"Do as you will."

[doasyouwill-blog]

He Came Back to Her in the Dark: An Inheritance Cycle Story Pt. 4 (Murtagh x Nasuada)

Author’s Note: If you are still following along, I thank you. As I said before, this fanfic would have stayed hidden in the dusty bowers of my computer if not for you support for this fandom/pairing! 

And I hope it’s all right, but I am tagging those of you that reblogged and/or commented. If you’d like to be added to (or removed from) the tag list please let me know.

@fictionisalwaysbetter @thebrotherofmany @michael-jinx @piercing-the-valley @nandavore @babewith-the-power @theblackqueen-ofmyheart@blade3429 @murtagh-thorn @dragonheartstring360 @swagmastermcflurry @woahwhatislife @yerawizardjulia @emztheemu @dont-trust-humanity@ariia15 @murtagh-thorn @piercing-the-valley @quietlycanadian

If you need to catch up, here is Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3. And without further ado, the slow burn continues. Thank you and I hope you enjoy!

This fic is rated T for thematic elements.

Chapter 8: Eragon’s Day

Iliria buzzed with a flurry of activity as the city prepared for Eragon’s Day. Massive tables covered in golden cloth lined the castle’s main courtyard while garlands of flowers and flameless lanterns adorned high arches and hung above the tables in a display of astonishing color and light. The sky seemed to undulate with a rippling blue streaked with the vibrant yellow beams of the summer sun.

Nasuada oversaw preparations for the celebration to ensure that all aspects for the event were taken care of. She had doubled the security detail within the castle and increased the sentries posted along Iliria’s outer walls as well. Since Eragon’s Day was a civil holiday, Nasuada made sure that all servants, many of whom participated in the invasion of Uru’baen themselves five years ago, would receive a separate day off and doubled wages. Once she was satisfied that everything needing her attention was attended to, she returned to her chambers to dress.

As Farica tightened her corset, Nasuada read reports from Teirm that the residents had a sighted a Shade lurking beyond their boundaries accompanied by several unexplained murders of a magical origin. Though the Shade sighting was not confirmed, the report nonetheless concerned Nasuada, so she sent a missive to the captain of the guard to be on high alert. She was still poring over the report when there was a knock on her door. “Come in,” Nasuada called absently, eyes roving over the investigation summary from each murder scene.

A servant girl walked in and curtsied, saying, “Your Majesty, Commander Jormunder bade me to tell you that the dwarves have arrived at the pavilion.” “Thank you, Raahi. Please tell him I will be there in a few minutes.” Raahi bowed again and Nasuada rolled up the parchment containing the report, dropping it on her dresser just as Farica pulled a white gown over her head. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, Nasuada was intrigued by the material. “Do you like it, Your Majesty?” asked Farica, noticing her interest. Nasuada turned, watching the dress catch the light. “It’s lovely, Farica. Did you order it?” she asked. “Yes miss, I had it specially made for today. I thought it might please you.” “What is this made of?” “The dress is threaded with swan feathers, ermine and white gold,” answered Farica. Nasuada shook her head in disbelief. While she lived reasonably well off as Ajihad’s daughter in Tronjheim and he doted on her, to this day the wealth of the Empire still amazed her.   “Which neckpiece were you thinking of wearing, miss?” inquired Farica, gesturing towards the room that housed her apparel and the crown jewels. “The one with large gold collar and a high neck please, Farica. The gift from the wandering tribes,” she said. Fadawar and a few other leaders of the tribes from the Hadarac Desert were attending the celebration as well, so Nasuada thought it best that she feature her father’s people in some way. And also to thank him for my scars, Nasuada thought wryly. While she sometimes regretted how the scars marred her beauty, she believed that her future husband, whoever he may be, would admire her for her courage rather than be enamored just by her looks or her royal status. Defeating Fadawar in the Trial of the Long Knives had been just another way to win the loyalty and respect of the Varden despite her young age and for that she was grateful. Such was the nature of politics. “Ah, this piece here?” called Farica from the wardrobe chamber, holding out a heavy golden collar intricately engraved with ancient symbols from her tribe, resting on an ivory polishing cushion. Nasuada nodded, “Yes, that’s the one.” “Was this not given to you by Fadawar’s eldest son?” asked Farica, as she fastened the gleaming neckpiece to Nasuada’s slender throat, each clasp making an audible clicking sound. “He presented it on behalf of his tribe after Galbatorix’s fall I believe.” “Yes, now I remember. He is a very handsome young man.” “Hmm. Yes, I suppose he is,” Nasuada replied absently. “He also sent you these amber drop earrings, did he not?” “He did, last year I think,” Comprehension dawned suddenly on Nasuada’s face. “Farica, is there something you are trying to say?” she asked, turning in her seat towards her handmaiden. Farica looked abashed, but held steady. “May I speak plainly then, Your Majesty?” “Of course.” “Well, miss, I’ve served you and your mother before you, watched you grow from bright girl under her father’s wing to a great queen of Alagaesia. I am proud to have been at your side all these years. I only wish to see you happy.” “By happy, Farica, do you mean married?” Farica had the wherewithal to blush, but she continued, saying “Just so, miss. I know that I am bold in saying this, but I have observed that Fadawar’s son and several other young men, eligible suitors all, have tried to court you: sending you gifts, asking you to dance, but to no avail. When your father asked me to serve you, he also asked me to care for you and so I do. You are a wonderful woman, Your Majesty, and have done so much for Alagaesia. I know very well that your parents are very proud, Gokukura bless their souls. But you are young and I can tell you from experience that life’s burdens are best shared by another that you trust completely. I wish to see that for you. ” Nasuada considered her handmaiden’s words, knowing that Farica cared for her immensely and spoke only if compelled by duty to.

She sighed and responded, “I know you mean well Farica, I take no offense at all. I do wish to continue my father’s line and…if I am honest, the need for companionship is one that I cannot deny. More often than I would like to admit, the duties of this high office…can be very demanding on me.” “Well I know it, miss. The people admire you and you have led us through the darkest of times,” replied Farica as she unfurled the knot of hair holding Nasuada’s curls atop her head. She began to brush Nasuada’s tresses, rubbing it with a smoothing mixture until it shined, lustrous and thick, in a waterfall behind her back. “Out of all the handsome men that have courted you, there are none that have won your favor?” asked Farica. Nasuada laughed and then shook her head, “Maybe I’m just too busy with Shades and contigents of Urgals and companies of dwarves to notice,” which elicited a chuckle from Farica. “Ah yes, well mind you, Your Majesty, that while your father asked me to care for you, sometimes that involves me insisting that you take care of yourself.”

 Chapter 9: The Mournful Suitor

Thorn and Murtagh sat atop a one of the rolling hills that surrounded Illiria’s castle, Thorn being so large that the nearly the entire summit served as his seat while his red tail cascaded down the grassy side. From there they could see the garlands of flowers fluttering lightly in the breeze, while the air became awash with the merry fluting of several reed pipes. Murtagh himself strummed a lyre lightly in concert with the reed pipes’ tune, absently singing a court ballad while Thorn listened, ears erect and wings folded so that Murtagh could rest against him.

“The maiden she waits In the waters of fate While the trees sing softly to her And here do I lie My soul gives a sigh While the trees sing softly to her”

sang Murtagh, as they both watched the underbrush swaying in the summer wind. Thorn snorted.

You are a love-struck fool. Offended, Murtagh looked up at Thorn, whose one red eye observed him teasingly. Shaking his head, he looked back towards his view of the pavilions, leaning once again on Thorn’s side with a huff. Can’t a man sing a simple ballad on a beautiful day without someone insulting him? He grumbled back at Thorn. Your heartbroken pining is ruining my nap. Pining! I’m not pining. So you say…but if not, why do I feel like weeping and finding the nearest female dragon and begging her to lay my eggs? That sounds like a personal problem. Though I’m sure Saphira would respond rather well to begging. Rip the last ten feet off my tail more like, at which Murtagh audibly snorted. Will that be our next adventure then? We could pay Eragon and Saphira a little visit so you can do your part to restore dragonkind. If you’d like to run away from your feelings for Nasuada again, I’ll go with you. I’d rather you not though; last time we left Alagaesia, being attached to your consciousness gave me awful headaches. I was tempted to drop you in the middle of the ocean and fly off. Thanks a lot, friend.

Chagrined, Murtagh stowed his lyre in the saddlebacks and stretched his limbs. To get his blood flowing he ran up and down the hill carrying his sword and scabbard across his shoulders. Each time he reached the top, he dropped to the ground with his palms and toes pressed to the flat summit and quickly pushed his body upwards, counting to one hundred. He completed this circuit a dozen times and rejoined Thorn, breathing heavily.

Pitiful, commented Thorn lazily, his tail twitching and subsequently severing several blades of tall grass. “I was…just…warming up,” panted Murtagh. Oh you’ll be warm soon enough. I see that Nasuada just arrived. At this Murtagh got to his feet, peering towards the pavilion. Is she all right? More than all right it seems. She looks beautiful. Murtagh looked around at Thorn, perplexed. Really? How would you know? I know what looks favorable to your kind and judging by the profusion of male mating scent wafting over this way I would say that she looks very favorable.

Murtagh whispered a spell to improve his eyesight over long distances and saw first her handmaiden and Elva, who had grown much taller but still had a pale white pallor and wore dark purple despite the Ilirian sun. Searching for Nasuada, a bright gleam caught his eye, blinding him momentarily and then he recognized her slim form and self-assured way of walking as she stepped across the courtyard.

For as long as he knew her, Murtagh regarded Nasuada as an exceptionally beautiful woman who always carried herself with poise and dignity even in the most desperate situations. But he had never seen her dressed as a queen. The overall effect stunned him and set his heart ablaze in a way he had never felt before. Nasuada seemed to glide over the limestone tiles, her flowing white dress gleaming in the sunlight, as if beams emanated from her rather than from the sky. A band of gold set with brilliant rubies adorned her forehead just above her long dark eyelashes. Her elegant neck glimmered with plated gold and, Murtagh realized with a shock, her slender arms and fingers were exposed to the sun and embellished with many bracelets and rings, likewise giving off glints of golden radiance. Murtagh felt his heart beat and his breath hitch as he beheld her. He knew that some might object to her dark skin or the fullness of her lips, or say that her eyes are overlarge, her cheekbones too high, her hair too wild, but all this and more added to her allure for him. He watched her still as she smiled, greeting her guests, her figure statuesque against the myriad of people that surrounded her. Nasuada proceeded to her throne, which he saw, while clean and decorated with intricate carvings, nowhere near matched the gilded opulence of Galbatorix’s seat that he was so familiar with. Its very simplicity was a perfect foil to Nasuada’s exotic beauty.

Just as she was seated, a young tribesman with a similar complexion to Nasuada’s, lavishly attired in red and black feathers, an enormous headdress of the same red and black plumage and what must have been collectively a pound of gold in the form of armbands and heavy bangles approached, accompanied by a group of men similarly appareled, though with varying degrees of extravagance. Murtagh watched as Nasuada acknowledged him and he moved closer to kneel before her, kissing the same hand Murtagh kissed only a few hours ago. Unconsciously, Murtagh’s fingers tightened around Zar’roc’s pommel and his jaw set into a grimace.

Calm yourself Murtagh, you’re making my scales itch. Any longer and I won’t have any choice but to swoop down, snatch her with my talons, and bring her to you myself.

Murtagh let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. With an effort, he ended the spell and tore his eyes away from the direction of the pavilion.

It’s fine. Nasuada is an exceptional woman in every way. Undoubtedly she would have suitors.

Then, severing his connection with Thorn and retreating behind a mental wall, Murtagh said aloud “I’m going to practice my swordsmanship for a moment,” and left without another word.

Sensing that Murtagh was in a dangerous mood, Thorn thought it best not to needle him any further and settled in for a long nap under the sun.

 Chapter 10: Power Never Dies

Nasuada observed Adeyemi and his tribesmen return to their seats on the far west side of the pavilion and resumed her vigilant watch over the entire party. She smiled when she saw Orik making merry with the dwarves in his retinue. Good, she thought, they deserve a rest. Overall, she gathered that the mood in the courtyard was pleasant and gradually began to relax, listening to the murmur of the guests enjoying the free flowing wine and the excellent cooking of Iliria’s famed chefs. Looking over the festivities before, the early afternoon sunlight illuminating the pavilion, Nasuada suddenly felt a pang, realizing that Murtagh must not be far off, watching the celebration just as she did.

He has as much to a right to be here as any of us, she reflected sadly. We would never have defeated Galbatorix without him. If not for him, I might now be dead, or worse, Galbatorix’s slave.  

The thought of Murtagh and Thorn observing alone from a distance when by all rights they should be a guest of honor at her table filled her with melancholy. Lost in thought, Nasuada hardly noticed as a lone figure approached her until she started at the sound of his voice.

“My queen,” he said, and Nasuada turned to see Adeyemi standing tall before her, having dispensed his enormous headdress and his usual contingent of tribesmen as well.

“Omu Adeyemi,” she said, acknowledging him using his honorary title of omubiito, which meant “prince” in the Hadarac dialect. Her Nightstalkers eyed him warily, ever on alert. “May I help you?” she asked. “Only by honoring me with the pleasure of your company, Your Majesty. May I sit?” Nasuada nodded, gesturing to the open seats at her table. Elva had long disappeared with the comment that the “frivolous woes of the court” nauseated her and commiserating, Nasuada excused her.

Adeyemi took a seat slightly to the right of her chair so that the sun in the western part of the sky illuminated his features clearly. He had a strong face, with intelligent almond-shaped eyes the color of honey framed by dark brows. The softness of his gaze contrasted with the firm line of his broad nose and full lips filled with white even teeth. His dark skin rippled over well-formed muscles from a lifetime of sword-fighting, wrestling, and the tribulations of living in the Hadarac Desert. He reminded Nasuada of her father, who attributed much of his vaunted strength and self-determination to his upbringing in the wandering tribes.

Conscious that she was scrutinizing him, Nasuada said, “I believe congratulations are in order.” “What for, Your Majesty?” he asked, facing her. “I believe your father just conferred upon you the title of bataka, did he not?” “Ah yes, that he did. You are as omniscient as ever, my queen.” “Not at all. Merely interested in the machinations of my kingdom. So this means you are clan chief of the Inapashunna?” He nodded. “It is a great honor to serve my people,” he replied simply. “I feel much of the same,” Nasuada said, looking out towards the courtyard filled with guests. “It is well known. Though you have not much associated with us and our way of life, the tribes feel much pride that one of our own holds the highest title in the land, rivaled only by the queen of the elves and King Orik.” “I have your father partially to thank for that, you know,” she said with a note of wry humor. Adeyemi looked down with opprobrium. “My father has ever been one for the old ways.” “I bear no grudge for it. Had he not challenged me to the trial, I may have lost support of the tribes.” “Forgive me, but it was my understanding that we did not provide that much support in the major conflicts against the evil king to begin with.” “You speak ill of your own people?” Nasuada asked, her eyebrow raised. “I do not mean to. I only…” and here Adeyemi paused. “Yes?” pressed Nasuada, curious as to the meaning of Adeyemi’s discomfiture. He raised his eyes to meet her inquisitive gaze. “I am ashamed that the Inapashunna did not do more to assist in the Varden’s efforts. Our expanded participation may have meant fewer deaths,” he confessed. She nodded her assent but spoke as kindly as she could. “Though what you say may be true, it could also have meant the eradication of the wandering tribes all together. My family’s association with our people may have even placed the tribes in particular danger.” “But even so, my queen. I see now that our people reap the benefits from your rise to royalty yet we can claim no glory in how it is you are queen. It causes me great consternation.” “It is what it is. We cannot change the past.” “Indeed. While we cannot change the past, my goal as bataka of our tribe is to counteract such cowardice in the future, whatever it may bring. It does not become us. You foremost are the example of the true nature of our pride, and I am saddened that as a nation our actions ran contrary to that.” “You are a noble man, Adeyemi. I appreciate your pledge.” Adeyemi looked out to towards the people. A space had been cleared in the center of the pavilion and guests had begun to dance as musicians played a lively tune. He returned his gaze to her. “I see that you are wearing the gold collar,” he said, gesturing towards her neck. “It is a beautiful gift Adeyemi, I am honored that the tribes saw fit to give it to me.” “You honor us by wearing on this auspicious day. It suits you very well, if I may say, Your Majesty.” “Thank you.” After a moment, Adeyemi said quietly, almost to himself, “It was my mother’s.” Nasuada looked around at him in surprise. “This is an heirloom of your house?” He nodded. She glanced down at the neckpiece with some hesitation, the gold gleaming in the afternoon light. Her eyes narrowed. “How could you give this to me? This is part of your inheritance!” “To convey the depth of my people’s guilt,” Adeyemi answered, his eyes solemn. “It took some convincing, but I was finally able to persuade my father to part with it. I told him that you were worthy of such a gift several times over.” According to Nasuada’s limited understanding of the wandering tribes’ culture, gold was not only a measure of a family’s wealth, but also was said to contain the spirit of the previous wearer. The most exquisite pieces were passed down from generation to generation and symbolized a family’s history, an ancient bond that traversed time itself. Nasuada was nearly as a loss for words. The collar suddenly felt stifling and heavy, as if she had become abruptly aware of the mountain of responsibilities and expectations that lay upon her shoulders.

“Are you all right, Your Majesty?” Adeyemi asked, his face concerned. “Yes, I just…need a moment.” “I should not have told you that this was my mother’s,” he said, shaking his head in self-reproach, “You are overwhelmed.” “No, no it’s fine—” and then suddenly a massive explosion and several screams interrupted their conversation. Both Nasuada and Adeyemi stood, looking around in alarm, and saw a dark cloud of smoke rising from the south side of the pavilion. They ducked as a second, larger explosion, so close that Nasuada could feel the heat of it on her face, erupted east of them. “Nasuada, go!” yelled Adeyemi, drawing his sword as her Nightstalkers rushed to her when a strange voice bellowed, “Letta!” causing Nasuada to freeze, while another voice, high and cruel, said “Deyja!” and Nasuada screamed, “No!” as her guards fell at her feet dead, blood trickling from their open mouths. Why didn’t our wards protect us?! she thought, panicked. The court had erupted in disarray: tables were overturned and the pavilion was on fire while many of the guests retreated, shouting for their companions. Adeyemi’s eyes darted from right to left as he searched for their assailant in the chaos that ensued from the attack and then he froze as two figures emerged from the black smoke.

It was two Shades, each one with flaming maroon hair and glinting maroon eyes, their lethal figures tall and lithe. One was in the form of a woman whose long hair whipped with a frenzy of movement, her red gaze cold, while the other was in the form of a man, whose pale face bore teeth in a horrible imitation of a smile. Nasuada’s heart plunged into fear at the sight of them. Two Shades! Gokukura help us! she thought as she watched the pair approach amidst waves of fleeing guests. Many still rushed to her aid but the Shades blasted them away as easily as a winter wind brushes away dry leaves. “Adeyemi,” she croaked, the spell’s hold on her body impairing her speech, “Run! Please go!” to which he shook his head furiously saying, “I will not leave you, Your Majesty!” and thus he planted himself firmly before her while the Shades continued their forward march.

At last the Shades stood in front of Adeyemi, his knotted muscled tensed as they surveyed him. Nasuada could see the malevolent glint of their eyes while she struggled against the spell holding her in place. “Die, hateful scum!” yelled Adeyemi as he charged at the female Shade. She waited until his sword was mere inches from her throat before she sidestepped his blow and disarmed him, breaking his elbow with a vicious crack. Swiftly she grabbed him by the throat and threw him bodily across the pavilion, his inert form landing heavily upon the ground. Nasuada looked to where he had fallen, desperate to see if he was alive, but he lay motionless.

“Ah, the legendary Lady Nightstalker,” spoke the male Shade, his voice soft and yet abrasive, the sound sending a spike of terror up Nasuada’s spine. “You’ve caused our master much trouble in the past, but no longer,” hissed the female Shade, as they stepped closer still. “Galbatorix is dead!” Nasuada choked out, “Why do you still serve him?” to which the Shades laughed derisively. “Power never dies,” said the female Shade with a smile, her thin mouth stretching taut over sharp incisors. This, more than anything else, unsettled Nasuada, and she fought harder against the spell binding her in place. “But we’ve forgotten our manners!” exclaimed the male Shade. “We know your name, or” his eyes dancing greedily in the dying sun, “we soon will. It would be most disconcerting if you didn’t know what to call your new masters, now wouldn’t it?” He placed a thin hand on his chest. “I am Moloch. This is Ba’al. We’ve come for you Nasuada, High Queen of the Free Peoples of Alagaesia, and we,” his voice now dropped into a foreboding purr, “will take you dead or alive.” Gathering her courage, Nasuada spat on the ground before them, and said “You’ll have to kill me.” Ba’al giggled horribly, the sound of it grating Nasuada’s eardrums. “Oh, I don’t think you have very much choice in the matter, Your Majesty, though it would be my utmost pleasure to make you eat your own liver,” Ba’al assured her. “Either way,” she continued, “We’ve played with our food long enough. Moloch?”

Without further ado, Moloch extended a hand towards Nasuada while his consciousness pierced her mind like a knife. Never before had she felt such agony. Galbatorix wished for her to serve him of her own free will, so he never attacked her mind directly, though they both knew she would have never been able to withstand him. Moloch’s mind intruded her being and Nasuada threw all the mental barriers she could to repel his wanton scouring of her thoughts, but it was evident that Moloch would overcome her in a few moments. Not like this, she pleaded with her thoughts, not like this. Ah, he whispered as his consciousness perceived Nasuada struggling to conceal the flash of red wing and a Rider’s gray gaze, what do we have here? And then suddenly Moloch’s mind was filled with rage as a third, fourth, and fifth consciousness barraged him. Nasuada gasped, falling to her hands and knees as the spell upon her body ended as Moloch withdrew his consciousness and her mind was her own once more.

Orik had arrived with his company, a band of fifty bearing axes and iron shields. Jormunder too brought a regiment of men and he rushed towards her, heedless of the danger before him. She saw that six dwarvish spellcasters accompanied by three of the Du Vrangr Gata were battling the Shades, veins knotting their hands and their temples as they fought to subdue them while the remaining warriors besieged the two Shades with furious blows. Two dwarvish spellcasters and one of the Du Vrangr Gata cried out as the Shades overwhelmed them and they disintegrated in a spray of blood and flesh. In a blur of movement, both Moloch and Ba’al each unsheathed a long thin sword and began to cut down the fighters with terrifying ease, every flick of their wrists signaling the end of a dwarf or human warrior’s life.

Smiling, Ba’al reached Orik, who charged her readily, his mighty ax meeting her thin blade in a clash of white sparks. He parried her blows and though he knew that he could not best her, sliced her leg from hip to knee, causing her to crouch down from the force of his strike. Kneeling with her injured leg on the ground, Ba’al raised her head and Nasuada saw that she was no longer smiling. Standing up slowly, Ba’al placed her hand on leg and said, “Waíse heill,” and immediately the flesh on her leg knotted together. “You’ll regret that, dwarf,” she said. Scowling at Orik, he bellowed in pain as Ba’al invaded his mind, her maroon eyes gleaming with murderous rage. She raised her hand and began to say “Deyj—” but a thundering voice from above said, “Eitha!” accompanied by an deafening roar, and both Ba’al and Orik fell back from the force of the spell.

Nasuada looked up as Murtagh and Thorn descended, Thorn’s red scales glimmering brilliantly in the light of the sunset and his massive wings casting a shadow over the fray, each beat of the wings causing many to fall to the ground from the displacement of air. Any people left in the pavilion screamed in fear at the sight of Thorn and Murtagh, having no idea whether they also sought to wreak havoc upon them or had arrived to defend them. Moloch and Ba’al too looked up at the Rider and his dragon, their eyes burning with cold hatred and bearing their teeth in a snarl.

Dwarves and humans alike scrambled away as Thorn landed with a thud that shook the ground like an earthquake. Murtagh glared, his dark hair unbound and his gray eyes glinting as he scrutinized the Shades, Thorn’s scales casting blood-red flashes upon the ground. Nasuada’s heart swelled at the sight of Murtagh and Thorn and the people in the pavilion gaped in awe as he raised his red sword to challenge the Shades.  And yet, Nasuada could not shake the sense of dread, watching on as Ba’al and Moloch stood before Murtagh and Thorn with murder coursing through every fiber in their pale bodies.

 Chapter 11: Murtagh the Betrayer

“Murtagh,” Ba’al hissed, her voice full of scorn, “…the Betrayer,” stressing the last word with a note of derision. At this, Murtagh’s dark eyebrows knitted together, his gaze steely, but when he spoke, his voice was clear.

“Begone from here, devils, or meet your end at the point of my blade!” he warned and Thorn punctuated the threat with a menacing snarl that sent a chill throughout Nasuada’s body. A vein in Murtagh’s temple throbbed even as the skin around the Shades’ eyes grew taut as they each sought to penetrate the other’s mental defenses.

In unison, Ba’al and Moloch began to speak, the air around them beginning to shimmer with the flow of magic, but in a thundering voice, Murtagh uttered a Word, which seemed to shake the very fabric of reality. The Word echoed in her mind but naught but a shadow of it remained as a spell of forgetfulness ripped knowledge of it away. Eyes widened in shock and rage, Ba’al spoke accusingly to Murtagh. “So it is true! That’s how you betrayed him,” she spat, while Moloch likewise stood, his hands clenched with deadly intent.

Nasuada’s heart pounded. Maybe we do have a chance, she dared think, but her optimism was short-lived as Moloch directed his gaze at Murtagh, while Ba’al concentrated upon Thorn, and the air surrounding them starting to crackle with arcane energy. Quickly, Murtagh raised his hand as he continued speaking as the air around the Shades grew warped and the ground upon which they stood became cracked. Searing flashes of light emanated from the Ba’al and Moloch as Murtagh stripped them of their wards and counteracted their offensive. When it became apparent that they could not best him in this manner, the Shades ceased their attack and stared warily on, teeth bared in a snarl.

“Give up, Shades,” declared Murtagh, “your end is nigh!” “Fool,” hissed Moloch, “this is only the beginning!”

Like lightning, Ba’al launched a black sphere in the air and wordlessly cast a spell causing the sphere to burst into a spray of shimmering purple mist while Moloch, also without speaking, directed a gust of wind to encompass Thorn and Murtagh in a swirl of the dense, violet smoke. Eyes widening, Murtagh focused intently on the Shades and Nasuada knew that he was casting wards to protect them from as many side effects from the haze as he could before it engulfed them completely. She heard him cry, “Gath un reisa du rakr!” but to no avail. Thorn roared as the purple cloud obscured them from view. Jormunder gestured adamantly to both men and dwarves, yelling, “Move! Move out of the way!” as the dragon and his rider struggled blindly. Nasuada could see Thorn violently batting his wings to rid himself of the mist while Murtagh too, tried to wave his arms to clear the air before him while the onlookers gasped in fear, taking several steps back to avoid being crushed by Thorn’s swinging tail in his efforts to escape the twisting purple smoke.

Finally the mist dissipated and Murtagh and Thorn emerged, hacking the toxin from their lungs while the Shades gave grins of fierce satisfaction, their maroon eyes glittering. Nasuada looked fearfully on thinking, What on earth was that? Murtagh grimaced with clear agitation. Once again, Murtagh lifted his hand to perform magic but to it seemed to Nasuada that he could not. Nasuada’s anxiety peaked as she realized the ramifications of Murtagh being unable to use magic against the Shades.

Ba’al and Moloch, however, seemed unable to utilize magic as well, because their faces grew waxy with frustration even as their eyes blazed with effort. Moloch then looked to Ba’al, who said in her high cold voice, “Summon them.” In response, Moloch lifted a strange whistle that looked to Nasuada to be made of bone to his lips and blew into it, eliciting a strident, high-pitched sound. A second passed and an ear-splitting screech rent the air, causing many to fall to the ground, covering their ears from mental assault emanating from the fearsome noise. Murtagh and Thorn snapped around to look in the direction of the awful din.

Four Fanghur appeared, their serpent-like bodies twisting in the air, hurtling towards the ruined pavilion amidst terrified cries from the crowd below. At the sight of the winged vipers, Murtagh jumped off of Thorn and somersaulted through the air, landing deftly on his feet while Thorn pushed his enormous claws into the ground, leaving deep gouges in the cracked tiles, and took flight with a clap of his crimson wings.

Murtagh sprinted towards the Shades, Zar’roc gleaming, while Moloch and Ba’al rushed to meet him, their faces twisted with bloodthirsty rage. Their blades met in a clash of steel, Murtagh’s red sword flashing and sparks flying as he deflected one fatal blow after another.  Thorn rushed towards the oncoming Fanghur with a loud roar, sending ahead of him a torrent of flames that the vipers swooped to avoid, one shrieking as a second jet of fire obscured its twisting body from view.

Nasuada looked on anxiously, but Murtagh’s and the Shades’ movements were too quick for her eyes to follow. Murtagh battled the Ba’al and Moloch as a mongoose battles two cobras in a desperate struggle to the death. His movements were as fast as lightning, but even one Shade, Nasuada knew, was a lethal opponent, and to face two at once was unheard of, if not outright suicidal. Even so, Nasuada heard Ba’al scream in frustration as they both tried to penetrate Murtagh’s guard but he thwarted them at every turn.

Suddenly, Jormunder appeared at her side and grabbed her arm. “Your Majesty, we must get you to safety!” he urged and four Nightstalkers flanked him ready to bear her upon their shoulders. “Jormunder, no! I’m not leaving!” she cried out, wrenching her arm from his grasp. Though she could do nothing to help him, Nasuada could not bear the thought of leaving Murtagh. The commander continued to plead with her, “Nasuada, you must flee while there’s still time!” and a guard wrapped his arm around her, pulling her. He yelped in pain as Nasuada stamped on his foot.

As she rushed to evade her guards, Jormunder caught her in his arms and in a low voice that only she could hear, said urgently, “Nasuada, it’s better for him if you go. If you get hurt, he will lose focus. If you want to help him, get to safety!” Nasuada stared at the man she had known her whole life, shocked. Jormunder looked at her intently and mutely she nodded, realizing that he had guessed much of what she had left out during her imprisonment in Uru-baen. He broke eye contact with her and signaled to her guards. Placing their hands on her shoulders, Nasuada allowed them to guide her away, stepping backwards, unwilling to leave as Murtagh battled Ba’al and Moloch. Then suddenly, a team of dwarves rushed towards the fight to aid Murtagh in his assault, but he bellowed, “No, get back! Get back!” but it was too late.

Ba’al whirled and in a flash of steel, six dwarf bodies crumpled to the ground, their severed heads rolling away in the dust. Taking advantage of Murtagh’s distraction, Moloch saw an opening and cut Murtagh viciously across the chest, slicing through his leather jerkin. Murtagh yelled in pain and stumbled, blood seeping from the wound in his chest, barely raising his sword in time to counter a blow from Ba’al that would have decapitated him and then another from Moloch as the Shade attempted to hamstring him. In another moment, Moloch would have succeeded in incapacitating Murtagh had not several human archers distracted the Shade, bravely pelting him with arrows, and he snarling, blocked the shafts with his sword.

Ba’al grabbed Murtagh by the throat, her sharp nails digging into his flesh and drawing droplets of blood. She shoved her face close to his, continuing to crush his windpipe and hissed, “Why don’t we open that scar of yours back up again, hmm?” In reply, Murtagh smashed his forehead onto her nose, breaking it and then swung his sword upwards, chopping her hand off from the rest of her arm. Tearing Ba’al’s still rigid grip from his neck, Murtagh bore down upon the Shade to deal her the death blow but suddenly clutched at a stab of searing pain at his nape. He looked up and saw that two Fanghur had latched onto the base of Thorn’s neck and no matter how Thorn struggled to throw them off, they would not detach. Murtagh gave a cry of frustration as he attempted to use magic to aid Thorn but to no avail. The great red dragon roared in agony as the third and fourth Fanghur attacked his exposed belly and sizzling dragon blood began to rain down upon the pavilion. Turning back to Murtagh, Nasuada saw just in time Moloch swinging his sword to behead Murtagh and while Jormunder shouted, “Behind you!”, who ducked to avoid the fatal blow. A second later, Murtagh parried a strike from the now one-handed Ba’al, who accosted him with renewed fury even as Thorn gave another agonized roar from above.

Nasuada, struck suddenly with an idea, ordered her men to stop their retreat. “Jormunder, my bow!” she urged hurriedly, and after only a moment’s hesitation, he signaled to her page. “The queen’s bow,” ordered Jormunder, “retrieve it!” Jarsha nodded frantically and diving behind Nasuada’s throne, removed the case attached to the back of it containing a quiver, seven white arrows, and a long yew bow fashioned especially for her by the elves.

“Your Majesty,” rejoined the grizzled commander, as Nasuada knelt to swiftly string her bow, her eyes following the desperate battle raging above her, “are you sure you don’t want one of the archers to try for it?” Nasuada answered him curtly. “At this range, Jormunder? And with four moving targets? Who else do we know here that could possibly make that shot without injuring Thorn?” In reply, Jormunder wordlessly handed her an arrow.

Wasting not a moment, Nasuada notched the arrow and took her stance, holding the bow to her chest with practiced ease. She relaxed each of her muscles, her breathing deep and even. She aimed, letting the point of her arrow float on her target (the second Fanghur seizing Thorn’s neck) and felt her shoulder blades pull together as they provided the tension for her shot. Just before she released the arrow, she prayed silently, Gokukura guide my hand. On the exhale, she released the shaft with a twang and held her form as it sailed towards the target.

Her aim was true. The Fanghur screeched in agony as the arrow pierced its heart through its scaly hide, eliciting an enraged howl from Moloch. Her Nightstalkers cheered, one exclaiming, “That was a heroic shot, mi’lady!”

Thorn shook off the remaining Fanghur that had latched on to his neck, and twisting faster than the eye could follow, grabbed the writhing creature by the throat and tore it to pieces with his claws. The crowd screamed as the two Fanghur carcasses plunged to the ground below. With another display of astounding aerial acrobatics, Thorn raced towards the third Fanghur and dove sharply in a tight circle, swinging his spiked tail over him like a lance and puncturing the creature on its back. The Fanghur hurtled to the earth from Thorn’s fatal blow, blood swirling from its ragged flesh.

At the same time, Ba’al let out a blood-curdling shriek as Murtagh, with a lightning-fast slash of his sword, cut off her remaining hand and thrust Zar’roc into her chest, stabbing her in the heart. The flesh from her body disappeared as the whirling black spirits inhabiting her body exploded free and Murtagh retreated from the energy blast, falling to the ground as the evil spirits rushed by him with a sinister howl. Nasuada saw that the remaining spellcasters had fainted, their eyes rolling and their skin deathly pale from the energy it had cost them to contain the blast. Murtagh lifted his head and looked towards Nasuada with a ghost of a smile on his lips, their eyes connecting. Time seemed to move at a snail’s pace. And abruptly, the moment shattered as Nasuada gasped, her hand flying to cover her mouth while Moloch’s thin blade swept into view and Murtagh deflected it, still prostrate on the ground.

The Shade bore down on him, each blow like a hammerfall, as Murtagh struggled to regain his footing. “Despair!” roared Moloch, “You are a king-killing coward, selfish and disloyal!” Murtagh had scrambled to his feet but the Shade was relentless in his attack. They crossed blades and as their crossguards notched together, Moloch whispered brutally, “Worse even, than your father. At least had the decency to serve the one that gave him greatness.” With a yell, Murtagh shoved Moloch away. Even from a distance, Nasuada could see that tears streaked Murtagh’s bloodied cheeks. The two crossed swords again, the fight more desperate than ever, but with rising fear Nasuada could see that Moloch was gaining the upper hand. After a few more moments, Moloch shrieked triumphantly as Murtagh gave a howl of defeat and Thorn roared so loudly that Nasuada thought her ears might burst from the sound. Moloch’s blade tore Zar’roc from Murtagh’s grip. The blood-red sword sailed in a graceful circle from Murtagh hand and stuck point first into the ground. Maroon eyes glinting maliciously, Moloch, with an imperceptible flourish of his sword, plunged the blade into Murtagh’s gut. Overcome with horror, Nasuada cried, “No!” even as the Shade thrust the sword all the way to the hilt. A trickle of blood escaped Murtagh’s mouth. Nasuada fell to her knees, tears blurring her vision. Murtagh, please, no!

“And thus is the end of Murtagh the Betrayer,” taunted Moloch, his snarling face inches away from Murtagh’s. Suddenly, a gleam entered the Dragon Rider’s gray eye. He held up his palm over Moloch’s heart, and the gedwey ignasia glowed bright. “It seems that I can use magic again,” Murtagh said torpidly. The Shade’s eyes barely had time to widen before Murtagh yelled, “Thrysta!” and the Shade’s furious visage disintegrated along with his pale flesh as his heart imploded within his chest. Nasuada saw Murtagh’s body fly through the air like a marionette from the blast and land several feet away in a crumpled heap. She ran to him but she, and nearly everyone in the pavilion, was knocked to the ground from the Shade’s violent expulsion. Black smoke swirled around the pavilion, obscuring Murtagh’s body from view. Nasuada peered into the cloud, her heart clenched in fear at what lay behind it.

[doasyouwill-blog]

He Came Back to Her in the Dark: An Inheritance Cycle Story Pt. 3 (Murtagh x Nasuada)

Author’s Note: I am sorry that it has been so long! This is not my primary blog, so I had no idea that you guys were down for this story. I’ll go ahead and post the next parts now! And I hope it’s all right, but I am tagging those of you that reblogged and/or commented. If you’d like to be added to (or removed from) the tag list please let me know.

@fictionisalwaysbetter @thebrotherofmany @michael-jinx @piercing-the-valley @nandavore @babewith-the-power @theblackqueen-ofmyheart @blade3429 @murtagh-thorn @dragonheartstring360 @swagmastermcflurry @woahwhatislife @yerawizardjulia @emztheemu @dont-trust-humanity @ariia15 @murtagh-thorn @piercing-the-valley @quietlycanadian @my-baek-hurts @nandavore

If you need to catch up, here is Part 1 and Part 2. And without further ado, the slow burn continues. Thank you and I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 5: Orik’s Company

Farica finished dressing Nasuada and after securing her hair in a tight bun, placed a circlet of gold set with rubies upon her head. Nasuada observed her reflection in her floor length mirror and adjusted her customary sleeves cut short to show her scars. A herald announced the arrival of the dwarves and Nasuada received them in her throne room, their heavy boots shaking the ground upon which they stood. Even from a distance, Nasuada could already observe the uneasiness that emanated from Orik’s company. Normally somewhat light at heart, Nasuada saw that the few years of kingship had aged Orik considerably while the dwarves around him looked at the hall with darting eyes and mouths set with fear. She wondered too if queenship had worn away the vitality of her youth and if she looked older than her twenty-five years. Nasuada banished the thought, chastising herself for her vanity.  

“King Orik,” she said, and respectfully, rose to greet him. He acknowledged her regard for him with a slight incline of his head and spoke with a voice like the grinding of boulders, saying, “Well met, Queen Nasuada. Though the days are dark and we bear ill news, the light of your incomparable beauty and wisdom shines brighter than ever and is a joy to mine eyes.” She smiled at his compliment.

“The years have made you silver-tongued, old friend. You are too kind. I hope only that while you are here, the sun of our kingdom warms your hearts and that together we may dispel this darkness that hovers over our beloved land,” she replied. She extended her hand to Orik which he grasped warmly in both of his. Nasuada saw that while he smiled, gray hairs flecked his beard and that his eyes were tinted with a sad weariness.  

They continued to exchange court pleasantries (Orik presented Nasuada with a massive diamond inlaid with spidery gold veins that seemed to glow with an inner light to commemorate the fifth anniversary of Eragon’s Day and the fall of Galbatorix, eliciting awestruck gasps from many of the nobles) until finally Orik dismissed his company, save his personal guard, while Nasuada and her Nightstalkers led them to another part off the castle so that they may discuss the troubles that plagued Alagaesia.

 Chapter 6: An Aberration of Nature

Nasuada found that ill-tidings indeed accompanied the dwarves’ arrival.

“A Shade, you say?” Nasuada pressed her fingers to her temples. She, Orik, and Vanir convened in her conference quarters, while both the Nightstalkers and Orik’s sentries, heavily armed with axes, long swords, and dark-eyed expressions, gave every appearance that they were ready to kill or be killed.

“That or something very much like it, Nasuada,” the dwarf responded gravely, his expression somber. “And worse still, this seems to be unlike any other Shade that has walked Alagaesia in known memory. He kills without any traces of magic unless he wishes to be detected, leaving signs of the most gruesome and dark magic. Fills my heart with utter dread, it does.” Nasuada rose from her high-backed chair, perturbed.

“This is troubling news indeed. How many has he killed and in what manner?”

“I was hesitant to share details through magical means, in fear that the revelations my spellcasters have discovered may cause a panic.”

Nasuada raised her eyebrows in consternation. “And what have they discovered?”

“Not just them, Nasuada. I have witnessed it with mine own eyes,” Orik sighed deeply and then continued. “Last month, within the deep tunnels of Farthen Dur, there appeared to be a massive cave-in. Thousands of deep dwellers were crushed and more starved to death. Cave-ins are less of a common occurrence than you would expect. For ages, our people have cultivated the mountain, learned her habits and read the lay of her innermost secrets. We have built the city with such in mind, so that these tragedies are rare.” Nasuada nodded, remembering the symbiotic bond with the mountain that belonged to the dwarves alone.

“So when we heard of this cave-in, I ordered a rescue team at once. But even this was wrought with misfortune. We did not know of the cave-in for three days until after it occurred!”

“What?” exclaimed Nasuada, “How is that possible? You have systems and spells in place that alert you immediately to any anomalies in the bedrock!”

“Well I know it Nasuada.” Orik’s expression was dark with grief. “When we finally knew of the cave in, it was nearly too late. A cave dwelling dwarf that lived in a separate section but traveled there to see his family reported to us that the community, that was of no mean size, had vanished. I took a company of dwarves, eager we were to come to the aid of those that would suffer a horrible fate. But when we got there…Ah, it brings horror to my wretched heart.” The dwarf clutched his head, his silver crown glinting, sending flashes across Nasuada’s gaze, forcing the pupils to contract. For as long as she had known the dwarf, never before had he revealed such fear. The sight of his distress worried her like nothing else had.

“What happened Orik?” she asked quietly.

“We dug. For a whole day we dug but still we could not find them. We knew the more time that passed, the less likely it would be that we would find any survivors. It seemed like our pickaxes and tools were being led astray by some evil force. I feared that we would never find them and solve this mystery. Finally a dwarf cried out that he had found something. He found a transparent, impenetrable section of the earth. We cut the earth around it until there was a wall of translucent rock, the likes of which we have never seen before. It was like a bubble, but had the consistency and strength of a clear diamond. We peered inside. We saw many dwarves crushed underneath the earth. As we shined a light into the glass-like wall, we saw shapes clamoring towards us. When they came into the light we saw hundreds of our brethren, they were haggard and desperate and afraid. We shouted to them and they to us, but we could not hear each other. We tried to break through the accursed wall with tools and with magic even as they banged on it with their fists. It was all in vain. For two days we watched them grow weaker and weaker until they passed into the void, each one succumbing to hunger and thirst with a fit of convulsions. All except a few dozen.”

“A few dozen? Did they survive?” Nasuada asked, her voice nearly a whisper.

“Nay,” he continued in a choked voice, “Something worse than death they suffered. There was a fell voice in the air. Upon hearing it, the remaining dwarves turned on each other, their eyes red and their teeth bared. We thumped on the wall, shouting until our voices were no more, but they tore each other to pieces. That same fell voice laughed and laughed as the last dwarf ripped out the throat of another and then he himself he struck repeatedly with a rock clenched in his fist. I will never forget the sight of it. The memory of it is burned into the lids of mine eyes.”

Nasuada rubbed the tears roughly from her own eyes, overcome by the horror of it all. She began to pace.

“This is an evil yet unknown! Even Galbatorix might have considered this destruction a waste, a terrible waste of life. What kind of dark magic could manipulate the mountains with magic in place for thousands of years and confuse a mind, dozens of minds, to the savagery that you could describe?”

“Aye, there is too, an element of…wickedness.”

‘Yes, some kind of sadistic pleasure that this Shade takes in causing suffering…” An awful thought occurred to her. “What if it’s really not a Shade and something else entirely? Eragon warned me that many of Galbatorix’s servants were still at large and more powerful than the Ra’zac.”

“It could be,” conceded Orik, “but either situation bears no good for us. I don’t know if this too is an effect of whatever devil besets us, but I have observed that a pervasive despair has settled upon my people, even those that do not know what happened down in the deep. It’s a feeling of dread that I can’t seem to shake from my bones.”

At this, Vanir, who had remained silent up until that point, leaned forward, his countenance very perturbed.

“A pervasive despair, you say, King Orik?” the elf repeated. Nasuada turned to observe Vanir’s shoulders tensed, his body seeming to vibrate with energy. “Aye. Like a sickness that has settled upon the people, saps their will to live.” Eyes flashing, Vanir rose swiftly from his chair and strode towards the window. Alarmed by the uncharacteristic expression on Vanir’s face, Nasuada turned to him, “What is it, Vanir?” she asked tersely. He continued to stare intensely outside the window which framed Ilirea’s majestic skyline, the blue sky abutted by ivory and gold elvish buildings. Nasuada opened her mouth to repeat her question (this time with a note of impatience) but before she could he began to speak.

“I think I know what this…creature…is, but I can’t be sure until I consult with my people.” Orik swiveled around to see Vanir more clearly. “What might it be? Is it a Shade?” “No,” answered Vanir, his tone measured, “I don’t think it is a Shade.” “Then what, Vanir?”  said Nasuada, exasperated. He turned away from the window to connect glances with Nasuada. “If what you say is true, I believe it could be a wraith.”  The word sent an inexplicable shiver down Nasuada’s spine. “A wraith.” she repeated. “What is that?” “A creature of darkness, of malicious intent, and immense power.” “How does it differ from a Shade?” asked Orik. “A Shade is a being inhabited by evil spirits that subjugate that being to their will. Superior strength, destructive, and cunning but in some ways, limited. A Shade is a conduit for an evil spirit which, without a corporeal form, would have little power in our reality.” Both Orik and Nasuada nodded, familiar with the concept. “A wraith, however, while somewhat similar,” Vanir continued, “to my understanding is another thing entirely. It is the antithesis of life itself. In elvish lore, it is a creature formed from a displacement of excess negative energy, some unnatural balance in the fabric of the universe that takes on a conscious form. I’ve heard tell of such an occurrence before, but only in legend.” Feeling suddenly weary, Nasuada sat back down.

“If it is such a creature as you say, how has it come to be?” she asked. She suspected the answer, but could not pinpoint the words. Vanir also could not illuminate further on this, and instead shared everything else he knew. “I know not,” he said, shaking his head. “As far as I understand, which is very little, a wraith has never before been seen in Alagaesia. We know only of their existence through oral traditions passed down by remnants of the Grey Folk. When they gave a name to the ancient language and bound it to the power of words, they also described an abnormality that could naturally develop from a warping of magic itself. Many elves, mainly the äthalvard, an organization that is dedicated to the preservation of songs or poems, assumed that this meant that magic, if somehow warped, would change in some fundamental way. A small number, however, interpreted that particular passage literally, understanding that any displaced magic would take on some kind corporeal form; essentially, energy becoming or taking on the properties of matter. Since magic is but a manipulation of energy, one of the fundamental forces in our universe, an imbalance in energy invariably leads to an imbalance in the other fundamental forces, namely matter and space-time.” Orik blinked as if he had taken a blow to the head.

“I don’t quite follow, elf,” Orik said gruffly, “but it matters not. What powers does it have? How can we kill such a creature?”

“I know of no way to counter such an aberration of nature. I can imagine it can only be done through magical means, since a wraith lacks a true physical form as we understand it. While it is said that a wraith walks in some kind of humanoid form, it has many fearsome abilities. It can replicate itself, dividing into several beings of one united mind at will. It has nearly an unlimited source of energy for magical use seeing as a wraith is energy.” “This is beyond our ken,” concluded Nasuada. “Our need for the elves is great. At any moment we are vulnerable and the more we know about our enemies, the better a chance we have of finding some way to vanquish them. Vanir, have you attempted to scry Queen Arya?”

“I have,” he said with a nod of his head, “but it seems that she is within the borders of Du Weldenvarden so therefore unavailable for contact by scrying.”

“Do not forget also, that whatever this specter is has disrupted much of our communication through magical means,” added Orik.

Nasuada agreed, saying, “We do need to warn Surda and Teirm. While we attempt to contact them through scrying, I will also dispatch messengers to alert them to our plight. However, I don’t believe I will ask King Orrin to send reinforcements.”

Orik raised his bushy eyebrows in surprise. “Aye? And why not Nasuada?”

“From hearing your account, the size of our army does us no good here. It may mean only more deaths. What we need are more spellcasters, if ever, whoever they can spare. And I believe we may need the assistance of the Eldunari.”

“For that you would need a Rider or an elf,” said Vanir, “it would be dangerous for any human spellcaster to reach out towards the hearts of the dragons.”

Nasuada grimaced, acknowledging his point. She still deeply regretted what happened to Captain Garven when he sifted through the minds of Blodgarm and the other elves. If only Eragon had been there to check them himself…Remembering suddenly, that another Rider was indeed here to assist them, Nasuada opened her mouth to tell Vanir and Orik and then hesitated.

Announcing Murtagh’s return was an important factor to consider in the present circumstances. However, while their situation was indeed dire, there was not yet an immediate need for her to reveal Murtagh’s presence. It might actually destabilize Orik and the other dwarves and cause a schism between their two races when in this instance, the need for unity was great. Still pondering on this dilemma, Nasuada brought up the point that was inevitable. “While we do need either an elf or a Rider to reach out to the Eldunari, you can’t be in two places at once Vanir.” He nodded.  “Above all, we need to know as much as we can what we are up against. While the dragons are beings whose very existence is based in magic, no one knows more about the intricacies and usage of magic more so than the elves. The greatest priority then would be to go with much haste to Du Weldenvarden and alert Queen Arya to our plight. Only you can do this Vanir.”

“I believe you are right, Queen Nasuada,” responded Vanir, “but should I leave, you will be exceptionally vulnerable if our enemy is in fact a wraith or some other powerful magical being.”

“This is true. However, while I am loathe to allow our strongest magic user to leave for any length of time, this is our only option. If a wraith were to arrive right now, swooping through the great gates of Illiria, even with the assistance of the Du Vrangr Gata and Eldunari, you could not withstand him. We need your people, Vanir. I would not have you lose your life only for the rest of our world to fall as well.”

A hint of anger and hurt pride seemed to cross Vanir’s face. Noticing, Nasuada changed tact, saying in a gentler tone, pleading almost, “Vanir, I know that while you are young by the measure of elves, you are brave and a powerful user of magic. I have no doubt that if you were against this wraith you would conduct yourself so as to be worthy of remembrance ages hence. But not for long Vanir. You know this. Please help us. I only want to give our people the best possible chance for them to survive and that means taking this risk.”

Orik looked between Nasuada’s unwavering gaze and Vanir’s ostensibly cool mask. After a moment, the elf was the first to relent, saying, “You are right again, Queen Nasuada,” inclining his head. Nasuada breathed out a sigh of relief. Vanir continued. “This is not a matter of pride, but what is best for all. I will leave immediately for my home and rouse the elves.” She decided to keep to herself that they may not be so vulnerable as they appeared to be. Anyways, she reasoned, a sense of urgency will only speed his return. He rose to his feet and walked swiftly towards the door. He paused and turned towards Nasuada. “I will do my best to bring my people Nasuada. I fear only that when we return that it will be too late.” With this, he opened the solid oak door that secured the conference chamber and left.

As she watched Vanir’s retreating form, the cold draft from the open door seemed to sink into Nasuada’s very skin and lingered still even when the heavy wood sealed shut with a click of unsettling finality.

Chapter 7: When I Left You

The heads of her people on pikes. The fumes burn her nostrils with the acrid taste of sulfur. A dark, impenetrable shadow emerges, seeming only to be a tiny pinprick in the distance and in the space of no more than a second, encompasses her whole vision. She screams but the shadow enters her open mouth, stifling her. She struggles as a horribly familiar crawling sensation takes over her body. She hears a voice calling her name.

Nasuada!

The itch continues to torment her as she thrashes, suffocating.

Nasuada, wake up!

The unbearable knowledge that they are chewing her…

NASUADA!

Nasuada jerked awake, her jeweled dagger clattering to the floor, her chest heaving and covered with a sheen of sweat. Realizing that she was in her bed and Galabatorix was far away and long gone gave her little comfort. Still breathing shakily and unable to help herself, a choked sob escapes her. She bit her wrist to muffle her crying, the long scars glowing white in the moonlight. Another price to pay for the greater good. She clutched herself tightly with her other arm as if her body threatened to disintegrate into its disparate elements and crumble into dust. Nasuada stayed like this until her breathing slowed to a normal rate and the chill from her open balcony cooled the sweat glistening on her deep brown skin. Then a familiar consciousness touched her mind and she looked towards the night sky shining outside her chamber. She opened her thoughts to him, hiding all else behind an ironclad barrier.

Murtagh? Yes. Are you all right? I’m okay. I couldn’t sleep. I know. That was me calling your name in your dream. Irritation colored her thoughts. You know, it’s not very polite to spy on other people while they’re sleeping, she said waspishly. I didn’t mean to intrude Nasuada, he said apologetically, clearly abashed, I sensed that you were in great distress. How noble of you, she said sardonically, but this has been going on for years. This gave him pause. Years? he inquired. Yes. She felt him grow more troubled. Every night? he asked. Since The Hall of the Soothsayer. Through the link between their minds, she could feel his turbulent emotions. I’m sorry, he said. Though neither of them spoke for a while, they didn’t break their mental connection. Murtagh. Hmm? This is silly. What is? Us talking like this. Are you nearby? Actually, I’m right outside your window. His tone was slightly sheepish. Nasuada rolled her eyes and severed their mental connection, securing her thoughts behind her barriers. Feeling slightly reckless, Nasuada walked towards her open balcony while wrapping a crimson robe trimmed with gold thread over her night shift. The summer air was cool but not unpleasant. The limestone tiles outside her window even still felt a little warm from baking in the hot Ilirian sun. She placed her hands on the white marble balustrade and looked over the edge.

Far down below, Nasuada saw Murtagh facing her, standing in the clearing just before a line of trees, his form partly obscured by shadow and the tree he was leaning against. His mental probe brushed her consciousness and once again she allowed him to touch her mind.

May I approach? His tone was ostensibly light, but there seemed a shade of hesitation in his question. Nasuada checked that any emotions were barricaded tightly within her consciousness before considering his request. After a moment, she nodded. Though Murtagh was at a distance, apparently he saw her sign of assent and jogged swiftly across the clearing towards her window. He was nearly at the foot of her balcony when he swiveled towards the east, alarmed. Nasuada too looked quickly in that direction and to her horror saw several Nighthawks patrolling the courtyard around her rooms.

Hide! She hissed urgently through their connection and without further ado, Murtagh sprinted and dove headfirst into the bushes of her private gardens, disappearing in a flurry of twigs and instigating the furious cries of nestled birds disturbed from their slumber. Nasuada too ducked underneath the railing of her balcony, hoping her form crouched behind the marble balusters would escape the patrol’s notice. She also closed her mind just in case any of the Nighthawks were spellcasters and cast their minds out for any disturbances. Nasuada did not relish the idea of explaining Murtagh’s presence to her guards, or worse, feared that they would engage him in a fight before asking any questions at all. Peeking through the gaps in the balcony, Nasuada’s eyes darted towards Murtagh’s hiding place (the bushes looked forlornly bedraggled where he had plunged in) and her guards, who at that particular moment, were fortunately looking in the other direction. However, upon hearing the birds angrily tweeting their displeasure, two guards looked about and began walking towards the source of the commotion. Heart pounding, Nasuada nearly opened her mouth to call out to the guards and hopefully distract them when she heard one of them proclaim roughly, “Eh? See, nothing there. Just some old rats probably getting the birds in a dither. Let’s carry on.”

Nasuada waited until her guards had turned the corner had turned the corner before she called out in a loud whisper, “Murtagh!”

At the sound of her voice, she saw Murtagh’s head poke out of the bushes. He struggled to extricate himself from the tangle of branches and finally, was able to tug himself free, only to tumble head over heels from the recoil. At this, Nasuada could barely contain a shriek of laughter at the absurdity of a Dragon Rider rolling around her courtyard like a clumsy squire. His mental probe poked at her. Are you laughing at me? he demanded, torn between embarrassment and a mirth that matched her own. How could I not? You look ridiculous! she exclaimed. Yes, I’m sure I do, he grumbled good-humoredly, causing her to laugh even more. I’m glad you are entertained Nasuada, Murtagh said with a touch of sarcasm. Mind if I climb up then? She thought about it for a moment and acquiesced, Yes you may as well. Try not to hurt yourself, won’t you? Nasuada could almost feel Murtagh rolling his eyes just before his mind retreated from hers.

Leaning her folded arms against the marble balustrade, she watched him jog to the cluster of vines beneath her balcony, and grabbing hold, began climbing up deftly. Murtagh was about halfway up the wall when Nasuada said in a playful bored voice, “Anytime now, Dragon Rider,” at which his eyes gleamed and his smile widened at her jesting, while shaking his head at her supposed rudeness. After a few moments, Murtagh hoisted himself over the top of the stone railing and sat perched upon it, as if he had been there all morning. “Good evening, Your Majesty,” he said ironically, a grin playing at the edges of his mouth, and Nasuada felt herself smile in return. What has gotten into me? she wondered.

Aloud, she reprimanded him saying, “I’ll be expecting compensation for the bushes that you’ve ruined. My gardener will be most displeased when he discovers the state of them in the morning.” “Hah! It is I that will be filing a complaint with you, Your Majesty! Your shrubbery has insulted my pride most soundly.” “True enough. It did seem that they got the best of you.” Still laughing, Nasuada asked, “How did you escape the guards? Why didn’t they see you?” “I used magic.” “You couldn’t think of using magic before you wrecked my hedges?” she said, rebuking him. He threw up his hands in defense and choking with laughter “What can I say? I panicked!” Nasuada slapped her palm to her forehead, “Some Dragon Rider you are!” she exclaimed and they laughed, Nasuada pressing her knuckles to her teeth trying to regain composure and Murtagh snorting until they both said “Shh! Shh!” afraid that they would be discovered.

After their laughter subsided, Murtagh turned his body to face her and in a more serious tone, asked “You’re all right?” while his eyes searching her face. She met his gaze and nodded, saying “Yes, thank you,” but remembering her dream, the smile faded from her face and she looked out instead to the darkness of the night sky.   He observed her still, and pressed on “Forgive me, but is there anything I can do? You still seem troubled.” “Do I?” she responded archly, to which he only nodded. Nasuada considered him for a moment, and sighed. “The dwarves arrived from Farthen Dur today,” she said. “Yes, I saw their company arrive this morning. I presume it isn’t just a social visit?” he asked. “No, I’m afraid not. The situation perturbs me.” “It must be bad then. It’s my understanding that you fear nothing.” Murtagh replied. Nasuada looked at him. “Of course I fear. It’s just that I think about everyone that relies on me to remain strong and that steadies me.” “I remember,” he said, meeting her eyes. Nasuada turned away towards the night sky. “Orik too, is shaken. I’ve seen him face three Kull with naught but an ax and steel in his veins, but this…this is different. There’s an imbalance in the world. Something is wrong.” “What does he think it is?” She told him then, about the tragic fate of trapped dwarves and Vanir’s hunch that the creature they may be dealing with was more dangerous than any they had ever faced. “A wraith?” Murtagh repeated, his brow furrowed. “Have you heard of such a thing?” asked Nasuada quickly, turning towards him. “No, never. But I agree, the description of this…thing…and what it does, it doesn’t fit into the normal pattern of the world. It is very troubling.” “I told Vanir that undoubtedly we need the help of the elves, but he was reluctant to go.” “Why? Is he insubordinate to you?” “Not at all. As with all elves, he is most dutiful, though he answers to Arya and not to me. He was hesitant only because it seems likely in this case that we may need a powerful spellcaster to speak with the Eldunari and has some measure of how to counter a wraith or a Shade.” “And I take it you didn’t let him know that there was another magic user competent enough to communicate with the dragons and have some chance against a powerful magical creature.” “I didn’t feel the need to, no.” “If Orik finds out that I’m here and that you knew, he’ll be very…unhappy.” “It’s a risk I have to take. If he finds out, there will be hell to pay, yes, but for now I think it’s best that we treat your arrival on a need to know basis.” Murtagh flicked his eyes sideways at her. “You do play your cards close to your chest, don’t you?” “I have to.” “You know, if you weren’t a beacon of moral fortitude, I’d hate to have you as an enemy. You’d be quite a tyrant.” She grinned. “Who says I’m not one already?” she answered jokingly. Murtagh shook his head. “Because you’d sacrifice yourself for your people. Every day is a sacrifice, I wager. And you’ll do it for as long as you have strength and even when you have none.” His words described so accurately the private burden that Nasuada carried that she turned away, unwilling to show how true and how painful it was to hear. “You speak as if you wouldn’t do the same,” she said. “The occasion rarely calls for it. Or maybe I avoid situations like that all together. Either way, I’d say that there was only one time when I did something that I didn’t want to do and knew that I would have to live with it maybe forever, all for the greater good.” Nasuada turned back to Murtagh, surveying him inquisitively. “Oh? And when was that?” she asked. Murtagh looked up towards the expanse stars hovering above them before answering. “When I left you,” he said quietly. Unbidden, heat rushed through Nasuada’s body and she felt herself grow still at his words. Murtagh returned his gaze to her face, as if to gauge her expression.

Nasuada looked down towards the rolling green hills beneath the castle that looked like looming shadows during the late hour, hoping her downturned eyelashes would conceal any expression that might linger. She didn’t know what to think. Did she still care for Murtagh? Could she? And if she did what could ever come of it? She was queen and he was a Dragon Rider whose name was marred by betrayal. She felt that he was a good person when all things were said and done, but what about her people? She wasn’t an ordinary woman that could follow her passions however she saw fit. Nasuada could not afford to alienate her people. And if she chose the path of secrecy? Her reputation could survive if he were some noble of the court or even a regular citizen, but Murtagh, who was once the right-hand man of Galbatorix? If word spread that the queen’s lover was the Rider who was once the face of the Empire’s evil reign, the people’s faith in her would be shaken indeed. Even him standing here on her balcony was a risk. The trust of her people meant the world to Nasuada, and she held it foremost before her own desires.

“That was a long time ago, Murtagh,” Nasuada said carefully, avoiding his gaze, “while much has changed, old wounds still sting.”

Pain crossed Murtagh’s face and he set his mouth against it, but his tone was soft when he answered her. “I know Nasuada. Things are as they must be and really, as they should be.” His eyes reached hers. “I’m sorry if my words caused you any pain.” “There’s no need to apologize,” Nasuada said softly, “I am glad that you are honest with me. For what it’s worth Murtagh, I believe you are a good person.” He nodded. “I want to be,” said Murtagh. He held her gaze for a moment and continued, saying “I am glad you are well, for the most part. I will talk to Thorn about what you have told me tonight and we will continue to stay out of sight. If you need me, you know where to find me.”

Nasuada rubbed her arms against the chill and stepped back from the balustrade. She stood before Murtagh, who remained seated on the stone railing. With a smile that did not reach his gray eyes, he slid off his seat and closed the space between them. Keeping his gaze on her he bowed slightly and took her hand. His hand was rough and tanned from handling a sword and riding on dragonback, but the shape of his fingers suggested refinement and intelligence, the hands of a scholar. The gedwey ignasia glowed slightly as Murtagh raised Nasuada’s hand to his lips and kissed her fingers gently. Nasuada was sure he could sense the slight tremble in her body, but hoped he’d assume it was the night air. Lifting his head, Murtagh held her gaze and said quietly, “Good night, Nasuada.” Releasing her, he gave her a swift smile and leapt over the balustrade with a word from the ancient language. Looking over the edge, Nasuada watched him as he landed lightly on the courtyard and slipped into the night. She felt the air chill the place where his lips had touched her fingers and she shivered, gathering her robe against the cold.

Click for Part 4 of this series :)

[doasyouwill-blog]

He Came Back to Her in the Dark: An Inheritance Cycle Story Pt. 2 (Murtagh x Nasuada)

Author’s Note: Considering the fact that I was going to keep this to myself, I am so excited that some of you have read this and have responded. Thank you! And I hope it’s all right, but I am tagging those of you that reblogged and/or commented. If you’d like to be added to the tag list please let me know.

@fictionisalwaysbetter @thebrotherofmany @michael-jinx @piercing-the-valley @nandavore @babewith-the-power @theblackqueen-ofmyheart @blade3429 @murtagh-thorn @dragonheartstring360

I hope you’re in for a sloooow burn, because that’s what  (in my opinion) makes sense for Murtagh and Nasuada .  Also, I just want Christopher Paolini to come out with his new book...please man, come on! Hence, me writing this, and I’ve had this for yeeaaaars, so it’s been a while Sir Paolini! 

If you would like to catch up, please see Part 1 here.

This fic is rated T for thematic elements.  I hope you enjoy, and thank you!

Chapter 3: The Dark-haired Rider

One month ago

Murtagh slept fitfully in the dying light of their campfire, sheltered by Thorn’s red wing. The visions dancing before his sleeping mind aroused Thorn from his slumber. With a shout, Murtagh awoke, holding his knife aloft to the throat of some unseen assailant.

The same dream?  inquired Thorn.

Yes, answered Murtagh, his exhausted sigh transmuting even through the soundless channel of their minds.

Anything new?

The same sense of dread, the future covered in impenetrable blackness.

Our future has always been uncertain, said Thorn, but my heart tells me this is something more.

I agree…some evil yet unknown walks Alagaesia.

It sets my teeth on edge.

We’ll keep our eyes and our claws sharp then, won’t we, my friend? Always, agreed Thorn.

 ------

Thorn glittered brilliantly like a blood red ruby as he flew against the backdrop of a gray sky. The northern mountains loomed impossibly tall, even at the height which they flew, jagged black spires cleaving the horizon. Despite the ominous nature of their surroundings, the sight gave Murtagh an inexplicable sense of peace and exhilaration.

Shall we dance with the mountains today, friend, or do you wish to walk safely on the ground? jested Thorn. And have you call me a coward for the rest of our days? Never!  responded Murtagh, letting Thorn feel his excitement and sense of reckless abandon.

Without another word, Thorn raced towards the dark mountains, a singular flaming arrow speeding towards black oblivion. Thorn roared with ferocious euphoria and Murtagh did the same as they entered the narrow gaps in between the peaks, twisting and diving mere feet, and sometimes inches, away from the mountain range’s razor edge. There was nothing, nothing, Murtagh concluded, that could ever come close to the feeling of flying with Thorn. Murtagh could feel the dragon hum sonorously in agreement. The roar of the wind rushing past Murtagh’s ears eradicated all conscious thought other than the sheer joy of present moment. Pain and sorrow, resentment and uncertainty melted into the blur of rock and stone and their fevered breathing. All he knew was the push and pull of the air, the thrill of being alive, and the touch of the sun warming his wind-chilled face.

After hours of swooping between the sharp, steep peaks Thorn and Murtagh emerged, weary but intoxicated from the thrill of their dangerous dance with the mountains. Thorn landed heavily on the golden plains that stretched for miles around the black spires. Murtagh dismounted with a groan, stumbling to the ground and landing on his hands and knees, his legs sore and his black hair matted with sweat. Still nearly prostrate on the ground, he looked back at the mountains, and feeling more alive than he had ever felt in his whole life, threw his shoulders back to face the gray sky and the dark ridges that extended to the heavens and let out a guttural yell of unbridled triumph. Thorn too, roared with all his might at the black mountains, releasing a magnificent jet of crimson flames, and there they stood, one dark-haired Rider and his red dragon, their exultant bellows echoing around the empty, golden plains.

 --------

Later, in the twilight, Murtagh sat cross-legged amidst the tall grass and listened, stretching his consciousness out to the myriad of life forms that inhabited the seemingly bare lands. He heard a family of rodents eagerly collecting fallen seeds for their winter store, felt their joy as each deposited a massive pile of the day’s takings. He watched a great snowy owl as it swooped over the grasslands, searching for prey, the pangs of his stomach making his vision bright and his beak clack in anticipation of a meal. He felt the rodent family’s subsequent terror as the behemoth darkened the sky with his flight and relief as he passed over them. He listened until he heard no more, and the blood throbbing in his body seemed in perfect rhythm with the pulsations of the earth upon which he sat. Thorn probed Murtagh’s consciousness, the dragon’s familiar mind musical, noble, and powerful, saying, You have come very far, Shur’tugal. The significance of Thorn’s use of the honorific term was not lost on Murtagh. He smiled. My gratitude belongs to you, Bjartskular. Murtagh drifted into sleep to the sound of Thorn’s contented humming.

 --------

The ugly lacerations on the young woman’s back contrasted with her satin skin the color of warm chestnut. Except for a tattered skirt of white linen, her figure was bare. Her trembling arms were wrapped around a stone pillar, with her cheek pressed against the rough column. Moving closer to her, Murtagh watched as a drop of moisture traced a tract down her face. From what was not obscured by shadow, he saw that she was very beautiful, but he could not recognize her. The drop fell to the ground and in the moonlight, he realized that it was blood. The woman shifted and the night’s luminescence lit her features clearly. It was Nasuada. A whip cracked out of the darkness and she screamed, and Murtagh found that it was his own mouth that was screaming in the soundless black.

Murtagh! Murtagh!

He awoke with a jolt, his throat raw, and found the force of his yell still reverberating around the desolate plains.

Thorn! Murtagh cried out with his mind, Did you see—

Yes, responded the dragon, his thoughts perturbed as he reviewed what Murtagh had dreamt. 

Do you think—

It could be like what Eragon saw when he knew he needed to rescue Arya— …and that this is happening as we speak?

Murtagh sprang to his feet and began to pace furiously. If his vision proved true, Nasuada was in very grave danger. From whom or from what, he could not tell, but the overwhelming sense of foreboding convinced him that all was not right in Alagaesia. And if so, why has Nasuada been left defenseless? What of Elva? Her friendship with the elves or the dwarves, the Urgals even? What of Eragon? He thought back to when he and Thorn had left. Alagaesia had yet to choose a new ruler and he knew that whoever came into power after Galbatorix’s defeat would be vulnerable to attack from the old regime’s allies. He paused and comprehension dawned on him.

Of course, Murtagh thought, Nasuada must have deposed Galbatorix. The longer he considered it, the more obvious it became to him.

She is a formidable pack leader, said Thorn, but her enemies would be many and the danger would be great.

None would be better suited, agreed Murtagh, but after undergoing torture in Uru’baen…Grief and self-hatred tore at him at the memory of her imprisonment and his hand in it, I hoped she would perhaps leave the grueling and dangerous task of repairing the Empire to someone else.

From what you have told me of her and what I know myself, observed Thorn, I could not imagine she would leave so crucial burden to another.

She is a woman of unmatched virtues. Her sense of duty, intelligence, and strength are unparalleled. 

I see why you still care for her, even after all this time. 

Thorn’s perception of his regard for Nasuada piqued his irritation some, but he knew it was useless to bemoan the loss of his privacy, even within his innermost feelings. The bond between Rider and dragon superseded such boundaries. Murtagh sighed, and again his mind began to race. Regardless of his affection for Nasuada, if her life was in danger and if she, in fact, was the caretaker of Alagaesia, then the very fate of Alagaesia hung in the balance. Peace, he knew, was a fragile thing especially after a tyrannical reign of over eighty years and without a capable, magnanimous ruler to guide its recovery, Alagaesia was liable to plunge into another war, this time amongst those who seek to gain dominion over the land as soon as the opportunity arose. All that they had fought and died and suffered for would be lost.

Is it time for us to return to Alagaesia, Murtagh? asked Thorn, his tone solemn.

Murtagh turned facing the south while to the east the sun was just beginning to break upon the horizon and the golden plains that stretched before them seemed to be suspended in time, as if the earth itself held its breath in anticipation for the plunge.

Yes, Thorn, said Murtagh, I believe Alagaesia calls us home.

 ------

Murtagh tarried no longer, gathering his supplies and securing Thorn’s harness so quickly that the sun had not yet broken fully from its place on the far point of the plains. Climbing lithely into the saddle and lashing the black scabbard containing Zar’roc tightly to its front, Murtagh sat, his brow furrowed and his limbs trembling with impatience.

Murtagh, said Thorn.

What is it? asked Murtagh, curious at the tumult of emotions Thorn was transmitting. 

I am proud to have you as my Rider.

Murtagh grinned and exclaimed, Then let us be off, so that we may be worthy of the name Shur’tugal!

With a roar, Thorn spread his massive wings, beating the air with such force that the grasslands around them flattened and the very air seemed to warp. Within seconds, Murtagh and Thorn were naught but a flaming pinprick of red against the silvery blue sky.

Chapter 4: “Do as you will.”

“Again!”

Nasuada parried Vanir’s blow with as much speed and ferocity as she could muster, her hand and a half sword a silver blur. Her limbs trembling, she looked up and despite herself, grew irritated at Vanir’s apparent lack of exhaustion. He lunged forward with a stabbing motion quicker than the human eye could follow, but this she anticipated, sidestepping it and returning with a slashing blow towards his neck. He dodged this easily and touched Nasuada once on the thigh, eliciting a cry from her and then held his blade to her neck.

“Good,” stated Vanir, as he sheathed his sword, “but you are distracted today.”

Nasuada nodded, sheathing her own sword. “The dwarves are arriving from Farthen Dur. Some new evil has been stalking their lands. Orik himself wishes to meet with me and discuss the welfare of our kingdoms.”

“All this on the eve of Eragon’s Day and Galbarotix’s fall,” Vanir’s usually smooth brow was creased with worry. “The elves too, have sensed a shift in the earth,” he corroborated. 

“Do you return for Du Weldenvarden soon?” inquired Nasuada.

Vanir paused before answering her. “I will wait for the dwarves to arrive. I need to hear their account. If the need is great I will scry Queen Arya, but more likely she is within Du Weldenvarden and will therefore necessitate my leaving Iliria to inform her.”

Nasuada thanked him for again taking the time to improve her swordsmanship and then took her leave of Vanir, ending their session prematurely. While she knew she was a more than proficient archer, the number of attempts on her life and direct experience in battle convinced her that mastery of a close combat weapon could only help her. However, Nasuada got the sense that if she continued practicing with him, her rigid mental blockade would falter and that Vanir would inadvertently learn of the full reason for her distraction.

Returning to her chamber, Farica helped Nasuada change out of her sparring attire and into apparel more suitable for attending to matters of state. As Farica tightened the laces on the deep purple bodice, Nasuada couldn’t help but look at the large doorway leading to her balcony in recollection of last night. The memories of it filled her with confusion and some apprehension…

Murtagh, as he stepped into the lamplight, appeared travel-worn and so beset with exhaustion that it seemed that it might topple him at any moment, but otherwise he looked well. He wore a dark red traveling cloak over a leather jerkin, a simple black tunic and pants. His tanned hands were bare, the gedwey ignasia glowing slightly with an iridescent light. His tousled dark hair was longer than before, and he seemed somewhat deeper in the chest and more solid in the shoulders as though he had spent the last few years hard at labor.

Recovering slightly from her initial shock, Nasuada still held up her jeweled dagger. If she was in danger, where was Elva? And her Nightstalkers, faithfully posted outside her chamber, why did they not hear Murtagh, and moreover, his thirty foot long dragon?

As if guessing her thoughts, Murtagh said, “I placed a spell surrounding your rooms. I thought it best if Thorn and I saw you directly.”

Her thoughts racing, Nasuada’s alarm gave way to animosity. 

“You had no right to do such a thing,” she said heatedly.  

For him to show up on her balcony in the dead of night, after being gone for five years, filled Nasuada with a myriad of conflicting emotions, livid confusion being at the forefront. 

“What are you doing here?” she demanded, examining Murtagh’s face for any sign of instability or ill-intent.

Seemingly aware of Nasuada’s fury (her eyes were glinting rather dangerously) and unwilling to provoke her further, Murtagh answered promptly. 

“I had a vision,” he said. “The sort that you can’t ignore. I believed that you, and the whole of Alagaesia, were in the most grievous of perils. So I came back.” Surprised, Nasuada lowered her knife slightly, though not wholly convinced.

“You came back?” asked Nasuada. She made no effort to disguise her incredulity. “Just like that?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve been in danger plenty of times before you showed up. Only two days ago someone tried to poison me.”

“Of that, I have no doubts.”

“Then what brings you back? Why now?”

“This time is different.” Murtagh’s brow furrowed. “For months, I’ve been having dreams that some darkness was seeking to envelop Alagaesia. And then, one month ago, I saw you, as clearly as you stand before me now, imprisoned and nearly at the point of death. The same type of vision that Eragon had that led him to rescue Arya from Durza.”

Nasuada nodded, recalling Eragon’s strange account. “Even if I were to believe you, and I’m not saying I do,” said Nasuada, “that still doesn’t make any sense. I’m obviously not imprisoned, and as far as I know, not dying. How could that be?”

“I don’t know,” replied Murtagh frankly, his mouth narrowing as he continued to think, “but whatever it means, it was a strong enough compulsion to return here. I’ve studied magic long enough to know that such premonitions bode some ill yet to be discovered.”

Nasuada considered the situation, and then a fearful idea occurred to her. 

“How do I know you are truly Murtagh and not some illusion conjured by an enemy spellcaster?” His gray eyes looked back at her. He nodded.

“I would feel the same in your place. Ask me something then, that only I would know, something that you have told no one else.”

“And you won’t try to enter my consciousness?”

“You would know it if I did.”

Adjusting the knife slightly in her grasp, Nasuada scoured her memories and she harkened back to her imprisonment in the Hall of the Soothsayer, their stolen moments, snatches of conversation and companionship amidst Galbatorix’s cruel interrogation.

“Who was the man that I would sneak away to see and what did he show me?” 

Though not a crucial piece of information, Nasuada so rarely spoke about herself, let alone her childhood, to another person that this tidbit is one that she knew had only shared with Murtagh.

Murtagh thought for a moment. 

“His name was Taganna. You used to run away from your nurse so that he could show you his wares. He sold knives and daggers in the market streets of Aberon.”

At this, Nasuada lowered her knife. “There’s only one thing left to be done then.” 

Murtagh raised his eyebrows inquisitively. “And what’s that?” he asked.

“Touch my mind. That is the only way I can be sure once and for all that you are Murtagh and not some clever trick.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, his tone uncertain. “If I were to be an enemy spellcaster, it would be almost nothing to force myself within your consciousness.”

“Aye, I know it. But before that happens, I will stab myself and Elva can bypass any magic you have placed around these rooms and alert my guards. They won’t defeat you, maybe Elva might, but at least the people would know that there is danger in their midst. If you are truly Murtagh then I most likely need not fear you and if you aren’t or mean me ill, then I’m already dead.”

Murtagh shook his head in wonderment. “You are as tenacious and iron-willed as I remember you to be,” he said and he couldn’t help as a slight grin of amusement touched his face. 

Nasuada extended her neck and looked at him square in the eye. Her expression serious, she said, “Do as you will,” echoing the first moment she gave him her full trust. Seeming to remember the significance of her reply as well, a bright spark illuminated Murtagh’s gaze before he half closed them. Then, Nasuada recited a scrap of verse as a tendril of thought brushed against the solid walls of her mind but did not probe further. As his mind reached out to hers, Nasuada knew without any further doubt it was Murtagh. And yet, gone was the cold black heart of anger that defined his being so prominently when she last touched his mind. Instead, she perceived a fervid red glow over gold-dusted plains, the expanse extending to the farthest reaches of his mind. In it too, she saw with a shock that he still cared for her, his feelings tangled in crimson spirals of confusion and guilt. After a few seconds, Murtagh drew away. When her mind was once again her own, Nasuada opened her eyes and looked up to see Murtagh’s soft gray gaze, his face inches from hers.

“So it is you,” she murmured. Murtagh nodded. For a moment, neither them moved. Nasuada found that she was following the curve of his lips and remembering the heat of them, how they felt on hers the day he left. Almost involuntarily, she felt her head tip back as if to receive his kiss and (was it just her imagination?) Murtagh leaned forward slightly. 

However in the next moment Nasuada recovered, drawing  in a sharp breath and breaking their eye contact. She turned towards her inner chambers to hide the blush that had risen in her cheeks. 

“How inconsiderate of me!” she said, clearing her throat. “You must be exhausted. Would you like anything to eat or drink?” Nasuada thought she saw a slight look of disappointment cross Murtagh’s face, but that could just as easily have been the shadows flickering in the candlelight. He shook his head. His voice was soft when he replied. 

“You are very kind, Nasuada. It has been a hard journey and Thorn took nearly no rest. Our sense of urgency was great. He needs to hunt and then sleep.” He paused. “Also, I believe it is best that our arrival remain hidden for now, until we figure out what our next move is.”

Nasuada understood. “There are accommodations for both of you on the east wing of the castle. I will make sure you have everything you need. It is relatively empty and kept ready should Eragon or Arya choose to visit, though I have no idea if Eragon will return—” Murtagh interrupted her.

“Arya?”

“Ah yes, the green egg hatched for her, not long after you…left.”

“And Eragon is gone? Where?”

“He left Alagaesia a year or so after the Galbatorix’s defeat, to raise the dragons and the next line of Riders.”

Nasuada heard a surprised huff from Thorn, spewing out a small flame that nearly lit her curtains on fire. Murtagh too, considered the information with surprise. He met her gaze. 

“It seems that we have much to catch up on,” Murtagh said simply. 

A deep, musical voice brushed against hers. Familiar with the touch of a dragon’s mind, Nasuada knew it was Thorn and allowed him to communicate with her.

We are glad you are well, Lady Nightstalker. She smiled at the name.

It has long since anyone has called me such, O dragon, she said projecting her thoughts. I am pleased to be reminded of my past self by one as fearsome as you. May you hunt and rest well tonight. 

Thorn rumbled, his approval evident. At this, Murtagh bowed to her with a slight incline of his head and mounted Thorn. Looking down from the saddle, Murtagh raised his hand “We will see you soon.”

“Is that a promise?” asked Nasuada, with a note of jest in her voice.

Though he smiled slightly, Murtagh’s expression was as intense as it was inscrutable. He locked eyes with her for that brief moment. 

“Yes, it is,” he answered, and before Nasuada could reply they flew into the night sky, Thorn’s wings pushing against the air with the force of a thunderclap.

[doasyouwill-blog]

He Came Back to Her in the Dark: An Inheritance Cycle Story (Murtagh x Nasuada)

A/N: Greetings Inheritance Cycle fandom! I have been holding onto this fanfiction for years because I had no idea there was still a place for us Inheritance fans, but here you all are! I ship Murtagh x Nasuada like my body needs oxygen. Here is my take on the aftermath of the four books. The questions I wanted to explore are: How have Nasuada and Murtagh have grown after their respective choices (Nasuada to become High Queen, Murtagh to leave for the north)? Can they have a love story after everything that has happened? Is Galbatorix really gone? Can Alagaesia survive after his reign of terror? ...And more! I hope to release it installments of two chapters per post. If you can, please let me know what you think!

This fic is rated T for some thematic elements. Enjoy and thank you! :)

Chapter 1: Farewell

Five years ago

“You don’t have to go,” she said quietly. The roar of the war’s aftermath faded to a blur as he turned to face her.

“You know I must,” he answered. He avoided her intent gaze, but his jaw was set with determination.

“Look at me,” she said. His gray eyes locked onto hers. Surprising him, Nasuada touched his cheek with gentle fingers. “Murtagh, son of Morzan, must you always wander alone?” At this, he grinned dolefully, “My lady, I am bound to Thorn, I will never be alone again, until death takes one of us. But for the absence of you, it seems that my wyrd is to be torn in two until we meet again.”

Still holding his gaze, Nasuada smiled sadly in return. For a few moments, he said nothing, content to place his hand upon hers. But then the moment, as all moments must, ended with a sigh as he continued.

“Nasuada, do you love the Varden?” he asked. “To my last breath.” “Then we can never be.” “There is always a way.” “Maybe, but even so I can’t stay here. We both know I can’t. I know also, that you will always do the right thing for the good of many.” “Perhaps in this, I could be wrong,” she offered, but he shook his head. “Nasuada, you don’t mean that.” With this he dropped his hand and turned away.

He continued. “I have killed too many in Galbatorix’s name. You know this. I never imagined…there was never any hope…” with this his voice hitched and Nasuada saw that the tears in his eyes mirrored her own, “…that I, we could ever be free of him and that is thanks to you. But Alagaesia needs you. Just as it needs Thorn and me to disappear.”

She knew. Of course, she knew. Still, Nasuada shook her head, loath to confront the truth of his words. She looked out onto the ruins of Uru’baen: men, dwarves, Urgals and elves bloodied and beaten.

Still gazing at the devastation before her, she asked, “What if it is I that needs you?” Nasuada looked back at him. Murtagh’s eyes never left her.

Throwing reservation to the wind, she went on. “I never stopped believing you were good. I never forgot about you.” Despite herself, Nasuada smiled painfully, as if amazed at her foolishness. “I often thought about what I would do if I somehow had a chance to kill you if it meant hurting Galbatorix and saving the Eragon or the Varden. I told myself I would never hesitate. And yet…I could not forget you. When it was you who ripped me from my tent and took me to Galbatorix himself and pressed hot irons to my skin? Did I not hate you then?”

At her words, Murtagh looked down, his eyes drawn taut at the corners, but still she carried on.

“Is it not madness that I do not hate you? Yet it’s not for these things that I do. It’s that you are determined now after all this to deal me the worst blow of all. Am I not clear? Let me tell you then. I love you, Murtagh.”

At this, a bright spark illuminated his countenance, only to be replaced with a passionate disbelief. He shook his head fiercely, looking at the shattered remains of Uru’baen.

“Nasuada, you don’t know what you’re saying. Look around you!” he gestured to the bleak destruction around them. “You’ve survived a horrible ordeal, one that, unquestionably, I had a hand in. You deserve someone whole, someone good…” but she cut him off by placing both hands on his face.

“Believe it,” she said fiercely. “I do not care that you are Morzan’s son, a son of the Forsworn. I do not care about the foul deeds you have done because of your oaths of fealty. I prayed that there was good in you and now you have had a part in saving us from Galbatorix’s tyranny. He made you hurt me and under threat of death or worse, you were kind to me. Your oaths of fealty were broken, your true name was changed and because of that the evil king held sway over you no more. That is enough for me. Why then must you go?”

She searched his face for answer. For a moment, he looked at her, his visage unreadable.

Then he responded, his voice rough and fervent with emotion, “Because Nasuada, daughter of Ajihad, leader of the Varden, I love you, as I have from the moment I saw you through the bars of my prison in Farthen Dur. Even then I admired you for your unshakable integrity, your loyalty, your selflessness. Undeserving wretch that I was, I was relieved to no longer be in your sight. I thought I could forget you too. Once I became a Dragon Rider, I didn’t think of much else. I cared only for me and what was mine. But being bonded with Thorn reminded me, inexplicably, of you. When I convinced Galbatorix to spare you, I was thinking only of myself. But when he forced me to torture you and you looked at me, at me,” He looked at her now with wondering incredulity, “with pity, with sympathy…something changed within me. Now that I understand the value of sacrifice, of selflessness, the kind which I admire so much in you, how then could I stay here and threaten that which you hold most dear?”

Murtagh took both her hands in his own. Nasuada fought for control over her emotions, gritting her teeth against the tears that threatened to stream down her face as she beheld his pleading look. “You would give your life for Alagaesia. To court you openly and for you to accept would be disastrous for Alagaesia and everything you have hoped to achieve.” His eyes filled with pain as held his gaze level with hers so she could not avoid the truth of his words, saying “Galbatorix broke me, Nasuada. I was corrupted by him and by my own folly. I cannot stay here, the stain I have left on Alagaesia and the stain on my conscience is too great. I love you, and because of that, I must leave.” Unable to stand one more moment, Murtagh pressed his lips to both her hands and turned away striding towards Thorn.

Tears falling freely from her eyes now, Nasuada cried out, “Wait!” Murtagh turned back and began to speak, “Nasuada, don’t…” but walking towards him, she threw her arms around his neck and silenced his protestations with a kiss.

He seemed conflicted at first, hesitant even, and then disregarding whatever internal battle that raged within him, gave in, letting Nasuada feel the true scope of his desire for her undercut with intense sorrow. She sensed Thorn’s wing enveloping them, shielding them partially from view. Murtagh pressed his lips to hers desperately, with a roughness that awoke in her an ardent yearning that neither of them were prepared for. Gently, he eased her mouth open with his tongue, deepening the kiss, one hand pressing her body closer to him and the other gripping the back of her neck to hold her face to his.  This was not either of their first kisses, but Nasuada knew she’d never forget it for as long as she lived.

And then suddenly, too suddenly, the kiss ended, his anguished eyes meeting hers briefly before he, in one fluid motion, pressed his lips to her forehead and turned away to mount Thorn. With that, Nasuada watched him, her lips swollen and her heart breaking, become a red dot in the distance, left standing alone in the devastation in the wake of his leave-taking.

Chapter 2: He is Never Coming Back

Present day – Five years after the Fall of Galbatorix

Nasuada stood before a magnificently carved mahogany desk overrun with sheets and tablets littered with figures, the gold crown upon her head glinting from the orange glow of the fireplace. Her proud face, beautiful as it was serious, considered the mound before her. She picked up a single piece of parchment filled with cramped writing from amongst the load, and the further she read, the further a slight frown pulled at the corners of her full lips. The young queen, having finished with the missive, sat in her high-backed chair with a sigh, the tips of her long fingers held to her pursed, plum-colored mouth. The flames danced upon her angled cheek bones, her face unlined save for the slight crease between arched brows as the queen contemplated what she had just read.

The letter was from King Orik, leader of the dwarves, and it contained troubling news. The most recent in a series of unsettling events, a massive cave in had claimed the lives of hundreds of knurla, an entire village lost to the ravages of the mountains. Ulmar, Orik’s newly appointed ambassador, had shared only a few days prior that Tronjheim had seen a drastic spike in violent crimes amongst its citizens, forcing Orik to enact a curfew and bolster the peacekeeping forces. The mood in Tronjheim had grown so desperate that many dwarves called vehemently for Orik to abdicate his kingship, declaring that his rule was cursed.

Seemingly unrelated, but to Nasuada no less unsettling, scrying had become an unreliable mode of communication in the past few months, as an unseen force was somehow disrupting nearly every attempt to communicate through magical means. When Nasuada consulted with the Du Vrangr Grata her magicians maintained that the disruptions could only be attributed to powerful feats of magic. No spellcasters, whether dwarf or human, could account for the arcane distortions. Whether the magician or magicians intended to interrupt scrying between humans and dwarves or the interruptions were indirect results of magical displacement remained to be seen. Though neither situation boded well for Alagaesia, the interruptions themselves did not worry Nasuada as much as the idea that there were several factors magical in origin that no one seemed to have any idea about. She suspected that the interruptions and the rising rate of crime in the dwarf kingdom were related, but she could not imagine how. The implications were staggering, to say the least.

Nasuada dipped her quill into ink and began to write detailed notes on a separate sheet of parchment. The fire grew low in the grate and the castle had long gone silent with sleep before she stopped writing. She attached her notes to the letter from Orik and compared them to data she had collected from Ulmar. She then gathered all the loose leaflets pertaining to the subject and filed them in a leather booklet, securing the pages with a piece of twine.

Though Nasuada acknowledged that no more work could be done tonight and that it was probably best that she get to sleep, the queen found that she was restless. She sat at her desk until the fire had died, curls of smoke rising to the high ceilings of her study. Nasuada grew irritated at a persistent tapping sound until realized with start that it was her own fingernail rapping on the wood. She laughed at herself. The glorious life of the High Queen, Nasuada mused.

She searched within her consciousness for the source of her discontentment. Nasuada knew that to be the Empire’s sovereign ruler after Galbatorix’s fall would be no easy task. It was, however, a task that she believed she was born and bred for. Nasuada refused to entertain the possibility that she could ever shirk responsibility when it called her. Her father, Gokukura bless his spirit, had long taught her the guiding principles of fairness and steely determination. Her mother, the Golden Fields preserve her, instilled in Nasuada an unwavering belief in the inherent strength rooted in moral courage and to feel a unique sense of compassion for all life, whatever form it may reside in.

Unbidden a quiet voice from the deep recesses of her mind asked, But what of love and a future of my own? Normally, she tried not to follow that line of thought since it inevitably led her to remembering her time in Galbatorix’s chambers, but tonight her brooding prevailed. She recalled her despair at finding herself in chains and believing for certain that she failed in her duty as a daughter in allowing her father’s line to cease from existence. Nasuada had sworn to her ancestors that if she somehow survived imprisonment at the hand of Galbatorix and was given a second chance at life, she would not forget her familial obligations. And yet five years have passed since the evil king’s defeat and the prospect of a husband and children was no more a reality as it had been during her whispered oaths in the Hall of the Soothsayer.

Was it because she wished to remain the unchallenged ruler? No, she reasoned. As Nasuada was advised by the elves and the Eldunari, she had passed a law following the elvish tradition that the Empire’s ruling body would not be determined by marriage, but rather left up to the counsel of all rulers in Alagaesia and high ranking citizens of the human empire in order to avoid conflict between and within the kingdoms. So if she married, it would be her and not her husband that would retain sovereignty over the human realm and to her that the oaths of fealty from Surda and Teirm would honor.

So what was she waiting for? Unbidden, the memory of a gray gaze flashed before her eyes and for a moment a sense of vulnerability overcame her.

Barzul, she cursed. Nasuada got up from her seat, the wood scraping against the marble floor. Suddenly craving the outside air, she walked to her inner chambers and pushed aside the white curtains that led to her balcony. Iliria’s nightscape appeared before her like a great glittering behemoth, but she was blind to it.

She would not think of him. She dare not. How could she, High Queen of the Free People of Alagaesia, still care for one whom her subjects by and large long regarded as a traitor? It had been five years since anyone in the kingdom had laid eyes on him and still the names of Murtagh and Thorn were uttered like a curse. It was impossible for her to still care for him. Even though she had given her account on how she escaped slavery to Galbatorix and Murtagh’s role in his defeat, the people’s memories were long, and little could they forget the terror Murtagh and Thorn reigned on them as a servant of the Empire.

Nasuada had pledged to serve the greater good above all else, and this…this would be one of many sacrifices that she would gladly give to this cause. The steady progress Alagaesia made in the few years succeeding Galbatorix’s reign gave her hope and already Nasuada could see that the age of darkness was slowly being washed away. Even so, harmony after warfare on such a massive scale was delicate at best, and Nasuada knew that her place was critical in ushering in a new era beyond the ancient king’s tyranny.  

Besides, Nasuada reminded herself with a note of bitterness, he is never coming back.

With that last thought punctuating her being, she withdrew from the night air, blew out the candles illuminating the room and retreated into her inner chambers to sleep.

------------

He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, then put his arm around her shoulders and drew her close. She resisted for a moment, then relaxed into his embrace and laid her head on his chest as she continued to cry, her quiet sobs echoing in the bare stone room.

Some minutes later, she felt him move beneath her as he said, “I’ll find a way to free you, I swear. It’s too late for Thorn and me. But not for you. As long as you don’t pledge fealty to Galbatorix, there’s still a chance I can spirit you out of Uru’baen.”

She looked up at him and decided he meant what he said. “How?” she whispered.

“I haven’t the slightest idea,” he admitted with a roguish smile. “But I will. Whatever it takes. You have to promise me, though, that you won’t give up—not until I’ve tried. Agreed?”

“My lady, are you well?” inquired a voice, interrupting her reverie.

Nasuada blinked forcefully, distracted by the vitality of the memory.

“Yes, Jormunder, thank you. Merely a speck of dust irritating my eye. How silly that so small thing could trouble a person!” she replied quickly. Jormunder, after protecting and serving her for years, and her father years before that, remained unconvinced. However, he chose to let her be for the moment. Casting her one more concerned glance, Jormunder took his leave. Elva however, as soon as he was gone, spoke in her unsettling voice. “He’s safe you know. Far away, and lonely. But safe.” Nasuada despised the fact that the girl could sense her pain, know exactly what it was about, and even worse have the words to ease her suffering. Before Elva, she oftentimes felt stripped bare, examined and found wanting. Sensing her mortified fury, Elva laughed derisively. “Don’t worry, Nasuada, your secret is safe with me. Also, it helps that I was there when Murtagh gave us any hope of defeating Galbatorix. I well know that he is not such a traitor as the people believe. Or is he?”

Nasuada’s dislike of the girl grew. “That’s enough Elva.” “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

Nasuada went throughout the day with her characteristic efficiency, whether it was advising boundary disputes, overseeing the distribution of additional spellcasters as needed to outer cities or meeting with the leader of a contingent of Urgals that wished to pass through Ilirea to the coast beyond.

Before she knew it, night had fallen again and Nasuada found herself staring into the darkness outside her window. Farica helped her out of her outer dress and Nasuada donned a slightly sheer, deep crimson robe marked with translucent black and gold flowers over her ivory night shift, securing it to her body by tying it at the waist. Farica then pulled Nasuada’s long black hair into braid, wrapping it several times around her head.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Nasuada?” inquired Farica. “No, thank you, Farica,” Nasuada said, at which the handmaiden gave her a light pat on the shoulder and bid her good night.

Nasuada walked with bare feet to her study, facing first the enormous map of Alagaesia that occupied nearly the entire east wall. She examined it with the tips of her fingers pressed together until the candlestick burned very low and the stars had unsheathed themselves fully in the night sky. Replacing the candle, Nasuada turned back to the mound of documents awaiting her review with a sigh. She had taken out a quill to sign one when a rumble caused her hand to slip, marring the paper with splattered ink. When a second rumble occurred, Nasuada immediately spun towards her open balcony, unsheathing her jeweled dagger and holding it aloft. Breathing deeply, she approached the outside, the night air caressing her bare ankles and sending shivers up her spine. She looked around for the trample of her Nighthawks, but the hall outside her chamber was still. She cursed. Gathering her courage, Nasuada proceeded over the dais and prepared to stab whatever stood before her, but stopped in shock as an enormous winged creature loomed over her.

“Nasuada,” said a man’s voice to her right and she whirled, ready to attack. The man remained swathed in darkness. “Show yourself!” she demanded and then gasped as he stepped into the glow of the lamplight.

It was Murtagh.

[woahtheinheritancecycle]

The IC characters as cliche movie lines.

Murtagh: Is that all you got?!

Eragon: I’m just getting started!

Arya: No. I’m not going. *goes anyway*

Galbatorix: You’ll never get away with this!

Nasuada: Watch me.

Roran: It’s just a scratch. *collapses*

Angela: You say that like it’s a bad thing…

[doasyouwill-blog]

[definitelynotanember]

“When you teach them-teach them not to fear. Fear is good in small amounts, but when it is a constant, pounding companion, it cuts away at who you are and makes it hard to do what you know is right.”

Murtagh, Inheritance

[doasyouwill-blog]

[doasyouwill-blog]

The Inheritance cycle characters as memes

Murtagh: I came out to have a good time and I'm honestly feeling so attacked right now

Roran: He protecc but he also attacc (but most importantly he kill the Ra'zacc?)

Nasuada: Me: I promise I won't get all political - [3 drinks later]

Elva: Kids, could you lighten up a little?

Oromis: WHY WEREN'T YOU AT ELF PRACTICE?

Eragon: I won't hesitate bitch

Arya: Me, an intellectual

[bringbackthefireflies]

Rise Dragon Riders

I need to know that the Inheritance Cycle fandom is not dead yet. Please reblog so I can know that there are still people out there who remember and cherish these books. I CANNOT BE THE ONLY ONE LEFT

[doasyouwill-blog]

We are still here!!!!