Dark Legacies Part IV: A Dangerous Dance (x Reader)
Pairing: eventual Murtagh x Fem!Rider!Reader Summary: Your lessons with Murtagh and Thorn begin - although concentrating is more difficult than you anticipated. Warnings: canon typical violence, dueling, sparring. A/N: thank you to @0blkm for the sword name suggestion and @writinginatree for the Selena teaching Murtagh to love storms suggestion!
This is a series of one shots and drabbles that all take place in the same universe, about six years after the events of Inheritance. They'll be listed in chronological order in my Dark Legacies masterlist. There is a timekeeping system at the top of each fic/page break with "Ground Zero/Year 0" being the year of Gormlaith's birth, again about six years after the events of Inheritance, and going up from there.
PSA: Gormlaith is an Irish name (meaning “illustrious princess”) pronounced GORM-lah.
Comments, reblogs, and kudos are greatly appreciated. Enjoy!
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Year 1
Gormlaith roared half-heartedly beneath you as she crested the mountain just enough to see Thorn and Murtagh sitting near the edge. Normally, the flat shelf high in the clouds was where you met Eragon and Saphira for your daily one-on-one lessons, but he’d decided to delegate three days a week to his brother instead.
Murtagh sat within Thorn’s curled up torso. He stood and took a few steps closer to the edge just as his dragon lifted his head to trill back. Your heart skipped a beat as you drew closer and could make out his features more clearly.
Gormlaith landed in a whoosh of wind and ground-shaking impact that made Murtagh stumble slightly. Thorn growled out a chuckle behind him and you didn’t doubt he was teasing his Rider.
“Sorry,” you said as you pulled the saddle’s lever and undid the buckles around your legs and waist. “She’s a bit, uh…” you gently patted her shoulder, unsure what word to use.
Magnificent? Gormlaith suggested. Incredible? Awe-inspiring?
“Colossal?” Murtagh suggested.
Eh, I’ll take it.
You laughed. “Might be a bit of an understatement.” Your dragon lowered her belly to the ground, sliding out a leg so you could climb down onto her knee, then hop to the ground. You made your way over to your teacher for the day, sliding your hands in your pockets and playing with your coin. “So…was there something you wanted to start with?”
The breeze blew Murtagh’s dark hair in front of his eyes as he glanced down at his shoes. You felt your stomach somersault and chewed on your lip to avoid making an embarrassingly starstruck expression. Gormlaith’s amusement rang through your link as she walked towards Thorn and you shot her a quick glare.
“I’ve never taught anyone before,” he continued. “I’m sure I have just as much to learn from you, to be honest. But I was thinking we could start with some sparring? You held your own well against the masked men, but given your situation, I think it would be crucial to have a backup form of defense that isn’t just magic. So, I’d like to see where you’re at.”
You nodded, swinging your scabbard’s strap over your head before drawing the black blade. “Sounds good.” You took two long knives that were also strapped to your outer thighs and laid them on the ground next to the abandoned sheath.
Murtagh returned to Thorn’s side and drew Zar’roc from its sheath, running his hand over the blade and murmuring a few words in the Ancient Language. “Has anyone taught you this spell yet? It’s to dull the edges so swords are safe to spar with.”
You shook your head. “Eragon and I focused mainly on the elves’ teachings and less on combat. All other sparring I’ve done is with sticks or wooden swords.”
Murtagh nodded towards your blade. “Gëuloth du knífr—it means ‘dull the knife.’”
You repeated the phrase to make sure your pronunciation was right and when he nodded, let your hand hover over your own sword, saying the words once more. You bounced it roughly against your palm and when no harm came to you, slashed it against your skin. When no visible cut formed, you let the sword fall to your side and rolled out your shoulders and cracked your neck.
Murtagh swung his arms in front of himself to similarly loosen up. “What’s your blade’s name, by the way?”
“Blakkröt.”
He nodded approvingly, glancing at the dragons where they conversed several yards away. “Black Dread.”
You smiled. Somehow dread and misery felt like a fitting combination. Sometimes, you felt unsure about the name choice, but it had felt right in the moment and now you were stuck with it.
“Most students don’t get their Riders’ blades until they’re only a year away from graduating. Has Eragon decided you’ll get to graduate next year already?”
“No,” you continued to stretch, “but with everything going on with the masked men—and especially with the last incident with Edgar—he decided it would be a good idea for me to have it.”
Murtagh frowned. “Edgar? I thought the last time you had dealings with Edgar was back when the two of you were in the sparring arena several months ago?”
You shook your head. “He was in the Egg Delegation that left me just a week ago.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Eragon assigned the two of you to a delegation together?”
You grimaced. “I think he was hoping it would help end whatever vendetta he has against me, but, um…clearly it didn’t, so…” You shrugged. “He and Gydrim have been suspended from classes for long enough that it will set back their graduation from what I hear. I think Eragon’s got him on snaglí cleaning field duty or something equally unpleasant.”
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “All right, then.”
I wonder if I’m going to be a topic of conversation between him and Eragon later, you thought.
Thorn has made it sound as if he’s interceded on your behalf many times now, Gormlaith replied. The two of them apparently led the efforts to find us during those first six months frequently and were disappointed they couldn’t be here for our arrival.
You tried not to let your elation show as Murtagh took a fighting stance.
“Ready?”
You steeled yourself. “Ready.”
He eyed you up and down when you didn’t immediately strike, then moved quickly to swipe at your leg. You moved to block him but before he could hit your shin, the red sword shot up toward your arm at the last second. You quickly ducked underneath his high swing, bringing Blakkröt around to tap the back of his calf. You missed, however, as he quickly stepped out of the way and your blade embedded in the dirt.
You took a few steps back as he began to circle you, his storm-grey eyes focused like a hawk on its prey. You resisted the urge to shudder and couldn’t help thinking of other reasons he might be looking at you like that. He was dressed in a thin, black linen shirt with a v neckline that showed off the top of his muscular chest, his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His large hands gripped Zar’roc’s pommel and thick veins ran up his forearms. His dark hair was in slight disarray from the fight and you swallowed hard as your heart thumped harder—and not from the physical exertion.
You nearly missed it when he lunged at you again, just stepping out of the way as Zar’roc’s tip grazed your shirt. Concentrate. You managed to bring your own sword up towards the back of his neck before he’d finished moving out of the way, but he whipped his sword behind him to stop you just inches away from his skin. You wrapped the front of your boot around his leg, pulling and sending him tumbling to the ground with an oof!
You scampered back as he regained his feet, worrying for a moment you’d gone too far. But he merely smirked as he regained his breath and turned to look at you. “Oh, you fight dirty.”
You chuckled nervously. “Sorry.”
“No, it’s a good thing if you’re against an enemy—be as resourceful as you can, always.”
“Gormlaith’s always said you only need a few good openings.”
“And she’s right.” He swung at you again and this time, you fell flat on your back trying to avoid the blow. “But don’t leave yourself open either.”
You rolled out of the way just as Zar’roc came whizzing towards your throat, scrambling back up just in time to block another blow.
The two of you continued in this fashion for a long while, both of you either blocking or evading blows at the last minute. You were quite evenly matched and as the session went on, you could tell Murtagh was putting more and more of his strength into it. You matched his energy, wondering if he’d started out easy on you on purpose. It was difficult for you to gain any ground with him. Although you parried most of his blows and threw him off balance several times, he was just as skilled as you and it seemed neither of you could get through the other’s defenses. The sparring session began to feel like a dangerous dance on the cliff face as your dragons watched nearby. There were several times you and Murtagh were practically nose to nose, his breath ragged, hair in his eyes, and his face a mixture of resolve and awe before you were exchanging blows again. The red and black blades crashing against each other reminded you of fire and smoke—two elements that rarely existed without the presence of the other, not unlike misery and dread.
Just as you were beginning to wear out, one of Murtagh’s blows swung too far sideways, leaving his chest wide open. You lunged and slammed your body into his, climbing on top of him and aiming the tip of your sword against his chest. Before the blade could make contact with his shirt, he grabbed your waist and flipped you over, using Zar’roc’s hilt to knock Blakkröt out of your hand and held the red blade just above your throat.
You panted and openly stared as he caught his own breath above you.
He huffed out what could’ve been construed as a light laugh, his lips quirking up at the corners. Not quite a smile, but close. “Very well done.” You could feel the adrenaline coming off him in waves and his eyes sparkled from the thrill of the fight. He let Zar’roc fall to the side, but continued to stare for a moment, sweat beading his brow as he caught his own breath. His zest faded to be replaced by something much more concerned and attentive. As he climbed off you, you thought you caught a slight pink tint to his cheeks.
You sat up, glancing at him where he sat a few feet away, propping his arm up on his knee as he pulled his shirt sleeve down to wipe his forehead. “Well done? I lost.”
He ran a hand through his hair to push it up and out of his face and you did your best not to audibly gulp.
Try not to combust, Gormlaith teased.
I’m not combusting. You took a deep breath as he pulled his shirt sleeve up this elbow to reveal the veins again.
Oh-ho-ho, someone has it bad.
Do shut up.
Gormlaith growled out a laugh from her spot in the audience, causing Murtagh to glance back at her.
Thorn better not be picking any of this up to relay to Murtagh, you warned.
My lips are sealed—aren’t they, Thorn?
WHAT—
I joke, I joke.
“You really did do well, despite losing. It took me a while to gain the upper hand, and even then, it was more a matter of luck in the end. I could only flip you over because I outsize you.” He stood, holding out a hand to help you up.
You let him pull you to your feet, regretting the loss of contact as you pulled away. “I suppose I am used to fighting people that aren’t any bigger than me. I didn’t think about the logistics of that move on someone bigger.”
He nodded. “A good thing to keep in mind for the future.” He gently brushed some stray grass off the upper arms of your tunic, immediately pulling back once he realized what he was doing.
You both smiled awkwardly before looking elsewhere. You could sense that if she could, Gormlaith would’ve been face-palming hard.
“So,” Murtagh cleared his throat and regained his composure, “I think a good thing to focus on would be learning how to fight enemies larger than you. That’s something that will come in handy no matter your situation, especially after you graduate and go out around Alagaësia more.” He brought Zar’roc up over his head as if to rain a blow down on you from above. “I noticed in your sparring session with Edgar that you started with your sword up like this and let gravity do the rest of the work. I think that’s a good strategy you should employ more often—especially if you ever need to fight an Urgal or Kull.” He brought his sword back down to his side. “Was there anywhere specific you learned that?”
“My stepbrother taught me how to swordfight for a while before he was carted off to join Galbatorix’s army when I was young. He said it was called the ‘Guard of the Hawk.’”
He nodded. “My mentor, Tornac, taught that to me as well. I think that move will be very helpful to you.” He paused and stared at you quizzically, but said nothing more.
Sensing what he wanted to ask, you replied, “No…he did not survive.”
Murtagh’s grip on his sword tightened. “I’m sorry.”
You nodded, picking up Blakkröt’s scabbard and sheathing the sword. Your oldest stepbrother hadn’t been around much, but when he was, he did at least try to shield you from your stepmother’s cruelty. Not that your biological mother had been much better, from what you could remember. Your mother’s lover had been completely complacent and turned the other cheek to everything.
Murtagh sheathed Zar’roc, patting Thorn before turning back to you. “Thorn would like to take Gormlaith a ways out and maybe discuss some combat maneuvers, if that’s all right.”
“Of course, as long as she agrees.”
Oh, I do, she said to you privately.
Who has it bad now?
I, at least, know enough to keep from swooning.
Oh, whatever. Just get out of here.
She snorted in amusement before walking over and gently bumping the tip of her nose against your shoulder. You rubbed her jaw and she hummed in content before preparing herself to take flight. You took several steps back and watched her powerful shoulders roll (a habit she picked up from you, no doubt; you still remembered the first time she watched you do that as a hatchling and immediately started copying you) before her wings extended into the sky like black storm clouds. She beat them towards the ground and soared into the air, her and Thorn’s combined wing strokes flattening the grass and cooling the sweat from your skin.
“Since we have a few hours left,” Murtagh began, “we could either work on some of the elves’ exercises—”
You let your head fall back and groaned, thinking back to your last lesson with Eragon where you’d failed miserably at many of those.
“—or work on some magic.”
“That one. Please, that one.”
Murtagh gave you a small smile and the sight of it went straight into your abdomen. “You can’t avoid the elves’ poses and exercises forever, you know.”
“I can try.”
“Well, you’re still with Eragon two days of the week, so I doubt it.”
“Ugh.”
“Oh, come now, it can’t be that bad.”
You glanced up as thunder boomed in the distance. You hadn’t even realized how grey the sky had become. “Has he ever made you do the Rimgar?”
“Well, no.”
“It’s torture.”
He huffed an almost-laugh. “I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it.”
You shook your head. “I’m going to make you do it with me next session so you can feel my pain.”
You felt a small drop land on your forehead as Murtagh said, “I’ll look forward to it then. Looks like some rain is starting.”
“There’s a cave just behind you that’s large enough for both our dragons and us. Eragon and I usually take shelter there during bad weather.”
You met Murtagh’s eyes to find him already staring at you. He looked away quickly, cleared his throat, and nodded. “Let’s go.”
You frowned, but before you could think on his gaze more, he turned and quickly headed towards the cave. He grabbed Zar’roc and his pack and walked quickly toward the cave.
Are you two coming back soon? you asked your dragon. It’s starting to rain.
We’re on our way, she replied.
As you re-strapped your long knives and Blakkröt to you, the sprinkles suddenly picked up to become a deluge. Murtagh was at your side in an instant, holding his cloak over both of you like an umbrella as the pair of you ran into the shelter of the cave.
“What is it with us and getting caught in floodgates?” you teased.
He neatly folded his cloak and set it on the ground, sitting down a few inches next to it. “Just our luck, I guess.” He patted it and looked at you expectantly.
“Don’t you want to sit on it? It’s your cloak.”
He shook his head. “No, that’s for you.”
“Oh, um, thank you.” You avoided his eyes as you settled on the garment. When you glanced back up, you found him contentedly watching the thunderstorm outside. You let your own gaze linger on the falling sheets for a moment, enjoying the sound as it pattered against the ground and cave opening, thunder occasionally echoing in the distance. “This may sound odd, but…this is actually one of my favorite types of weather.”
Murtagh looked at you in pleased surprise. “Mine too, actually.” He paused, looking at the falling sheets of rain again. “I used to be terrified of storms as a child, but then…someone taught me not to fear them. That person loved them, too, and then I grew to love them as well.”
You shifted, playing with your fingers. “If you don’t mind me asking…was it your mentor you mentioned earlier, Tornac?”
He paused, meeting your eyes and seeming to weigh his options. “No, although Tornac had a fondness for them as well. But it was actually my mother. I didn’t get to know her very long before she passed.” He looked back out the cave mouth, his gaze much more somber than before. You couldn’t help but notice how the shade of his eyes perfectly matched the sky and found the color oddly comforting.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right,” he said quietly. After a pause, he continued, “I feel as if all of my favorite people actually loved storms now that I think about it.”
“They’re underrated.”
“They are.” He turned to you with something softer in his expression. “So…” He sat up straighter and squared his shoulders. “Eragon tells me you’re quite advanced in magic, particularly wordless magic. I’m sure he’s already lectured you about how dangerous it can be.”
You nodded. “I know. It was how I learned, so it’s still a bit of a habit, but I am trying to get better about the Ancient Language.”
“Eragon tells me you aren’t quite fluent, but can hold complicated conversations with the elves?”
“Yes. Eragon and I left off actually talking about converting some of the spells I frequently use from wordless to using words in the Ancient Language.”
“What sort of spells?”
“There were a few that Gormlaith and I sort of improvised together during our first six months.”
“Well, I’m not as fluent as Eragon,” he reached into his pack and pulled out a small book, “but in my travels, I did happen upon this Ancient Language dictionary. We could try to find the words together, if you’d like?”
You nodded just as both dragons returned to the ledge. They quickly trotted into the cave mouth and just as they began to move to shake the water off, Murtagh held his hand out in front of you. “Skölir nosu fra adurna.”
As both beasts shook themselves out, the large water droplets flew and stopped mere inches from you before sliding down to the floor. As Murtagh lowered his hand, you grumbled, “I’ll have to remember that one—because someone loves to give me a second bath every time it rains.”
Shall I stay soaked? Gormlaith asked so that everyone could hear. As Leonil says, I may get the puh-nuh-monia.
You gave Murtagh an annoyed look. “Yes, because it’s so much better if I get the puh-nuh-monia.”
Murtagh’s lips twitched and he huffed a small laugh through his nose before opening his dictionary. “So, tell me about these spells of yours.”
“The one Eragon and I last left off on we nicknamed ‘shadowstep.’ It involves making a portal within a shadow that leads to another shadow in the room. I’ll show you.”
You stood and made your way deeper into the cave, finding a shadowy corner. A small, equally dark alcove lay in the wall behind Murtagh. You had come up with the idea for the spell before Gormlaith hatched, but had never tested it until she came along. You’d gotten quite fast at executing it, so it only took you mere moments to do now. You looked at the shadow in front of you and, in your mind’s eye, pictured a door opening and leading to the alcove. You waved your hand, shadows wrapping and dancing around your fingers like smoke before evaporating into the air, and stepped into the shadow and through. In the blink of an eye, you were in the alcove behind Murtagh’s back.
He continued to sit with his back to you, leaning forward to get a better look at the corner you disappeared to.
“Hi,” you said from behind him.
He flinched, turning around to stare at you with wide eyes. He looked back at the original corner, then at you again. “Impressive. How did you do it?”
You explained your process and after, he came join you in the alcove. “Are you sure you wouldn’t want to try it on your own or with someone you’re closer with first? Eragon knows how to do this as well.”
He frowned. “Why would I need to try it on my own?”
“Well, um…the results can be a bit embarrassing the first few tries.” You glanced at Gormlaith. “The first time Eragon tried it, he came through the second shadow without his eyebrows, and they were still floating by the first shadow.”
Murtagh let the first loud, bright laugh you’d heard from him echo through the cave. You tried to control the somersaults in your stomach at the sound. “Oh, I’m so disappointed I missed that.”
“You should’ve heard Saphira—I thought she was going to wet herself laughing. She had to leave the cave to recover…So, you’re welcome to try it if you’re all right with me potentially seeing you eyebrow-less, bald, or missing any number of features.”
Murtagh pursed his lips. “I’m just going to sit back down.”
You smiled and nodded. “That’s probably for the best.”
“Dare I ask what you were missing the first time you tried it?” he said as he settled back onto his position on the floor, taking a sip out of his waterskin.
Her pants, Gormlaith responded before you could intercede.
Murtagh nearly spat out his water.
You reached out towards Gormlaith, poking her with a finger and delivering a light electric shock to her shoulder. She yelped and quickly moved out of the way as Thorn pressed himself against the wall.
Murtagh pressed a fist to his mouth to regain enough composure to swallow his water.
You cleared your throat, praying your face wasn’t too embarrassed. “ANYWAY.”
Murtagh bowed his head away from you, biting back a laugh as he shook his head. He began to thumb through the dictionary in front of him, patting his cloak once more for you to sit.
You did as bade, leaning closer as he summoned a werelight to better read the text. You tried not to hold your breath at his proximity as the two of you discussed several words that could work.
“The part I keep getting stuck on,” you said, “is something along the lines of ‘step through this shadow to that shadow’ could work, but then if there are multiple shadows in the room, you have to name which exact shadow. Which feels like it would make for a very long, complicated sentence.”
“Not necessarily. I assume with your knowledge of wordless magic, you understand intent is very important. As long as you have the exact shadow you want in your mind’s eye, that part might not be necessary.”
You continued to parse through his dictionary together, nearly at a string of words that could work.
I hate to interrupt, Thorn said so you could hear. It was the first time he had reached into your mind and you felt privileged to be chosen. The feel of his mind reminded you of Gormlaith’s, but was much deeper, darker, and less trusting. It’s half past noon, if you wanted to break for food before your afternoon classes, Y/N.
You glanced up at the cave opening to see the sky had grown lighter, although a steady drizzle remained.
Murtagh closed the dictionary. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you so late. We should’ve ended a half hour ago.”
“It’s all right, this was—” you had almost said fun, but that likely would’ve sounded odd; but it had been four hours and hardly felt like two, “helpful. Thank you.”
Murtagh stood, again helping you to your feet before taking his cloak off the ground and shaking the dust off it. He gave you a small, crooked smile that had your heart pounding so hard, you wondered if Thorn could also hear it. “It was…I suppose I’ll see you in two days?”
You nodded, scrambling for something else to say just to spend even a few more minutes with him. “You’ll tell me if there are any updates on the masked men and why they were hunting us?”
“Of course. I can always summon you to Eragon’s office so I can tell you together.”
You nodded, hesitating before realizing there were no other topics to discuss and making your way over to Gormlaith. As you hauled yourself up onto her foreleg, Murtagh called your name. You turned to see him walking toward you, his cloak still in his hand.
“Do you have a cloak for the rain?”
“Um…” You dug in Gormlaith’s saddlebag for a moment. “No, but it’s not raining hard and Gormlaith is fast. I’ll be all right.”
He held his cloak up to you. “Please take this.”
“Really, it’s no trouble—”
“I insist.”
You hesitantly took the cloak in your hand. “But what about you?”
“Thorn and I have nothing time-sensitive to do today. We don’t mind waiting it out.”
“But—”
He pressed the fabric further into your hands. “I insist. You can always give it back to me Wednesday. Or give it to Eragon today or tomorrow and he’ll find me.”
You climbed the rest of the way into Gormlaith’s saddle before wrapping the cloak around yourself. You clasped it up by your neck and drew the hood. It smelled distinctly of pine, a very faint smell of dragon, and something else you couldn’t name but felt very him. “Thank you—I promise I’ll get it back to you.”
He nodded as Gormlaith made her way out into the rain and took off. As you flew back toward the mess hall, she said, I think someone likes you.
You hesitated. I hope so. They’ve both been through so much, I’m sure it takes a while for either of them to trust someone enough to even just call them friend.
Well, lucky for us, we’ve got all the time in the world.
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