Chapter Forty-Nine: Misery
Mariah stood in front of the wooden door, staring without seeing at the tiny grains forming it. Slowly she reached out and grabbed the handle, pressing against it slightly and moving the door open. Once inside, she leaned against the heavy door to close it, breathing deeply. Brom's home smelled the same it had the day she left, only dustier. She stepped forward, dragging her fingers along the walls as she went. A moment later Mariah stood at the entrance to the library, "Brisingr, iet tauthr." A small ball of fire sparked up in mid air beside her, lighting the room. Walking in, the Rider looked around, skimming familiar titles and maps littered about the room. She sighed at the rocking chair and turned, striding to her room. It seemed smaller than she remembered, even after only a few short months. Standing in front of her dresser, she stared in the mirror.
Her face appeared hollower than before, cheekbones jetting out farther, her features more defined. Blinking, she realized her eyes seemed older, more feminine than they had looked when she left Carvahall last year. She placed her hands on the dresser and realized she was taller as well, by a few inches. It was quite a growth spurt considering how many months she'd been away. Turning, Mariah walked from the room and back outside.
She took a deep breath, calming herself down before trying to find the right words. "Skölir thornessa breoal frá brisinger." Mariah placed her hand on the door and fell to her knees as she expelled the magic, coughing and clutching her chest. She panted; sweat dripping from her forehead as she pressed against the wood. As soon as she could stand again, she did so, striding back to Kieran as fast as she could.
"Where have you been!"
She blinked at the woman, re-dressing her armor carefully. "Trying to convince Roran that it would be in his best interests to submit now, before the village burns."
"And?" Kieran snapped.
"He agreed. He will come with us at daybreak."
She nodded curtly, "Very well. Now, get some sleep, we are flying come morning."
Mariah walked over to her dragon, now fully dressed in her armor, and curled against his belly. Andrar flicked out his wing and twisted his tail about her, shielding her from Kieran's view. She huddled against him and rubbed her eyes, sore from crying. Convincing Kieran to leave it alone had been easier than she'd predicted, but Mariah expected the princess' reaction tomorrow to be horrific.
Clamping her eyes shut tightly, she tried imagining something more pleasant. It was mid-summer now and every day was warm and pleasant – and even if the sky was filled with thunderstorms, she enjoyed watching the lightning and listening to the rain. Her cheek pressed against the grass and she breathed in deeply, finding that it smelled like home – even amidst the burnt scent that lingered on the wind from the village.
Any other year she would be laying on her back, watching the stars, connecting them and keeping track with one of Brom's many charts. Mark would help her point out any of them that she missed. They would lie under the sky for hours until she fell asleep, clutching the star map. When she woke, Mariah would always be laying in bed. On more than one occasion she had feigned sleep in order to get him to carry her home. It had been out of sheer laziness, thinking it was funny. But now, realizing he never once had so much as tried to wake her up, made her realize just how special it had been. He'd probably realized she was trying to trick him; he was smart enough to realize that. But still. Mark always carried her back.
Now, she was stuck cowering under her dragon's wing, trying not to get attacked by the daughter of Galabtorix. Upon this realization, Mariah blinked and lifted Andrar's wing, looking over at Kieran. She was sitting up, leaning against Nasreen's side, nodding off. It doesn't matter what she does to me. This is my home and I'm going to enjoy being here while I have the chance. Mariah slipped away from Andrar and stretched out on her back, sinking into the grass and staring up at the stars.
After leaving Tarnag and the wonderful temple at its top, Eragon, Arya and Orik boarded a large raft to traverse the river while Saphira swam along beside them. The dwarvish guards that accompanied them were led by a bearded dwarf named Thorv - from Tarnag. They spent long days shrouded by the mountains' shadows, though it was faster and easier than traveling on land.
"Then tell me this at least," Eragon said, several days into their journey, scratching his chin and cheeks, feeling the patches of stubble that had begun to appear. "If you won't teach me any magic, what does the name of my sword mean?"
Arya's voice was very soft. "Misery is your sword. And so it was until you wielded it."
Eragon stared with aversion at Zar'roc. The more he learned about his weapon, the more malevolent it seemed, as if the blade could cause misfortune of its own free will. Not only did Morzan kill Riders with it, but Zar'roc's very name is evil. If Brom had not given it to him, and if not for the fact that Zar'roc never dulled and could not be broken, Eragon would have thrown it into the river at that very moment.
As the day grew darker, he decided to fly a while with Saphira before the sun set. They swirled around in the mountain air, chasing after birds and Fanghur creatures native to the Dwarvish mountain ranges. Before they could get into trouble with the dragon-like creatures, Saphira dove back down, splashing into the water.
After eating, Eragon retired to his tent. The fire provided enough light that he could see the silhouette of Saphira nestled alongside the tent, like a figure cut from black paper and pasted against the canvas wall.
Eragon sat with the blankets pulled over his legs and stared at his lap, drowsy but unwilling to sleep quite yet. Unbidden, his mind turned to thoughts of home. He wondered how Roran, Horst and everyone else from Carvahall was doing, and if the weather in Palancar Valley was warm enough for the farmers to start planting their crops. Longing and sadness suddenly gripped Eragon.
He removed a wood bowl from his pack and, taking his water-skin, filled it to the brim with liquid. Then he focused on an image of Roran and whispered, "Draumr kópa."
As always, the water went black before brightening to reveal the object being scryed. Eragon saw Roran sitting along in a candlelit bedroom he recognized from Horst's house. Roran must have given up his job in Therinsford, realized Eragon. His cousin leaned on his knees and clasped his hands, staring at the far wall with an expression that Eragon knew meant Roran was grappling with some difficult problem. Still, Roran seemed well enough, if a bit drawn, which comforted Eragon. After a minute, he released the magic, ending the spell and clearing the surface of the water.
Reassured, Eragon emptied the bowl, then lay down, pulling the blankets up to his chin. He closed his eyes and sank into the warm dusk that separates consciousness and sleep, where reality bends and sways to the wind of thought, and where creativity blossoms in its freedom from boundaries and all things are possible.
The first time he woke, Eragon touched his face, catching a teardrop and rubbing it away. He'd been trying not to think about it, focusing his mind on traveling with Arya and Orik, but the concern about Carvahall and his cousin had led his subconscious to what was really troubling him. It's… it's just not fair she had to die. She should be right here, next to me, traveling at my side to Ellesméra. He bit his lip, shivering a bit and curled back up, dragging his blanket over his head to try and get her face out of his mind. All the while she was screaming his name to help her while he stood there frozen, completely useless.
Then, in the morning, right before he woke, he had a vision as clear as if he would have been awake.
He saw a tortured sky, black and crimson with smoke. Crows and eagles swirled high above flights of arrows that arched from one side to another of a great battle. A man sprawled in the clotted mud with a dented helm and bloody mail – his face concealed behind and up thrown arm.
An armored hand entered Eragon's view. The gauntlet was so near it blotted out half the world with polished steel. Like an inexorable machine, the thumb and last three fingers curled into a fist, leaving the trunk of the index finger to point at the downed man with all the authority of fate itself.
Mariah was startled out of her sleep when Kieran gripped her by the collar, screaming, "They're gone! What the hell did you do, you stupid little brat? You let them get away – you warned them!" Her lips were curled up into a snarl, "I should never have let you go alone." Kieran threw her back on the ground, "Get up, now."
She scrambled to her feet, wiping the spit off her face with the back of her hand, biting her tongue to stop herself from saying anything to further upset the older girl.
"On your damn dragon," the princess insisted, climbing up on her steed. Nasreen let out a low grown, razor teeth flashing in her giant maw. When Mariah didn't move fast enough for Kieran's liking, the dragoness lurched forward and bit towards her. Andrar twisted around her quickly, Nasreen's teeth clamping around his tail. She let go and pulled back, turning toward Carvahall.
Get on my back my darling, he said, lowering his head, Before they decide to harm you further. Mariah did as he said, climbing up into her saddle. Turning around a bit, she stared at Andrar's tail, gushing blood from fist-sized wounds.
Kieran twisted around, glaring at her, "You are going to fly down and torch the entire village, understood? I'll be right behind you, watching. If you don't do it, I'm going to kill you – I don't even care what father has to say about it either. You will not make a fool out of me girl. Now do it!"
Andrar lurched into the air before she had a say in what he was going to do. It was his job to keep her out of trouble now that she'd reached Kieran's limit. His tail was dripping with blood and it was painful to fly, however this was what needed to be done.
He flapped his wings heavily in the air, hovering a hundred feet above the village. Mariah stared at his red-orange scales as Andrar inhaled. A bursting jet stream of flames erupted from his jaws. When his breath died back out he flew around and started breathing fire up and down the thatched-roof houses until everything was aflame. When he'd finished, he returned to Kieran and Nasreen.
The princess stared at Mariah, "Good. We're going back to Urû'baen now, I suggest you stay close by." Nasreen turned to fly south, leaving Andrar to follow.
Don't look now Mariah, but I fear we won't be alone in our journey back. Andrar told her, staying behind Nasreen's tail. His Rider glanced downward, not seeing anything.
What do you mean?
Behind you.
She twisted in her saddled, a chill running down her skin as she saw two dragon-like figures flapping behind them like over-sized bats. The Ra'zac.
The valley widened throughout the morning as the rafts swept toward a bright gap between two mountains. They reached the opening at midday and found themselves looking out of shadow upon n a sunny prairie that faded into the north.
Then the current pushed hem beyond the frosted crags and the walls of the world dropped away to reveal a gigantic sky and flat horizon. Almost immediately, the air grew warmer. The Az Ragni curved to the east, edging the foothills of the mountain range on one side and the plains on the other.
The amount of open space seemed o unsettle the dwarves. They muttered among themselves and glanced longingly at the cavernous rift behind them.
Eragon found the sunlight invigorating. It was hard to ever really feel awake when three-quarters of the day was spent in twilight. Behind his raft, Saphira launched herself out of the water and flew up over the prairie until she dwindled to a winking speck in the azure dome above.
That evening, Thorv chose a small cove for their camp. While one of the dwarves fixed dinner, Eragon cleared a space beside his tent, then drew Zar'roc and settled into the ready stance Brom had taught him when they first sparred. Eragon knew he was at a disadvantage compared to the elves, and he had no intention of arriving in Ellesméra out of practice.
With excruciating slowness, he looped Zar'roc over his head and brought it back down with both hands, as if to cleave an enemy's helm. He held the pose for a second. Keeping his motion under complete control, he pivoted to the right – twisting Zar'roc's point to parry an imaginary blow – then stopped with rigid arms.
Out of the corner of his eye, Eragon noticed Orik, Arya and Thorv watching. He ignored them and focused only on the ruby blade in his hands; he held it as if it were a snake that could writhe out of this grip and bite his arm.
Turning again, he commenced a series of forms, flowing from one to another with disciplined ease as he gradually increased his speed. In his mind, he was no longer in the shadowy cove, but surrounded by a knot of ferocious Urgals and Kull. He ducked and slashed, parried, riposed, jumped to the side, and stabbed in a whirl of activity. He fought with mindless energy, as he had in Farthen Dur, with no thought for the safety of his own flesh, dashing and tearing aside his imagined enemies.
He spun Zar'roc around – in an attempt to flip the hilt from one palm to another – then dropped the sword as a jagged line of pain bisected his back. He staggered and fell. Above him, he could hear Arya and the dwarves babbling, but all he saw was a constellation of sparkling red haze, like a bloody veil dropped over the world. No sensation existed other than pain. It blotted out thought and reason, leaving only a feral animal that screamed for release.
As soon as Mariah's feet touched the ground, there was a blade to her throat. Kieran gripped a fistful of her shirt and snarled in her face, "No one makes a mockery out of me, Mariah, no one. Especially not you. I don't give a damn if you're some stupid peasant girl or a goddess, you do not disobey my direct orders. You let them all escape and I will not soon forget it." The knife pressed deeper into her throat, cutting through her skin, drawing blood to the surface. "Every single one of those people were supposed to die – Roran was supposed to come with us or die on my blade. Now I wish I would have just killed them all myself." Kieran spat.
She took a step back and turned to walk away when Mariah lurched toward her, slamming her fist into the woman's face. "Nnngah!" The cut on her throat sizzled with pain as she spoke, "You do not get to decide who lives and dies – you aren't in charge of peoples' lives!"
"Though as a Rider I am the law." Kieran said, standing back up and rubbing her face, pushing blood away from her nose.
"You don't get to make the rules!" Mariah shouted at her, shaking with rage.
She smirked and flicked a knife into her hand, "Yes. I do – I can do whatever I want. If I say they die, they die. And I get to do it all myself. If Galbatorix ever perishes, I get to claim the throne. When I'm queen I'll have unlimited, complete control over the entire continent. Don't you understand? I own you and everyone else. No one tells me what to do." Kieran's eyes flashed, "And if they try – I kill them. Do you want to die?"
"I want you to die. And I'm going to do it myself, right now." Mariah said, drawing her sword.
Mariah – you're going to get hurt! Andrar insisted, roaring at her. She'll kill you! He started towards her, intending to break her away from Kieran, but Nasreen leaped atop him, pinning him down with her body and clamping her jaws around his throat, keeping enough pressure on it to make sure he knew she would snap it without hesitation.
She lunged toward the princess, slashing at her wildly, trying to hit her anywhere she could. Kieran's reflexes were better, through training and her longer period as a Rider, effectively dodging all her attacks.
"My turn," she snarled, ducking in and stabbing her in the hip. Her knife dragged downward, tearing a gash in Mariah's left hip from her waist down nearly ten inches. When she pulled back, the knife stuck in her flesh. Kieran immediately drew her Rider's blade.
Mariah gasped a bit, falling onto her knee and staring at the dagger. This fight would have happened whether she initiated it or not, it had been coming – building since they first met. Her eyes flicked back up to Kieran. Whoever wins this… it's going to change everything. She took hold of the knife and pulled it out, tossing it aside before lunging toward the princess, ignoring the gushing blood.
Kieran lifted Eirian to block the sword and dug her heels into the ground. When Mariah's blade struck it, she tumbled forward, listening to an awful shattering noise – something she'd never heard before. She hit the ground and coughed, staring at the shards of her former sword. Before she could process how Kieran had managed to break it, the woman had a boot on her throat, stepping down harshly.
"You know," she said. "You really are stupid…" Kieran dragged her sword along Mariah's arm, drawing a gash into it, then another beside it, and another. She bit her tongue, trying to block the pain, but it felt like hot fire burning her veins.
Once she'd repeated the process with her other arm and both her legs, all the while keeping just enough pressure on her throat to keep her down, but let her breathe, Kieran stabbed the blade downward through her right thigh, effectively pinning her to the ground. The princess knelt next to her, raising an eyebrow. Mariah stared back through hazy vision. There wasn't a scratch on her. How had she managed to evade all her attacks?
"You're stupid, but not worthless," Kieran observed. "Much like my sister was. You don't give up easily and you are stubborn. You are blinded by your rage and let your feelings get in the way of your head – which is the worst thing anyone can do. Emotions are what kill people." She placed a hand on Mariah's cheek, pushing her hair back gently. "Since I have realized you are not so worthless, as I initially thought, I think I'm going to keep you around some." Kieran dragged her fingers down Mairah's torso, to her leg. "But know this girl," she leaned in closer to her face so she could hear her, "If you start disobeying me, I won't be so lenient again. Know that I can and will kill you." She jammed her thumb into the ten inch dagger wound, causing Mariah to seize slightly. "You promise me that you'll behave and I'll let you live. Deal?"
Before she could respond, Mariah's vision flickered and faded. Her face was pale with blood loss and her clothes, drenched. They were still a few hours from the capital, but her wounds weren't fatal, if bandaged properly. Kieran sighed a little, annoyed.
"Fine then," she stood and looked at Nasreen. "Release him." She did so, slipping around behind Kieran fluidly. "Stay away from her, dragon, while I bandage her wounds." Andrar growled at her, receiving a snarl from Nasreen in turn, but stayed away.
Kieran retrieved some wrappings from Nasreen's saddlebags and started twisting them around Mariah's wounds, pulling Eirian back out of her thigh, wiping it clean of blood. She stood and stretched, climbing onto her dragoness' back. "We're flying the rest of the way to the castle; you can carry her now but be careful not to rip open any of her wounds." Andrar growled slightly, picking his Rider up in his talons and soaring after them.
When Eragon recovered enough to notice his whereabouts, he found that he had been placed inside his tent and wrapped tightly with blankets. Arya sat beside him, while Saphira's head stuck through the entrance flaps.
Was I out long? asked Eragon.
A while. You slept a little at the end. I tried to drew you from your body into mind and shield you from the pain, but I could do little with you unconscious.
Eragon nodded and closed his eyes. His entire body throbbed. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at Arya and quietly asked, "How can I train?... How can I fight, or use magic?... I am a broken vessel." His face felt heavy with age as he spoke.
She answered just as softly: "You can sit and watch. You can listen. You can read. And you can learn."
Despite her words, he heard a hitch of uncertainty, even fear, in her voice. He rolled onto his side to avoid meeting her eyes. It shamed him to appear so helpless before her. "How did the Shade do this to me?"
"I have no answers, Eragon. I am neither the wisest nor the strongest elf. We all do our best, and you cannot be blamed for it. Perhaps time will heal your wound." Arya pressed her fingers to his brow and murmured, "Sé mor'ranr ono finna," then left the tent.
Eragon sat and winced as his cramped back muscles stretched. He stared at his hands without seeing them. I wonder if Murtagh's scar ever pained him like mine does.
I don't know," said Saphira.
A dead silence followed. Then: I'm afraid.
Why?
Because… He hesitated. Because nothing I do will prevent another attack. I don't know when or where it will happen, but I do know that it's inevitable. So I wait, and every moment I fear that if I lift something too heavy or stretch in the wrong way, the paint will return. My own body has become the enemy.
Saphira hummed deep in her throat. I have no answers either. Life is both pain and pleasure. If this is the price you must pay for the hours you enjoy, is it too much?
Yes, he snapped. He pulled off the blankets and shoved past her, stumbling into the center of the camp, where Arya and the dwarves sat around a fire.
He panted, looking around at the guards lying on the floor around him as he stood in the middle of the stone courtyard, most of them were moaning, some merely knocked out. Murtagh sheathed his sword and glanced over at Galbatorix.
"You are a match for twelve soldiers at once. That is fair. You should be able to confront more. As a Rider, your power should be unlimited. Your dragon will be large enough to fight with you soon, however and that will greatly increase your power." He watched as the small red dragon fluttered from its perch in a tree and landed precisely on Murtagh's shoulder.
It nuzzled his neck, letting out a purring noise, asking to be petted. Murtagh stroked two fingers along its neck and glanced upward, a flicker of color catching his eye. The small ruby dragon chirruped loudly, looking upward as Nasreen let out a howling roar, jetting to the ground. She flicked out her massive wings and folded them neatly against her body, lowering herself a bit to allow Kieran off her back.
She walked straight to her father, kneeling in front of him, "We have returned."
"…you seem to be missing someone Kieran. Where is he?"
The princess bit her lip before flicking her gaze up to him, "I blame the girl. She warned them and allowed them time to escape before I knew what had happened."
"You allowed this to happen?" He asked, standing up, staring down at her. "How did she manage to do such a thing without your notice?"
"She assured me that-"
He smacked his hand across her face, the sound reverberating against the castle walls, "I do not want excuses."
Kieran flicked her gaze down, "I punished her properly on the way back. And we burned the village to the ground."
"That is better." Galbatorix insisted, looking up as Andrar landed on the stone, gently setting Mariah down.
Murtagh choked, rushing over, seeing all the bandaging. "Kieran! What did you do to her?" He knelt down and turned to look at the princess.
"She started it," she huffed, finally returning to her feet. Her pale face was stained with a red blush, most likely going to proceed into a bruise on her cheek. "I merely stopped the fight before it got out of hand."
"You don't call this out of hand? You didn't even heal her at all, what were you thinking, she could have died!"
"She still might," Kieran pointed out. "So don't get your hopes up." He growled slightly, picking Mariah up and walking toward the door. "Where are you going?" The princess asked, following.
Murtagh glared over at her, "If she doesn't get healed soon, what do you think is gonna happen?"
"Her blood's probably clotted by now, are you kidding?"
"She could still get an infection. Then what?"
"Then she gets an infection," Kieran shrugged.
He shook his head and set Mariah down on her bed. "Do you know how to use healing spells?"
"No." Kieran said, "I'm not good at it at least. You think I would have bothered using bandages if I could heal her up properly? No, too messy. I got blood all over me when I did it."
"Fine," he said, unwrapping the bandages around her left arm. "Kieran… these cuts… they're so deep…" The little red dragon bounced down onto the bed, sniffing at the wound. Murtagh shook his head at her. "You're lucky she didn't die."
"I was careful," she said, observing her nails. "I see father gave you your dragon. Tell me, did he hatch of his own accord or did Galbatorix make him?" Murtagh ignored her, setting to work healing up the gashes in Mariah's arm, muttering healing spells under his breath. "Oh, c'mon tell me. At least tell me how you know those words."
He growled slightly in his throat, "She taught them to me while we were traveling." Murtagh dragged his fingers over another one of the gashes, moving to her other arm and repeating the process. The energy he was using up was excessive but he didn't much care – if the wounds weren't healed up properly and soon, they would likely get infected or keep bleeding. In either case, Mariah's condition would simply deteriorate.
"Oh, well that was nice of her," she said, walking over and looking at a bookshelf before choosing a slim volume and falling gracefully into a chair. "What else did she teach you?"
"Nothing Kieran, now please shut up I'm trying to concentrate."
She huffed and flicked through the book aggressively. "Fine." Kieran sat there, listening to him mutter as she read over the pages.
When he was finished, Murtagh took one more look over her body to make sure he hadn't missed anything. It was then he noticed her throat. "Really, her neck too? How you managed to restrain yourself and not kill her is a wonder. Honestly." He set his jaw and sealed up the cut on her neck as well; brushing her hair back behind her ear. Murtagh blinked and narrowed his eyes a bit before standing straight again. The ruby dragon crawled up his leg, around his waist and perched on his shoulder, blinking at Kieran. "Since you're the one that put her in this mess, you can change her clothes for her, so they're not so bloodied and torn when she wakes up." He walked out of the room, slamming the door.
Kieran huffed and snapped the book shut, pulling some clothes from the wardrobe and tearing the remains of Mariah's shirt from her body. Though not trying to be excessively rough, she hastily changed out her clothing and threw the bloody rags into a bin for the maids to clean up later. Wiping the blood off her hands onto her already blood-spattered pants, she left the room to return to Galbatorix, before he had the change to bid her to do so.
Murtagh waited for her to ascend the stairs before walking back to Mariah's room, the dragon balanced on his shoulder and a tray of food in his hands that he'd just managed to sneak from the kitchens. He shut the door behind him and set the tray on a table nearby, going and looking out the window at Nasreen and Andrar, the latter cowering in front of Shruiken.
He sighed and waited around in the room for a while, letting the dragon do as he liked, which mostly consisted of fluttering around and climbing up the curtains. He played hide-and-seek with him a few times but it only took a matter of minutes before there weren't any more good places to hide.
Finally, Mariah woke.
"Oh, good you're up." He said, walking over to her quickly. "Kieran brought you back in a bloody heap."
She sighed, rubbing her fingers against her face. "It was awful… I didn't realize she was capable of that and still managing to keep the person alive." Mariah jerked slightly, pulling her sleeve back and tracing her right hand fingers along her left arm, staring. There were faint red lines; the only remnants of a scar would be flat lines a shade lighter than her skin tone. "How… she healed me back up afterward?"
"No… she brought you here with bandages. I sealed up your wounds before you could bleed anymore." He admitted, the corner of his mouth twitching up into a crooked smile.
She blinked up at him, "Thank you… but… how did you manage that? It must have taken so much energy, and… no offense… but you don't have that much magic."
Murtagh sighed a little and lifted up his left hand, tipping it slightly so the silvery mark shone in the light cascading from the open windows. Gasping, Mariah sat up abruptly, the movement making her woozy, snatching his hand. She stared at his palm and shook her head. "Galbatorix turned me into a Rider while you were away with Kieran…"
"…how… how did he do it?"
"He didn't, it hatched for me." He told her, pulling his head back and sitting next to her. "I don't know why… but I asked it to, so Galbatorix wouldn't kill it." Murtagh sighed and looked around the room, then up. "Get down here, you."
The hatchling blinked and hissed slightly before leaping from the top of the curtains and gliding downward, collapsing onto the bed with less flair than he would have liked. He straightened himself out and flicked his wings, sitting down and blinking at Mariah.
"Red."
"Yeah, the irony is overwhelming, isn't it?" He asked sarcastically, rubbing his face.
"I think he's adorable." She smiled and coaxed the dragon to her. "What's his name?"
"He won't tell me. You said your dragon picked its name, well… he won't say anything to me. I think he understands me well enough, but I can't invade his mind like you say you can." Murtagh leaned back against his arms, watching her.
"Well, did you suggest anything to it?"
"…no," he blinked at her, "you think that'd work?"
"It's what I did. Dragons can be fickle." She insisted, petting the ruby scales, "So just keep asking until he responds." Mariah looked back up at Murtagh, "Thanks for healing me. You… you did a really good job, considering. I don't think there'll be hardly any scarring."
He smiled crookedly, "I was aiming for that… didn't think you'd appreciate waking up with long scars up and down your arms and legs. Or across your throat."
"No, definitely not, so thanks."
Murtagh nodded, "Are you hungry? I sneaked some food out of the kitchen for you. I figured you'd probably be hungry after all that. And I'm sure Galbatorix is going to punish you… you know, for letting them all escape."
She reached over and took a piece of bread, munching on it, giving the dragon a piece. "Well, I couldn't very well let them all die when I had the option to do something about it, now could I?"
"I suppose not," he admitted, nodding. "Now, let's see about a name for you. Hmm… Jasper means red… and sounds better than Ruby… which really is a girl name, yeah?"
Mariah nodded, chuckling a bit. "Definitely." She looked down at the dragon, "How do you like Jasper, huh?"
The dragon blinked at her, melancholy, and let smoke rise from his nostrils.
"Okay, so that's a no." She snatched a piece of cheese as well from the tray and thought. "Roy means red… how's that?"
He flicked his head back and forth, curling up in her lap, closing his eyes to sleep.
"You see what I mean? Pain in the ass is what he is." Murtagh rolled his eyes, "Thorn in my side. I didn't ask for this you know, you hatched for me, I had nothing to do with it."
The dragon looked up at him and snorted, chirruping at him.
"What? You did. I thought it loud enough I suppose, but you're the one who decided to hatch-" he cut himself off abruptly and stared at the hatchling. "Really? I didn't actually mean it you know." He paused again, listening to the dragon. "Fine. If that's what you want, we'll choose that."
Mariah blinked between them, "What?"
"Thorn. He likes Thorn…" he shook his head, shrugging.
Brisingr, iet tauthr - Fire, follow me
Skölir thornessa breoal frá brisinger. – Shield this house from fire.
Sé mor'ranr ono finna – May you find peace.
Alright, yes this DID take way too long, I know… but… I went to Comic-Con, so you can't blame me for not writing anything for the past few weeks.
Alright, there you go, his name is Thorn. Glad you're happy. I am too.
I'm exhausted from writing this now, so happy July everyone.
Please review! It really helps me out when you give me suggestions and ideas!
With Love, As Always,
Mariah