TW: sexual assault of a minor including some description of injuries, memory loss, and trauma response.

[It's a rough one again today, folks. no hard feelings if this is a pass. Preemptively, the subject in question is referenced and implied after the fact. It is not described in any detail, though it is central plot-wise for the latter half of the chapter. As always, stay safe out there.]

It was around this time that Veronica left us. She exited our lives as she'd entered; suddenly, unasked, and without explanation. Tellingly, Torix seemed unaffected by this change. I was… less aloof, though I shared the emotions with only Katana. Of course, I was pleased to see her free… but I was also worried for her safety and, perhaps in the tenderest part of me, a bit sad that she hadn't bothered to say goodbye. Still, it was a small price to pay for some peace— the servants seemed more at ease to the very last of them. I'll never know what turned my mother's daughter into such a preening prima donna.

But my life had a much more interesting development on the way.

After the death of his parents, Murtagh came to live in Uru'baen. Galbatorix made the… interesting choice to let the full truth of his parentage become common knowledge. The capital turned inside out with gossip and plotting. With some help from Antebellum, I had ears in every relevant conversation. This let me stop many of the plots before they drifted too close to Murtagh. He also had his fair share of brushes with death- most of them when he was too young to even understand them. None of these attempts had their origins in the Varden; I had VERY clear communication with Dondor (and eventually Ajihad) on that subject: any harm to Selena's son would be considered an unconscionable betrayal. Noble gentleman that they were, I kept a wary eye over both shoulders… just in case.

But the REAL danger in Uru'baen was the child's own guardian. Galbatorix was always going to have Murtagh in his peripheral. It was my job to make sure he came no closer. I did this mostly by being civil with Torix to a fault- no more petty squabbling, no more calling him on his rotten behavior, no more standing up for myself… ever.

It was during one of these check-ins that I met his other protector.

I paused at a high stone wall, listening in to Murtagh's latest lesson. He was finally of an age to take up with a sword instructor, and the pursuit had quickly filled his waking hours. Oh, to be born a man! I wonder if he's been hit with a reed over silverware yet. Do lordlings get the same kind of ridicule as their female-counterparts?

Instinctively, my thoughts reached back for Katana. The absence of her witticisms left a sharp ache, even though I knew it was only for a few hours. She'd asked to devote her morning to comforting Shruikan. The two had been (painstakingly) mending their friendship over the past years. It was an imprecise thing— Shruikan was about as social as a rabid shark— but if anyone could crack through his desolate agony it was my partner. Hell, she got through to me!

A chorus of noise interrupted my thoughts.

Tap. Tap clack. Tap.

"You'll have to do better than that, Boy!"

Tap tap smack!

"Ow!"

"You're putting too much weight on the front foot. Once you're unbalanced, your opponent has every opportunity to cut you to ribbons. Again."

"But I—"

"We do the set again."

A deep and weary sigh. "Yes, Tornac."

I felt the unaccustomed tug of a grin. By the sound of things, the fledgling already showed serious promise. Was there ever any doubt? He is— I stopped the thought. It would shatter him if I started thinking in those terms… but the connection existed for anyone to see. Morzan's infamy came mostly from his claim to the title of 'greatest swordsman in recorded history.'

But how long will it be before Murtagh takes that title right out from under him? Now that could only be called poetic justice. My musings ended abruptly with another frustrated yell accompanied by a barrage of rough laughter. I poked my head around the corner of the wall to catch a better view.

"Now, you have no one to blame for that but yourself." The grizzled soldier leaned on his polearm like an odd cane, sun-beaten face cracked with mirth.

His student only pouted more aggressively, flat on his back in the grass. "No. You tripped me!"

"I tripped you because you weren't paying attention." The teacher lifted his knobbed finger in admonishment. "If you were, I never could have tripped you." Murtagh's face burned as he mumbled some excuse, but his teacher cut him off, "The only one responsible for your hide in a battle is you. You must know your limits and abilities, make the right choices, and watch your own back. There's no sense trying to avoid it." He reached down and offered the boy a hand. Murtagh took it graciously, digesting the lesson.

I used the moment of quiet to make my entrance, sidling around the wall and stepping into the sunlight. "A valuable point, good sir."

Their reactions were night and day.

"Lilly!" Murtagh dropped his polearm to the ground and trotted right up to me, hugging tightly around my waist. I took the brunt of the cuddle attack with a bit of shock- he'd gotten taller again since I had last seen him. In the background, I saw his teacher picking up the discarded instrument with a look of tactful distaste and annoyance.

"It's good to see you too! How are you already this tall? I swear, just yesterday you barely came up to my knee." I badly wanted to ruffle his hair, but I held myself back. He was close to that fussy age where boys wanted to be men. I didn't want to upset him in front of his new role model.

He rubbed his nose sheepishly. "I'll be taller than you soon!" I didn't doubt that for a minute. Selena hadn't been a large woman, but even she'd been taller than me… and Morzan was a giant! I flicked the ghost of the man from my mind just in time to hear Murtgah ask, "Are you going to stay for a while?"

His eyes practically sparkled with hope. It was amazing how easily this child tore my resolve— and busy schedule— to pieces. "I'd love to. Word around the castle is that you've gotten quite good," I threw in a wink, "I'm dying to see for myself!"

He smirked, confident and so very full of childish bravado, and ran back to Tornac. The soldier tipped an appropriate bow in my direction and mumbled a greeting. I nodded and leaned back against the wall. Murtagh whispered, completely unaware that I could hear every word perfectly from my resting place, "Can we run last week's lesson?"

"In every match, you should be applying all of your lessons—"

"Yes, I know. But the new block—"

"I won't regress my techniques so you can show off. You are exactly as good as you are, no better and no worse."

"But—"

"You won't impress anyone by doing things the easy way." Tornac was every bit the stern mentor, but there was a touch of humor to his tone that baffled me. I'd never heard him jest. Until that very moment, I hadn't realized he knew how! Murtagh nodded grudgingly and settled into a ready stance. I could see the tension in every muscle, the fierce desire to meet some unspoken expectations. I almost laughed. Boys are all the same.

Then the fight began.

Tornac wasn't exactly world-renowned, but that was only because he'd never attempted to be so. He was without a doubt an exceptional swordsman, especially for a lowborn, late-blooming, middle-aged human.

Somehow, Murtagh was better.

There was still the pervasive clumsiness of youth, the lagging speed as the unaccustomed weight dragged his arm down, but his coordination was next-level. He had an eye for detail and an impressive sense of rhythm and flow. The strokes weren't perfect but they showed the serious potential to become so. He kept his defenses tight and balanced. I could tell he'd been drilled to death on grip and footwork. I'd watched legendary swordsmen all my life, and I had the distinct feeling I was watching the creation of another.

Inevitably, mistakes were made and Tornac brought the sparring match to a close with a raised hand and a pat on the back. I noted with genuine pride that they both seemed properly winded— even if Murtagh showed it more than his elder. It took more than luck to give a battle-hardened veteran a run for his money in any category.

I couldn't resist applauding. Murtagh was all bashful smiles and quiet pride, bowing with unconscious grace. His teacher's expression darkened at once. I ignored him as much as I could. "That was fantastic!" I reclosed the distance between us. "You've come very far very quickly. Well done!" He didn't know how to handle the praise other than to smile and glance down, so I switched tactics. "I can tell you've had an exemplary teacher."

"I do what I can, Your Highness." Tornac didn't meet my eyes for more than a moment before offering a shallow bow.

I held back a grimace. There's more to this than simple dislike, I can feel it. "Murtagh," he stood at attention like an excited puppy, "I need to talk with Tornac alone for a minute." He wilted so quickly that I almost redacted the request. Scrambling, I added, "No need to mope! It won't take an hour, I promise. Then I believe I owe you another round of stories?" He perked up enough to ease my guilt. "Why don't you go wash yourself and I'll meet you in the library this evening?"

He smiled and turned to run, barely stopping long enough to yell, "Thank you Tornac! I'll see you later Lilly!" Then he scampered off to his room.

I watched every step.

A gruff voice stole the moment away. "We weren't finished." He had a frown, a polearm in each hand, and the distinct aura of someone deciding which one to swing at me first.
"Perhaps you should be," I quipped. Without our mutual charge present, there was no reason to mince words. "It seems he gave you quite the challenge."

"He learns well, Your Highness." He spoke with as few words as possible, completely deflecting any attempt at levity. I would have taken it as a soldier's habit if I hadn't just seen he was perfectly capable of joking.

My curiosity won out at last. "I must know; is there a particular reason you despise me?"

I could feel the impatient frustration pouring off of him. "No, Your Highness—"

"Really? Because I can't shake the impression that you'd rather I was a corpse than here, having this conversation."

"Talking."

"Excuse me?"

"You're talking. A conversation requires two participants—"

"No one's stopping you."

He laughed, but it was harsh and humorless. "Surely, you're joking. Find me a man fool enough to speak freely in front of a princess."

The last dregs of my limited patience vanished at that hated word. "Fuck rank, Tornac." He raised his brow so high I thought it would float away. "For the life of me, I can't figure out your problem! I wish, in all sincerity, that you'd just spit it out!"

He finally made eye contact again. He looked wary; like he was inspecting every syllable for a shred of sarcasm. "You really don't know?"

"Why else would I ask?" I kept the tone firm and short, meeting his gaze head-on.

He shrugged, helplessly. "You're my problem, Princess." My eyes narrowed in silent warning. He continued, "Every time you visit him, you're all he talks about. He acts like you're his best friend."

Far from a rebuke, the words warmed a long-dead part of my heart. I struggled to find a reply, "I mean… it isn't as though he has many others—"

"You misunderstand me," his fists tightened on the training implements. "You aren't his friend. You can't be his friend. You shouldn't be anywhere near him."

I wanted to smack him back twenty years, but I held the impulse in check. Barely. "What gives you the right to decide that?"

"Who else? In case it escaped your notice, he's an orphaned pup in a lion's den. Someone in this god-forsaken city has to look out for him—"

"Why do you think I visit him in the first place?" My indignant rage maintained its simmer. "Don't act the fool; I spend every spare moment watching out for him—"

"Oh yes, and nothing bad has ever happened to your known associates." Worse than his previous contempt, there was a note of condescension here— like a father painstakingly explaining the dangers of the world to a doe-eyed girl.

I could tolerate more than my share of insults, but never that. "What do you know of my life that I do not?"

"Plenty, by the look of things." That took me aback. Then he said, "I understand that the fastest way to get close to the king without winding up dead is to get close to you. The fastest way to get close to you is to get close to Murtagh. Except that we want people to accept him, not use him, and we want to keep him far away from the king!" Finally, we'd reached the real heart of the matter. "That man is dangerous, and Murtagh is in more danger than anyone else. He can't also be close to you."

His words, brimming with bitter truths I knew all too well, stung. I tried to rationalize, "Torix will never hurt him—"

He scoffed. "That stinks of manure! I don't believe a word of it and neither do you. The king is—"

I cut him off before he accidentally committed treason. "Torix will never hurt him because I will never let him."

He laughed in my face. "You think you can stop him?"

"I don't have a choice." I couldn't tell if my venomous tone or my glare backed him down; I didn't care. "I will burn heaven or raise hell for that boy. If I have to rip Galbatorix apart with my bare hands to keep him safe, I will. I would give anything— everything— to protect him." By the end, my voice was little more than a hiss.

I could tell that the display had undermined Tornac's initial tactic, but he switched at once. "Will you give him up?" He paused for my reply, but I had none. "Right now, the only danger to him is his association with the royal family; with you in particular. The more time you spend with him, the more of a target he becomes. If you care about protecting him, you'll leave him alone."

I closed my eyes and processed the unifying message behind the words. He wasn't saying this out of unfounded hatred or distrust. His was a genuine concern; a fatherly concern. It wasn't my intentions he doubted; it was my willpower and method. I relaxed my defensive posture and released a deep sigh. He did not soften his stance, but he did give me a confused once-over. "... you can't know what you're asking of me."

"I'm asking—"

"I know what you said and why you said it," I raked fingers through my hair, "but you don't understand what he means to me."

He mirrored my earlier sigh, whistling a sour note. He strode to a rack of training weapons and rested the two he carried in their spots. Back still to me, he whispered, "Yes, I do." He smiled over one shoulder. The gesture seemed alien on his face. "I love him like my own. I just," he sighed and sat hard on a stool, "I just want what's best for him."

The resigned and sarcastically grudging affection drew a grin from me and, with it, a new level of appreciation for the man. "As do I." I crossed my arms, tapping a finger on my bicep. "Which is why…" the words were sour on my tongue, but I knew they needed to be said, " I think you're right."

Poor Tornac looked more scared of my surrender than of my resistance.

It seemed prudent to finish my train of thought before the man managed to anger me again. "You should spend the most time with him. After all, you're his teacher and his mentor now. No one can keep him safer, other than myself." He nodded in acknowledgment of the— generously high— praise. "But, and I hope you can forgive me this, I cannot cut him out of my life completely." He opened his mouth to argue but I lifted a palm. "I promised his mother I would safeguard her son. And, I can't deny that the time we spend together is precious to me. I'm no more willing to give that up than I am to take it away from him." Again, Tornac's sun-weathered face crinkled into a disapproving look. I softened my tone even further. "He may never be allowed to leave these walls, let alone this city. He needs all the socialization he can get, and I don't trust any of his peers to the task." The man looked away from me, chewing on my point as bitterly as I had his. "However," as I'd hoped, he flicked his eyes back to me, "I can ensure that they stay quiet, private, and few." Seeing he was still unsatisfied, I added hastily, "I can't cut him off for blood ties alone. What message does that send to him?"

Tornac responded, "Life is dangerous and sometimes we have to do what's best instead of what's easy." He ground out the message from behind a patronizing scowl.

I felt my heat rising again. I asked coolly, "How do you dare?"

He raised his hands in mock defense. "So sorry, Princess—"

By this point, I'd had enough; I asked for his honesty, not for this attitude. "No, I mean how dare you, a human not even half my age, condescend to me about how difficult the world is?" He tried to interrupt but I cut him off. "I've endured four and eighty years on this hellish planet; I would not be alive today if I could'nt do what must be done!" It was supremely satisfying to see him cringing at his own misplaced words. Still, my offended pride was secondary at the moment. I pulled back the outburst of emotion, desperate to make him understand. "Has it occurred to you, self-sacrificing source of wisdom that you are, that he can draw his own conclusions? You want one of the only two people who care whether he lives or dies to vanish from his life. What will he think? He can only assume that either I no longer care for him, which I will not allow, or that our parentage makes associating with anyone a hazard. As someone who lived that second fate, I can tell you: It's a slow and lonely death for an untried heart."

"He isn't ready to understand all that—"

"Has it been so long since you were a boy? Children are more aware than many adults ever know. Why, he's past his seventh birthday, isn't he?"

"I see your figuring is up to scratch—"

I put a hand on my hip. "Tornac, please don't push your luck any further. I've been more than generous."

"Apologies."

I gleaned from his averted gaze that he was anything but sorry. Maybe he's so withdrawn intentionally to curb his wagging tongue. I rubbed my temple with my opposite hand, already dreading the headache I felt building. "The beginning and end of it is this: I don't want to keep him ignorant of the world. I want to teach him to survive it."

Tornac sat in interminable silence. Finally, he relented. All the energy left him in a mighty exhale as he dropped his head to his hands. "...you're not wrong."

"I rarely am."

He glanced up, the ghost of a reluctant smile playing at his dry lips. "He's doomed."

The words sent an apprehensive shiver through me. That very same thought had kept me awake many nights in recent years, but I decided not to give voice to my fears. Instead, I smiled and extended a truce. "Not with someone like you looking out for him."

"Someone like me?" Again, that incredulous sarcasm.

I got the impression he communicated almost solely in sarcasm. Maybe he isn't so bad.

"You mean a washed-up, paranoid—"

"Someone who loves him." I held his gaze, serious as the grave, then winked. "Almost as much as I do."

He chuckled and stood, dusting off his lap. "We'll see about that." He extended a hand.

I took his wrist firmly. He clasped mine. "Now, that's a challenge I can accept."

Gods, that man had ice in his veins! For all his flaws, and there were many, lack of gumption was certainly not one of them. In all, I interacted very little with Tornac (given his tongue, it was mostly for his own safety!). I regret now that someone so important to one of my dearest friends remained a total stranger. The most I can say about him is that he was a good, brave, and capable man. I know Murtagh admired many of his qualities and could probably fill pages with just that admiration… and I'm grateful that he had such a person in his life.

It hurt to sacrifice any of the limited time I got with Murtagh. But, I knew all too well that associating with me was as deadly a curse as any spellweaver ever wove. To my endless relief, Galbatorix rarely spoke a word about the boy. When he did, it was always in a general sense— he should be such and such an age by now, not as tall as his father, he isn't much like his fellow lads, etc… (Strangely enough, Galbatorix did occasionally talk like the average old man; astounded at how far the younger generations had come since he'd last turned his back.) I NEVER encouraged these lines of conversation, usually pleading boredom or feigning inattentiveness. Eventually, all mention of Murtagh vanished in place of more eventful happenings— political scandals, romantic dramas, deadly coups, and the like.

I should have taken this for the warning it was.

I skipped up the narrow stone staircase, one hand brushing the crucial pouch safely fastened on my belt. I'd only been back in Uru'baen an hour or so— my last assignment had me chained in Kuasta for nearly a month. I didn't mind the chance to be away from Uru'baen, but the work was miserable; combing through tomes for anything remotely forbidden or arcane. I'd never properly appreciated just how busy Galbatorx kept the Forsworn until they were all dead. Now, all of their old jobs fell to me. I was a courier, whisperer, hunter, assassin, judge, supervisor, investigator… the list was endless! One of the other two eggs needs to hatch soon. Otherwise, I fear Torix will work me to death!

I don't think you mean that. Katana's disapproval couldn't have possibly been any clearer.

I backpedaled immediately. No. The next egg to hatch— be it one of ours or the one in the Varden's possession— would likely determine the future of Alagaesia. If that future were to be placed squarely in Galbatorix's incompetent hands… I wouldn't wish that fate on anyone. I barely survived his training, and he had some semblance of sanity back then!

And you had multiple teachers. The next student will have only him.

And Shruikan.

Katana paused. Her mind took on an airy, faded quality. I don't think he's capable of that anymore. He no longer communicates in this tongue at all, and even I can only soothe him for a few minutes at a time.

I digested the observation in tactful silence. The last living dragon had, at long last, surrendered to madness. As expected as this development was, it still sucked the air from my lungs. I couldn't help but feel a bone-crushing guilt; what could I have done to save him? Could I have saved him?

Could I ever save anyone?

Enough of that. Katana poked my moping mind back to safer ground. Today is supposed to be a happy one.

Right! I shook my head like a dog, redoubling my pace up the stairs. At the top, after a narrow passageway, was a single wooden door. I knocked, one-and, one and, one-and-two-and, one-and, until the door swung inward.

I nearly fell backward at the sight that greeted me.

Murtagh looked like he'd barely survived an avalanche. Bruises in every possible shade littered his face. They traipsed down his neck, under his tunic, and crept out on his arms and hands. I could tell just by the way he was moving that they were even worse on his back and legs, probably from him curling up to protect his core. "Hey, Lil. Come on in."

I moved forward in a daze. "What the hell happened to you?"

He shut the door to his chambers, dropped the latch, and inched a heavy end table in front of it. Then he balanced a small blue vase at the opposite edge of the table— the hallmarks of someone who'd recently gone through a trauma and expected another. "A birthday gift from some associates."

I chewed my lip, irritated beyond words. But, in the fifteen years I'd known this boy, he'd never once been persuaded to relinquish information he didn't want to share. "I assume these associates have names?"

"I don't know." At my incredulous look, he held up his hands. "Really, I don't! They were wearing masks." He followed with an abridged version of the attack; a gang of masquerading teens jumped him on the way to his room.

They have to be nobles to be this deep in the castle. I pocketed the information. That's a shorter suspect list than he may realize. I'm sure Antebellum will be more than happy to help me narrow it down further. I could never make my interference obvious, but I could certainly give the perpetrators a run of misfortune to make even the most established noble quake. I rolled up my sleeves and slumped onto Murtagh's bed. "Well, let's get the uncomfortable part out of the way."

He groaned and shuffled forward. "It's not as bad as it looks. I'm more stiff than anything."

I brushed his bangs behind his ears. His hair was just barely long enough to stay put on its own— he hadn't decided whether to let it grow out completely or shear it off. His left eye was half shut from swelling, and the right was bloodshot, but both irises seemed unharmed. I frowned. "Well, aside from being tenderized, what have you been up to since last I visited?" I started on the worst of the wounds as he talked. It was a tedious process, (the last thing I wanted to do was make him feel worse) but I soon got both of his eyes— the perfect mirror of his mother's— clear and open.

"Can we take a break?"

"Once I'm sure you're not about to keel over."

"I'm fine! Tornac made me go to a healer right after—"

"And was that healer me? No? Then I don't trust them." He continued to fuss half-heartedly all through my examination. I was satisfied that he wasn't in mortal peril, but the extent of the injuries was staggering! What could a child possibly have done to incite so much vitriol? But I knew all too well that it was nothing he'd done; the crime of existing was more than enough for the world to condemn us. "Alright, done with what I can see." I took a deep breath, already hating the next words I had to speak. "Are you willing to let me look at your back?"

He tensed like he'd been struck by lightning. As soon as he'd developed the social skills to express his thoughts, his back had been the touchiest subject of all. He would rather openly discuss Morzan with Galbatorix himself while being slow-roasted over a volcano than ever expose that most hated scar in public.

In private, with only me, he nodded haltingly and shucked off his tunic. As soon as he pivoted I had to bite back a curse— the worst of the bruises were dangerously close to his kidneys. I focused on these mostly, only healing the rest enough to restore his full range of motion. I worked up his back— dutifully ignoring the scar as if it did not exist— but paused when I reached his neck. Here, nearly hidden by several lighter abrasions, was the unmistakable indentation of teeth.

Someone had bitten him, and recently too. I can't picture a gang of bullies stopping mid-attack for something like that. Several different scenarios flooded my brain— each one worse than the last. I scanned his body again, on the lookout now for anything that stuck out from his other wounds. Sure enough, I noticed an uncomfortably familiar pattern of bruises on his hips, a matching pair of purpling marks on his wrists, and another bite farther down his shoulder. Without question, the person who left these marks did so maliciously, intentionally, in the course of some disgusting violence, and without fear of retribution.

I had even fewer suspects for this crime than the first.

Murtagh noticed my prolonged quiet (in all likelihood I'd failed to answer a question or some such thing) and he swiveled to face me. He studied my face, a look of distress replacing his assumed calm. "Lil?"

I felt panicked. I didn't know what to say to him, how to comfort him, or how I could begin to explain what I thought had happened. I didn't even know the extent yet. He was waiting for the shoe to fall, for me to have some reaction other than wide-eyed horror and silence, but I couldn't force out a sound.

"Lil!?" He sounded so frightened that it shocked me back into motion.

"Sorry!" I shook my head and said, voice shaky, "Murtagh, I know this is going to sound weird, but has anything else unusual happened recently?

"Why?" His tone mirrored mine, anxiety climbing with every wasted second.

So I started lying in the calmest, gentlest tone I could. "Because some of these wounds look fresher than the others." It broke my heart to interrogate him, but I had to know that I wasn't just projecting my own trauma. I needed to be sure. "It would have been in the last few days or so. Did anything strange happen; anything at all? Did you maybe… spend an evening with a girl?"

He chuckled uneasily. "What girl would go anywhere with me?"

I knew his tells well enough to be sure of his honesty. Damn. That was my last hypothesis for a happy ending…

What befell him? Katana was just as upset as Murtagh, maybe even more so— she knew better than anyone how hard I was to rattle… and rattled I most certainly was.

Not what; whom. My blood boiled with barely banked fury, but it would only cause more harm to let Murtagh see it now.

Meanwhile, my patient was working himself up more and more. I handed him back his shirt and he pulled it on like a soldier suiting up for battle. "What's going on? You have to tell me!"

"Tagh, hush. It's okay, I promise. It'll be okay." I was talking, but I wasn't thinking about the words. I was on autopilot, mind leaping sixteen steps ahead of my mouth. "I think I know what happened… but I don't know when or how." I flitted through all the known facts. Most of the day he's either alone or with Tornac. "Have you ever woken up with a gap in your memory for how you got to bed?"

"...Yes." And there it was: eyes downturned, foot scuffing on the floor, hands hidden under his legs.

I tried vainly to inject some levity back into my tone. "What did you get up to?"

He cringed like he'd been caught holding someone's coin purse. "I may have snuck out." He looked at my face again and gave his best attempt at an innocent smile

I exhaled slowly. Normally, I would have scolded him (or at least said something useful) but I was a touch distracted. "In the last few days?"

"The night of the attack. I wanted to find a place where no one would know me. I…" He swallowed hard, "I went to a tavern."

I did my best to seem stern, but I was the last person to judge. "And then?"

He shrugged, fingers absently fluffing his hair back into place. "I drank— a lot. And then I woke up in my room. I figured Tornac must have gone looking for me and brought me back, but when I referenced it the next day he didn't seem to understand what I was talking about."

Apparently, my spirits could still sink lower. I felt sick. Could I explain to him my theory? If I was wrong, it would probably traumatize him just as severely as if it were true; with the added benefit that he'd never trust me again. But, if it was true, he was in very serious danger.

I couldn't take that chance.

"Murtagh, I need you to do something for me." He sat up straighter; he was a naturally helpful and generous person, though years of emotional neglect had done their best to bury those instincts. "You know how to push thoughts to the front of your mind?" He gave a wary look so I added quickly, "I'm not asking you to open your thoughts! No one should ever ask that of another person if it can be avoided. I just need you to shove your last memories to the outskirts. I'll do the rest." He eased off his defensive posture and nodded his understanding.

It took several minutes of mutual concentration to gather scraps of information from his hazy memory. Truly, he'd been drinking like a fish— only the first hour or so was clear enough to glean anything useful; during which he mostly kept his eyes on the counter in front of him. But then— bronzed hands, a velvety voice, a laugh that could charm the hide from a lethrblaka, and eyes as black as a moonless midnight….I would recognize that smug bastard anywhere.

I saw red.

-:- -:- -:-

The next thing that broke my conscious level of thought was Murtagh's hurried, leaping footsteps to keep up with me as I took the stairs two at a time. Over the click of our mismatched steps I heard his consistent questioning, "Lil, what are you doing? What is going on?"

He deserved answers… but now wasn't the time. The council meeting I'd ditched to keep him company was nearly over and we needed to be clear of the city before it reached its end.

"I'll tell you once we're on the road. Go back to your room and ready one pack— essentials only— then meet me at the stables. And make sure you bring your sword; this might get dangerous."

He stopped, immediately falling behind. I could feel his stare on my back as I rounded the bend and I briefly met his intense gaze. He was confused and frustrated, but all at once he set his expression into hard lines and, in the most adult tone I'd ever heard him use, said, "I'll be there." I nodded and carried on my headlong sprint.

We'd only get one shot. Katana, I'm sorry… but there isn't time to discuss this.

She simply said, I trust you.

-:- -:- -:-

Barely a half-hour later, we were free of the capital on a pair of appropriated stallions. We barrelled through the countryside at breakneck speeds, desperately trying to put Uru'baen's awful shadow behind us. He didn't ask me a single question until, finally, even the Az Ragní was a distant memory. I'd set up camp for us behind the shelter of a hill, meticulously dry wood crackling in a low fire.

When he tried at last to break his silence, he collapsed into a coughing fit. I handed him the water skin and waited for him to clear the dust from his throat. When he stopped to choke down air, I suddenly felt very… for lack of a better word, maternal. This child had never been farther from a castle than the gardens, and now here he was: tucked into scrub grass, wind-whipped, and struggling to breathe. I felt responsible for the whole horrible mess… and terribly ill-equipped. I sat calmly on the ground, waiting for the inevitable interview I still had no clue how to approach.

Gently, and with every sensitivity. He needs support now more than ever, and few can give it as well as you. Katana's vote of confidence gave me new strength.

At least I went to the bastard willingly…

Finally, he caught his breath. "Why did we have to run? What exactly did you find? And why are you so scared?" I was impressed with his practical approach, even if the necessity of it was disturbing as hell. Whatever fear he harbored was fast hardening into resolve.

He deserved the truth. "Murtagh, this is going to be a rough conversation, so please bear with me. You've met the king before?"

"Kind of? I've gone to a few parties and he's been at all of them. But I think we've exchanged a handful of pleasantries; if that."

I nodded. That was entirely by design. "You know who he is to me." It was not a question.

He nodded along, patiently scrutinizing my face for any trace of new information.

Of course, there were complexities there that I'd never shared with a soul besides Katana, but that discussion could wait… hopefully, forever. "He's my father and he was my mentor, like Tornac is to you. Because of that, I know him very well; well enough to say for certain that he is responsible for the injuries I found."

Murtagh went rigid. Only his eyes moved, widening in petrified trepidation.

The next revelation was even harder to put into words. "I also know…the sort of things he does in his free time. And, given that—"

"What did he do to me?" He had turned completely white in the course of my explanation. His fists were curled into the fabric of his trousers— knuckles bloodless as dried bones.

I tucked my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. "I can't say for certain. But… nothing good." I gave a quick inventory of the abrasions I'd found. His eyes took on a distant cast as he scurried between different possibilities and memories. I tried to draw him back to the present. "Under the circumstances, we can be fairly sure he was seeking you out in particular, but wanted you to be ignorant of this fact. As to why… it's never wise to assume where Torix is involved."

We both sat chewing on the situation for a long while. Every time I wanted to break our silence, one look at Murtagh's stormy countenance changed my mind. He needs time with his own thoughts. The sun crawled lower and finally ducked over the horizon . The sky darkened faster until our fire became a lone spark of light in an endless, inky sea. Even the moon was too ashamed to show her face after the atrocities she'd witnessed.

"We can't go back, can we?" His tone was surprisingly casual for the level of trauma I'd just dropped in his lap.

I shook my head.
"Where shall we go then?" I expected the words to be accusing or frightened, but he sounded… excited. "I've always wanted to see the ocean."

I just stared at him, dumbstruck. How could I begin to explain to him how serious our situation truly was? Treason, even mild treason, metered a fate worse than death where Torix was concerned, and he would certainly see our escape as nothing less. [Nevermind the fact that this was, in his eyes, my "third strike" so to speak.] But here was this boy, smiling at me, relaxing next to a fire, and treating the whole mess like some adventure! Like the adventures… I'd always… told him about… to distract him when he was miserable. Like when he was healing from his father trying to cut him in half. Or when I finally got him out of bed after the funeral. Or when he felt alone, overwhelmed, and terrified.

People take comfort in stories. Perhaps this is his way of taking back control in the moment.

It's no permanent solution.

No more than changing your hair or burning a warehouse.

I mentally flicked my partner. "We can't head back through civilized land yet; too many soldiers. We can always go back another time. For now, I think we'll have to make nice with one of the wandering tribes—"

"You know how to find the tribes?"

"Well, one of them at least. I ran into them the last time I went through this region." Another misadventure that had nearly ended in disaster. Luckily, I'd managed to be of some use to them and traded my help for food, water, and news on my way back from Tronjheim. "Hopefully, they'll remember me and want to help us."

"And if they don't?"

"Then we'll be so charming that they'll want to help us anyway!" The moody teen made a face at that and I shoved him. "It beats eating sand for the next two weeks!" At his laugh, I lowered my arms to my side— and brushed the belt pouch that held the reason I'd been looking for him in the first place! "I know it's late, but do you still want your birthday present?"

He scooted closer, sitting shoulder-to-shoulder with me and nodding.

I slipped a beeswax-coated cloth from the pouch, untwisting the top and letting it fall open like a flower. Nestled in the center was a pile of unassuming matte-brown shards; burgundy and black in the coal-light. "It's a sweet made from rare seed pods in the southern islands. They are baked and mulled into a paste, then a powder, and then mixed with cream and sugar. It's a delicacy that even I only see at the fanciest festivals. But," I winked, "I think your birthday counts."

Murtagh pinched one of the shards in his fingers and popped it in his mouth. A moment later he hummed and licked his lips. "I see why people like it! It doesn't taste like a seed at all."

"Not after it's processed. But, in its natural state, it's unbearably bitter."

He took another sliver of the sweet, nibbling it more slowly this time. "It's kind of like you."

I snorted. "Bitter?"

"In need of sweetening," he lifted one of his candies and pushed it into my mouth, still every bit a sassy child. We laughed and joked until I finally coaxed him into a fitful rest.

What else could I possibly do?

-:- -:- -:-

Our freedom lasted no more than half a day.

I relinquished my watch to Murtagh two hours before I would naturally wake. I gave him strict instructions to wake me if he saw anything strange and even set wards against intrusion! But I wasn't expecting the caliber of hunter Galbatorix would place on our trail.

I woke to the sounds of clicking.

My body reacted before my brain, jolting upright and grasping for Stars' Song. I managed to plant my feet and take a defensive stance as the shadows around me solidified. When they did, my gut clenched in animalistic panic. Two figures cloaked in all black stood side by side, thin blades unsheathed, amused hissing creeping from beneath their hoods. One of them had a— hand, claw, paw?— grasped firmly around Murtagh's throat. "Sssurrender, princccesss," its partner said in an awful, slick voice— it conjured images of crawling things, carrion, moisture, mold, decay… death. It was easy to see how these creatures had been able to pass themselves off as gods— compared to humans, they may as well be.

I stayed still as an ambushed deer.

"Do not make usss asssk again," a sharp click punctuated the ra'zac's words. Its partner flexed its grip pointedly.

Murtagh growled like a feral cat. Even with all his strength and stubbornness, being in such proximity to the creature's awful breath was taking its toll— he was limp as a dead fish in the thing's hold.

"Hand over your weaponsss and drink thisss," the speaking ra'zac produced a small clay bottle, "Or we will ssstrip his flesssh from his bonesss."

I'd used enough of such substances to know it was a drug to suppress my power, potentially even cloud my mind. Every single part of my body recoiled at the thought. Shadows of horrors more personal than the ra'zac could ever be surged to the fore of my mind— helpless, doomed, darkness, falling, despair—

Lilly! Please, you must stay present now! Focus on Murtagh; he needs you!

Cold, starving, hands, pain, darkness— My vision was doubling, tripling… I could almost feel the jolt of the poisoned bolts piercing my flesh, the cold chains holding me up to Hrothgar's merciless gaze, the blisters that hardened to leather against unrelenting stone.

"Lilly." One word, almost too weak to hear, but it was enough.

I forced air from my lungs, yanking my heart rate down to a manageable level. Slowly, the phantom pain receded and the real thing asserted itself— namely in the form of my nails digging into the palm of my left hand. Pin-pricks of sweat chilled my neck and my vision was still cloudy… but I found my voice. "Don't hurt him."

I don't remember much of the short trip back to Uru'baen— between the drugs and my mounting panic, it was all a blur. Ah, but I remember the hours that followed. There were levels to Galbatorix's displeasure— and I had finally cracked through one of the very deepest; attempting to steal away something that he considered "property." To be frank, I'm still not sure if it was me or Murtagh he was most upset about losing… but I had no illusions about which of us would take the blame.

I'd known the risks when I'd decided to flee, but I had to at least try! Galbatorix could never be talked down or brought to task in any rational way— I'd tried that to no avail over much smaller matters than this. I expected punishment. After my failure (in the venture itself and in the preceeding events) I felt I deserved it. Unfortunately, Torix isn't called "clever as a fox" without good reason; he must have seen or sensed the torment roiling in me… because part of my punishment was witnessing Murtagh's.

Murtagh's mind blocked the memory of that night… and for that I am glad. He's suffered enough for my failures; he doesn't need another memory heaped on the pile. But I have not forgotten. Galbatorix's laughter, Murtagh's screams, my own worthless pleading… these phantasms joined my other nightmares in due time. And, kneeling helplessly next to his bloodied body, I was finally forced to do the one thing I'd avoided for so many years: I swore oaths to Galbatorix in the ancient language.

Why he never forced me to swear before this, I may never know… It could be because of the incident in Surda, or simply for his sick amusement, or a host of other illogical reasons. Certainly, it would have been wiser to do so at the beginning of my training— many if not all of the Forsworn were so bound at one time or another. At the very least, I would have expected it after my return from Tronjheim. Ah, but here I am again; chasing my tail trying to parse out the intentions of a lunatic. Perhaps this night was Galbatorix finally admitting and amending a long-standing mistake; maybe he just wanted to hurt me in a more lasting way. Whatever his reasons, the effect was the same: I was officially made his slave.

An experience that would be mirrored half a decade later by my partner in suffering.

Murtagh… this boy went through more before he was even grown than many people will suffer in a lifetime. And, try as I might, I was worse than worthless as a protector. I expected him to hate me for the way things unfolded— if I hadn't forced him to run away, if I hadn't fallen asleep, if I hadn't, if I had, if, if, if. But, to my surprise… it brought us closer together. I realized that it was too late to keep Galbatorix disinterested in him. I abandoned subtlety in my affection for the kid. By Murtagh's own request, Tornac never knew the… full extent of the situation. The more personal aspects he begged even me to forget…

As if I ever could. I longed to comfort him. But, if comfort exists for such things, I do not have the ability to bestow it. Gods know I would have given some to myself by now.

AN: Jeez... ya know, I started this with the intention of saving the second half for next week... but the two scenes just kinda flowed thematically _-_ I reeeaaally need to ease off the heavy crap for a chapter or two (for my own sake).
I want another anthropology adventure- but now with bad vibes [tm] and maybe some description of a certain p.o.s. from the new book? I'll try to keep it as un-spoilery as possible, more of a cameo thing. I haven't decided yet.