#and he was a terrible father to Murtagh

[rainwalker-dragonblade29]

SO... help me connect the dots here...

Eragon's mom was Selena. She came home to Garrow's in Carvahall, with Eragon. Gave birth to the kid and just left*

Now to be fair...

Murtagh MENTIONED when he finally revealed his story... he said *for a while his mom disappeared* he never mentioned the name. But, she came back and then shortly after died but that's not the point.

Do you see what I'm trying to say here?

Are Eragon and Murtagh bros? Half bros? SELENA!!!!?

And right now, in my head, those two dorks are dancing being scar buddies* —

I'm lil taken aback that I could think that... cuz do I really want to ruin that?

(PS: my stupid brain couldn't resist so I Googled it... turns out... I was right 😭... they are half bros! but I've only read book one how!? But even worse... brom died and Eragon did not know he was his real dad *sobs in booklover*)

[loving-jack-kelly]

Murtagh is a great book because it is really just answering the question of what would the aftermath be for people other than the main character? let's talk about the consequences of a traumatic life after the characters that experienced it are no longer in those circumstances. also let's talk about what happens when a dragon has a panic attack.

[alagaesia-headcanons]

I've Had A Thought. I was thinking about the scene where Eragon is reminiscing over Brom's message to him as his father, and how Eragon is confounded and troubled that he in no way mentioned Murtagh. I found it a little sad that, for whatever reason, Brom decided Murtagh didn't bear mentioning. Then it crossed my mind to consider the possibility that Brom didn't know about Murtagh at all.

As it turns out, Eragon actually does think about it in that scene- he says, "He must have known about Murtagh. He couldn't not have." And admittedly I don't think this is the most likely scenario or that it's now my personal interpretation of canon, but the idea really has captivated me. Because it actually does fit within the facts! (the new book notwithstanding)

Brom was a gardener at Morzan's estate for three years, and while it's probably more likely that he learned about Murtagh in that time, I think it's certainly feasible for him to never know. Morzan was very determined to keep him hidden and took a lot of precautions to ensure just that. Oromis said Morzan forced all his servants to swear fealty and Brom found a flaw in his wards to infiltrate, and possibly he was able to do so because a job as a gardener didn't require such strict oaths because it wasn't in proximity to Murtagh.

Again, it may not be the most likely, but I can absolutely believe Selena might not have told him either. She also would have been aware of the serious danger Murtagh was in and would've wanted him to stay hidden. Even after Brom told her who he was and she started working with the Varden, she might have kept it secret. For one, Brom's hatred of Morzan is described as extreme and all consuming, and that it never waned with time. Even if she came to believe that Brom wouldn't harm Murtagh, she might not have trusted he could look at him kindly. And of course, telling him about her child with Morzan also risked damaging their relationship considering that they were lovers. Then there's the possibility that Selena did build all this necessary trust to tell Brom about Murtagh if he wasn't aware of him already, but it was too late for her to discuss it with him before she died. So I think it is conceivable that Brom actually never knew about Murtagh's existence.

Where this concept really shines is in an AU where Brom survives after Murtagh saves them from the Ra'zac. I've always liked these, and I sometimes toy with my own, but there's so many ways Brom could react and I've never been able to settle on one well enough to get invested in it. But I find this SUCH a fascinating take on it (especially if you wave off the detail that Murtagh's voice sounds ~exactly like~ Morzan's, which I tend to do). Brom recovers and meets their rescuer, and he has no idea he's looking at Morzan and Selena's son. Murtagh seems terribly familiar, but Brom has been relentlessly haunted by his past for so long now that he doesn't put much stock in the perceived similarities. Meanwhile, Murtagh realizes that Brom truly does not know that he's the son of the man he murdered, a precarious but welcome relief. Because he doesn't know- up until Murtagh's confession in the valley.

Brom is stunned by disbelief. It can't be true, Morzan had no children, because surely he would know, surely-! But another thought dawns on him, drowning out the memories of Morzan, because who could have been the mother of his child other than his wife: Selena? And Murtagh is looking at him with fear, fear that he'll turn on him because he shares the blood of the man Brom hated most. It's heart wrenching, because even as part of his mind tells him that maybe he should scorn him, Brom is looking at this man who single handedly saved him from the brink of death and saved Eragon and Saphira from far worse at the hands of Galbatorix, and who has given them extraordinary devotion ever since.

In his core, he accepts the truth of Murtagh's claim as he explains his past and recounts the story of his parents exactly how Brom knows it to be. The paradigm shift sends him reeling. Murtagh believes Brom is affected only because of his past with Morzan; he has no way of knowing what he felt for Selena. He still glances at him nervously, especially as he admits that he briefly intended to serve Galbatorix, yet then there's also a spark of trust and gratitude- maybe even hope- in his eyes when Brom doesn't rescind the way he vouched for him when they were stopped inside the gates. How could he? Murtagh has accomplished one thing neither Morzan nor Selena ever did: escape.

Despite everything, his aching heart feels something fiercely like pride. He would not dare ruin that for him.

Then to further prove the truth, like the world is laughing at his years of ignorance, Ajihad recognizes him, because after Murtagh was brought to Uru'baen, the Varden's spies informed him of Morzan's son. But of course, that was after Brom cut himself off and started living in Carvahall, so he never learned of that discovery. "Morzan's son" is said over and over, but in Brom's mind, that idea is far eclipsed by Selena's son. He's hurt and ashamed to realize he never knew something so significant about the woman he loved. And he feels guilty that Murtagh struggled for so long in Uru'baen because no one was there to save him when he was left helplessly alone. Brom must have been so close to him when he arrived right after Selena's death, but he just didn't know.

Brom is utterly at a loss. How can he process Murtagh- the child of Selena and Morzan, Eragon's half brother, and in a certain sense, his own stepson? What can he do now? He was already so terrified of telling Eragon the truth of being his father, and now he has another staggering revelation to inflict on Eragon and Murtagh both. The prospect feels terrifyingly impossible, but keeping his secrets has grown even more painful. Watching how easily and how well Eragon and Murtagh get along is now bitterly ironic. Even without knowing it, Murtagh is a great older brother, waiting vigilantly near his side after the battle. The injury Durza inflicted scared Brom in a way he can't put into words; he simply could not bear to lose Eragon. How could he risk that happening without telling Eragon how much he loves him and values him as his son? But telling him truth could be the quickest way to lose him. And now, with Murtagh, he has more to lose than he ever realized.

-And because Murtagh deserves it, I like all these changes resulting in the Twins never getting the chance to kidnap him, and so Brom has to figure out how to make the three of them into a family <3

[saphira-approves]

Asdfghjk okay listen I don’t think he’d have a ton of kids but the mental image of “any other kids [named] after tornac” is just bringing to mind a slew of children all named some variation of tornac. “Tor.” “Nack.” “Tora.” “Nora.” Everyone is confused and bewildered as he tearfully names a child Canrot.

Aiedail Base: Moon Base, the Sequel

First of all, incredibly rude of the Inheriwiki not to have even a stub page for Aiedail, the Morning Star.

Second of all, HEY. Astronomy time. Y'all know what a morning star is?

IT'S A PLANET.

Now I know a base/outpost/whatever on another planet is much much MUCH less feasible than a moon base but honestly this post is less about "ha ha what if the Dragon Riders had a moon base" and more "hey there's a whole planet with a whole name given linguistically significant attention despite not having any plot focus at all, and also Angela is in the sci-fi book, mr Paolini is either Alagaësia or Aiedail a COLONY PLANET?"

anyway I don't have time to like. write an essay about it or anything but Aiedail is one of the first words Brom teaches to Eragon and a morning star is usually a planet (Venus is our IRL morning star, for the record) and we know at least that spells to travel in super high altitudes are established so. hey. yeah. think about it.

[eliza-makepeace]

reread part 7 i guess

so they’re finally at the beor mountains. murtagh’s still very much like “nope, i’d rather shoot myself in the foot than go to the varden” and eragon just keeps not understanding anything about it. saphira is the only one with emotional intelligence here.

why is murtagh the funniest man to ever exist.

if only he hadn’t been kidnapped and tortured and turned into galby’s name slave. he would’ve been the comedic genius this saga deserved. hopefully paolini will have learned his lesson moving forward.

“concealing a terrible passion” the poor guy is on the brink of an anxiety attack just for thinking about the very real chance he’s going to have to go to the varden even though he’s been more than vocal about not wanting to. 

love it for eragon to be like: huh. he’s nervous. i wonder what about.

fhsufdsjfhskjf 

i can’t cope. 

@ paolini istg let murtagh say fuck!! #4

phoebe buffay voice: that is brand new information!

jokes aside tho, “with a tortured voice”.................................................. he really is terrified of being rejected huh. 

this poor boy! you can tell he’s been very mistreated because of who he’s related to. 

i mean all of it is just heartbreaking. his abusive alcoholic father nearly killed him as a child, and the fact that it’s the association itself to the man who almost killed him what makes people reject him. fucked up. poor boy. 

“i was lucky, i suppose” he says. He “supposes” he was lucky to survive his father nearly killing him????? devastating. 

“his pleas were almost frantic” he’s so absolutely terrified, it honestly breaks my heart.

after trying to counterargument what eragon said previous to this, he’s just like “fine. believe what you want”. he’s so accustomed to being at the receiving end of distrust at this point.

[legends-of-time]

The Strength of a High and Noble Hill (Outlander)

Chapter 35: Is It Happily After?

Masterlist

Ellen and Roger are finally getting married. Those attending the wedding congregate in the tent at the Mount Helicon Gathering. Roger lingers at the front along with the minister, who's Protestant much to Jamie's chagrin.

Brian is babysitting Jemmy for the ceremony though his nephew has become a little fussy, looking for his mother and trying to reach for his father.

"Uh, no, Jem, please." Brian murmurs, trying to hold down the five-month-old.

"You look busy." A voice speaks.

"Mmh?" He is slightly startled by the man in front of him.

The man in front of him is tall with a thin, wiry build. His hair is black and his eyes are blue with high cheekbones.

He gestures to Brian's nephew. "The little rascal you're holding."

A man with a nice Welsh accent.

Brian clears his throat and chuckles slightly. "Yeah, a bit."

"He yours?"

"Uh, no, no. He's my sister's. She's getting married today." Brian quickly replies.

Is it Brian's imagination or does this guy look relieved?

"You're Jamie Fraser's son." He speaks.

"One of them, yes."

"Mmm." The man frowns. "Wait, the boy's your sisters and she's getting married? Today?"

Brian narrows his eyes. "Yes," his sharp, "what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing, nothing. Sorry." He hurriedly apologises. "Was making a joke that clearly didn't land well."

"No, it didn't." Brian retorts.

"Sorry," he chuckles, "terrible first impression." He clears his throat. "I'm Brynmor Jones." He offers his hand.

Yeah, definitely Welsh.

Briam smiles slightly, shaking his hand. "Brian. This rascal is Jeremiah."

Brynmor receives a gummy smile.

"What settlement are you from?" He questions curiously.

Brynmor's features darken. "Hillsborough."

Brian winces. "Oh, er, I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault." Brynmor reassures him.

"Brian! Hello!" Lizzie interrupts, stopping Brian from saying anything else. She hurries over with a slight blush on her face. She tucks a loose strand up under her cap. "I-I can take care o’ Jeremiah, no problem. Ye shouldn’t be troubled with the wee bairn."

He knows she's trying to be helpful plus the apparent crush she still has in him, but Brian can't help but feel offended at the implication that he can't look after his own nephew.

"No, need Lizzie." Brian says, trying to sound calm but his voice comes out a little sharp. "I'm fine."

She blushes and nods, leaving. Brian lets out a huff.

"She's nice." Brynmor comments.

"She's annoying." Brian grumbles.

He receives a curious look. "You don't like her?"

"No."

"Maybe you need maturity." Brynmor remarks casually.

"A mature woman?" Brian questions.

"Sure..." a shrug, "if that's what you want." With that, Brynmor saunters off with Brian spluttering after him.

——

Brian holds onto Jemmy and stands up with everyone else, cheering and applauding as Mama is the first one to come down the aisle. She smiles at Brian as she goes past to say a quick word to Roger, then goes to her place in the audience next to Brian. She gives her grandson a soft pinch on the cheek.

Da and Ellen are right behind her. Ellen is dressed in a homespun dress, complete with some appropriate thistle embroidery along with their paternal Grandmother's pearls. Brian knows Da has gifted Ellen a silver sixpence from Murtagh, who can't attend the wedding since he's in hiding. Da brings her to meet Roger, then bows and joins Mama and Brian at the front.

The bride and groom step onto the altar before the priest, and the congregation all sit back down.

"Dearly beloved," Pastor Caldwell begins, "we are assembled here teday in the presence o’ God. Let us therefore reverently remember that God has established and sanctified marriage fer the welfare and kindness o’ mankind."

——

Brian stares wide-eyed as David pulls away. Their lips slightly parted and their cheeks red. Music for the end-of-year dance plays in the background.

June 1961

David bites his lip but doesn't look away from him, doesn't pull his hand away. Then, he asks, "So?"

"Huh?" Brian says dumbly, not understanding.

"Great, thanks man." David remarks sarcastically. He grins. "I meant, you're welcome, now you've kissed someone."

"Erm, er, yeah, thanks man. Great." Brian says, quietly, clearing his throat and laughing it off when David winks at him.

"Yeah, sure." David says. "What are friends for." He snorts a laugh. "Well, to practice-kiss, apparently."

Brian forces a chuckle.

A girl, Kimberly, interrupts causing them to spring away from each other.

"Hey! There you guys are! They're about to play Pony Time!" She grins, bouncing on the balls of her feet before running off.

David flashes him a grin and leaves.

Brian sits there quietly, eyes wide, and raises a trembling hand to his lips. Okay, yeah, he definitely likes boys as well as girls.

——

A/N: A bit of trivia, David appeared in chapter 8 when Brian is in the National Gallery in London on a school trip.

Please leave comments on how you're enjoying this story and what you think.

[gemtail]

I’m rereading the Inheritance Cycle series and I realize that while Murtagh laments being like his father, no one ever points out to him that he’s way more like his mother, Selena: both got caught up with the wrong people and were forced into doing terrible things. Both of them got out of it because of their love for someone else and changing their true names in doing so. I think if Murtagh thought of himself as being Selena’s son rather than Morzan’s son, he’d like himself better.

[renee-writer]

A Little Change in History Chapter 3

AO3

An hour later, Jamie and Murtagh return to the area where their new servants await. Claire, Mary and, Alex stand before them, all clean and dressed better. The first thing Jamie notices about Claire is her incredible eyes. They are brown and cat-like, the color of the finest whisky he drinks. Murtagh had inquired a wagon to help transport the people and goods they have acquired. Jamie shakes his head and re-focuses on the task at hand.

The servants only have one set of clothes. That would never do. He stops at store that sold blocks of cloth and yarn. “You will need some more clothes. For work and for Sunday services. You will attend mass and then have the rest of the day off.” Claire and Mary are shocked when he places ten shillings in Claire’s hand. “Buy material for you, Mary and, Alex. In muted colors, browns and black. Materials for shifts, skirts, stays, shirts and trousers for Alex.” They bow to him before climbing down to do it.

Jamie then turns his attention to Alex. “You were a nobleman’s son. What did you do?”

“Master, I was the manger of my father ‘s estate. Running his day to day business, wasn’t a hard job. It just involved a lot of paperwork and seeing things got to market.”

“First, I am not your master. You may call Mr. Fraser. Second, I could use a manager for Lallybroch. I need someone I can trust to help get things to market. Would you like the position?”

Alex eyes show his surprise. An important position and he was being asked not ordered. “Yes. Thank you Mr. Fraser.” He smiles.

The lasses return twenty minutes later. They carry bolts of material, yarn to darn socks and, various other little things to help with the sewing. Murtagh helps place it in the wagon as Claire comes up to Jamie. “Your change Master.”

He sighs. Not their fault. He hadn’t brought slaves just servants. “First, thank you. Second, I am not your master, You may call me Mr. Fraser.”

Four days later, they drive under the arch into the courtyard. Frank exits the barn with Robert . Jenny , Sarah and Mary, exit the front door. “Mo brathair, what do we have here?”

Claire, Mary and, Alex step out of the wagon and bow low to her. “Jenny, I present the new servants. Claire is a midwife and healer. Mary is a maid. Alex here is the new stable lad who shall also be helping as manager.. Everyone, this is Mrs. Murray. Claire and Mary, you may talk with here about anything. Alex, after you eat, Frank here,” He nods to him, “will help you learn your new barn duties.”

“Come, come. You must be hungry. Let’s get some food into you and then we can talk.” They walk into the kitchen and smell rabbit stew. All their stomachs rumble. It has been forever since they have had a good meal. They sit down and eat their fill, with Jenny, Mary and, Sarah. Jenny then took Claire and Mary into see their room while Alex goes out to the barn.

“Mary you will help cook and clean, laundry and other chores. Claire, you will have a place to see patients and we have an overgrown herb garden that needs sorted. When not at those tasks, I expect you to help with anything that needs doing. Now, anything I need to know?”

“Yes, Mrs. Murray. Mary only talks to me. She has a terrible stutter and is embarrassed to talk with others.”

“I see. We will work on that. Mrs. Crook is a kind soul and will look after you. Now, take some time to settle in. Come out in above twenty minutes to help Mrs. Crook, Mary and I will show you the clinic in the morning Claire.”

After she leaves, Mary and Claire hug each other. They had found a kind family. Having heard stories of horrid places, they are happy to be in a place where kindness rules. They come into the kitchen to help Mrs. Crook. “Claire, Mary, I am Mrs. Crook. You may call me Anne when Mrs. Murray isn’t about. Mary, I understand that you don’t speak?” Mary nods her head. “Well, I understand. We shall work on it.” She says with a smile.

The rest of the evening was spent serving the evening meal, cleaning up after. Then Mary and Claire sew clothes for themselves and Alex. They sleep well, knowing that they are well looked after.

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Father and Son (Ask Fill)

Anonymous asked: When does Eragon discover that Brom’s his father?

“He said that Morzan is my father.”

The silence that filled the tent made Eragon’s chest ache more than any of the injuries that now littered his body. Saphira reached out to him, trying to comfort the hurt, but he recoiled. This was his burden to carry, and he’d carry it alone.

Nasuada stared with her lips parted, hanging on the edge of saying something but seeming unable to decide what would be the best response.

Roran’s face was frozen in shock, but a familiar flush was creeping up his neck that signaled he was about to explode to Eragon’s defense like he would when they were children and the other kids mocked his lack of parentage.

For once, Eragon just wanted his cousin to stay quiet as he turned his gaze to Arya, trying to gauge her reaction. He didn’t know what he wanted to see. Disgust? Pity? Sympathy?

Her eyes were wide and a mix of gobsmacked surprise and…was that apprehension?…colored her expression.

But Arya wasn’t looking at him.

The elf was looking at Brom.

And the tent exploded into noise once again.

“HE SAID WHAT?!”

Eragon staggered as Brom rushed him, a wild light in his eyes as he shoved Roran aside and seized the young Rider by his upper arms. “You believed him?!” He could feel the man’s muscles trembling with rage even as he shook Eragon roughly. “How could a monster like Morzan spawn a man like you?!”

Out the corner of his eye Eragon saw Roran already regaining his feet as Arya vaulted clear across the staging table to get to his side. The elf was millimeters away from yanking the enraged Rider off when Brom suddenly stopped shaking the young man and locked eyes with him.

“You’re MY son, dammit!”

Eragon’s hammering heart juddered to a stop.

“You’ve always been my son.”

Brom’s chest heaved as Arya pulled him away from the shellshocked Eragon. She was watching him now, looking for any hint as to how the younger Rider wanted to proceed. She released her grip on Brom and stepped back when Eragon gave her a shaky nod before turning to Nasuada.

Eragon bowed. He hoped that the stiffness of his stance hid the trembling of his limbs.

“If you’ll excuse us for a moment.”

With that he grabbed Brom by the shoulder of his armored coat and dragged him out of the tent, leaving a stumbled trail of burnt and broken soil crust in their wake.

~

Eragon didn’t stop until he, Brom and Saphira were far enough from the command tent to cast deafening wards on their conversation. The moment they were in place the younger man rounded on the elder.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Brom flinched. There was so much emotion in Eragon’s voice, a terrible mix of anger and betrayal that nearly masked the undercurrent of confusion and hurt. The sound made him want to throw his arms around the boy. He held back, knowing that right now, Eragon wasn’t ready. He wanted answers, and Brom would do his best to give them.

So he took a deep breath. “I couldn’t. If word reached the wrong ears that you were my son it would have put you in so much danger. I wanted you to grow up with a family that could give you a normal life, not force you to live every day in fear that the King would one day discover us.” Unable to stop himself, Brom reached out to put his hands on the furious young man’s shoulders. “Eragon, I wanted to protect you–”

Eragon gnashed his teeth and shoved Brom’s hands away. “But that was THEN! Did you ever stop to think maybe, once we all were already running from Galbatorix, to tell me who you were? The whole time we traveled, you never ONCE gave us an inkling–”

‘He told me, Little One.’ Saphira lowered her head to her partner. Eragon stared at her with shock. ‘I’m sorry. I wanted so badly to tell you, but before he told me anything Brom made me swear oaths to keep it secret unless absolutely necessary.’ She brushed her snout against his arm. ‘I’m sorry.’

Saphira could feel him wrestling with the revelation, the twinges of betrayal and questions of who he could trust if not her to share everything. Her own regret and shame at being locked in her promise seeped across their link, and with a pang of guilt Eragon’s thoughts came to clarity. She had wanted to tell him, and would have if she could. She was not to blame for this.

“That was wrong of me.” Brom bowed his head. “I shouldn’t have burdened you with this, Saphira, especially under such oaths. I…I wanted at least someone to be able to tell Eragon if I–” He stopped. “I’m sorry.”

“That doesn’t–” Eragon cut himself off, the cauldron of emotions inside him boiling over. All his life, he wondered who his father was. He loved his family, Garrow, Roran, Marian, but there was something inside that he always craved. And now, to know he had been denied it when it was right there, so close to him this whole time….

He exploded.

“Even in Ellesméra, probably the safest place in all Alagaësia, you didn’t tell me!” Eragon jabbed a finger into Brom’s chest, nearly staggering the older man with his new strength. “I can’t believe you! Tell me, if Murtagh hadn’t assumed I was Morzan’s blood too, were you ever going to claim me as your son?! What, were you too ashamed of me while Durza’s scar made me an in–”

And suddenly arms were around him, squeezing tight. The familiar scent of sweet tobacco smoke, warm canvas, leather and sandalwood washed through Eragon’s senses. It evoked memories of their travels, of the nights spent at the campfire learning magic and swordplay.

But even deeper still, lost in the reaches of his oldest memories, the feeling of Brom’s arms around him recalled the days spent in the storyteller’s tiny home while Garrow and Marian worked the fields. His patience with Eragon’s neverending questions. How, without him knowing it, Brom made sure his son was fed, sparked his interest in the world around him, did his best to guide him on difficult choices. How the old man always made sure his door was open to him, for advice, stories, or simply someone to sit with in troubled times.

He realized, then, that Brom was shaking as he tightened his grip on his son. Hot tears splashed on the shoulders of his armor, beading up on the aramid polymer.

“Stars above, I’ve never been ashamed of you.” Brom shuddered in a gasp, then let words pent up for years pour out of him. “You’ve always been my son, Eragon. I was so afraid that…that I would lose you too. I don’t know a thing about being a father, and after all that I’ve done and all I lost I just…I couldn’t. I couldn’t let that touch you.

“I wanted more than anything to tell you. I was just too damn scared. I’m so sorry. There’s nothing I can do to make up for the past, but–”

Brom froze.

Eragon settled his arms around his father, and hugged him back.

He could feel his own throat tightening as he spoke, voice free from the conflict that it was filled with before. “You dummy.” Eragon felt Brom break out into fresh tears of relief as he added, “You realize you’re everything I wanted in a dad, right?”

[adsosfraser]

The Stone’s Toll - Chapter Eleven

Read on AO3

They had been so careful. On the supposedly most fertile days of her courses, they had, well they had done other things. She religiously took her vial of posies and fennel each day and used the protection provided from her twentieth-century life. For months now. Still, it wasn’t enough, and she knew the only one hundred percent assured prevention was abstinence. She felt the ghost of a flutter in her womb. 

 Jamie found Claire on the floor next to their bed, her cheeks stained with tracks of tears and snot crusted against the deer pelt that her face was squished into. The chamber pot full of her sickness had been shoved away from her on the wood in her dejected anger. 

“Is it true Claire?”

 “Can ye..” he swallowed thickly. “Yer wee herbs can ye-“

 “No, that’s the last thing I want Jamie! God!” Her palms rubbed into her eye sockets. “I just wish- there wasn’t so much uncertainty. I could never survive- Jamie promise me, if it ever came down to it, you would save the child, not me.”

 “Claire,“ he levelled a determined gaze at her. ”That will never happen. Ever. That I will promise ye.”

 “But it might. You made me promise, should the time come, that I’d go through the stones. Of course, I was reluctant, but I did give you that promise. I followed through on it. Now you promise me.” 

 “Aye Claire, I’ll save the bairn, but it’ll no’ come to that.”

 “I’m going to instruct you. On how to help me. No matter if it goes wrong or the delivery is perfect.”

 “Ye wouldna prefer someone else? A woman?”

 “You’re the only one that I would trust.” She smirked in anticipation of her next words. “And you’re the one who did this to me, you can see it through.” 

 “Ye seemed pretty enthusiastic, if not overly pleased the many times I did that to ye. And I seem to recall the many times ye were the one clawing at me.” 

 She laughed at the big goof and then sighed into his embrace, relieving her stress and worry into him. 

 What if the baby never even made it long enough to make its true presence known? What if Jamie did have to follow through in his presence? Would she be able to survive the birth? She’d never given birth to a live, full-term baby yet. Or, even worse, would she be a terrible mother? When her mind drifted to these thoughts, she shook her head out of the daze. Stress wasn’t good for the baby. And if she constantly worried about her child’s health, her thoughts may very well become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

 It was March, and flowers and trees were slowly crawling out of their hibernation. Claire’s pregnancy felt… off from how she carried Faith. It didn’t raise alarm for her baby’s health, but she did have her suspicions.

 “What is it Sassenach? Ye’re smiling so hard I fear yer lips will fall off.” 

 “Well, I have been a bit… bigger than usual.” 

 “Aye, yer round wi’ my bairn. And I’m no’ complaining one bit. Wi’ yer fine plump arse even bigger than usual.” He grasped a healthy amount of said body part and smirked.

 “Well, I think I’m carrying twins.” 

 “Ifrinn!” All the colour drained from his face. “Two bairns? Two bairns! Sassenach!” He gripped her in his arms as joyous laughter rumbled through his chest and her feet left the floor. More words of love in his native language rumbled out and her eyes crinkled with her smile. 

 When she was absolutely sure it was twins, Jamie’s daily ritual of one kiss to her belly each morning and night turned into two kisses on either side of her stretched skin. 

 Not only did one life depend on her at once, but now two. She was terrified. Even with constant reassurance from Jamie that the bairns kicking in her stomach were braw, a twitch of doubt seeped into her mind. 

 To ease her worry, she thought of something that could reassure her. She traced the design onto the back of a discarded pamphlet. A pinard horn. So Jamie could hear the strong heartbeats of the babies tumbling within her belly. Fergus laboured hard on the project immediately, while his ‘milord’ was off working the lands of their croft. It was expertly crafted, even with her rudimentary designs. 

 Jamie manoeuvred the hollow horn over the expanse of her belly, brow furrowed in concentration. He paused over one spot and nearly fainted. 

 “Ah Dhia!” His eyes widened in fascination. “He’s really in there!”

 “Yes, they are.” She placed her hand over his on the pinard horn and slid it across where she thought she felt the other heartbeat to be. 

 His hands were shaky now and he choked on his tears, almost painfully bursting with joy. “Two braw bairns. Wi’ wicked thumping hearts.”

 They felt more concrete to him now, actual people instead of the imaginations of what they could be. He spoke every day to them in Gàidhlig, when Claire said they should be able to hear now.

 It was bittersweet. She was carrying them for over seven months now, longer than her other children. She was constantly caught between unflagging joy and unrelenting grief. Sometimes it felt like a betrayal to be so happy. But she carried through, with her husband and son by her side, and the promise of the future tucked under her heart.

 The day after Jamie’s birthday, she started labouring. Jamie commented on the decency of his children to not eclipse his day with their own arrival. It was as difficult as any other birth, but thankfully there were no complications. Claire had gripped, clawed, and screamed at her husband. She’d scream the promise to have him castrated many, many times. While she paced around the room, Jamie tried to assure her or crack jokes to lighten the atmosphere, but every word he said she turned it against him. He was silent after that, but then Claire would call out for him as each contraction ripped through her body. He stood behind her squatting form above the straw and she dug her nails into his arms as she bore down. A beautiful squalling boy was born after nine hours of labouring. William Brian Beauchamp Fraser. While she felt distraught placing the name Brian within the middle, Jamie assured her it was to not only honour his father, but now the child that they had lost, and she warmed to the idea as well. His brother met the world soon after, almost a quarter of an hour apart, looking exactly the same as the brother who beat him out of the womb. Henry Alexander Murtagh Fraser. Beautiful healthy boys, both with tufts of the same brown downy hair and slanted Fraser cat eyes. 

 They opted to have their sons sleep in their bed that night rather than the cribs Jamie had carved, tucked in securely between their parents. Neither of them could sleep and Claire was watching the steady rise and fall of each small chest. 

 “They’re real.” She whispered, brushing her pinky across William’s cheek. His lips tugged up into a smile, just like his father’s did. 

 “Thanks to ye Claire. Ye were braw.” He squeezed her hand, their arms hovering over their sons. “But I dinna wish to ever see ye like that again.”

 “Is it wrong to feel so happy? To rejoice in my sons while-?” 

 “They’ll be happy fer their brothers. I ken it. And they’re watching o’er them as their angels now. Lord knows how much these lads will need it. These two will be trouble, I can feel it.” He affectionately patted their bums. 

 Claire finally let her exhaustion take over and curled protectively around her son as she drifted off to sleep. Jamie never slept that night, too preoccupied with the sight of his wife and the children she had blessed him with. His wife learned just how real her sons were in the middle of the night when they would scream their lungs out unceasingly until attention was paid to them. Jamie insisted she rest and recover, and leapt up at every cry to take care of it, but was instantly horrified at what he found in the cloth swaddling Willie’s bum. 

 Fergus was elated the next day to meet his new brothers. Jamie and Claire had already spoken many times about how the new babies wouldn’t change anything about how they felt for him, but they could still sense some worry. 

 “Would you like to hold your little brother Willie?” At the indication that it was true, he had a little brother, all his worries vanished.

 “Oui maman.” He was so gentle with them with so much adoration in his eyes, and it made Claire cry just to see her boys together.

 He traded for Henry next and Jamie pulled Claire into his lap. 

 It was six weeks after the birth, and Jamie and Claire were equally ravenous. Both the babies had finally fallen asleep together, being unusually generous to their parents.

 “I need my wife.” He crawled over her. 

 “You still want me? After seeing all that…?” Her confidence has waned slightly. She was still pudgy around the middle and there were new scars lining her belly. There was also the fact that he had seen her sweating, cursing, and wailing like a cow on their bedroom floor before the fire, and had taken multiple peeks down there to check her progress. It was apparent, however, that he wanted her desperately despite of and maybe even because of that fact. 

 “I could never stop wanting ye Sassenach.” He peppered kisses across her abdomen and paid special attention to the fading purple streaks on her skin. The burns on her stomach had long since faded and were barely even noticeable unless one were to look very closely, as her husband was now. She let her knees fall to the side and a moan escaped her lips when he ducked further down. 

 “Now, as much as I love yer wee noises mo nighean donn, ye’ll have to be quiet tonight.” He covered her mouth with his, silencing the cries that he brought out of her body.

 When they both had finished, laying boneless on the sheets, Jamie pulled Claire’s back close to his chest and she curled back into him. Henry began to cry, waking his brother as well and throwing them both into fits of hungry wails. Jamie silently walked over, wrapping his kilt loosely across his hips and placed a baby in each of his arms. The sight made Claire want to ravish him with a sudden ferocity, even though they had just joined together moments ago. But, her babies’ hunger won over and she placed one on each breast. Jamie watched fascinated, as he always did. The babies hungrily gulped down their meal and then slumped against their mom, tired from weeks of growing, crying, and eating. Their tiny fists laid on top of her skin and Jamie slowly adjusted himself to hold Henry. He fell asleep, Henry’s body rising and falling with each of his father’s breaths. Willie stirred again, inquisitively staring up into his mother’s eyes. Claire stroked Henry’s cheek eliciting the same smile she loved so much, and then reached for Jamie’s as well.

 “God, I love you, Jamie. So much.” Her attention shifted down to the babe on her breast. “You have such a wonderful father, don’t you Willie?” She spoke down to her captive audience. “And I love you.” She kissed his small nose, then leaned over for Henry’s “And you.” She pulled on Jamie’s bottom lip. “And God how I love you.”

[let-the-dream-begin]

In Hearts We Leave Behind

Losing Claire was Jamie's nightmare come to life. Leaving their daughter motherless was a greater tragedy than he could comprehend. But the words his wife leaves behind for him to read open a door that he'd thought closed forever. One person--one man--in particular is there for him and his daughter after Claire's passing, and he has no expectations, nothing but the purest love in his heart for both Jamie and Brianna. With Claire's permission given in the only way she knew how, Jamie opens his heart again.

Read on AO3

Prologue

To live in hearts we leave behind is not to die.

—Thomas Cambell

——

Dear Jamie,

You know I’m not the best with words, and I know I’d never say all I want to say if I tried to say it out loud. I’d start crying, you’d start crying…it would be a mess. So I’m leaving this behind. If I somehow don’t die, I’ll be burning this and pretending it never happened. But just in case, I’ve sat down while I can still hold a pen. There’s one for Brianna, too. Read it for her until she learns to read herself, would you?

I know you quite well by now, Jamie. I know what you’re capable of in your fear and grief and rage. You can’t shut down, Jamie. That is not an option. I will not allow you to waste away without me. You need to drink water and eat right and stay strong physically even when you can’t emotionally. I’ll be telling our friends to make sure of that. So don’t even try it.

Brianna needs you. She needs you to read her letter, she needs you to tell her about me when she doesn’t remember anymore. She needs her father. You are a good father, love. You can and you will raise her well without me.

Since I know you by now, I know that you’re already crying while reading this. Even though I’m writing this while I’m still relatively healthy, and I know there will be lots of time for me to comfort you…when you’re reading this, there’s nothing I can do. I’m holding you, Jamie. I’m right here with you. Close your eyes and feel me with you. I love you so terribly. We always said “’til our life shall be done” … but it’s longer than that. It’s forever, Jamie. I will always love you, even when we’re parted like this.

Take a breath, love. The rest of this letter will be here when you’re ready.

Please, for the love of God, let people take care of you. It isn’t weakness to need help after going through what you have. You have so many people that love you, and Brianna. Give yourself company, surround yourself with love even when you don’t want it. If not for yourself (because I know you), then for Brianna. She needs to feel family around her. Your sister and Ian, your father, Rupert, Angus, Murtagh, Louise. And John.

John has always cared so deeply for you, for us. Perhaps it’s the wrong time for me to admit this, but I’ve always been rather jealous. Never to the point of resentment, of course; I love him very deeply as our friend and Brianna’s godfather. But the way he looked at you always had me feeling a bit possessive. I know that’s petty of me, but now you know.

Now, however, I’m grateful. I am selfishly so bloody grateful that that man never got over you. It’s such a relief to know that I’m leaving you in such capable hands. I know John won’t let you drown. I know he’ll do anything for you and our child. And Jamie, you have to let him. Do not push him away. It would be the biggest mistake of your life, I promise you that. I believe he still loves you, Jamie, and I believe he always will. And you’re about to get very angry, which is why I’m glad I’m writing this instead of saying it. But just listen. Or read, rather.

I’m giving you my blessing, here and now, to find love again. I know your blood is boiling, perhaps you’re even cursing my name right at this moment. That’s alright. You’re allowed to do that. I’m not sure I could do such a thing if it were me losing you. So I understand.

But Jamie…your heart is so beautiful. You have the greatest capacity to love. I know you’ll have Brianna, and I know you will love her so fiercely, for the both of us. But the way you loved me was a catharsis for you. I know it. For you, it isn’t just about being loved; it’s about having someone to protect and cherish. And you deserve that, Jamie. You deserve to feel fulfilled again. I know you found purpose in loving me. You always said that I was the reason you were put on this earth. And that doesn’t have to stop being true just because I’m gone. I was your purpose before, and in a way I always will be because you have our daughter. But you can find a new purpose, Jamie. I want you to. Watching you fall in love will be the greatest privilege.

You deserve to have someone take care of you, too. You deserve to be cherished as you cherished me. And I do believe there is someone out there who already does. It may take you a while to see that, and that’s alright. Just know that once you do, I will be smiling down on you and him. (Or her. But my gut is saying “him.”)

I love you, Jamie. I don’t know if I ever said it enough. But I do. I love you so much it hurts, it aches, it burns. I’m not afraid to die, but leaving you behind is eating me alive. But I have to trust you. So I do. I’m trusting you to be okay, Jamie. Please don’t give me reason to worry. I love you more than life itself. I need you to be okay. I love you.

On your way, Soldier.

Your Sassenach, your Brown-Haired Lass,

your Sorcha, your Love, and your Heart,

Claire

[weirdponytail]

When does Eragon discover that Brom’s his father?

“He said that Morzan is my father.”

The silence that filled the tent made Eragon’s chest ache more than any of the injuries that now littered his body. Saphira reached out to him, trying to comfort the hurt, but he recoiled. This was his burden to carry, and he’d carry it alone. 

Nasuada stared with her lips parted, hanging on the edge of saying something but seeming unable to decide what would be the best response. 

Roran’s face was frozen in shock, but a familiar flush was creeping up his neck that signaled he was about to explode to Eragon’s defense like he would when they were children and the other kids mocked his lack of parentage. 

For once, Eragon just wanted his cousin to stay quiet as he turned his gaze to Arya, trying to gauge her reaction. He didn’t know what he wanted to see. Disgust? Pity? Sympathy? 

Her eyes were wide and a mix of gobsmacked surprise and...was that apprehension?...colored her expression. 

But Arya wasn’t looking at him.

The elf was looking at Brom. 

And the tent exploded into noise once again.

“HE SAID WHAT?!” 

Eragon staggered as Brom rushed him, a wild light in his eyes as he shoved Roran aside and seized the young Rider by his upper arms. “You believed him?!” He could feel the man’s muscles trembling with rage even as he shook Eragon roughly. “How could a monster like Morzan spawn a man like you?!”

Out the corner of his eye Eragon saw Roran already regaining his feet as Arya vaulted clear across the staging table to get to his side. The elf was millimeters away from yanking the enraged Rider off when Brom suddenly stopped shaking the young man and locked eyes with him. 

“You’re MY son, dammit!” 

Eragon’s hammering heart juddered to a stop.

“You’ve always been my son.”

Brom’s chest heaved as Arya pulled him away from the shellshocked Eragon. She was watching him now, looking for any hint as to how the younger Rider wanted to proceed. She released her grip on Brom and stepped back when Eragon gave her a shaky nod before turning to Nasuada.

Eragon bowed. He hoped that the stiffness of his stance hid the trembling of his limbs. 

“If you’ll excuse us for a moment.”

With that he grabbed Brom by the shoulder of his armored coat and dragged him out of the tent, leaving a stumbled trail of burnt and broken soil crust in their wake. 

~

Eragon didn’t stop until he, Brom and Saphira were far enough from the command tent to cast deafening wards on their conversation. The moment they were in place the younger man rounded on the elder.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

Brom flinched. There was so much emotion in Eragon’s voice, a terrible mix of anger and betrayal that nearly masked the undercurrent of confusion and hurt. The sound made him want to throw his arms around the boy. He held back, knowing that right now, Eragon wasn’t ready. He wanted answers, and Brom would do his best to give them.

So he took a deep breath. “I couldn’t. If word reached the wrong ears that you were my son it would have put you in so much danger. I wanted you to grow up with a family that could give you a normal life, not force you to live every day in fear that the King would one day discover us.” Unable to stop himself, Brom reached out to put his hands on the furious young man’s shoulders. “Eragon, I wanted to protect you–”

Eragon gnashed his teeth and shoved Brom’s hands away. “But that was THEN! Did you ever stop to think maybe, once we all were already running from Galbatorix, to tell me who you were? The whole time we traveled, you never ONCE gave us an inkling–”

‘He told me, Little One.’ Saphira lowered her head to her partner. Eragon stared at her with shock. ‘I’m sorry. I wanted so badly to tell you, but before he told me anything Brom made me swear oaths to keep it secret unless absolutely necessary.’ She brushed her snout against his arm. ‘I’m sorry.’

Saphira could feel him wrestling with the revelation, the twinges of betrayal and questions of who he could trust if not her to share everything. Her own regret and shame at being locked in her promise seeped across their link, and with a pang of guilt Eragon’s thoughts came to clarity. She had wanted to tell him, and would have if she could. She was not to blame for this.

“That was wrong of me.” Brom bowed his head. “I shouldn’t have burdened you with this, Saphira, especially under such oaths. I...I wanted at least someone to be able to tell Eragon if I–” He stopped. “I’m sorry.”

“That doesn’t–” Eragon cut himself off, the cauldron of emotions inside him boiling over. All his life, he wondered who his father was. He loved his family, Garrow, Roran, Marian, but there was something inside that he always craved. And now, to know he had been denied it when it was right there, so close to him this whole time…. 

He exploded.

“Even in Ellesméra, probably the safest place in all Alagaësia, you didn’t tell me!” Eragon jabbed a finger into Brom’s chest, nearly staggering the older man with his new strength. “I can’t believe you! Tell me, if Murtagh hadn’t assumed I was Morzan’s blood too, were you ever going to claim me as your son?! What, were you too ashamed of me while Durza’s scar made me an in–”

And suddenly arms were around him, squeezing tight. The familiar scent of sweet tobacco smoke, warm canvas, leather and sandalwood washed through Eragon’s senses. It evoked memories of their travels, of the nights spent at the campfire learning magic and swordplay. 

But even deeper still, lost in the reaches of his oldest memories, the feeling of Brom’s arms around him recalled the days spent in the storyteller’s tiny home while Garrow and Marian worked the fields. His patience with Eragon’s neverending questions. How, without him knowing it, Brom made sure his son was fed, sparked his interest in the world around him, did his best to guide him on difficult choices. How the old man always made sure his door was open to him, for advice, stories, or simply someone to sit with in troubled times.

He realized, then, that Brom’s was shaking as he tightened his grip on his son. Hot tears splashed on the shoulders of his armor, beading up on the aramid polymer. 

“Stars above, I’ve never been ashamed of you.” Brom shuddered in a gasp, then let words pent up for years pour out of him. “You’ve always been my son, Eragon. I was so afraid that...that I would lose you too. I don’t know a thing about being a father, and after all that I’ve done and all I lost I just...I couldn’t. I couldn’t let that touch you. 

“I wanted more than anything to tell you. I was just too damn scared. I’m so sorry. There’s nothing I can do to make up for the past, but–”

Brom froze. 

Eragon settled his arms around his father, and hugged him back. 

He could feel his own throat tightening as he spoke, voice free from the conflict that it was filled with before. “You dummy.” Eragon felt Brom break out into fresh tears of relief as he added, “You realize you’re everything I wanted in a dad, right?”

[heartofthra]

i love seeing all your d&d posts recently! tell us more about your character!!

ahhhh oh my god it means a lot to me that you noticed!!!! i’m super proud of this pc so get ready hahaha my character’s name is elwin “winn” arakhor and he’s a wood elf ranger/druid and his ranger archetype is drakewarden which is ua content but my dm was super on board with it so he has a copper dragon named azarail!!!! his background is outlander so he’s a wandering vagabond that is dealing with traumatic events from five years ago! if you wanna check out his stats and everything you can go to https://ddb.ac/characters/42104714/0GGD0X but i’ll tell you his backstory/appearance/personality and everything under the cut 🥰💕 i’m also in the process of making a goblin character and a possible elf pirate???

i’m just gonna copy/paste everything i put into dnd beyond because it’s a lot easier than retyping everything but here it is!!!!

ALSO before i get started he looks like the lovechild of aragorn and legolas, mixed with murtagh (eragon) and he’s got the standard ranger getup! he’s 5′11, has dark brown hair and eyes, pointed ears, and olive skin!

and this is what i wrote for his appearance:

Elwin has a rugged, wild quality about him. He has dark brunette hair that falls just above to his shoulders, and is wavy in texture. He has brown eyes that look amber in the sun, and has dark eyebrows as well. He has medium length pointed ears. Most would say he is strikingly handsome. His clothing consists of greens, browns, and golds, with brown leather armor. He has a tunic, pants, and boots that are quite weathered from the conditions he's faced. He doesn't show his face all that much, and usually wears a face covering up to his eyes, that wraps around his face and neck.

ok onto traits and shit!!!!!!

Personality Traits: I’m always picking things up, absently fiddling with them, and sometimes accidentally breaking them. I feel far more comfortable around animals than people.

Ideals: Change. Life is like the seasons, in constant change, and we must change with it. (Chaotic) Nature. The natural world is more important than all the constructs of civilization. (Neutral)

Bonds: I will bring terrible wrath down on the evildoers who destroyed my homeland

Flaws: There’s no room for caution in a life lived to the fullest. I am slow to trust members of other races, tribes, and societies.

he’s also chaotic neutral

more about his personality:

Overall personality: observant, wild, mysterious, brave, energetic, sarcastic, soft, heart of gold. Elwin cares greatly for his family/people, friends, animals, and his drake. If he steps foot in civilization, you'll find him in the corner smoking a pipe of playing his pan flute softly. He mostly keeps to himself unless spoken to first. This adds to the air of mystery around him. He feels a lot of things but tries to keep it hidden, though he does let his emotions slip from time to time. He’ll shut down at any mention of home or family unless he really trusts you. Once he befriends you though, he becomes much more energetic and talkative, it just takes a while to break the ice. He'll even crack a joke or two once he feels comfortable enough, but mainly sticks to dry humor and sarcasm. His friends call him Winn. His last name Arakhor means tree warden/one who protects the forest in Elvish. Those who don't know him call him Ranger or Rider (pretty self-explanatory).

and now the backstory!!!!!

Elwin comes from a small village of wood elves hidden deep in the Hight Forest of Faerûn. His parents, Lyria and Calen, taught him the way of the druid and to be respectful of animals when he was a child, and as he came of age he trained to be a ranger. His mentor also played a big role in teaching Winn the ways of the ranger (everyone in the village has a mentor until they come of age). The village clan essentially fends for themselves from monsters, beasts, etc. and hunts through the Rangers Guild. 

Along with the Rangers Guild exists a secret order of elves who protect drakes, draconic lore, and other lost lore- the Order of the Keepers, which both of his parents belonged to. This Order is present in different clans of elves and humanoids alike, and is only open to those who know of or share the genetic lineage of the Dragonlords, who were humanoids that were able to tame, ride, and speak to dragons. While you don't need to be a Dragonlord yourself, you need to be trusted enough to keep the secret in order to protect the drakes within the Order. Elwin will eventually step into his role as Dragonlord. 

Unfortunately, his parents were taken from him before they could teach him the way of the Dragonlord. While Winn knows of drakes and the Order, he has no clue his parents' genetic lineage is that of the Dragonlords. 

His village was the target of an attack, set out by monstrosities 5 years past. His father was presumably murdered, as Winn technically saw him die, and his mother was taken, though no one knows where. His village was destroyed and his people are gone, and Winn fled. 

The reasoning behind the attack was that these monstrosities wanted the dragon eggs the Keepers were protecting, in order to breed them to be war machines or evil entities that would terrorize life as everyone knows it. They wanted to wipe out the Order of the Keepers, which included Winn's parents and is the reason his father was murdered and his mother was taken, so they could steal the eggs and control the drakes as they hatched. When Winn sees his village set on fire, his mother tells him to save the drake eggs before she and his father are taken away by the monstrosities. So he flees with the only egg that was left. This is a decision he regrets for years to come, as he lives with the guilt of not being able to save his parents or people. The drake imprints on him quickly because of his genetic lineage, as it knows that Winn is a Dragonlord, although Winn  doesn't know that yet himself. Saving the drake is something he will never regret. 

Now Elwin is on the run because he has this drake and he is technically the last of his Guild and the Order. He lives a nomadic/drifter lifestyle and is always on the move. He is slow to trust others, especially after the attack and for the fact that he has a drake with him, and decided against joining another clan or moving to another village of elves. Instead, he fled to the mountains outside of the High Forest to raise his drake Azarail in secret. His main goal is to find his family and people, and to reclaim the dragons that were once stolen from his guild. His mentor will soon come back into his life, and Winn will discover his genetic lineage.

and that about sums up winn!!! i love him so much thank you for wanting to hear more about him 🥰

[saphira-approves]

For @ladyofancienttales, who brought up the story of “a riding mishap and how an honorable man should live” that Murtagh talks about in Inheritance and I’ve been meaning to write about for literal years!

—

Murtagh wasn’t entirely sure what had just happened.

Half a moment ago, he had been drilling travers and renvers with a schooling horse—Mila, a slender and well-bred bay mare, whose asymmetrical white blaze had gotten her donated to Pelsa’s riding school—but between one blink and the next, his whole world went topsy-turvy, and now he was sitting in the dirt with a sore backside and the wind knocked out of him.

Mila, for her part, was on the other side of the riding arena, trotting agitatedly in place, reins loosely askew and threateningly close to being stepped on. Swearing viciously as he got his breath back and his feet underneath him, Murtagh stood and limped to her side.

“What the shit was that about, Mila?” he asked her angrily, snatching at her reins, but Mila snorted and jerked her head back, smacking his face with her nose as she went, setting him off on another explosive bout of swearing.

“Hey, hey!” Tornac reprimanded him sharply, jogging over from where he had been watching by the rail. “Gently, Murtagh; that wasn’t her fault.”

“Of course if was her fault, she threw me off!” Murtagh half-yelled, trying to grab at the reins again.

“Stop that!” Tornac’s voice, in that moment, was the angriest that Murtagh had ever heard it, and he froze on a terrible, half-forgotten (but never gone) instinct as Tornac’s hands closed around his wrists. For an awful moment, neither of them moved. Tornac’s expression flashed between a dozen emotions before landing on resigned determination, and he took a deep breath. “Yes, she bucked,” he said, his voice calm and deliberate, “but she is not at fault.”

“So it was my fault,” Murtagh finished for him, voice hoarse.

“No,” Tornac chided him, with the same earnest ferocity he used when he reminded Murtagh that he was a person, not just a dead man’s son. “No, Murtagh, fault isn’t what matters. What matters is that Mila was frightened, and reacted on instinct—she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t help it, alright? You musn’t punish her for something she can’t help; that’s not how an honorable man bears himself.”

Murtagh could understand that. He knew what Tornac was saying, could even make an inkling of an ironic connection to his own experiences. But something tight and hot and awful was churning within his sore bones and welling up behind his eyes. “I’m still angry,” he hissed through gritted teeth, because that was the only name he could give it.

To his surprise, an amused smile tugged at the corners of Tornac’s mouth. “No, you’re not,” Tornac said knowingly. “You’re embarrassed that you fell from a horse you like, in front of… hmm… half a dozen people? And you’re still running on adrenaline from the sudden fright, I can feel you shaking,” he chuckled, loosening his hold on Murtagh’s wrists to run his hands up to Murtagh’s upper arms, rubbing them vigorously, which… surprisingly, was actually very effectively grounding him. “Now, you might be mad at yourself,” Tornac continued, “for not staying in the saddle. But everyone takes a tumble every now and then, Murtagh. It’s the honorable man who gets up, dusts himself off, and moves on.”

The honorable man. A figure from his mother’s stories, something his father never was. Something… maybe he could be. One day.

It took a few tries, but finally, with great effort, Murtagh managed to suck in as large a breath as his still-aching ribs would allow, hold it for a moment, and let it out in a great sigh. With it, the hot, tightly coiled tension in his body suddenly flooded from him, leaving him little other reasonable recourse than stumbling forward into Tornac’s chest so he could hide his still-burning eyes. “M’sorry,” he muttered into Tornac’s jerkin.

He felt more than he heard Tornac’s quiet chuckle. “It’s not me you should be apologizing to,” Tornac pointed out.

After a moment, Murtagh straightened, and turned to Mila, who seemed to have calmed a little, though her ears were still pricked, and he could clearly see the whites of her eyes.

Making sure to keep his breath steady, Murtagh reached his hands toward her nose, careful to keep his movements slow. “Sorry, Mila,” he told her sincerely. “I shouldn’t have blown up at you.”

Cautiously, the mare pushed her velvety nose into Murtagh’s palms. When he scratched below her chin, she finally relaxed fully, and allowed him to adjust the reins so she wasn’t in danger of stepping in them.

“Getting back on?” Tornac asked Murtagh as he made to pull down the stirrup that had, in the commotion, been flung over the saddle.

“Can I?” Murtagh asked him.

“Only if you think you’re up to it.”

“I want to,” Murtagh said decisively. “I think we both can do better. Right, Mila?” he asked the mare, patting her shoulder with a grin.

Tornac smiled, pride gleaming in his eyes. “Then don’t let me stop you.”

[eliza-makepeace]

Pt. 5. Murtagh's little fox

A red shadow had crossed Lake Anora. Those had been the reports that had reached the people of Carvahall. Roran doubted the fidelity of those rumors, but he still knew it wasn't such a crazy idea. There was a possibility, after all. He knew it could be a good time to forgive and move on. Murtagh was Eragon's half-brother, and therefore, Roran's cousin as much as Eragon was, blood wise. Who would support this outcast, if not the little family he had left? Well, a family that was growing by the day, Roran mused, staring lovingly at his two-year-old daughter, Ismira.

Eragon had told him of Murtagh's misfortunes, of the hardships he had endured and all the times he protected Eragon, even when that implied help could bring him nothing but pain. And Roran now knew that if it hadn't been for Murtagh, Galbatorix would still be King. As a father, Roran couldn't help but be thankful, because now his daughter had a chance to live in a less dark world.

So, even though he had no real reason to believe his eldest cousin would show up, he knew that, if the situation arose, he'd welcome him with open arms.

The days passed, and just when Roran was starting to feel disappointed, as if it had been stupid for him to expect anything, a dark figure was spotted in the village. Strangers always called attention upon themselves, especially in a village such as Carvahall, and especially in times such as these. So Roran thought it wise to check, and not have himself wondering about the what-ifs.

He clearly noticed him, the same as everybody else. A cloaked man, tall and lean, who moved slowly, his boots hard on the pavement, as if assessing the territory. Roran sensed a slight hesitation in his movements, hanging his head low and his eyes fixed on the floor. But not even the beard could hide him from Roran.

He approached him slowly, trying not to startle him and said, in a low voice, low enough so that only the other man could hear: "Murtagh? Is it you?"

The man turned slowly to face Roran, who realized his hunch had been right from the beginning. Murtagh stood still, unaware of the next course of action, as well as of how his cousin would react to him.

Roran misinterpreted his hesitation. "Oh, you... You're probably wondering who I am. I'm sorry, I'm terrible at introductions."

Murtagh snapped back to reality. He shook his head and looked to Roran's face once before lowering his eyes again. "No, I... I know who you are. You're Roran, Eragon's cousin."

Roran smiled, which left Murtagh even more confused than he already was. "Well, yes, but, uhm, I'm also your cousin."

Murtagh nodded, feeling kind of embarrassed. "Yes, I suppose so. I just... didn't want to force you into stating a relationship that..."

Roran understood without needing a continuation. A relationship that Roran wouldn't want, or didn't consider true, or so many other things.

Murtagh took a deep breath, "I don't want to be any trouble, I swear. I just thought... Thought it was about time I came to see my mother's home."

Roran placed a hand on his cousin's shoulder, almost by reflex. "I understand, but I cannot let you stay in the village, at the inn or whatever place."

Murtagh frowned his eyebrow, feeling that perhaps he might have expected a bigger welcome, and feeling like an absolute fool for it. "Oh, of course ... My dragon is at the Spine. Even if it's cold I can sleep with him there."

Roran looked completely horrified. "No, no, you misunderstand me. It's freezing outside. You can't sleep at the Spine, snowing as it is, and I will not let my own cousin sleep somewhere else, when I can take him to my home." Murtagh's surprise made him add, "well, if my cousin will allow it."

To say that Murtagh was startled would be an understatement. "I wouldn't want to impose anything."

Roran shook his head with a smile, "You're not imposing. I will have to warn you about my daughter, because she's just turned two and children her age... tend to be complicated, to say the least."

Murtagh smiled softly, "You have a daughter? Congratulations."

Roran nodded, his paternal pride showing. Murtagh knew Roran was younger than him and to think he was already a father?

"Well, it's settled then," Roran said, "Are you hungry? Because in my house we have the best hot soup for a cold day like this."

--

At the door was Roran's wife, Katrina, who waved at them as they reached the house.

"Murtagh, I presume," she said, with a big smile. "We heard about a red dragon flying near the area a few days past, and thought you might pay us a visit."

Murtagh nodded with a half smile, "I'm truly thankful for your hospitality and kindness, ma'am."

She shook her head, her red curls playfully flying around as she did so. "Katrina, please. We're family." She then kissed Roran's cheek, and signaled Murtagh to walk the threshold. "It's our pleasure to have you here. Even Ismira is excited."

The dinner was delicious, and Roran and Katrina tried their very best to make their cousin comfortable. It was quite a complicated task, and Katrina noticed how guilt-ridden Murtagh was. He was gentle, and listened with eagerness to every tale they told him about the village, or stories Roran knew about Selena that his father had told him. He was also very quiet, and apologized profusely for it, saying that he'd been away from civilization for so long he found it hard to keep up in a conversation. Either way, he made a great impression, all things considered. Even Roran, who had had his doubts, even with Eragon's praise of his half-brother, found him interesting and soon became fond of him.

Murtagh was too grateful to find it in himself to distrust his newfound relatives.

"I'm sorry," Katrina said one day, as she sat next to him.

Murtagh frowned his eyebrow. "Whatever for?"

"Roran told me about your imprisonment. I was taken captive by the Ra'zac in the Helgrind, so I, uhm, I understand."

A sudden light appeared on Murtagh's dark eyes. "I heard about some girl being imprisoned there, I had no idea it was you. I'm terribly sorry."

Katrina shook her head. "I was lucky, Roran and Eragon came for me. But I know they couldn't do the same for you."

Murtagh lowered his head, unable to find something to add to that statement.

"The good thing is you're here now," Katrina said, with a warm smile. Murtagh looked up to her and smiled back. He liked that girl. She was sweet and caring, and he could see how she went out of her way to make him feel as much at home as possible.

"Well," she giggled, standing up, "I think it's time for another introduction."

Murtagh smirked, curious. "As long as it's not some villagers with pitchforks..."

Katrina shook her head, "Oh, no, she's family. And she's dying to meet you."

Murtagh knew his cousins had a daughter, of course, but until that moment, when he finally saw that small toddler, a part of him had found it slightly hard to believe she existed.

Katrina held her in her arms, and sat next to Murtagh once again. She was small, with curls of the same color as her mother's. She had big grey eyes, like Roran's, and she had a sweet little smile that enchanted Murtagh.

"Who is it, Mira?" Katrina pointed at Murtagh as she asked the babe, who for the first time locked eyes with Murtagh, and stared him up and down. The child shook her small head, "You don't know who this is? It's Uncle Murtagh!"

Murtagh felt his heart race as he heard Katrina say it, silently owning up to the fact that he liked it.

Ismira frowned her tiny eyebrow. "Uncle Mur?" She asked, slightly confused.

Murtagh laughed, just as Katrina. She nodded to her child, "yes, darling, it's Uncle Mur. Do you remember? I told you Uncle Eragon had a brother."

But now her daughter was paying no attention to her, she was focused on this new person that was before her. Katrina laughed as her eyes went from Ismira to Murtagh. "She's dazzled by you."

Murtagh huffed, not accustomed at all to this level of honest admiration. "For her sake, I hope she's not." He said this while moving his hand so he could hold his niece's tiny one. She proved her firm grip by grasping one of his fingers.

"Well, I hope she is. She could learn many things from you."

Murtagh smiled at the girl, "I'm honored that you think there's something valuable your daughter might learn from me."

Katrina raised her shoulders. "I'm surprised you don't see what a positive influence you could be to your niece." She looked at Ismira and then at him, and made a gesture with her hand. "Do you want to hold her?"

Murtagh hesitated, biting his lower lip. "Will she want to?"

Katrina laughed cheerfully. She loved how careful he was, specially with the baby. "Why don't we ask her?", Immediately, she looked at her daughter, "do you want Uncle Mur to hold you?"

The baby then turned her little head from her mother to Murtagh, and slowly nodded, while extending her little arms, her small hands opening and closing. So, there it was, and Murtagh suddenly found himself with a two year old toddler in his arms.

She snuggled into his chest, and said in a whisper, "You're nice."

Murtagh smiled at that. "I'll tell you a secret: I'm only nice to those I care about." Ismira looked up at him, and as he played with her copper hair, Murtagh said, "I'll always be nice to you, my little fox."

A/N. Well, here it is. Don't know if I like it all that much, but I hope you guys do. This has been in my notes app since early august, one day I just wrote this and left it there. But, long story short, I think "Uncle Mur" has a fucking lot of potential, and Paolini will be a coward if he doesn't explore that side of him. I wanted to include Thorn, but... Well, not in this one. We'll see.

[sablelab]

Covert Operations - Chapter 119

SYNOPSIS: Dr Foster is with Claire when Murtagh Fitzgibbons arrives at Med Lab to see her and ask about Jamie. The doctor is pleased with their progress and when Murtagh asks to see Jamie he follows the physician on his rounds. However, Jamie’s only thoughts are of his brave Sassenach.

Chapter 118 and all other chapters can be found at … https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

THANK YOU for reading Covert Operations and continuing on this journey with Jamie and Claire and bravo to Fergus for thinking on his feet.

CHAPTER 119

As Murtagh Fitzgibbons entered Med Lab, a voice behind him stopped him in his tracks. He recognised the sultry voice immediately and turned around to face the smiling face of his paramour Bóinne Rivière. "Hey, Murtagh. I was wondering when you would turn up here again.”  The sight of his lady love was a feast for sore eyes. He suddenly felt a whole lot better and gave her one of his quirky smiles. "Hi yourself."  In return she gave him a candid smile that made her eyes sparkle. "Are you here to see Claire?"  "Yes."  "She's doing quite well actually." The nurse’s eyes gleamed with pleasure as she saw the relief that crossed his face. "It must have been difficult for you to wait out the twenty-four hours … I'm surprised you didn’t sneak back and check up on her again sooner than this."  Murtagh tried to keep his face deadpan. "I've been a bit busy. Things have been chaotic in Comm., that’s why I decided to come here for some peace and quiet."  Bóinne smiled to herself as though his answer had amused her. With tongue in cheek she looked back up at him and replied just as poker-faced, "Of course you did."  “So? Is it okay to visit?” “Wait here, I’ll check with her physician Dr Foster. He’s doing his final rounds at the moment,” she answered. “Oh, I’m not going anywhere real soon. I’ll be right here when you come back.” He replied giving her a wink as she walked away to check with the doctor. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Jeremy Foster stood at the foot of Claire’s Beauchamp’s bed reading her prognosis chart before completing his final rounds for the evening. He was very pleased with her healing prospects despite the atrocities of her incarceration at the hands of the Rising Dragons. He’d dealt with other operatives in the past who had returned from missions in a similar condition as Claire Beauchamp, and they had managed to recuperate fully. He had faith that she too would do the same. If Operations and Madeline put in place the recommendations he’d suggested, then both she and Jamie would heal quicker and be ready to return to the mission sooner rather than later.  He signed Claire’s medication requisites for the next day, then glanced up from the report and looked at the patient. Even though she slept he saw that she was somewhat agitated as she began to thrash about in her bed. Dr Foster quickly replaced the chart and walked closer to her side and with a gentle touch held Claire’s shoulder. With his other hand he gripped her wrist and monitored her pulse rate registering that it had escalated a little. Leaning down he spoke to her in a soothing manner.

“Claire … are you okay?” Somewhere in her subconsciousness she heard her name. She stirred.  Once again, he spoke softly to her not wanting to alarm her if she opened her eyes quickly. “Claire … it’s Dr Foster,” he said soothingly. The person’s quiet demeanour was non alarmist and her jerky movements abated a little at his tone of voice. Blinking once, then twice, Claire slowly opened her eyes to see a person wearing a stark white coat. However, the harsh white lights of the infirmary made her squint even more as she tried to focus on the person standing by her bed. Compounding her disorientation, the incessant high-pitched beeping noises of the monitors exacerbated in her head and in the quietness of the room. Still half-asleep, Claire Beauchamp stared at him in confusion until becoming more lucid. Recognizing who it really was, she nodded and reached out her hand.  Helping her to sit up more comfortably in bed and checking the heart rate monitor at her bedside the doctor asked, “Are you in pain?” “No … I’m fine. Just a little restless … that’s all.” The physician looked at her with an assuring smile on his face. “Yes … your pulse is a little fast but otherwise you are doing very well considering what you’ve been through.” Claire looked down at her hand, “I hope I didn’t dislodge anything I shouldn’t have.” “No … no damage done,” he smiled reassuringly. “Your IV line will be removed in the morning anyway.” Closing her eyes she unconsciously bit her bottom lip. “Dr Foster…?”  The doctor mistook the meaning behind her utterance of his name for another bout of pain. He watched her closely then tried to allay her uneasiness. “You experienced terrible things on this Mission, but physically you're doing fine Claire. It won’t be long before you are back on the road to recovery, but mentally it may take a little while longer I’m afraid. That’s why I’ve suggested that you have some well-earned downtime when you are discharged.” Claire looked at him intently, nodded then closed her eyes again. Although his words were encouraging her thoughts were conflicted. She knew the sooner she got out of here the better but there was one major stumbling block to Dr. Foster’s suggestion … her superiors, Operations and Madeline. Thinking that his patient had begun to doze off he asked, “Will you be okay? I have to check on Jamie.” Suddenly Claire reached out with urgency and gripped his hand tightly. She didn’t need to say another word for he knew exactly what she was thinking. Dr Foster nonchalantly moved his body to shield her face from the surveillance camera. He then looked back at Claire and smiled reassuringly.

“Don't worry. Jamie’s doing much better than we thought. He’s being transfused at the moment. Hopefully in another twenty-four hours he will have passed the worst of it.” Her gaze was fixed on his face as he uttered every word as Claire’s eyes registered her inner feelings. She was extremely relieved to hear that. Sinking back deeper into the pillows she let her thoughts transcend to her mentor, partner and the love of her life in the next room.  “Try and see if you can get back to sleep, hmm? Things will be better in the light of day. Trust me.”  Although she heard the physician’s voice, Claire wasn’t really listening to what he had to say, instead she asked, “When will I be able to see him?” Jeremy Foster leaned down close to her face before replying. “Soon. Get some rest. I’ll see you in the morning.” Then switching the lights back to their usual dim night setting he made his way out of her room. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Pacing back and forth like an expectant father Murtagh Fitzgibbons turned when he heard muted footsteps echo in the Med Lab. On seeing the doctor leave Claire’s room, he forgot his promise to Bóinne Rivière and rushed over towards him before she could speak with him about his request. “Hey Doc!” He called out stopping in his tracks, “I’m sure glad you’re still here.” “Murtagh,” he acknowledged turning around at the sound of his voice. ‘What are you doing here?” “I came to see Jamie and Claire. Is that okay?” “No … not really. Both patients need their rest and you will only tire them out I’m afraid.” “But Doc?” he protested, “I need to know if Jamie is out of the woods and how is Claire? You said to come back in twenty-four hours and it is well past that. So, what about it? Hey? Give a man a break.”  He looked at the pleading face of the man who had miraculously saved both of Section’s top operatives, and relented. “Okay … you can see Jamie with me, but Claire has just gone back to sleep.” “Thanks Doc … I owe you one … Big time!” “Just make it quick … okay.” “Okay … I’ll be in and out like Flynn. Trust me,” he replied hoping that the doctor would appreciate this little bit of humour. Jeremy Foster noticed the slightly raised eyebrow of the wizened operative’s reply and smiled. Although he knew  Fitzgibbons was keen to see how both his friends were, he wanted his patients to get as much uninterrupted rest as possible for what may lay ahead for them. Unnecessary or prolonged visits would not aid in their recuperation and they had to also deal with Section’s recalcitrant leaders at some point. The road ahead would be tough and while he could lessen the impact a little while they were in Med Lab he would do so.  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ As they made their way over to Jamie’s room, Dr Foster reiterated, “Very well, follow me but remember you can only stay a few moments.” “Sure thing Doc.”  Murtagh held his tongue as they walked along, but he was biting at the bit to ask him if Jamie was going to be okay and that if his blood supplies were adequate to see him through.

Considering all the trouble that he and Fergus had gone to and the chaos that had ensued in Section because of their escapades with the phantom breach, he wondered if his and his buddy’s little adventure had really all been for naught. He hoped that there may be a positive from all that had transpired despite what had happened during the course of the day. If only one thing had come from their adventure it was that he and Fergus had solidified their friendship even if Fergus wasn’t too cognizant of that point at this moment. In time they would look back at what they’d done with a sense of pride that they were able to outwit TPTB … well so far anyway. 

Also, the information they’d found of Jamie’s relationship with the Mackenzie brothers was also very enlightening.  It explained a lot … Operations antagonism towards his Level 5 operative and his partner Claire as well as Colum’s unannounced visits to Section One. Obviously, there was something deep going on between the brothers and it certainly involved James Fraser one way or another.  Jamie was most certainly unaware of the connection but why was it being hidden from him?  It was certainly a mystery wrapped up in a conundrum that hopefully would be solved before too long.  

Trying to wrap his head around all these thoughts was nigh impossible at the moment so Murtagh concentrated on the here and now with Dr Foster.

“We didn’t hear from you in the last 24 hours … so does that mean Jamie is doing much better Doc?” “Decidedly so,” he replied looking over at Murtagh understanding the hidden meaning in his question. Dr Foster happened to notice an unusual expression crisscross the older operative’s face. He nearly missed it but Murtagh wasn’t fast enough to compose himself. He raised a slight eyebrow before asking quietly, “You didn’t do anything stupid … did you?” If only the Doc could read his mind. Classified Intel was hard to access but they had given it their best shot and, in the end, they had unwittingly discovered much more than they had bargained for and that in itself was a major coup in his mind. Their experience had also given him an adrenalin rush like the one being in the field … a feeling that was oh, so good. 

Murtagh  looked at Dr Foster and answered rather sheepishly. “No … No … Of course not. I was just asking out of curiosity.”  They soon reached ICU and entered. “Hmm?” he mumbled under his breath not quite convinced with his answer but he dismissed his misgivings anyway and replied. “Good. I wouldn’t want to see you put into abeyance for disobedience Fitzgibbons.” “Neither would I Doc. Neither would I.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Dr Foster entered ICU and approached James Fraser’s bed as Murtagh trailed in behind him. Taking his file from the base of the bed he quickly read the nursing staff’s notes to check on the patient’s progress over the last few hours. Closing the file, he then looked up at the patient. Jamie was breathing soundly and all his vital signs were back to normal. He was also pleased to see that colour had finally returned to his face since having the blood transfusions. Due to his conditioning and fitness what had appeared to be a crisis in the happening had been avoided. It was evident that his patient was surely on the road to recovery and had turned a corner despite the critical trauma he had faced when he’d first come into Med Lab. The physician was confident that both Claire and Jamie would bounce back from their wounds and be ready for any future assignments Madeline and Operations had in store for them with the Rising Dragons’ mission. 

It had been well over 24 hours since Murtagh had seen Jamie and although he was shocked to see the IV drip and monitors surrounding him, he hoped that the worst was finally behind him. His eyes scanned all the equipment and monitors that the Level 5 operative was hooked up to, and as Dr Foster checked his vitals, Murtagh watched the persistent beats of the heart rate monitor at his bedside as it beeped. He also watched the liquid in Jamie’s intravenous drip make its way into his body giving him the nourishment to get better.

Darting his eyes from Dr Foster to Jamie then back to the doctor he tried to gauge his body language. “Is Jamie going to be okay Doc?” The physician looked at him with a wry smile that spoke volumes … it was obvious that James Fraser was going to pull through and there would be no need for additional units of blood.

“He’s stabilized and that’s a good sign.” He was thankful for that Intel even if he and Fergus had risked life and limb to ascertain what Madeline and Operations had had classified about their number one operative. He was a glass half full guy and thus could take a positive out of a negative from their situation. If nothing else living on the edge made each situation a challenge but also a necessity to survive here in Section One. Knowing that at any time you could be killed or put into abeyance meant that you lived what life you had in this hell hole to the fullest … and he and Fergus had certainly done that. What they’d done was dangerous but it was also exciting and exhilarating … it made you feel alive and that was vital to survival in Section. The patient was asleep and Murtagh didn’t want to disturb him unnecessarily by overstaying his visit. He looked back at Dr Foster asking in a hushed tone, “Will he recover fully?” “I don't see why not. He is still in good shape and has the strength to come out of this very well considering that he has been put through the wringer.” “Will there be any complications?” “As long as no infection occurs to his wound, he should be back to normal and as fit as a Mallee bull before we know it.”  “How long will that be do you think?” "It's hard to say ... perhaps a week maybe more depending on how fast he heals. I’ve suggested both he and Claire have some recuperation time away from Section. This will help immensely.”  "That’s good to know. I hope Madeline and Ops think so too." “Yes … that could be a stumbling block, but I’m working on it.” “Yeah … well good luck with that,” Murtagh replied knowing that an immovable object or possibly two, may have just been placed in the way of Jamie and Claire’s recovery. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ As they were quietly talking Murtagh turned his head when he heard Jamie take a deep breath. He was still a bit groggy, but nevertheless he looked around him until his gaze finally settled on the two men standing next to his bed. Jamie tried to sit up, then stopped, wincing in pain.  “Mmmm.” “Hey … How are you feeling?” Jamie knew that voice of concern and taking a deep breath moved his head so that he could look at Murtagh. “Like I've been shot.”  “Yeah. You were shot on the retrieval Mission ... in Hong Kong,”

“Hong Kong?” He was a little disorientated and closing his eyes Jamie rubbed his forehead, trying to remember what happened next.  A little alarmed at Jamie’s lack of recollection about the mission at the monastery and by his rhetorical answer and gestures, he asked, “Do you remember?”  Jamie’s eyes were closed as he spoke. “Aye … we were trapped in the monastery ... you rescued us ...” then without finishing his sentence he suddenly sighed darting his eyes to Murtagh then to the doctor. “Where's Operations? I need to debrief.”  “They’ve seen you already Jamie.” “Do they ken?” As he listened his face showed no expression.  “Yes, they know … I’m sure your mission debrief can wait.” The report was really secondary to what he actually wanted to know … but protocol required him to think of his obligations to Section first but it was not his primary concern. With the one pressing question hovering on his lips, James Fraser turned his head towards Dr Foster and asked solemnly, “How is Claire?” His patient was agitated and that was not good so he checked Jamie carefully for any relapse in his vital signs.  Dr Foster hoped that his next answer would appease some of his concern. “She’s doing very well,” he replied.

“Thank ye.” He spoke softly as if the words he’d just heard were a cool balm that had almost instantaneously made him feel better.  Jamie closed his eyes briefly and opening them he stared up at the ceiling before uttering in a voice cracking with emotion, “Can I see her?” “Not yet ... but soon.” “Soon? How soon?”  “I’m sure it will only be a day or two Jamie, and then you'll be able to see her.” Murtagh chipped in. “You need to build up your strength. You have to rest.”  “I’m fine.” Jeremy Foster had experienced James Fraser’s stoicism on other occasions when he’d been in Med Lab and he expected nothing less from the Level 5 operative. On the rare occasions that he’d been sent to medical, this man had often said he was “fine” even when he’d been bleeding all over the floor, but this time he was not well enough … just yet … to be going anywhere until his IV unit was out. The physician understood his frustration at being confined to a hospital bed but unfortunately there was little he could do about it. James Fraser was here and that was that.  “I’m sure you are fine Jamie … but … we need to look after you first. Press the buzzer if you need anything. And try to do what Murtagh suggests … get some rest, hmmm?"  “That’s right,” the munition’s expert reiterated like a concerned father. “O-kay.”

They heard Jamie’s softly spoken slurred reply as the two men turned and quietly left his room so that he could sleep. Although he was not yet able to visit his Sassenach his thoughts were anything but far away from the woman he loved. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Rest? How could he possibly rest knowing that his beautiful Claire was so close and he was unable to see her? He detested being in Med Lab and would rather discharge himself than be here one day longer than necessary. He moved in bed trying to get comfortable but comfort eluded him. The level of pain in his chest was almost bearable … if he didn’t move … but the pain of not being able to see his Claire was more unbearable. He was uncertain if he could wait another hour before being able to see for himself that she was okay. The worst thing was the not knowing what was going on outside these walls but particularly in her room. He’d been in here for over 24 hours but he had to rely on others for Intel on her progress. How much longer would he have the IV drip in for? Hopefully he would be recovered enough to have it removed tomorrow … then he would see her. He had to believe that his Sassenach was okay. He couldn’t bear to think of any other alternative. He’d lost count of how many times he’d repeated the same mantra over and over in his head, “I can bear pain myself, but I couldna bear yours. That would take more strength than I have.” He couldn’t stand the thought of seeing Claire in any kind of discomfort and he needed to know that she was now okay. Lying here in bed with his brave Sassenach within reach but also too far away was killing him. Murtagh and Dr Foster wouldn’t dare lie to him that’s for sure, so it must be true that everything was okay... that she was okay, but until he saw her with his own eyes, he was not convinced.  Pushing himself up into a better sitting position, Jamie grimaced as his wound started to throb unmercifully. He grimaced in anguish but gritted his teeth until the pain dissipated. He had a high threshold for pain and he wasn’t going to let a bullet wound be a setback. The surgeons had done a mammoth job of piecing him back together and because of his innate determination to fight affliction, he willed himself to be better. Jamie didn’t care about his pain. That was of no consequence … what he did care about was the hurt that his courageous Sassenach had suffered at the hands of the Rising Dragons. What motivated his recovery even more was the thought of the pain that he would inflict on the people who had hurt her. Only then would he be satisfied and then Claire would also be able to move on from the consequences of this mission.

Staring vacantly at the IV line poking out of the back of his left hand, Jamie’s thoughts turned to what would happen when they left Med Lab. 

There was no way known that he or Claire would be able to resume the Rising Dragons’ mission before they were fully recovered. So, he was totally resolute that come what may, the two of them would be out of here and away from the prying eyes of Section One and their superiors to recuperate.  Consumed by these thoughts of his love, James Fraser soon succumbed to the lure of sleep.  ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ to be continued Tuesday 12th May