AN: La Victime - I appreciate the kind sentiment! All prayers and thoughts are greatly appreciated ^_^
As always, don't forget to R&R everyone! I love feedback, and reading what you think about everything helps me add more of a direction to the early parts of the story!
Chapter Seven: First Encounters
This is pointless; we don't even know what we're looking for. Murtagh's complaints hadn't ebbed since the pair had left their little cottage in the forest almost a week before. Thorn was moving slowly, insisting that they pace themselves for what might be to come, but the Rider suspected the garnet creature was taking his sweet time simply out of spite.
We know where we're going, everything else will fall into place in due time. Came Thorn's drawling reply, the leviathan already bored with his bonded's little temper tantrum.
Oh look who took cryptic lessons from Angela. Murtagh snapped, severing their mental connection with a note of finality that would offer him some reprieve from the dragon's calm demeanor. He had tried everything to make his partner angry with him enough to turn around and abandon this entire quest, but every jibe just seemed to make Thorn more set on continuing their journey.
The man hated arguing with the dragon, hated the way it made him feel dirty and mean as if he had done something wrong by speaking his opinion. He hated this feeling of solitude when he had been meant to possess a bond stronger than any other known to man or elf or dwarf. But more than anything he hated the feeling of being wrong. It wasn't that he didn't know following Angela's request was the right thing to do, especially when there was a life hanging in the balance – after all, as a Rider it was somewhat his responsibility to protect those he could when he could – his loathing in the task lie in the directions it may take him. For now they headed west along the Edda's smooth banks, but he couldn't help but shake the tugging feeling that seemed to try and draw him ever closer to the east; to the high reaching walls of Urû'baen and the wrathful creature whom sat the throne there. 'Nasuada….' His heart still ached for her, though it had been his own word that broke their romance and her heart alike, and he wished he were good enough, strong enough, whole enough, to deserve her.
At the presence of his sorrow there came a response of sympathy from the warm space in Murtagh's mind where Thorn resided, his dragon was oblivious to the source of the man's anguish, but sought to alleviate it all the same. That loyalty only hurt worse, that Thorn could still show such protection and caring after the utter imbecile the Rider had been the past few days, it all hurt now. All the love, all the friendship, even the memories hurt. Remembering when he had laughed and supped with people who trusted him and who he in turn could trust. Remembering his half brother and the wrongs done against him, and how Eragon had still saved him in the end. Everything had turned raw, like a sore you've rubbed too much and fussed over too long, it had grown sensitive in its festering and now was left to ache and throb in the back of his heart like so many other things. But that's what life was, it was just a giant pain one was forced to either accept or fall against. You could put a bandage on it, wrap it tight in gauze and cloth, but all the aches and pains would still be there at the end of the day refusing to allow you to forget them completely.
Murtagh sighed, running a hand through his hair and wishing he could go one day without thinking such depressing things. He tried to focus on the river rushing by beneath them, or take note of where they were and try to gauge how many days or hours or minutes until they would pass Hedarth and their journey would take a riskier turn. For a brief moment, the Rider considered asking Thorn, but after their many arguments that day he questioned whether it would be appropriate to express such a normal query. So instead of troubling himself over his dragon's job of navigation, he decided to pass the time by counting the trees, a feat which lasted about as long as a heart beat when he realized how absolutely boring such an occupation was. He then looked back to the river's surface and settled on watching for fish, maybe he would have Thorn stop if he saw one and catch a small dinner. Still, boredom crept in like a thief and his attention ran away with it, making irritation blossom at the lack of entertainment on this trek.
Again, his mind flickered to a time years ago when he was still just the bud of a man, still fresh in his first escape from the mad king Galbatorix and reeling in the world of a fugitive from both sides of the law. It had been then that he had found Eragon, or maybe his sibling had found him, more than likely it had been the fates throwing them together for a good show. He remembered well every laugh line upon the younger man's face, and beneath each laugh a hollowness left over from the pain of losing his previous travel partner. Murtagh had been a poor replacement, but he had leaped at the chance of companionship and adventure. Silently he wondered if Eragon had ever regretted that arrangement; sure it had been nice in the beginning before true identities had been discovered, but betrayals had grown up between them and Murtagh had sown the seeds of destruction himself. Who wouldn't regret that?
Thorn rescued the self-deprecating man with a sharp drop, racing for the ground in a nose dive. Something was wrong.
What is it? Murtagh abandoned his pride in a heartbeat, concern leaking across their connection; not all of it being his.
For a while Thorn remained silent, and the Rider wondered if maybe their normal quarrelling had gone a step too far until the leviathan replied, I'd rather not be shot from the skies today. A picture followed of a Dwarven sentry napping in the heavy shade of a tree a few miles ahead still. Had the guard been awake as he was supposed to be they would have been seen, and then would have had to explain what a dragon and Rider were doing so far away from any sort of academy. After all, everyone knew Riders were contained on the Forgotten Isles unless directly ordered otherwise, and under Nasuada's reign Alagaësa had been a peaceful land. It was rare for a Rider to be sent to the mainland, and when they were, they were heavily questioned before being accepted as a friend and everyone had to display proper documentation of their orders. All in all it was a very long, very troublesome process that the pair preferred to avoid if possible. You'll have to go on foot to the other side of the dwarf-and-elf-town. I'll meet you down the river. Thorn explained as he landed, his swift descent pulling up his massive weight in unbelievable time so that he landed softly and without much disturbance to the nature around him.
How will you get by?
The crimson drake hummed with delight at the question, obviously pleased with himself about something. While you're stealing all the attention, I'll sneak by in the water. They'll never notice.
Murtagh grunted as he slipped from his saddle, his legs unused to bearing weight after the hours he had spent sitting on Thorn's back. He wobbled for a moment then risked a small stretch that turned in a longer one. And what are you going to do if someone does happen to notice you? The man asked dryly as he shook out his saddle-sore limbs.
Eat them of course. Thorn gave his hissing chortle of a laugh at the joke, thinking it was the funniest thing anyone could have said. Murtagh, on the other hand wasn't so impressed. He knew his bonded was just reckless enough that he would think consumption to be a proper form of hiding.
Thorn, you can't just eat all your problems you know. And there it was the easy banter they normally threw back and forth at each other. At long last it was returning. The Rider could feel something within him spring back into place as he removed his saddle and strapped it instead to his own back, some secret part of his deepest being that had been strained thin during the pair's disagreement. He was glad that they were able to reconcile before the risks of passing through Hedarth could separate them indefinitely. Murtagh had no doubt that there would still be tension between himself and the Dwarves, and there was always the possibility that he would run into that one Dwarf or Elf hanging around still holding to some sort of grudge birthed in the dark days of Galbatorix's reign. Hopefully enough time had passed, and his appearance had changed enough due to his rugged lifestyle, that he would be able to travel through the small trading town without drawing too much attention to himself. You'd better get going. I'll see you on the other side. The man ignored the anxiety bubbling in the back of his mind, brewing within a well of insecurity and misgivings. He didn't like being apart from his dragon, but he knew there wasn't another way to get by quickly without drawing attention to themselves. However, that's the thing about being connected with someone at the soul; they have an uncanny knack for sensing your emotions.
We'll be together again before you know it. The ruby leviathan consoled his Rider, his voice a rumbling rockslide of consoling sensitivity.
Murtagh snapped back to himself, forcing his thoughts away from the all to terribly possible possibilities of what might happen in the moments to come, and lightly punched the dragon on the snout. Oh come off it. Get out of here you overgrown lizard. It wasn't what he wanted to say and certainly wasn't what he should have said, but the affection was there all the same – hidden in between the lines of his otherwise callous send off.
Thorn snorted and jutted his head against the man's hand, and with that final contact the dragon departed, slipping his immense frame into the yawning reaches of the river bottom with only the tiniest of ripples to mark that he had ever been there. Ripples and a few noticeable claw marks of course. The latter however, were easily displaced with a bit of scuffling about in the dirt, and before long Murtagh too was on his way into the village.
The walk was a short one, but every step alone was a soundless reminder of the company he had lost. He briefly considered calling Thorn back and suggesting that they simply risk flying around the town, but it was a foolish notion and quickly abandoned once created. The Dwarf that had been napping was still fast asleep when Murtagh passed him, and the man sighed at such indolent behavior. He wouldn't wake him though, oh no, that would bring unwanted attention to himself and it's not like there were very many raids these days anyhow. Besides, between Dwarves and Elves there were plenty of fighters to protect this small trading parish, and he doubted any remotely intelligent thief would approach by the open and revealing route of the river bank.
'Pay attention. Get through and get out.' Murtagh chastised himself mentally, quickening his pace toward the village. He didn't have time for idle musings, he had a job to do and the sooner he got it done the sooner he could get back to his hovel in the clearing.
"Fresh fish! Get your fish here!" "Beads and pearls! Gems and rare metals! Jewelry for any pretty lady!"
"Are ye hungry dearie? I 'ave a fresh baked loaf o' bread 'ere for ye." An elderly Dwarf lady stepped onto his path, trying to corral him back toward her booth with a thick loaf of what appeared and smelled to be some sort of raisin-cinnamon concoction. He had to admit, it did smell amazing and he certainly could have stood a meal, but he had no money to pay her with and he was loath to waste her time – or his – with false business.
"Erg, ah… Sorry ma'am, but I uh, I don't have any coin." Murtagh gave an apologetic half-grin, shuffling as best he could to get around her. However, he needn't have worried himself with tact. The moment the Dwarf heard there was no profit to be had from him, she waddled off to advertise her wares elsewhere.
It was difficult not to be amused by such thick-skinned behavior, but the Rider did a good job of holding his sour disposition squarely in place. Not only had the woman wasted his time with her abrasive salesmanship, but she hadn't even offered a bit of some heel to fuel a poor wandering stranger. Well, he had never liked Dwarves that much anyway – the lot of moles, they were better with their heads stuck in the dirt.
Murtagh gritted his teeth together, his jaw clenched tight in irritation as he punched his fists forward and back with the rhythm of his stride. 'Get through, and get out.' The Rider reminded himself, making that short sentence his silent mantra to keep him from snapping at each vendor who shoved their merchandise under his nose. He almost broke when a weapons merchant drove a dagger through his display table as a demonstration of its fine quality or whatever rubbish he was trying to sell it on. It took everything in him not to draw his own dagger from the concealment of his traveling cloak, and even more to keep him from oh so kindly explaining to the poor sot deliberating on whether or not to buy the knife what a piece of trash he was looking at. To the untrained eye it was sturdy enough, and the jewels in its hilt of course just had to be valuable, but in the eyes of Murtagh – or any semi-knowledgeable soldier for that matter – one could plainly see its cheapness. The hilt was poorly connected to the actual blade, the two different metals coinciding in rough adjacency that would lead to a quick deterioration of one or the other. And the emeralds that decorated the weapon? Cut glass at the most, but certainly no truly valuable gem. At any rate, the entire item was a shameful thing priced far too highly for any sensible man to even ponder purchasing. The worthless heap of scrap metal would probably snap or disconnect with the first use. But it wasn't his business to interfere, and he had better things to do at any rate.
'Get through, and get out.'
Obscurity is a blessing often taken for granted living so far away from society. Murtagh had never thought to acknowledge the ease of erasing one's self from existence when one ceased to take part in the existence of others. Now, forced to lace in and out of the difference people packed like sausages in the streets, he missed more than ever the generously distanced confines of his small clearing. He wanted to return to the small shack he called a home and get back to his routine, but with each step forward that craving became more and more detached from his forethoughts. Slowly he was walking away from the life of Baerd the hermit and back into that of Murtagh the Dragon Rider. Or as close to a Rider as he could truly be when he had so disgraced himself in the past.
Again his mind flitted to Eragon and then briefly once more to Nasuada; faces dancing through his thoughts like a visual display of what might hurt him the most. He had ruined everything between those he had been closest to. He had taken every promise and every oath and shattered them with cruelty and selfishness. He had broken hearts and friendships, but in the end he was the one who had ended up alone. He was always the one who ended up alone…
'No. Not anymore.' Now he had Thorn, and Thorn would never abandon him.
Murtagh clenched his jaw tighter and lengthened his stride. 'Get through, and get out.'
On one hand there was the obvious advantage that Hedarth was a small community and not one that remembered faces that didn't take part in business. On the other hand, it was a small community and not one often visited by humans. The land this far west was mostly inhabited by Elves and Dwarves, especially with the forests reaching so close it was the perfect melting pot for the two races. His unusual presence attracted a small bit of awareness from those around him, and the Rider took special care not to seem to conspicuously anonymous. Always the need to hurry plagued the back of his mind, but Murtagh forced himself to take his time and stop every once in a while as if he were looking at something to purchase before moving on again. It was in this manner that he finally made his way to the western end of Hedarth and the outskirts of the small trading village without drawing too much notice to himself. Still, he walked about a mile further before contacting Thorn.
I hate the feeling of being watched. He stated grumpily, his mood worsening by the second after suffering through Hedarth.
Is someone following you? Thorn seemed concerned, and beneath that was the bothered feeling that he wasn't closer to his bonded. Neither of them enjoyed this distance, particularly in such a touchy situation.
Hard to say, but I feel…anxious.
There was a hesitation to Thorn's reply, and then his garnet skull darted from the water with a dexterity that didn't seem quite proportional to a creature of such size. The dragon moved quickly from the shore, his wings flared ever so slightly as water cascaded from his scales like a million diamonds, each catching the light with a rainbow of reflection. It might have been a stunning display of magnificent power and exquisite beauty had they not been trying for subtle and discreet. "Hey, hey, hey!" Murtagh cried in as hushed a tone he could manage while still sounding incredulous. "Did you forget you're not supposed to be here?!" The Rider shoved at the leviathan's side as if doing so would actually budge the mammoth creature; his head whipping from one direction to the other positive that the moment he looked away someone would happen upon them and their cover would be lost.
You said someone was following you. The dragon protested mildly, obliging the Rider by allowing himself to be herded toward a shady area beneath a dense copse of trees. I was simply making sure they weren't going to follow you any further.
Oh stop playing dumb. Murtagh snapped while he went about pulling the saddle from beneath his cloak, letting it slip from his back onto the grass before replacing it on his bonded's scaly hide. You know we're supposed to be laying low until we figure out what exactly Angela had in mind for us. Until we have more of a grip on things, we can't let anyone see you. It was a tired conversation, exhausted from previous use and verbatim repetition.
Thorn sighed, a hissing, reptilian sound, but he gave no further protest and the pair were again on their way without any more of a hiccup in their travel plans.
It was well past nightfall by the time the pair reached the coast line, and both dragon and Rider were fairly weary when Murtagh gave the say to land. Thorn immediately slid onto his belly in the warm sand, his long neck weaving left and right in a crooked line of relaxation while his wings splayed luxuriously to the sides of him. He gave a great sigh of contentment at finally being able to relax, twin lines of smoke twirling up from each nostril with the exhale.
I will sleep for a year. The leviathan announced, his eyelids closing with a soft shhp as his scales scraped across one another. However, the resolution was short lived and immediately his ruby skull was lifting again, cocked ever so slightly as a dog might when listening to something far away and very faint.
What is it? Murtagh questioned, pausing in taking off his saddle. He jumped down from Thorn's wing, the large bone of which he had been standing on to reach the buckles, and looked in the direction his dragon had so abruptly become absorbed with.
Thorn took his time in replying, and the Rider could sense his bonded's perplexity as he tried to puzzle something out. I smell… Something familiar.
Well what is it?
Again there was a lengthy pause before the dragon answered; It smells like the blue-she-dragon… He turned his head to regard the man through one blazing eye. But I thought I was the only one except for the green.
Thorn was troubled, and for good reason. It wasn't often that there were other dragons present, and it was even more rare that he would associate their scent with Saphira's. Could it be that his long lost sibling had at last returned to Alagaësa? Murtagh couldn't help but feel excited at the prospect; this could be his chance to finally repair the damage he had done to their relationship when Galbatorix had still held dominion over him. All the apologies he had molded and perfect in his mind, all the stories he had to tell and no doubt hear, they all welled up in a fountain of rejoicing. Thorn fell to this emotion, his Rider's jubilance highly contagious, and the two were off again in a racing scramble to meet the dragon and Rider they had parted with so many years before. Forgotten was the need for secrecy and concealment, forgotten was the fatigue that had afflicted them just moments ago. In their minds there was only room enough for the hope that at any moment they would fly over the next sand dune and there would be Eragon and Saphira waiting for them as if this had planned all along.
But it wasn't an exhilaration meant to last.
It was Thorn who first realized something was amiss. Some aspect of that scent was simply too foreign, too unfamiliar, for him to confidently place as the she-dragon that had hamstringed him once in battle. Beneath that, there was an unmistakable masculine musk that had him quickly rethinking this mindless charge. He beat his wings once with a slight back curl to slow himself a bit. Murta-
The dragon's warning was cut short by a heavy collision from above. Murtagh barely had time to clamber from the saddle and farther back on his dragon's back so as to avoid the massive jaws that came closing around the base of Thorn's neck where it connected at his shoulders. The garnet creature let out a bugling roar, a sound that mixed both pain and surprise, and barrel rolled in the air as he tried to dislodge his attacker. Thankfully, the other leviathan's bite had found poor purchase in the reinforced leather of Thorn's saddle and his jaws came loose easily. However, without the straps of his saddle to hold him in place, Murtagh couldn't keep his own grip and gravity claimed him quickly.
"Thorn!" This was it, he was going to die. He was going to shatter against the sand and his greatest regret was that his beloved bonded wouldn't survive his demise. 'Damn…' Thorn gave a wail of despair, kicking the pale dragon off of him long enough to start a dive for his Rider, barely catching Murtagh's leg in a single crimson claw before the other drake was upon him again. "Land!" The Rider yelled with both his mind and his mouth, vertigo attacking with a viciousness to rival their current airborne opponent.
Wasting no time in following his bonded's command, Thorn again jostled free of the dragon's attack and plunged in a nose-dive for the ground. Faster and faster they plummeted, each beat of his wings carrying them closer and closer to a collision that would kill them both. At the last second he pulled up, barely missing a sand dune with Murtagh's head before dropping the man completely. Thorn didn't make it far before the white drake was on him again and the two massive beasts landed in a tangled spray of sand and sea.
Perfectly fine – aside for a mouthful of sand – Murtagh stood, reeling about as he desperately tried to find his legs. He needed someone to fight, anyone, but he couldn't just let Thorn take this battle alone. He stumbled, fell to one knee in the sand, righted himself and spun about just in time to find a sword pointed at his throat by a man that was most definitely not his half brother. Not a second later came a stab of pain in a limb he didn't even possess as the leathery membrane of one of Thorn's wings was raked through by the pearly leviathan's claws, the fiery creature taking the lower hand and quickly finding a tedious submission when razor fangs found an unrelenting hold at the base of his skull. It was a grip that meant one thing between dragons, be still or you're dead.
"What the hell is going on?!" Murtagh screamed, shoving the sword from his face, cutting the back of his hand in the process.
Who are these people?! What do they want?! Thorn was a constant buzz of pain and questions, and the man's mind was whirling from one topic to another without hope of keeping up. Finally, he had to semi shut his dragon out just to comprehend what pains in his body were his and which were Thorn's.
"I could ask you the same question, mate. Exactly who are you and what are you doing here?" The man with the sword asked, or more commanded as there was little room for argument in the way he voiced his interest.
Murtagh scanned the stranger quickly as well as those gathering behind him. They all looked a little rough for wear, and they certainly didn't seem too pleased about the current proceedings. Well, at least they could all have something in common. Focusing on the man before him, the Rider took in everything that caught his eye as a defining trait as quickly as he could. The eyes were simply dark shadows in a skull that seemed to hide from the moonlight, probably due to a tan. His hair was about shoulder length and a lighter color based on the way it reflected the lunar rays and created a sort of halo effect. There was a distinct hook to his nose as if it had been left unset after being broken one too many times, and there was a definite layer of scruffle adding texture to a squared jaw line. He had wide shoulders and a torso that narrowed down near the waist, long legs that gave him most of his height, and probably a total of five percent of him was body fat as the rest looked at a glance to be completely comprised of hard muscle. Definitely not someone Murtagh wanted to tangle with, chiefly due to the fact that he had just realized the absence of his sword; a sword which he had left wrapped in his sleeping blankets on the back of Thorn's saddle. 'Damn…'
"I'm Baerd," Murtagh replied, his tone sharp and belying none of the unease he felt at being so outnumbered as he fell into well practiced lies. He jerked his head in Thorn's direction as he continued, always keeping a close watch on that damned sword. "That's Thane. We were just flying by when your watch dog here dropped us out of the sky." Snarky? Yes. Smart? Definitely not.
Immediately the sword – Murtagh could see now it was a rapier – was back at his throat, irritation on the man's face at being spoken to in such a way; like a bully being stood up to in front of his gang on the school yard. "A bit foolish to insult those holding your life in their hands isn't it?" The man countered; a chill running down the Rider's spine as the blade's edge pressed against the soft flesh of his neck. Directly beneath an artery pumped with adrenaline fueled franticness and Murtagh vaguely wondered if this were the type of man to see how hard he would have to push to pierce that precious life vein.
Stop acting like an idiot and give them what they want! Thorn shoved his way into his bonded's mind, the dragon's own thoughts spinning with pain and anger and fear as he battled internally against the urge to fight and the need to be still and protect his bonded.
Murtagh suppressed a sigh. His dragon was right, being an ass wasn't going to get them out of this mess. Maybe he could appeal to this man's better nature – Rider to Rider – and they would be able to escape from here without anyone dying or getting severely maimed. Obviously fighting wasn't an option as he was out of a weapon at the moment, and a battle of magic would be risky. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he had last cast a spell, and this man was no doubt well versed in the ancient language if he was allowed in Alagaësa. Diplomacy was the only option Murtagh had. "Listen, could you just call your dragon off of Thane? Please, he's in pain." Thorn gave a low groan to support his bonded's claim, shifting beneath the pale drake's hold until a warning growl could freeze him again.
Here the man shrugged, and looked sarcastically dismayed. "I would love to help mate, but unfortunately for you, he's not mine to boss around." The stranger said carelessly, but at least he removed the weapon as he did so, resting the point of the blade in the sand and leaning on it slightly.
The Rider was confused now. Did the dragon then belong to one of the other men? Was it a wild dragon that was simply indebted somehow to these men? "Then… Who..?" There was no point in trying to hide the confusion; he would only have looked like more of an idiot than he already must have to them.
Murtagh was prepared to see one of the other men's hands raise. He was prepared for the man who had spoke with him to laugh and say "just kidding, he's mine". What he hadn't been prepared for was the young woman who approached from the back of the group, her eyes flashing like quicksilver from behind the shadows cast in the moonlight. She walked without fear or hesitation, but he could sense something beneath that strength, a sickness perhaps? Was she unwell?
His eyes became glued to her in something akin to fascination, mesmerized by the silver orbs staring back at him in such guarded reservation. She looked at him as if he were nothing more than a grain of sand, or a beggar she couldn't be bothered with – something she had no problem in ignoring. It was so strange. Murtagh looked at her and saw something beautifully unique, only once had he seen eyes that burned so brightly, and he could only compare her to the love that he had lost. Where Nasuada had been a blazing fire, full of vibrant life and heat, this woman was an Arctic chill, full of frigid neutrality and icy indifference. Still, when her mouth opened, the Rider felt himself hanging onto that breath as she began to speak the words that would shake him with its obviousness.
"He's mine."
