela." He started cautiously, watching the herbalist carefully as if she were some unpredictable animal that could attack at any time.
"Oh, quite." She replied airily, waving his greeting off with her voice before scanning the skies for something. The young man tried to hide his relief that she was no longer watching him so intensely. "Didn't you have a dragon around here somewhere? Old…what's-his-name… It had something to do with plants. Bramble… Sticker…"
"Thorn..?" The man prompted, his voice low and thick with something not unlike regret or guilt. He had named his dragon out of spite, and now the honorable leviathan would never have a proper name. Rather, addressing him would forever remind them both of their wicked and violent past. Angela, however, seemed either not to care about the man's feelings or not to notice as she remained as cheerful as ever.
"Right! Thorn! Now where did he run off to?" She didn't have to keep searching for long.
As if their conversation had summoned him, the giant blood red dragon dropped from the sky like a single bud of fire. His scales shone every hue of red from deep crimsons to burning garnets, the light catching and reflecting against their well maintained surfaces in order to give him the appearance that his body was actually licked with flames. The herbalist gave a small gasp of joy and stood fluidly in her appraisal. If the Rider had suffered any in his years of exile, Thorn had certainly flourished. Living the lifestyle of a wild dragon had worked wonders on his body. Sure he had been big before, but that had been from the warped magic of Galbatorix and his enslaved Eldunarí, now his massive size was the result of age and maturity. Not to mention some extensive cardio. His muscles were toned and wiry, his claws – while perhaps not as curved as they could have been – were sharpened to a razor point and had an almost serrated edge to them. His wings were giant and cast a ruby hue over the small meadow as he landed. Thorn was forced to fall the last few yards to the ground in order to avoid knocking over the small hovel his Rider was currently living in, and the impact of his weight meeting the ground sent tremors through the soil. The nearby trees quivered at the shock, a few leaves falling with a soft hissing sound. Angela seemed pleased by the dragon's appearance and circled him a few times as she made her inspection. "He's certainly grown up well. Quite the handsome dragon. Murtagh, you are flying him regularly aren't you?" The witch asked casually as if this were normal conversation.
The man in question winced at the use of his old name. "No one's called me that in years…" He replied somberly, a shadow crossing his face as he turned away. Thorn watched his Rider curiously, his attention constantly switching between the herbalist who was closer and his bonded who seemed troubled by the witch's presence. While the dragon had no qualms with the woman personally, he didn't like how unsettled she made his Rider and as a result a low rumble could be heard from deep in his throat.
"Hmmm… I try to give you a compliment and somehow you both get upset.." Angela mused without sounding very bothered. "People certainly are strange these days." She placed her hands on her hips turning toward the dark haired Rider. "So then, if I can't use your actual name what am I supposed to call you? I guess Fluffy Caveman sounds alright to me."
The man tried to disguise his wince as scratching his head, but by the stern look he received from the witch, he was fairly certain it didn't work. "I've been going by Baerd when anyone manages to find their way past my spells.." He replied, his voice drifting off as he noticed the incredulous look on the woman's face.
"Really? Baerd? There must be over a thousand names, and that's the one you choose?" Angela asked, her voice raising by almost a whole octave by the time she was finished.
Murtagh shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away with a scowl. "You don't have to like it, it's not your name." He grumbled in reply, watching the ground with a gaze that seemed intense enough to cause the grass to spontaneously combust.
"It's not your name either." The herbalist replied, crossing her arms and tapping her toe against the ground before receiving another testy growl from Thorn. "Oh shut it you overgrown lizard!" She snapped, tossing her hands up in the air in exasperation as she turned to stomp away, snatching her basket where it remained sitting in her previous spot. "I'm done with both of you. I came to help you, but obviously you don't want my help. So just stay here and rot for all I care!"
The Rider hesitated, risking a glance to his dragon who was watching Angela as if she were an unpredictable dragoness. He found some relief that he wasn't the only one confused by the witch's behavior. "Wait!" Baerd called after her, taking a few steps forward and reaching out a hand like he would grab her arm even though she was about three yards out of arm's reach. "What do you mean you came here to help us? Did something happen?" The Rider was ashamed at the note of worry that plagued his deep voice and he made a point of noisily clearing his throat, coughing a few times to rid his vocal chords of whatever sentimentality they had decided to pick up before he would risk speaking again. "Is everything alright in the capital..?" Dammit. Still there. The man made the quick decision to shut up lest he lose any claim to manliness that he still had.
"What?" Angela asked with no small amount of incredulous confusion playing in her wind chime voice. "Why would anything be wrong in Ilirea?"
Murtagh shrugged, suddenly embarrassed that his thoughts had fled straight to her. His imagination running away with horrible and gruesome deaths she might have suffered at the hands of any enemies she more than likely still had hanging around. "Um… Never mind…" He replied sheepishly, his gaze shifting between Angela and random trees around them. "Please… um.. Continue…"
The herbalist rolled her eyes and shook her head in an almost disapproving manner before she finally answered the Rider's question. "Nothing's gone wrong, in fact, things are going extremely right!" She exclaimed, clapping her hands together a couple times to confirm the significance of this report. "Another dragon has hatched, this time in Ilirea. A female from what I've heard, although I haven't been able to get details on the color…" Now it was Angela's voice fading away into thought as her mind worked tirelessly over something as trivial as color. Murtagh didn't care if the dragon looked like a tiger with wings or anything else. All that mattered was there was another one, and it was female!
"Who did it hatch for?" He asked, hope blossoming unbidden in his chest.
"Hmm?" Came Angela's airy voice as she slowly emerged from her imaginative world of thought and dreams. "Oh! Who did it hatch for. Well, firstly, it's not an 'it', it's a she. Secondly, she hatched for the queen's daughter." She finished sounding very pleased with herself for delivering the information. Murtagh on the other hand felt his world crashing down again. Of course it hadn't been her. She was past her prime, and had enough on her plate as it was. But her daughter..? He was greatly troubled by this, genuinely bothered in fact.
Are you not pleased? Another dragon has been born. This should be cause for rejoicing. Thorn prompted in his Rider's mind, turning a burning ruby eye upon the rugged looking man.
I am pleased… I just wish… Murtagh gave a mental sigh. I just wish it could have been different.
Understanding passed between them and the burning dragon pushed no further. He knew his bonded was still hurting from the female who had broken his heart so many years ago, and even he knew what it was like to pine after a she-beast. Even then, almost half a century later, the blue dragoness still soared through his sleep-visions like a sapphire ghost. And every time they met in that world, hate still flavored her eyes with a venomous ice that stung the ruby leviathan to his core. Yes. Thorn could understand plenty well the pain a female could inflict upon a male's most fragile treasure.
"The princess eh?" Baerd commented hesitantly, feigning interest when all he really wanted to do was grab his sword which was hidden beneath his bed in a thick bundle of furs and cloth and take his anger out on anything that couldn't fight back. Trees, he had found, worked wonderfully for this. "And exactly how old is the princess now?" It was a somewhat honest question. The Rider honestly wanted to know more about the child that should have been his, but he mostly wanted to know how long it had taken her mother to move past their rocky separation.
Angela thought for a moment as if having trouble remembering exactly how old the girl would have been. However, the man felt this was more to make him wait than sincere memory loss, and a deep furrow formed between his eyebrows as he scowled at being made to hold on. "Ah! Now I remember! Yes, I'm fairly certain she turned twenty-four this spring." The witch replied after what seemed like great consideration before going to sit back beside her basket. "So, Baerd, aren't you just dying to know why I came here today?" Her voice was coy, almost playful. In that moment she reminded the dark haired man of a coiled snake.
"A dragon was born, yes, yes, Alagaësa is blessed once again. What else could there be to know?" Murtagh asked distrustfully, and perhaps more than a little irritated. He didn't enjoy waiting for what he wanted – perhaps that was one of the reasons he was so low on his meat stores – and the witch was certainly giving him the run around.
Angela blinked, quirking a brow and clucking her tongue like a hen. "Temper, temper, youngling. Have some respect for your elders." She chastised, wagging her finger at him like a mischievous child. That's right, he could remember now, her age far outweighed his own – no matter what she looked like – as did her magic. He shut his mouth quickly and forced himself to wait patiently for her to continue. "Now, I don't usually do this," the herbalist began, her manner of speaking making it seem as if she were about to say something of extreme importance. "But I'll admit, I was curious what had happened to you after you left the queen's side all those years ago." The Rider's shoulders stiffened, but he gave no other sign of discomfort, and Angela continued without seeming to notice. "So I did some poking around, and you, my friend, have been very boring to watch." Angela crossed her arms as if this bit of news was unacceptable and the man should feel very ashamed. "But!" She exclaimed, bringing forth a hand and directing her forefinger to the sky as she continued her point. "Then I turned to the future."
Murtagh's face again became dark with brooding shadow, and he raised his hands to cut her off. "Oh no, I don't need to hear about my future, I'll see it soon enough." He said, shrugging his quiver into a more comfortable position between his shoulder blades. "There's some food inside, If you want it help yourself. I appreciate you checking up on me, but I'm fine without your riddles about tomorrow, and how I can better my life for your entertainment." He waved over his shoulder, turning at a ninety degree angle and tromping toward the forest to try and salvage some morning hunting. That is if Thorn's presence hadn't scared everything off.
"Murtagh!" He winced at the use of his name, but he kept stomping away. "If you don't listen she could die!" Now he stopped. Not because of the words or even the fact that there was a woman involved, but because of the severe note of worry that coated Angela's voice. His shoulders went rigid, and his back felt as if it had been replaced with an iron rod. Ever so slightly, he turned his head a notch, and the herbalist continued. "Go to the place where your blood departed. She cannot wait for you, or the darkness will catch her. Look for the bird with broken wings and help her find her flight. But be wary, lightening hunts when the sky opens and flying snakes will knock her from the sky." He felt a slender hand close around his forearm and wondered when she reached his side, at the same time wondering how such a small looking body could hold such strength. "Murtagh, she needs you. You will both suffer if you cannot help her…" Angela pulled away then, striding over to retrieve her basket. "I know you'll make the right decision, just be quick about it." And then she was gone, disappearing into the forest just as quickly as she had come.
Are we going…? Thorn asked after a moment of silence spent watching after the dark gap between the leaves where the witch had vanished. The Rider hesitated before frowning and shrugging off the strange woman's riddles.
I don't know anything about broken wings and flying snakes. Besides, what she said didn't even make sense. We'd be running into fog.
The crimson dragon made a noise of unease. So an innocent girl will die because you are afraid of the fog? Now he made a noise of disgust, something between a growl and a snort. Smoke streamed from his bronzy nostrils, and the dark headed man turned to see a single burning eye glaring at him.
This is where we belong now, Thorn. We aren't heroes. I'm sure whoever it is will be just fine without us. And he trudged away into the forest.
Not seconds later, a bone shaking roar tipped through the trees and sent leaves falling everywhere. The fugitive snarled, slamming his fist against the rough bark of the nearest tree. He felt no satisfaction when it gave a slight tremor at the force. A tendril of grim pride floated across their link. If Thorn could not convince his Rider to go peacefully, he would starve him out. Murtagh groaned and ripped an arrow from his quiver, firing it into a tree. Then another, and another. Each one found its mark not an inch from the first.
It will be good to leave here. Thorn said, obviously pleased that he had won this disagreement. No food, meant Murtagh would have to move on to survive, that in turn meant one more tally on the scoreboard for the massive leviathan.
