Conflict of the Heart (Andromeda)

[Angmor]

Sierthra glided effortlessly upwards, catching one of the numerous thermals rising from the heated sands below. After the sun went down in the Hadarac, causing the sand to bleed off all the heat it had collected during the day, she barely even needed to flap her wings. Just as one thermal died and she just began to descend, another would almost always rise to take its place. It was glorious, simply the feeling of floating with as much effort as walking. But then the bundle clutched in one of her front claws moved again, and she was yet again reminded that this was not just a normal flight over the Hadarac. How irritating.

[/Color]

For her part, the imperial general they had captured a few hours ago had really not been much trouble, once they had well and truly caught her. And she flew away from Uru-Baen so quickly that the pursuing cavalry had barely been giving enough to loose a few shafts. She reflected that they had probably only just gotten across the Ramr by now. But her rider was weary, and, she finally admitted to herself, so was she. Now that we are safe, we should probably find somewhere you can rest.[/Color] She said at last, addressing her rider. Kyemen had been thinking intently about something ever since it had become apparent that they were out of danger, and she felt his start at her voice. Oh! Right. Well, let’s go down then, find somewhere groundside to spend the night.[/Color]

Kyemen sighed, setting aside his thoughts to scan the ground below as Sierthra began to descend. The terrain around them was stunning. Despite how much Sierthra and others of her kind seemed to like it, the Hadarac was a truly hostile and unforgiving environment, leaving the unprepared for a thirsty death on the parched sand. But on a clear night under the half moon, it took on a different likeness. All around them, the great dunes of sand looked like tiny diamonds, all aglow in the night. And from so high above, it was even better to see it stretching on before them as far as the eye could possibly see. Somewhere beyond that expanse were the Beor mountains, and beyond those… He wondered if anyone knew. But that thought was totally irrelevant, and he put it away for later. Right now he had to find someplace where they could rest, and keep an eye on his prisoner. It had been hard enough capturing her that he would not underestimate her, and who knew? Perhaps she would be cleverer than he had been and figure out a way to escape the claws of a dragon several hundred feet in the air. But he doubted it. He sighed and resumed scanning the ground below, searching for an ideal spot. But he knew he would not be able to sleep much. Now that the hardest part of his mission was over, there were a few questions nagging at the back of his mind.[/Size][/Blockquote]

[Andromeda]

Icitalia

Although being held in a dragon's claws for hours straight wasn't the most comfortable experience she'd ever had, Icitalia found herself actually enjoying the sensation of flight. It must have been a wonderful feeling to glide so effortlessly through the air like her kidnapper was, using the heated thermals that rose from the smoldering desert below to stay aloft. Shifting to a more comfortable position in the unyielding paws that held her, she closed her eyes and focused back on the quick sequence of events had blown past after she had wandered right into the rider's trap. After spearing that tree with her beloved Aiglos, the rider had spoken about not losing the contents of her stomach and swung onto his dragon. After that she remembered rising into the air faster than she had thought possible, and the useless arrows her rescuers shot to try and bring the dragon down.

Icitalia scoffed aloud, the first sound she'd made all day since her capture. Useless men. As if shafts of wood with a little bit of blade on the end would down a dragon. It seemed it was up to her to save herself. She didn't see what the problem was, she had been taking care of herself since the day of her parents' deaths, just because a dragon and rider were involved now didn't change the base of the idea; it just made planning an escape a bit more complex. Shoving all thoughts of escape aside until they had landed, Icitalia allowed her mind to wander, ice colored eyes unfocused and staring blankly into the distance. She'd only been past the Hadarac once, and it was only to get away from the stupidity of those under her. It had been an odd experience, and she had met more than one strange being there. Remembering the harsh days of travel it had taken to reach the mountains, she wondered how much faster it would have been if she'd been on dragon back. In less than a day, they were well into the desert; a journey which usually took a week to cross at one of its narrowest points. How fast they must have flown. She thought randomly.

Icitalia was pulled from her thoughts as the air temperature rose, and the feeling of falling enveloped her. It seemed it was time to take a rest from their flight. As her mind once again mulled over ways of escape, she decided to see what opportunities arose once they had landed, and returned her attention to the harsh land below. The desert was flat and unsupportive of life, though a few cactuses and lizards were to be seen scurrying out of the large shadow the dragon cast as they neared the ground. What would be asked of her then? She had never been captured before, so she did not know what to expect once her feet were back on the ground. Certainly rider and dragon would have questions to ask of her, maybe about the King's plots, or what his High General, Damascus was planning. She felt her emotionless mask slide back into place. They would not get anything from her about Imperial plots. She decided, putting up her iron defenses once more as the sandy terrain below grew nearer.

[Angmor]

That looks like a good spot.

[/Color] Sierthra said suddenly, cutting in on Kyemen's musings. She gently tugged on his consciousness, and he surrendered to her pull. Through her eyes, he surveyed the spot that she had chosen. It was a sheltered lee, scooped out of the side of a large dune in a half-bowl shape. It was ideal for their purposes, for the opening was just large enough that Sierthra could curl up and totally block it off, and the sides and back of the bowl would be difficult to climb in a hurry, especially if one wanted to do it quietly. All in all, it was a good spot to rest while keeping a weather eye on their prisoner.

Yes, that will do nicely.[/Color] He agreed, and she banked downwards to approach. Landing with only three claws would be tricky, but Sierthra was confident that she could do it. It would probably just be a bit more rough than usual. Get ready to bind our friend the moment I let go. I don't trust her.[/Color] She said. Don't worry. Her legs will be so stiff that simply standing up would be a challenge. Take it from someone who knows.[/Color] He replied clinically. He did not particularly like to talk about his first time flying, although the fear that it had held for him had faded considerably in the months passed since then.

At last Sierthra neared the ground, hovering for a moment to survey the surface for anything that could injure her, the downdraft of her massive wings blasting a shallow crater in the loose sand. Finally, leaning to one side to remain balanced on three legs, she landed with a muffled thud. Almost immediately Kyemen was on the sand, one of his duel knives drawn. Sierthra still held Sylaer tight, but he would take no chances. “Please general, don’t try anything. I’ll sense it if you reach for magic, and there is no way you’re getting past both of us, or outrunning me up those slopes. It would be cruel to bind you with magic all night after being unable to move for so long, but I’ll do it if I have to.” He waited for a response, but received none, except for an icy distain from her frigid eyes. He sighed. “I’ll settle for a change in facial expression. How about three blinks for ‘I won’t be trouble’ and two for ‘Do your worst’?"[/Size][/Blockquote]

[Andromeda]

Icitalia

Icitalia's hopes of escape shriveled as she set her eyes upon their destination. It was the perfect place to hold a prisoner, and wouldn't have been better if it had been handmade. Marring the flat, unobstructed desert surface was a dune that resembled a bowl. There was one open side that would be perfect for the dragon to settle in, effectively preventing escape, and sloped walls that would crumble as soon as she tried to climb them. She doubted she would get very far anyways; she had long ago lost the feeling in her legs, whether it was from severe cramps or the cold, Icitalia knew not. Unwilling to let even a scowl overcome her hardened features, she stared unmoving at the horizon as the dragon neared the ground. All hopes of escape would have to wait until a later time. Who knew; maybe she could learn something useful to share upon her return to the capital.

Returning her attention to the land below, she was just in time to see the dragon's other front paw reach to wards the ground, extending fully in preparation for landing. Bracing herself for impact, Icitalia found herself slightly surprised as the landing went smoothly. Landing on three legs must not be as hard as it is when you only have two to begin with instead of four. She thought as the rider came into view, knife in hand. He must think her mental if he believed she would attempt escape right from the dragon's claws, especially in such a climate as this. Even if she did escape from the sand bowl, she'd most likely be caught soon, or die of dehydration. If given the choice, she would have chosen to die later rather than sooner. Her captors voice brought her out of her thoughts, as he spoke about not trying anything once she had been released. After receiving her cold stare in return, he decided to resort to other methods.

Instead of blinking like a good little captive, she allowed the corners of her lips to pull down slightly. "How about you just give me that knife so I can slit your throat and be done with it?" She asked calmly, like she was discussing the weather, not his demise. Despite the harsh nature of her words, she did not move to free herself from the binding claws about her, nor alter her expression as she waited for his response. Though she would not attempt escape, if he thought she would be a good little prisoner and do exactly as he said, he had another thing coming.

[Angmor]

Kyemen smiled, glad that he was obviously playing the role of captor correctly. "Ah, empty bravado. Common for someone in your position." He shot back good-naturedly. He stepped back and gave a nod to Sierthra, who bobbed her head in return and obligingly opened her claw, dropping the prisoner into an undignified numb heap on the sand. You suppose you can help me get this cloth off now? It's getting to be quite irritating.

[/Color] She asked, still cautious but willing to allow for Kyemen to split his attention. Her rider nodded and turned to her, beginning the task of cutting the yards of dark green and brown cloth from her body. "This is how I got my start general, believe it or not. Captured by a rider. Really the event that began my life." He commented casually over his shoulder, addressing Sylaer as she was trying to work feeling back into her limbs.

He was unsure why he said that. Maybe it was just to pique her curiosity, like any good interrogator. But, he admitted to himself, it was more than that. He had been through almost exactly what she was going through now, and he felt strangely connected to her in that way. He knew that she was personally responsible for hundreds of deaths, but he felt sure that she was not always this way. He thought back to the vicious duel some hours before, to the icy hatred that blazed in her every parry and riposte, every slash and thrust. And all the time, he wondered just what event could make such a beautiful, talented elf into that machine of calculating malice that she was today. Of all the information that the Varden intelligence operators had collated about her, that story was absent, which made him wonder all the more.

The last swath of fabric fell at last to the ground, revealing the muddied scales beneath. Much better.[/Color] Sierthra said gratefully, loosing a cat-like stretch before lying down at the entrance to the bowl. She rested her head on the ground, fixing Sylaer with steadfast eyes, each exhalation sending a tiny cloud of fine dust retreating from her nostrils. Kyemen chuckled at her suspicion and sat down, back against her warm flanks. The chill night air was completely still, the only disruption coming from the cooling sand. Kyemen knew from experience that it would soon be quite cold, as soon as the sands finished giving off their sunbaked heat. "So tell me general," He said suddenly as he was unstrapping his sword from his back. "What's your story? What happened to you that made it so I had to bring you here today?" He laid the sheathed blade on the ground at his side, staring her straight in her disdainful ice blue eyes. "Why do you hate us so much?"[/Size][/Blockquote]

[Andromeda]

Forcing down the scowl that threatened to cross her features after the rider's last comment about hostages, she braced herself as she fell to the ground in a heap; her legs unwilling to move. Barely withholding a few sailor-learned curses, she began to massage her stiff muscles, ignoring the sharp protesting pains it caused. As she worked, she kept her keen ears trained on the pair behind her and heard the moss covered camouflage cloth sliding off of the dragon's rock hard scales as its rider cut the binds. As the rider chatted amiably to her, she allowed the words to run through the back part of her mind, storing them for later review when she had full use of her limbs once more. Rubbing more furiously, the corners of her lips turned down, showing the barest hint of the annoyance she bottled up so tightly. The Ice General, Icitalia of House Sylaer would not take being kidnapped kindly, and would most definitely be able to stand on her own to feet to stare balefully into her captor's eyes, even if he felt like boring her to death with his petty history while she planned her escape.

The downward turn of her lips straightened as the first tingles began to course through her worn muscles, loosening as she rubbed them briskly with calloused hands. Though the good news momentarily raised her spirits slightly, the sound of the heavy, forest colored cloth hitting the ground behind her as it fell from the dragon's back put the dampener on it once again. It seemed her momentary respite from both dragon's and rider's attention was over. As the thought passed through her head, it was made accurate when the heat of the dragon's gaze on her grounded form raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Though its rider seemed to have calmed after reaching the wild of the desert, the dragon seemed to trust her no more than one would trust a beggar not to steal money if it was given to him to hold. Glancing up, she glared at the dragon's suspicious green orbs and slowly shifted her mostly thawed legs, sending a jolt of pain through her revitalized limbs. Inhaling sharply with the pain, she turned her ankles around in the air, and bent her knees to test their capabilities. Though it seemed unlikely that she would be able to escape, she needed to be ready for anything, including running or fighting.

Her kidnapper's voice broke the silence that had been steadily building the past few minutes. "What's your story? What happened to you that made it so I had to bring you here today?" He asked her, setting his blade down within reach should she try anything. "Why do you hate us so much?" He prompted, meeting her carefully controlled ice colored gaze. If her control had been any less solid, then he would have seen the fiery hatred that burned through her veins, but also the sadness that helped to cool her mind as many sharp retorts rose on her tongue. "You want to know my story?" Icitalia returned, her voice emotionless except for the tiniest bit of hate that colored her words. "It's not something the likes of you deserves to know." She spat after a careful pause, her voice slightly louder and more hate-filled than before. Despite the words that left her tongue, she felt the memories tugging on her mind, and saw that day, so long ago that changed her path irrevocably. Her remembrance of that day was just as vivid as it was when it happened before her wide and incredulous eyes.

Flitting carelessly through the woods with her arms spread in welcome of the soft brush from the path-side plants, Talia hugged her new sword carefully to her chest, caressing its sleek black hilt. Ever since the competition that overconfident boy had challenged her to, her skill with the blade had been growing until she finally captured Rhunon's attention. In commemoration of her skill, the master smith had made her a beautiful blade to use. It was long and slim, its thundercloud colored length narrowing into a dangerous point that never needed to be sharpened. It had blue tints, and a large sapphire set in the leather hilt. It was the most beautiful sword she had ever seen and it was all hers. All she needed was a name magnificent enough to capture its beauty.

Smiling blissfully at the memory of the moment Rhunon had given it to her, she ran through the forest faster, her steps more a dance than a mere motion. Talia's parents had said they were going to be in the woods singing bows for the armory. Ever since tidings of the Varden's plans to attack Galbatorix had reached the Elves, they had been busy stocking up weapons for the inevitable fight. As she neared the area where her mother and father were to be, she heard a sound that was new to her young ears. It sounded like a wild animal growling before charging in for its prey. When the sound of crashing footsteps much too heavy and clumsy to be an elf's followed soon after, she pushed her muscles into a dead sprint, easily weaving between the trees with a grace that indicated years of practice.

Soon she saw the figures that were the cause of the heavy footsteps and recognized them as Urgals from her books. They were ugly creatures with horns sprouting from the sides of their large, hard skulls. The thing about them that disturbed her the most though, was the fact that they carried weapons ranging from swords to bows. Urging her tiring body faster, she was able to see her parents' sprinting forms weaving agily through the trees a hundred meters or so in front of the charging creatures. Unaware of the tears that began to trickle down her fair face, she leaped a fallen log, and raced on. Even if she caught them, there was nothing she could do to help; there were at least 10 Urgals, and her parents were unarmed except for a few unstrung bows that they had grabbed instinctively in their flight.

The flash of metal drew her attention to another part of the woods as she followed her parents and their pursuers. It seemed there was a small company of Varden in the trees, armed with bows and swords. As she watched their archers take aim at the Urgals, she felt a bubble of hope inflate in her chest and stopped her pursuit to stay out of their way. The Varden would take care of the danger her parents were in. Talia wiped the tears off of her flushed face, and watched breathlessly as the Urgals turned to face their new foe, and her parents ran to wards the Varden line. It would be alright. She thought, hugging her sword close, her eyes still trained on her parents.

So blind was her trust in the Varden, that Talia didn't even react for a moment out of pure shock when the Varden's archers let fly. She couldn't move, and felt like the whole scene was moving in slow motion, as her wide eyes followed the arrows through the air, dropping the Urgals that raced to wards them. She would have been celebrating, except for the fact that the arrows also hit her parents. A small sob broke through the numbness, and she dropped to her knees while the living Urgals retreated, and the Varden gave chase. Forcing herself to her feet, she stumbled to where her mother and father lay, face down on the forest floor, cold and unmoving. With tears running down her face hot and fast, she dropped to her knees again, and felt for any life signs, her tears and sobs only increasing when there were none.

Bowing over her parents' bodies, she felt a cold purpose take over her as the scene replayed over and over in her mind. Her tears stopped flowing and her emotions fled from her mind and body as she stood. Icitalia drew her thundercloud colored sword, and didn't even feel the warmth that earlier memory should have sent fluttering through her chest as she set eyes upon it. Staring down at the unforgiving length of her sword, she felt a name rise to her lips, and allowed it to escape on her tongue as a whisper. "Aiglos." She murmured. Point of Ice. She thought coldly as she strapped Aiglos' sheath to her waist and turned her emotionless eyes in the direction the Urgals and the murderers had disappeared. Her parents would be avenged.

Pushing the memories away roughly, she focused on the present. Icitalia had tracked down all the remaining Urgals long ago, all that remained was to take down the Varden. Staring at the curious rider before her, she scowled at him and stood up. Ignoring the dragon's warning snarl, she strode over to the side of the bowl and sat down once more with her back propped up against the side. Returning her attention to dragon and rider, she straightened her features once again before speaking. "While you serve those monsters that call themselves the Varden, I won't tell you anything. In fact, even if you did somehow manage to run off with one of their dragons, I would probably still leave you unknowledgable in the particular mystery my history creates." She told him calmly, in control once more. It would be nice however to at least know your name, and that of your dragons so I don't have to refer to you as servants of monsters." Folding her arms across her chest, she kept her icy eyes trained on him, her painful past once more shoved to the back of her mind.

[Angmor]

Her reply was like a blast of cold northern air, slapping him full in the face. But then, he thought to himself, that was the adjective that described her every aspect almost perfectly, from her actions to her manner to her appearance.
Cold.
Cold, and somehow... mourning, although for whom or for what he did not know.
This was practically confirmed by what passed over her eyes then, a strange shadow that Kyemen knew was showing her something, the very thing he had asked her to relate. It only lasted a moment, but it told him much. He had recognized what he had seen in those eyes. He had seen it everywhere, during almost his entire life. Before the great turning point of his life, he had seen it everywhere, and he had not cared. After that, he seemed to see it all the more. He knew, what he was seeing unfold before him, was a spasm of unendurable pain. Whatever this elf held at the core of her being that turned her warm, passionate heart to ice was here, now, flashing behind her eyes. He was tempted to speak, but he remained silent, out of respect. He doubted she would have heard him anyway; she was so entranced by what she was seeing.

It was over in seconds. She blinked and seemed to become aware again, the distracted mist leaving her eyes to be replaced by the normal, piercing steel-colored orbs. The anger from her vision seemed to spill over, twisting her expression to a feral scowl. Kyemen had never seen someone scowl with his or her whole body before, but somehow his prisoner managed it. She jumped to her feet, braving Sierthra's tensed muscles and deep-throated growl. Kyemen could feel that she was ready to spring upon her and tear her apart if need be, but he sent her a soothing thought. As he had figured, the trapped general simply walked as far away from them as the sides of the bowl would allow, slumping to the ground against the sandy wall. Beneath his shoulders, Kyemen felt his dragon's taut muscles relax slowly. He reached behind his head and patted her grimy scales.

"While you serve those monsters that call themselves the Varden, I won't tell you anything." The Ice General was saying, back on form in that regard, with a deadpan face to match. "In fact, even if you did somehow manage to run off with one of their dragons, I would probably still leave you unknowledgable in the particular mystery my history creates." Kyemen almost chuckled; so ridiculous was the thought in his mind, even more so when she continued. "It would be nice however to at least know your name, and that of your dragons so I don't have to refer to you as servants of monsters." She folded her arms across her stomach, a position that seemed to provide even more of a conduit for her scorn. Kyemen ignored it totally, keeping his same jovial, light-hearted tone. "Of course. My name is Kyemen, of really no house in particular. I gave up that right a long time ago." He glanced up to his companion, flashing a fond smile. "And this is Sierthra. Loyal friend of many, worst enemy of even more." His gave slid back to the other end of the conversation, still radiating more cold air than the onset of the desert night could ever hope to bring. "Arguably the fastest moving object in Alagaesia, as the speed of our arrival here would attest." He sighed, knitting his hands behind his head comfortably. "But back to the subject at hand. So... I, the accused, cannot know my crime. Not only can I not know my crime, but the reason I cannot know is simply because I have commited it. Ah. That certainly makes perfect rational sense." He paused for a reaction.
None came.
"Fine, forget that question. How about... The Empire? What drove you there? To... him." He spat the word like a curse. "Have you even spoken with your beloved ruler and master? Have you looked into his eyes, without flinching, and asked him why he deserves your service?" His voice rose slightly, smouldering with still-veiled anger and memory, a memory of the eyes of a crazed ruler, boring into him with all their madness. "Have you asked your king why he is using you, twisting your hate to his own ends?" His voice fell again, dropping to a lower, more reserved level. "Or perhaps, have you seen what his benevolent rule has done to this land? Spoken with those who have lived under it, crushed under it's weight? Have you heard any cries of thanks for what he has done, for what you have done?"

He sagged a little, feeling the ripple of Sierthra's surprise at the depth of his words. He had not expected to say so much. But as soon as he had begun, the word simply welled unbidden at the back of his throat, begging for release. Slowly, quietly, so quietly it could only just be heard, he finished.
"Do you have anything to show for your work but more broken lives?"

[/Blockquote]

[Andromeda]

Icitalia

Once more in control of her emotions and reactions, she kept her ice colored orbs trained on the elf who had named himself Kyeman, and his dragon, Sierthra. Of course she had heard of them before; the duo that struck fear into the hearts of the veterans that had been placed under her command. They were said to be the fastest dragon and rider of all that had hatched since the downfall of the riders, and from what she had seen that day alone, she believed it. Though she trusted Kyeman no farther than she could throw him, she knew he spoke the truth when he told her about himself, and she couldn't help but wonder at his open personality. He seemed all but immune to her cold charm, which usually repelled people faster than she could follow. This alone had her off balance; a sensation she didn't particularly enjoy. The fact that he also had her at his mercy made her despise him all the more.

As he rambled on in riddles, which she had never been adept at, or interested in, Icitalia allowed her gaze to rove over the magnificent beast before her. Though Sierthra's shining emerald scales were covered in muck from her trek through the forest, she was still a terrifying, but beautiful creature that intrigued Icitalia every time she caught sight of her hulking mass blocking the way to sweet freedom. She had considered testing herself as a rider by trying to get an egg to hatch, but it had never occurred to her exactly what that entailed. Sure, the power and near invulnerability were a large attraction for someone in search of revenge like herself, the fact that she would get a lifelong partner out of the deal had never occurred to her. She had been alone for so long, the idea of someone that knew all of her secrets and didn't judge her, but loved her despite her past was almost as appealing as the raw power she would acquire.

Kyeman's voice broke through her inspection of the dragon's armored body as it rose with renewed vigor, and a passion that was unexpected. Icitalia's slightly surprised gaze slid away from the dragon's two visible fangs as he spoke. She eyed him curiously, trying to ascertain where this anger, and blind hatred had spawned from. Perhaps it was some memory of her King that he had not yet shared with his captive General, or a particularly horrible story a friend had shared during a late night get together. Whatever the reason, Kyeman had her attention, and she couldn't have turned her stare elsewhere even if there was something more interesting than sand and parched plants to observe. It seemed she wasn't the only one with a past that had gone untold for too long.

"Fine, forget that question. How about... The Empire? What drove you there? To... him." Kyeman asked, managing to make a single word sound like the dirtiest curse with little effort. "Have you even spoken with your beloved ruler and master? Have you looked into his eyes, without flinching, and asked him why he deserves your service?" Icitalia listened, riveted while his voice rose heatedly, as if he were speaking to someone other than her or Sierthra. "Have you asked your king why he is using you, twisting your hate to his own ends?" As he finished the sentence, a bit of the anger and passion dimmed, and he cooled slightly, in voice at least. "Or perhaps, have you seen what his benevolent rule has done to this land? Spoken with those who have lived under it, crushed under it's weight? Have you heard any cries of thanks for what he has done, for what you have done?"

Though Icitalia had been asked similar questions before, she knew that he had more reason than all those that had asked previously piled together. Kyeman seemed to have had some earlier encounter with King Galbatorix that had helped to plant a seed of hatred as deep as hers for the Varden. Even though she had planned to resolve the mystery the rider's past created without revealing anything of her own, she felt compelled to answer his questions, and did not like the new helpless feeling as he wound down. She had never been affected before by words; her life had been governed by deeds, and actions, not meaningless chatter about past grievances. To her, what a person did was what really defined them; words meant nothing if there was no substance to back them up. Anyone could speak eloquently, but it was rare to find someone that could back it up without assistance. Even with 204 years of experience behind those particular beliefs, she knew the words that left Kyeman's lips had enough to back them up in anyone's book. His last sentence cemented her need to respond to at least some of the questions. "Do you have anything to show for your work but more broken lives?" He asked her, sagging as if his strength had been sapped; his shoulders drooping, and his breath leaving his lungs empty, with barely enough air to fuel his last words.

Icitalia let the music of nature fill the silence that descended after his heated words had faded from the bowl. She had never even considered answering questions like the ones that had been fired by the rider before her, and now that the time had sprung upon her so suddenly, she had no idea of how to go about putting her feelings into words. The fact that she hardly felt anything but anger, and other violent emotions didn't help her to open up to a stranger, even one as odd as the one before her was. Letting her breath out in a barely audible whoosh, she allowed the answers to Kyeman's questions to spill from her lips, catching his green eyes with her own blue. "The Varden drove me to Galbatorix." She told him quietly, allowing the tiniest bit of pain to enter her eyes at the memory. "And no, I have never set eyes on Galbatorix, nor have I wanted to. I do not dream about meeting the man that indirectly created the Varden, and put our world at the brink of an all out war." She informed him, allowing her head to fall back against the soft cushion the sand created, staring blindly at the stars that were so bright in the cloudless desert. "I have not always been so emotionless, and I do remember and wish for the time of peace we had before this one of despair and pain." She stated quietly, her voice falling to a near whisper, as if she was trying to convince herself that such a time had existed, when all she had known for over a century was blood, and violence.

As the answer to Kyeman's next question bubbled to her lips, a small smirk played on the edges of her lips. "And no, I have not asked him why he is using me, for no one twists me a way I do not want to bend. I follow my own path, and mold my own hatred." She informed him coolly, her voice tinged with amusement at the suggestion that her hatred to wards the Varden was the result of Galbatorix's manipulation of some small tiff. "Have you seen what the Varden's opposition of Galbatorix's rule has done to this land?" She countered, shrugging her shoulders nonchalantly "It can be twisted either way. Galbatorix might do fine without the Varden trying to kill him constantly." Ignoring the rest of his questions, she turned her thoughts to the last, mulling over her response before she voiced it in a surprisingly harsh voice. "I am not the cause of the broken lives that are the result of every war. I am only a pawn in a battle between kings, working to wards my own ends. Sure, I have been the source of more than a few deaths, but as have you." Icitalia concluded, meeting his gaze once more, a hard glint in her cold eyes as she dared him to deny her accusation, vaguely aware that she had not answered his question at all.

[Angmor]

Kyemen counted it as something of a personal victory, getting her to string so many words in a row. It was the most he had ever heard her say during all the hours he had known her. The words she spoke were about as impassioned as someone ordering dinner at a hostel, but it was more than he had ever seen of her. Her arguments had obviously well considered and made perfect sense to her, and Kyemen was surprised when he immediately knew what to say. "Of course I have caused deaths." He stated flatly, answering the challenge in her eyes without backing down a fraction. "More than I would even like to count. Many have died by my sword. Mainly imperial soldiers as it happens, but I am ashamed to say that many of them were killed for no more reason other than they got in my way." He paused to take a breath, feeling the passion well up inside him again, although this time simply adding force to the softness of his voice. "But now, my sword is taken up in defense. I regret every death that I cause, but it does not slow me. It has been a problem that has existed since there were obedient followers and leaders willing to spend their lives on more powerful opponents. I do not say that the ends justify the means, merely that I know no other way." He tapped the sand emphatically with one finger, placing stress on his next words. "I kill for the sake of others. For those who cannot defend themselves. You kill for yourself, for no one's sake but your own." It felt strange, what he was doing. He had understood all of these things on a subconscious level before, but now, saying them out loud threw everything into focus. "Claiming that you are a pawn is a weakling's excuse." He continued, completely devoid of any scorn despite the insult. "Do you honestly dodge responsibility for your actions that way? Even after you claim that the king is not chivvying you anywhere you do not want to go? I wish you would go see your king. It would almost be worth letting you go. I think one of your intelligence would see him for the crazed madman that he is. In my experience, one can rule through service or one can rule through fear. Galbatorix simply rules however he wants, making sure his people are to afraid of reprimand to speak out against it. He has had plenty of time to prove he is a wise and just ruler. The Varden is merely a result of his rule, and if he was truly benevolent than we would not be so large. Surely you must see it?" He wondered why he was saying so much. It wasn't as if she would suddenly have an awakening and decide that she had dedicated her life to a misguided cause and decide to change her ways after all, so why was he laying out all of his beliefs for her to see? But he knew he couldn't simply say nothing. He was gladly reassured by his actions that he could defend what he believed both verbally and physically, reassured him that he wasn't the misguided one. He realized that he had known all along exactly what he had put his faith into, and that he would never be shaken.

"Of course the Varden's opposition has done damage to this land." He continued. "I don't deny it, and very few others will. But there is no way that it could possibly outweigh the damage the Galbatorix has done in a century of oppression. Doubly so because he would continue to do so, unless he can be stopped." It was then that Kyemen realized that Sierthra had not said anything through the entire conversation. Like a man realizing he had fallen asleep on watch, he quickly reached out to her to gain her perception. But he did not find there the consternation of a person cut out of a conversation, but the glowing affection of a teacher who at last had seen that her student had been paying attention after all. She was proud of him.

Go on.

[/Color] she urged warmly. His confidence renewed, he got down to the heart of the matter. "Here's what has been troubling the most general. The greatest thing about your motivations I do not understand. I know, that when my goals are accomplished, I will have the satisfaction that my actions have affected a change for the better, touching the lives off others. But what if yours are accomplished? If every last vestige of the Varden is driven into the sea, will it right whatever wrong we have done to you, or will you get back what you lost? When you go back to your barracks on that day, and lay on your bunk," His words were quiet, almost pleading, begging to understand.
"What will you have?"[/Size][/Blockquote]

[Andromeda]

Icitalia

Icitalia stared straight ahead, taking in the darkening scenery of the desert, it was a harsh climate, one that should not have been beautiful but was in its own way. The gently rolling dunes of sand gave a shape and character to the wasteland that vegetation, and animals usually provided. Inhaling the dry air into her parched throat, she welcomed the coldness that was the desert night and allowed it to settle deep into her bones. She had learned to live with the cold, though it was inside of her, not in the swiftly dropping temperatures of the air around her. The familiar feeling served to remind her of how she had been mere hours ago, and alert her to the appalling openness of her words since their landing. As she listened silently to the accusations being thrown at her with random questions interspersed, she realized that her kidnapper had decided it was safe enough to chat with her, though his words had the tenor of someone trying to persuade another, not of an amiable chat over afternoon tea.

Scowling inwardly, she decided to chalk her weakness to wards this abnormal stranger as a result of allowing memories that had been locked up in a deep corner of her mind for years to come back and haunt her. Icitalia had made her decision to join the Empire long ago. There was no turning back, and no need for a reminder of why she had chosen to tread such a bloodthirsty path. Smoothing the small crease between her eyes that served as the only indication of the thoughts going on in her head, she shifted her gaze back to Kyeman who was still persisting valiantly in his quest to change her alliance, or at least give her some form of a conscience. Staring at him with her mask firmly in place once more, she noticed distantly that he believed wholly in the Varden's cause and what he did under them. As another thought occurred to her, spawned by the part of her mind that was coldly storing all he said away for analysis, and dissection later, a sardonic laugh worked its way up her throat only to be stopped effortlessly after years of practice. Surely he didn't think her a misguided little girl that was in need of an awakening. But as she studied his impassioned face her thoughts were confirmed, causing her to hold in yet another laugh.

Icitalia's humorous thoughts were ended as she realized that the rider had finished his speech, and was waiting in vain for a confession of some heart changing revelation. Sighing, she allowed the tide of cold slide over her features and feelings, leaving only the cold hard facts for her to say. "That was a wonderful speech if I do say so myself, but you know nothing about me except that which your Varden spies have gathered. I can tell you now that that information is a sad fraction of the whole." She told him emotionlessly. "You also have no right to judge me on the course my life has taken, or the choices I have made. Until you have seen everything that has occurred in the last two centuries of my life, and lived through it yourself." Shifting her icy gaze away from him once more, she stared at the other side of the dome sightlessly, her mouth set in a hard line.

Stretching her legs to get the blood flowing in them once more, she fingered the icicle shaped diamond that hung at her throat as she mulled over the rest of his questions. Such remarks did not deserve answers, nor did she feel the need to grant him answers. However, it seemed that some of her earlier comments had been misunderstood, and the need to set him straight overwhelmed the urge to stay silent. Turning her head slightly so she could look him in the eye, she spoke. "I serve Galbatorix only because it makes it easier for me to damage the Varden. I could care less what the king is like, nor if he fell, as long as the Varden fell in their attempts to kill him." She informed him, turning her eyes away from his to rub off some dirt from Aiglos's empty sheath.

As she glanced back up once more to gage his reaction, Icitalia allowed for a pause. Though she appeared to be thinking over his last round of remarks, she had known what her answer would be almost immediately after he had shot off the question. Dropping her gaze to the sand under her fingertips, she captured a handful and let it slip away on the light breeze that played over the chilled sand covered land. "What will I have when the Varden fall?" She asked calmly, repeating his question. "Revenge." As the word left her lips, her cold eyes flashed up to meet his, emotionless as ever aside from the small flash of satisfaction at the thought of their downfall, and even that was gone in an instant.

[Angmor]

Kyemen held the silence, letting the single chilling word hang in the air for several moments, meeting the blue gaze without flinching. "Well, you have done one thing." He said at last, slicing through the growing tension. "You have reinforced my belief that revenge never shows much reason." He sighed and settled back against Sierthra's comfortably warm sides. "And you're right, I have no right to judge you. My quest up to now has been to understand your thoughts and motives, to find out what it is that makes you such a puzzle to me. And for now, I've failed. By what you have said, I'm not sure you even understand yourself." He let it sink in with a pause, even though her countenance suggested that she wasn't even listening. "But, there is time. A great deal of time." He said quietly, abruptly switching modes of attack. "You and I will be having many of these little talks. And there are many other associates of mine who will also want to talk with you. The king will probably miss one of his pawns, but he will find another. He's very good at that you know." You have to know you're expendable.

[/Color] He didn't say. The only reason he could think of for the Empire to even mount a rescue would be the loss of face in having a general literally plucked from a forest not five hundred yards from the capital. Of course, they probably wouldn't spin it that way to the public. "Treacherous Varden irritants have now sunk to a new level of cowardice, resorting to the kidnapping of General Slyear..." He almost smiled at the thought.

"He realized suddenly that his eyelids were drooping. He came gradually aware that he was very tired, and his body was screaming that it needed rest. He knew how to ignore such urges, but now at least there was no need. The conversation had ended, more or less, and there would be time for another round later. There was the issue of keeping his prisoner secure. Although he knew she couldn't escape, he also had known the Empire was unable to catch him during the days of his wanderings. When they finally did, one of the many lessons he learned that day was presupositions are dangerous.
Sierthra? You mind...[/Color]
Of course. She won't shiver without me knowing it.[/Color]
I doubt she will do that, but thank you. Wake me whenever you think you need sleep. It is still about a days journey from here.[/Color]
It was by now quite cold, leeching into the folds of his clothing like a slithering eel, only to be fended off by dragon-warmth. He thought about offering his cloak to his prisoner for the night, but quickly banished the notion. From what he had seen of her up to now, she would never accept it. It would a sign that she was vulnerable. "Well general," He spoke up again, his voice cheery. "I'm going to sleep, and I would suggest you do the same. In case you don't take my advice, Sierthra will look after you." He deemed that he did not need to elaborate any further on that threat. "Good night general."

With that, he found a comfortable laying position against Sierthra, wrapped his cloak tightly around himself, and closed his eyes. Very quickly his breathing shallowed, and he felt the warm, soothing darkness of sleep starting to wash over him. But before he surrendered to it, he mentally went over everything that had been said. He truly could not understand it. What was she trying to avenge? The loss of a possession, or of a loved one? If so, what would vengeance accomplish? How would the killing of so many do to help someone already dead? He had lost friends to the war, and the loss saddened him, but he certainly didn't fight for that kind of vengeance. Wasn't it so much better to fight for the living? To improve the quality of their lives for the future? Why keep such a stranglehold on the past? So many questions, and he could summon no answers. Finally he set aside all thoughts of what had transpired and allowed the tides of slumber to carry him where they would.

Sierthra lay more or less in the same position she had, her eyes fixed on the prisoner without so much as a blink to break her scrutiny. She watched as the other elf also settled down for rest, and wondered at how harmless she looked. How could this one simple being be such a threat to so many? It truly did not take much to turn a heart to evil. From what her rider had said though, she was sure it would take more than anyone or anything to corrupt his heart. She did wonder though, why was he so taken with trying to save this person? She was glad he had such a tendancy to mercy, but they had to be pragmatic also. As much has he liked to deny it, he couldn't save everyone. As far as she was concerned, this elf, like Galbatorix, was irredeemable. Such a creature of malice could never be brought back to the light, because without the darkness in their hearts, there would be nothing left. The best way to deal with such creatures was to put them out of their self-created misery. She would not hesitate to do it now, but she did concede that she might have valuable information that could save Varden lives. But as soon as this prisoner was no longer useful, the Varden would not need to look far to find a soul willing to finish her off. She shifted her head slightly to a more comfortable position, her eyes never leaving her charge. Consider my rider's words carefully,[/Color] She thought, knowing that the general probably wouldn't have her mind open to receive it. Because he is much more merciful than I am.[/Color][/Size][/Blockquote]