The Age of the Dragon 4: On Silver Wings

Chapter 15

Fallyn was helped by her jailor, who cleaned her wounds and bound them, before helping her to go to the privy then feeding her. Then he left her, and she was left to try to reach her mana again.

She was leary of using the lyrium in her markings... that tended to leave her skin feeling more sensitive than it typically was, and she knew that would only hurt her in the long run.

She hadn't noticed that she had started to doze when she started at the sound of the door opening.

"So soon?" she thought, mildly confused and also weary.

But it was only one set of footsteps that came down the stairs. Murtagh appeared at the corner of her vision, and she hummed in gratitude when he used magic to heal her. Then he went to a slightly different spot on the wall and sank down. Now she could see him.

He looked tired, his clothes tattered. She wondered briefly if he had been fighting, but her concern was different.

"Does Galbatorix know you are here?" she wondered aloud.

"He might, but I doubt it," he answered. "He's busy playing with his favourite concubine. That or he's asleep. It's the middle of the night right now. Besides, I cast a spell to keep anyone from listening to us. He could break it if he wants, but I would know."

"You're not concerned Galbatorix might break me and learn of this?" she pressed.

"He won't," he answered simply. "You're stronger than me. There is no one he can threaten since Fang has all but vanished. The Varden are fast approaching, and the elves from the north... if you can hold out for another few days, there's a chance... there's a chance maybe they can free you."

She was quiet, wrestling with her thoughts and feelings before she could no longer remain silent.

"You're wrong, you know," she said softly. "I could have escaped the day I awoke... I lingered... hoping for the opportunity to kill him... only to become trapped."

"I don't understand," she saw him frown at her.

Fallyn sighed, then her markings flared to life, and she sat up. The markings allowed her to become somewhat ethereal, allowing her to pass through them as if they were water.

"Oh..." he said, looking startled. "I suspect by trapped, you mean the endless number of backups that Galbatorix has in place in case a prisoner should escape?"

She smiled sadly. "No... but those are good things to know about."

She swung her legs over and moved to sit next to Murtagh. "Tell me about Tornac."

Murtagh quietly started to talk about how the man had been like a father to him - and mentioned how he had discovered that the day he lost his adoptive father, Eragon had lost his foster father.

"Fate has a cruel sense of humour, don't you think?" he eventually said.

She hummed in agreement.

The two sat in companionable silence for some time, before Murtagh spoke again.

"Would it be so bad if Galbatorix remains king? The world he envisions is a good world. If he defeats the Varden, the whole of Alagaesia will finally be at peace. He'll put an end to the misuse of magic; elves, dwarves, and humans will no longer have cause to hate each other. What's more, if the Varden loses, Eragon and I can be together as brothers ought to be. But if they win, it'll mean the death of Thorn and me. It'll have to."

Fallyn remained silent for a moment longer.

"In Thedas... they feared magic so much they created a solution they thought would work," she said slowly. "Every child who shows a sign for the gift, are torn from their mothers and taken to towers where they are locked away until death. That or the local people stone them to death. A mage who defies this order of things is declared Apostate or Maleficar... and if they are not killed outright, they are stripped of their magic... and their minds."

"There is no true peace... though the people think there is. There is only fear," she looked over to him. "And what of me? Where do I fit in this pretty picture that Galbatorix has painted? Shall I once again be a slave, beholden to my master's whims? Our victory does not have to mean your death."

She saw the tendons on his hand tighten, though he would not look at her.

"You can't give up, Murtagh."

"What other choice do I have?!" he shouted, the room echoing with the sound of it.

Fallyn shifted onto her knees, kneeling in front of him.

"Look at me," she ordered with her voice firm.

Reluctantly, he turned his eyes to meet with her golden ones, that held a sharp edge to them.

"There is always a choice," she said firmly. "You can choose to be the victim, wallowing in misery and trapped in your own personal torment... or you can fight. Even if it is the smallest of rebellions, they matter. Eragon told of how you let him go free when you could have taken him then and there. Do not try to convince me that was not a rebellion!"

When he tried to look away, her hands caught his face and she stared closely.

"Tell me... do you enjoy hurting me?"

"No!" distress flared in his grey eyes.

"Do you truly believe that I willingly tormented you in any way?" she asked in a softer voice.

"...No," he answered, his eyes flickering down.

"If you don't fight him, then you will lose the man I can see," she said softly. "I see him howling in pain behind your eyes, struggling against the chains that bind him. But if you smother him, then you will lose any chance of freedom. As will Thorn."

He suddenly seemed to switch, and leapt to his feet, causing Fallyn to fall back slightly as she avoided being struck by his head as he stood. She tilted her head slightly as he glowered at her, breathing heavily through his nostrils. She realised she had likely insulted him in some way, and knew she should not press it, but felt that it was important she speaks her mind, lest he be lost in his misery forever.

"If for no other reason," she said softly. "Do it for his sake. Those born into slavery rarely know the suffering of those born outside it, but he would understand your suffering more than any other, including me."

"Back to the stone," he said in a harsh voice.

She bowed her head and stood gracefully. She made her way back to the stone, and her markings flared to life as she returned to her previous position. Murtagh needed to replace the leather strap, which had fallen limply when she had passed through them.

"Ir abelas, ma vhenan," she said softly. "But you know I speak the truth. You and Thorn need to decide how much you are willing to risk for your freedom. What would your father have you do?"

Murtagh snorted.

"I speak of the man who was a father to you, Murtagh, not your sire," she said, a slight smile tugging at her lips.

His eyes locked with hers, and without a word, he placed his right hand upon the upper part of her chest, his palm hot against her skin - the shirt she had been wearing prior to the attack being thin and somewhat ragged from her tortures.

Then, hardly louder than a whisper, she heard him speak in the ancient language. She quickly realised the spell he cast would shield her from the worst of the pain. As he made to leave, she called out to him.

"Ma serannas, ma vhenan," she said softly.

He paused at the door, then left.