#ic thorn

[murtagh-thorn]

Dark Legacies Part II: Smoke on the Horizon

Pairing: eventual Murtagh x Rider!Reader Summary: Six months after arriving at Eragon's Rider Academy, secrets are revealed, missions are botched, and a long-awaited meeting of kindred spirits finally occurs under a smoke-filled sky. Warnings: canon-typical violence, descriptive battle scene, mentions of past trauma/isolation. A/N: This is a series of one shots and drabbles that all take place in the same universe. You can read most of them out of order (except for the first two parts that will set up the series) and still understand what's going on, and some elements will be taken from other Murtagh x reader one shots of mine. You can find this series listed in chronological order the Dark Legacies masterlist. PSA: Gormlaith is an Irish name (meaning “illustrious princess”) pronounced GORM-lah. Read Part I and see my masterlist here!

***

Sometime after the Battle of Tronjheim, in Urû’baen

The small red creature chirped from within Murtagh’s cupped palms, his tiny eyes holding sadness befitting a much larger, older creature. He was barely a few days old and already burdened with an adult’s grief.

Murtagh sighed, rearranging himself on the cold, hard, cell floor to put the hatchling in his lap. A pale strip of moonlight shone through the barred cell window and the only sound was the steady drip drip of a leak caused by this morning’s rain. He remembered stretching his cupped hands through the bars and greedily slurping up what he could before offering the next handful to his dragon. The dragon was sated much faster than he was, being hardly bigger than his two palms. He leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, opening them a moment later as the dragon purred and snuggled into his abdomen. He gently ran a finger over the top of its head, reveling in the contented mews from the creature. He could sense its fear, hunger, thirst, but also his unwavering trust and love for his new Rider.

Rider, Murtagh thought with a mixture of awe and bitterness. Once this dragon was large enough, they’d be a powerful duo—able to protect each other through sheer size and magic, and then their enemies would get what was coming to them. So many people had tried to take Murtagh down—and even before he did anything. His only crime during his time at the Varden was being Morzan’s son and now the king and his cronies considered him a traitor worthy of torture. He remembered when the guards had forced him down on his knees in front of the king, a table with some cloth-covered object sitting in front of the throne. He had wondered what new form of torture this would be, only to realize it was something much, much worse. Galbatorix had ripped away the cloth to reveal a smooth, red egg that immediately began to crack just as Murtagh began to form the word “no—”

They would forever be outcasts now—to everyone. The empire considered Murtagh a traitor: captured fighting for the resistance and brought in cloaked with chains. Even if the king somehow forced Murtagh and his dragon to serve him, it would have to be by magic or coercion. Or both. Surely, those close to the king and his staff would be aware of this and of the fact that he wasn’t any sort of willing or loyal servant. On the flip side, Murtagh showing up on a large red dragon under the banner of the king to squash the Varden? Even if he refused to kill anyone, Eragon and his ilk would see him as a traitor as well. Because of the birth of his dragon, they now would no longer be accepted anywhere without the greatest resistance.

Sensing his rider’s thoughts, the dragon looked up at Murtagh with a heartbroken look on his face. Although he couldn’t form mental sentences, Murtagh knew that the dragon wondered if he was considered a curse.

Murtagh gently stroked the dragon’s head again. “You’re not the punishment, my friend,” he said softly before glancing at the bars of the cell in front of him. Beyond that stood a thick, stone wall with an equally immovable locked door. A small, barred square in the top showed the torchlight flickering in the hallway as the heavy thud of guards walking to and fro punctuated the dripping noise. “But I’m sure we’ll both find out what it is soon enough.”

~***~

One year ago

Despite the burning in your legs, you continued to run deeper into the cave. You weren’t even sure how deep this cave went, but your panic dispelled your sense of danger. Luckily, it hadn’t for the little creature hidden safely in your jacket and you could sense its fear at the growing dark, dampness, and quiet drip drip of a leak somewhere. You slowed to a halt and glanced behind you to see the light of day from the cave’s mouth a tiny pinprick at the top of the path sloping above you.

You stood for a moment and panted, glancing around to see a small flat area just ahead of you. You went to it and leaned against the wall, letting yourself slide down to sit and tilt your head back.

A tiny gurgle sounded from inside your jacket and you undid the stays to reveal the newly hatched black dragon snuggled against your chest. She raised her head to inspect her surroundings before gently butting her tiny head against your jaw, rubbing in a way that reminded you of a cat. She purred quietly before snuggling into the hollow between your neck and shoulder, holding your shirt’s fabric in between her small maws.

You sighed, gently rubbing your thumb back and forth over her head. “Hi, baby.”

You could sense her comfort, elation, and affection at the nickname and smiled.

“Well, I can’t call you baby forever. You’ll need a name eventually.”

A bird chirped from somewhere nearby, causing your dragon to snap her head up. You glanced toward the cave’s ceiling to see a bird’s nest nestled in a small nook. Your dragon was immediately up and out of your arms before you could grab her, clumsily using a combination of her wings—which she was still figuring out—and claws to drag herself up the cave wall and into the alcove. You winced at the startled shrieks and growls coming from the small hole. Several feathers floated out followed by an egg splatting on the ground below. It was silent for a moment until you heard some quiet lip-smacking and a small belch. To your surprise, your dragon emerged walking backward before falling out of the hole, dragging something along with her. You rushed to catch her before she could hit the ground, as whatever souvenir she had was too heavy to fly with.

The dragon landed hard in your outstretched hands, rolling over to look up at you with adoring eyes. Despite her terror from earlier, all you could sense from the creature now was complete loyalty and admiration. The egg delegation—or whatever they called themselves—from Eragon’s Rider Academy had traveled all the way from Vroengard to your small village just outside Dras-Leona to see if any new Riders were waiting there. Three elves, one in charge of the eggs and two warriors, accompanied by a young Rider and their dragon had swooped in and amazed the townsfolk. A few of the older children had eggs hatch for them right away as the elf in charge explained to a concerned parent that the large black egg in the bunch was rumored to have been sired by Shruikan—the old king’s mad beast. It was given a wide berth after that, but you couldn’t help feeling pity for the dragon inside. You were no stranger to being an outcast, and this dragon hadn’t even been born yet. They’d committed no crimes other than existing, and you couldn’t help but wish you could make them feel loved if no one else would.

Maybe that’s why a small crack appeared when you’d gone to get a closer look. Just as you had, a small smoking sphere hit the ground several yards away from you. There was just enough time for the screaming to start before it exploded, kicking up dust from the road into an opaque cloud. You’d grabbed the black egg and held it close to your chest. The explosion, however, rocked the ground and blew out enough of a shockwave that it furthered the crack the tiny dragon inside was trying to make. Shards flew everywhere as there was a fierce flash of light, slicing over your face and hands, to reveal the small, terrified dragon inside. You’d immediately shoved her inside your jacket, ignoring the searing pain in the palm of your hand, before sprinting in the opposite direction. Men in black hoods with fearsome, jarring masks that reminded you of twisted, black skulls immediately started chasing you, screaming something in an unknown language with the common tongue peppered in—but one thing was clear, they wanted your dragon and your cold corpse.

Over the course of the day, you’d lost them, then they found you again. Then you lost them, and they found you again. Then you’d lost them, but since they’d been pillaging and burning everything in their path, several passersby pointed you out to your assailants as you tried to hide. You’d somehow lost them once again in the forest before finding this cave. You could feel your dragon’s gratitude at not only wanting to offer her love, but risking your life to protect her. Even though she couldn’t form mental sentences yet, you could sense she was making the same promise back to you: especially once she was larger in size—and considering Shruikan was her sire, she would likely be very large—no harm would come to you.

She suddenly jumped out of your hands and took the object she’d worked so hard to bring out of the hole in her mouth. You did a doubletake as you realized your outstretched palm now bore a silver mark. Before you could inspect it too closely, the dragon pranced back over to you with a muffled “mmrph?” to show off her prize.

You bent and realized it was the bird’s nest before receiving the mental image of a small fire from your dragon. You smiled, petting her little head again. “Good girl, thank you.”

She made a small mlem as you gently took it from her jaws. She sniffed the air and turned to gobble up the broken egg on the ground before returning to your side. You returned to the place you’d been sitting and set the nest on the ground in front of you, making a border out of some nearby stones. A mysterious woman who lived in your village for a few years when you were younger had taught you some magic and you couldn’t help but be grateful for it now. You stretched your fingers out towards the fire before muttering, “Brisingr.”

Sparks flew from your fingertips to ignite the nest. It wasn’t a huge fire, but it would be enough to keep you warm as night rolled in.

Your dragon jumped at the whoosh the flames made, trilling and hiding themselves inside your jacket again. You laughed. “You’ll have to get used to that, since one day that will come out of your mouth.”

The dragon peeked up out of your jacket and tilted her head in question. You stroked her scales and she closed her eyes with a contented sound.

Your own contentment faded as the reality of your situation hit: you and your dragon might be outcasts for a while. With her being Shruikan’s offspring, people would likely always be suspicious of you right off the bat—and that wasn’t even taking the masked men who would probably continue to hunt you into consideration. People in the village were very quick to blow your cover if it meant their own safety. You couldn’t completely blame them, but it did make you wonder who you could trust. You doubted you’d find the delegation very easily to take you back to Vroengard with everyone else now. And would they even want to? Or would they assume that would put a target on the backs of young children and defenseless hatchlings? You and your dragon were solidly on your own now. Because of her birth, you may now no longer be accepted anywhere without the greatest paranoia.  

Sensing her rider’s thoughts, the dragon opened her eyes and looked at you with concern. Although she couldn’t form mental sentences, you knew she wondered if she was considered a curse.

You used two fingers this time to gently stroke the sides of your dragon’s neck. “You are anything but a curse. I’ll always protect you and have your back.”

The dragon chirped happily before butting her forehead against yours and snuggling into your chest once more.

You placed a protective hand over her body, feeling the soft membrane of her wings against your fingers. “So, how does the name Gormlaith sound?”

~***~

Now

A group of bandits—even one as large as this—should’ve been no problem for Murtagh, especially when he had Thorn with him. But they had been much more equipped and organized than he’d anticipated. Since his mission was more undercover, he’d been riding a horse while Thorn flew high above in the sky when the bandits had first attacked. He’d successfully held them off for a while until they started pouring out of the nearby brush in large numbers. When Thorn had flown in to save him, they’d rolled some sort of ballista out of the forest’s cover before disarming Murtagh and forcing him to his knees. Before he’d had time to warn his dragon, they’d loosed the bolt rigged inside, its tip covered in slimy, black goo. It didn’t go deep or even hit a fatal area, but surprised Thorn into losing his balance. Murtagh could feel him suddenly grow woozy and clumsy through their mental link before crashing to the ground a few yards away. The bandits wasted no time in throwing a large, metallic net over him.

Murtagh tried to quell his panic as Thorn’s mind grew increasingly hazy. Had this group developed some sort of dragon poison, or did they just want to knock him out? He’d never heard of a poison that was this painless and fast-acting. But why try to capture either of them in the first place? And how the hell were they so well-equipped?

Murtagh fought against his captors as they dragged his hands behind his back to bind them. “What do you want?”

No one responded, just held onto him tighter as Thorn’s eyelids continued to droop.

I…I can’t keep my head…up…

Don’t go to sleep, Murtagh begged, his chest heaving. Fight it.

I’m trying…

Movement from behind the group of men in front of him caught his eye. There were ten of them in front of him, weapons all trained closely on him, another four holding him, and another eight surrounding Thorn. They looked like ordinary bandits—their hoods up with cloth masks over their faces, their clothes and gear (aside from the shiny, new ballista and net) worn and rusty. Through the group in front of him, Murtagh could see someone in all black moving toward him. The crowd parted and Murtagh’s breath caught in his throat as a man clad in all black, hood drawn, and face hidden by a black skull mask, emerged and simply stared down at him. He clung tightly to a flail before glancing at Thorn, making Murtagh realize even his eyes were covered with some sort of black mesh that he could clearly see out of, but rendered his eye color a mystery.

“Well done hunting us,” he said, turning his face back to Murtagh. His voice was unremarkable aside from the fact that it was male and muffled by the mask. “You were so close.”

Murtagh tested his captors’ strength again and again failed. He growled in frustration; ever since you and Gormlaith had arrived at the academy, the masked men who had been chasing you had been on everyone’s minds—including the queen, who worried about the threat they posed to everyone as a whole. For the last six months, Murtagh and Thorn had been away from the academy (minus the few trips to return and recoup) hunting for clues about this group. He’d found nothing beyond tracking their path and always being several steps behind, barely missing them whenever they seemed to stop and refuel. There were rumors that they were somehow affiliated with a witch who was just as elusive, but he’d found nothing else helpful. They’d been quiet since you’d arrived at the academy, but clearly on the move—and now it was obvious they’d been equipping themselves with followers and means to take down a dragon aplenty.

Murtagh could feel Thorn slipping further and further into sleep. Stay with me, friend. All he got was a long sigh in response as the dragon’s eyes fell closed and didn’t open again. He could still feel him alive and unharmed, but rapidly losing consciousness.

A bandit with a blue hood and mask who stood directly behind the masked man spoke up. “Where are we taking them?”

“To the black sands.”

Just then, a distant roar filled the air with a tone that betrayed its large size. Thorn’s eyes barely flickered open as their assailants looked up in concern.

“I thought you said this would be the only dragon around for miles,” the man with the blue hood said. “We only have the one net and used our only bolt already.”

The distant beat of wings grew louder until it was thundering toward them from behind. Murtagh tried to turn his head, but it was roughly shoved back to look at the ground. He carefully reached out with his mind and touched a vast, unyielding consciousness with a hint of darkness—and maybe even a tinge of madness—that immediately blocked him out. From his view of the ground, he saw a large shadow suddenly block out the sun as the men in front of him began to panic. Another roar, this time much closer, rang through the sky, so deep and loud that Murtagh felt it vibrate in his chest. There was barely time to register anything before fire rained down, taking out several of the men guarding Thorn and the ballista. Screams and the smell of fire filled the air as the bandits before him broke formation to head for cover in the nearby forest while those on fire jumped in the river on the opposite side.

Now free of his guards, Thorn tried his best to get up and shake the net off, but to no avail.

“Stand your ground!” the blue hood cried.

The masked man held out his hand to keep him from drawing his sword. “It’s no good.”

“It’s one dragon and rider—and the ones you wanted, at that!”

“She’s much, much larger than anticipated. She’s grown too quickly and we don’t have the means to bring her down—and she’s angry. Live to fight another day—and this way, you’ll live to see your pay.”

Another roar sounded, filling Murtagh’s ears to the point of pain. He screwed his eyes shut against the ringing in his head as the shadow fell over them again. A column of fire missed his head by mere feet as the men holding him ducked, yelling in terror.

“Pull back!” the blue hood screamed. “To the forest, now!”

The men holding Murtagh threw him to the ground. He landed hard on his back and felt all the air woosh out of his lungs. Once he’d managed to catch it, he knew the sight before him wouldn’t leave his mind anytime soon: part of the forest and the ground ahead of him were engulfed in flame, several of the bandits making a run for it. Black smoke plumed into the air as a great, black dragon moved to hover just over the tree line, and he had to remind himself that it wasn’t Shruikan in front of him. The beating of its wings drove the smoke back toward Murtagh, obscuring his vision and causing him to cough. As the masked man made his way towards the tree line, a figure emerged from the smoke as if born from it. They were also clad in all black armor, the symbol of the academy’s bodyguards emblazoned on their chest. In their hands, they held a wicked sword with a black blade, several notches along the steel to create the illusion of spikes.

They strode towards the masked man with purpose and as some of the smoke cleared, Murtagh realized it was you. Although you’d never been formally introduced with him being in and out of the academy so much since you’d arrived, he’d recognize you anywhere. You’d become a bit of a celebrity at the academy and he couldn’t deny you’d caught his eye more than once in group conversations. He’d never seen you geared up for battle though and especially with Gormlaith behind you and your black blade, you were truly a sight to behold.

You and the masked man met in the middle and he swung out with his flail. Murtagh scrambled to his feet just as you ducked to avoid the blow, grabbing Zar’roc where the bandits had abandoned it on the ground and running to your aid. Before he could get close enough to help, you swung for the masked man’s leg. He blocked the blow with the handle of his weapon just in time for you to swing your own handle into his face, stabbing the cross guard of your sword right through the eye of his mask. He shrieked and stumbled back a few steps. Murtagh swung out with Zar’roc just as the man turned. But instead of slicing solid flesh, he found himself slicing through a sudden cloud of black mist that scattered on the wind, leaving the two of you alone amongst the carnage.

You both stared at each other in silence for a moment before looking around, keeping tight grips on your swords. When no one reappeared after a few minutes, you sheathed your sword into the scabbard slung across your back before making your way over to Murtagh.

~***~

“Are you all right?” you asked, glancing at the red dragon still immobile under the net several yards away.

I’ll help him, Gormlaith said before quickly landing by his side, her wings scattering the smoke back towards the wrecked forest behind you. You glanced at the havoc all around—it was hard not to scorch the earth with every entrance with a dragon that size, but it did have its uses. And you couldn’t deny the confidence boost in knowing you were safe with both your skills and dragon.

“I’m fine,” the man in front of you answered, picking up his scabbard. He sheathed his sword and belted it around his waist. “But Thorn has been heavily sedated.”

You nodded, looking at your dragon as she took the net in her teeth and gently pulled it off Thorn’s body. He groaned and shifted his head to look back at her, but seemed he couldn’t raise it very far off the ground.

“Have you ever encountered any sort of sedative that could take a dragon out like this before?” you asked.

“No.” The man swallowed hard, gripping the pommel of his sword until his knuckles turned white. He motioned for you to follow him as he quickly trudged to his dragon’s side. “They shot him with some sort of bolt. It didn’t go deep or hit anywhere deadly, but it was coated in some sort of…goop. An invention of these masked men, I assume.”

You watched in concern as the man leaned against his dragon’s head, gently massaging his jaw. The dragon blearily opened his eyes before settling against the ground, leaning gently into his rider’s body.

The man sighed before turning back to you. “Well…we can’t move him. Even with your dragon’s large size, I doubt she could carry him anywhere along with the two of us.”

You glanced at the setting sun. “It will be night soon and we at least have some cover from the nearby forest. We could camp here for the night, set some wards, and hope this is worn off by the morning.”

He nodded. “How did you get here? I thought you two were back at the academy.”

“We were one of two rider and dragon bodyguards for an egg delegation nearby, but saw Thorn flying through the sky just to suddenly plummet. We got leave from the lead guardian to come see what was going on.”

“By yourselves? Even though these masked men are still out there and hunting you?”

“Well,” you shrugged, “Gormlaith’s big enough and I’ve had enough training to handle ourselves.”

The man scoffed and glanced at the still-smoking trees. “Clearly.”

You chuckled. “But we did promise Eragon we’d behave, so…” You shoved your hands in your pockets and bounced on the balls of your feet, “there, uh, go our ‘leave-the-grounds’ privileges for a while, I guess.”

He gave you a small smile, resting a hand against his dragon’s head. He stared at you for a moment with a look of open admiration that you couldn’t deny stirred butterflies in your stomach. “Thank you for saving us anyway. I’m Murtagh and this is my dragon, Thorn.”

You nodded. “We’ve heard of you. I’m Y/N, and this is Gormlaith.”

Murtagh nodded, a quick flash of guilt shadowing his features before it was gone again. “And we’ve heard of you. You’re quite the celebrity back at the academy—and even among the people here in Alagaësia.”

“So we’ve heard.” You laughed humorlessly. “We’ve been called the ‘new shadow’ enough times since we landed with the delegation.” You tried not to grimace at all the memories of students, their families, and now citizens alike giving you a wide berth. Although you had a small fan club back at the academy, it mainly consisted of younger students who had no memory of the second Riders’ war. You could feel through your bond that it was even harder on Gormlaith than it was on you. She was the one who was being punished for her father’s sins, after all—but you’d both accepted that this was just the way you would exist in the world, at least for a while: alone together.

As if sensing your thoughts, Murtagh gave you a sympathetic, but grim look. “Well…you won’t be a shadow to us.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly, trying to impart with your eyes that you understood he was one of the few—if not the only—person who could truly understand your plight. You held each other’s gaze for several moments before looking away awkwardly. “Well, we should get started with the wards. You can take that side, and I’ll take this side. There should be enough things on fire that starting one shouldn’t be too hard.”

You’re welcome, Gormlaith said, expanding her consciousness so Murtagh and Thorn could hear her, too.

You both laughed, Thorn giving a meager snort that could’ve been taken as one as well, before getting to work. The perimeter of the ward had to be large to accommodate Thorn and enough room for you to sleep in. Gormlaith was always hyper-aware of her surroundings and large enough that you weren’t worried about fitting her in—and the two of you always had light wards anyway. Once a fire was made, the nearby river made for easy fishing via magic. Murtagh insisted on cooking the meat with the utensils he always carried with him as a thank you. You weren’t sure how long you sat and talked, insisting on staying throughout the night to make sure he and Thorn would be all right. Your caregiver and magic teacher had been adamant that you learn how to read well and the two of you talked about books and scrolls you read for so long, you lost track of time. Murtagh seemed pleasantly surprised by your knowledge of the topic and his air was much lighter and more open than what you’d seen the few times you’d run into him at the academy. You’d only ever seen both him and Thorn from across the way or run into him during group conversations where he didn’t say much and disappeared quickly. But they’d both seemed much more tense and closed off then, and you’d certainly never seen him smile. Scoring more than one laugh out of him during your conversation felt like you’d won a prize and up close, you realized just how handsome he really was. If not for his past, you were sure the women at the academy would’ve been all over him trying to get just a shred of his attention. He’d always struck you as very reserved, but this new hint of shyness when he looked at and talked to you was new and only increased your own nervousness that you hoped he couldn’t detect.

Mmm, I see he’s struck someone’s fancy, Gormlaith teased.

Oh, shut up—as if you weren’t admiring his dragon earlier.

A girl can look; that’s not a crime.

A while after Gormlaith had laid down, you realized just how high in the sky the moon was. “We should get some sleep—but before we do, I wanted to ask if you’d learned anything about the masked men in the last six months?”

Murtagh took a drink from his water skin and shrugged. “Not much more than we already know—except I’ve heard rumors that they may be connected to some witch who’s been equally elusive. I’ve always seemed to be two steps behind them and didn’t even know they were tracking us back until they already had us.” He paused. “I know you two are capable, but you need to be careful about leaving the academy…” He glanced at his feet. “I’d hate to see anything happen to you.”

You nodded. Although you also believed in your and Gormlaith’s capabilities, you couldn’t help but worry about what all this meant not only for your own lives, but the people around you. If you hadn’t arrived when you did, who knew what could’ve happened to Murtagh and Thorn? Before you’d even been formally introduced, you’d already put a target on their backs. Who else was now a target because of you?

Murtagh interrupted your thoughts. “We should get some sleep now. You’ll probably want to return to the delegation first thing in the morning.”

You stood, untying your bedroll from where it was strapped to Gormlaith’s side. “Well, as long as Thorn’s more coherent by then.”

Murtagh sighed as he grabbed his own bedroll. “I’m hoping he’ll just sleep it off. He’s definitely out right now.” He gently rubbed his dragon’s head again. “We might come back to the academy with you this time. Thorn could probably use a rest after this, especially before we venture any further away from the coast.”

You nodded, laying out your bedroll close to Gormlaith’s side and settling in.

I’ll take first watch and wake you in a few hours, she said before gently nuzzling your side with the tip of her nose.

All right, you replied, already enjoying the warmth radiating from her body as you rolled to face her.

After a few moments of nothing but the crackling of the fire, Murtagh quietly said, “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Night,” you mumbled, already half asleep and picturing his smiling face again in your mind.

Taglist (please let me know if you'd like to be added): @the-ethereal-god @shelbyteller

[solarisetlesetoiles]

blorbos taking a snooze

[alagaesia-headcanons]

*rubs my grubby little hands together* alright here we go~ stick with me for a minute, this Does come around to murtagh and eragon's relationship i promise

-

I find it ironic that the circumstances of Murtagh’s life that went so awry- his capture by the Empire, his and Thorn’s enslavement using their true names, and them being forced to fight against the Varden- can paint him in a particularly selfish light. Eragon’s perspective reveals some of this, like the way he calls Murtagh’s oaths to Galbatorix a betrayal, one that favors his own wellbeing over Eragon and the Varden, or how he feels like Murtagh takes satisfaction in his new power and in lashing out at the world. And the fact that these things can be seen as self-serving specifically is ironic because it directly contradicts the actual quality of his character. Every time we see Murtagh acting of his own volition, over and over it proves that, more than anything, he is deeply devoted to the people he cares about- to a self sacrificing extent- and that he has an innate desire to help others.

Repeatedly, Murtagh puts protecting his loved ones above his own safety, and that’s true even in the act Eragon calls a betrayal. When they talk in Uru’baen, Murtagh admits to Nasuada that he willingly chose to swear loyalty to Galbatorix, but also reveals that he only did so after Thorn hatched. Murtagh himself had already suffered savage torture without relenting, yet solely for the sake of Thorn, to keep his hatchling partner from suffering as well, only then does Murtagh swear loyalty. And this is a self sacrifice. This undermines what he tried to make of his life before being recaptured- striking back against the Empire, aiding Eragon and Saphira, and proving his good will to the Varden. He had to give up all these things about himself and submit to slavery under a man he loathes, but Murtagh was willing to do that to protect Thorn.

And yet, while still trapped so hopelessly under Galbatorix’s thumb, Murtagh also goes out of his way to help Nasuada too. He convinces the king to capture her in the first place, instead of simply killing her, and whether or not this was his place, it demonstrates how he genuinely doesn’t want her to be harmed. He goes out of his way to help Nasuada by healing her pain, warning her about illusions, and promising to help her escape. And he makes good on that. From what he tells Eragon in their last duel, he had a plan to free her the next day. Murtagh goes to great lengths that put him at great risk. Galbatorix could have just as well discovered his interference and then nothing would have saved him from violent punishment. Freeing her would have guaranteed that. There’s nothing for him to gain, yet he still does these things for Nasuada time and time again.

The care Murtagh gives to Thorn and Nasuada proves that his selfless protectiveness toward his loved ones is a persistent part of his nature, but it’s never more clear than it is in his relationship with Eragon in the first book.

In Inheritance, Murtagh tells Nasuada that his initial motivation for going out to track the Ra’zac was to hurt the Empire and to prove himself as more than his father’s son. Nevertheless, from the time that he saved Eragon from the Ra’zac onwards, he demonstrates a desire to help that goes beyond a personal gain. On the contrary, I feel like his constant willingness to help while he personally strives to be recognized as his own person indicates that his helpfulness is a genuine part of his nature that shapes his desires and actions. And that nature shows itself repeatedly. Murtagh rescues Eragon a second time when he’s captured in Gil’ead, planning with Saphira and sneaking his way in to free him. When Eragon later thanks him for it, his response is, “‘I’m just glad I could help. It...’ Murtagh faltered and rubbed his face.”

After going to great lengths and knowingly risking his life to free Eragon from Gil’ead, Murtagh's instinctual response to his gratitude is that he simply wanted to help his friend. And this comes up again. When they fight in the Hadarac Desert, Eragon tells Murtagh he never had to travel with him or rescue him. “‘I haven’t forced you to do anything.’” Murtagh’s response is always funny to me because he’s irritable, afraid, and angry and so he’s deliberately trying to be mean and act like he doesn’t care about Eragon, and yet his reply is, “‘Oh, not openly, no. What else could I do but help you with the Ra’zac? And then later, at Gil’ead, how could I have left with a clear conscience? The problem with you...is that you’re so totally helpless that you force everyone to take care of you!’”

It does nothing except prove how much he cares about Eragon and wants to help him! “‘What else could I do but help you with the Ra’zac?’” is especially funny because the glaringly obvious answer is to just. not help. But then that makes it clear that Murtagh so genuinely and inherently believes he should help that he doesn’t see not helping as a real option. And even though he phrases it insultingly in his frustration, what he ultimately says about Gil’ead is that he couldn’t have made himself abandon Eragon when he couldn’t defend himself. He would have felt too guilty because he considers saving him the right thing to do.

I feel like a large part of this springs from Murtagh’s core morality and desire to do good, but there is also an element rooted in his relationship with Eragon specifically. They get along; Murtagh likes him and he trusts him and that matters when the help he gives him puts him at such risk. Murtagh is self sacrificing in the way he protects and looks after Eragon. Sneaking in to Gil’ead to rescue him could have cost him his life- Eragon himself acknowledges that when he thanks him for it.  And the risks he takes for him aren’t just overblown or inconsequential. When Murtagh enters Gil’ead beforehand, in Eragon’s stead, to find out the Varden’s location, he’s recognized and has to flee. When he stays with Eragon as they run from the Urgal army, it forces him to the Varden where he’s imprisoned.

And yet those repercussions don’t undermine Murtagh’s devotion to Eragon. Even when they reach the Varden, the one place Murtagh did not want to go and will rob him of his freedom, his heartfelt care for Eragon doesn’t falter. After Eragon’s mind is searched by one of the Twins who then tries to do the same to Murtagh, they have this exchange:

“‘Eragon has been declared trustworthy, so you cannot threaten to kill him to influence me. Since you can’t do that, nothing you say or do will convince me to open my mind.’ Sneering, the bald man cocked what would have been an eyebrow, if he had any. ‘What of your own life? I can still threaten that.’ ‘It won’t do any good,’ said Murtagh stonily and with such conviction that it was impossible to doubt his word.”

Murtagh’s statement is striking to me because the blatant, undeniable meaning behind it is that, if they’d tried to test Murtagh first and threatened to kill Eragon if he didn’t comply, he would have done it. Murtagh would have let the Twin examine his mind to save Eragon’s life. And the privacy and sanctity of his mind is of paramount importance to him. He says as much to Ajihad when he also tries to convince him to be examined. He declares as much right here! Murtagh explicitly states that protecting Eragon’s life is the singular thing that could make him yield. He would give up his own life before exposing his mind. This has even more gravity for Murtagh specifically. He’s self sacrificing, but not reckless in the same way several of the other main characters are. He’s not one to toss his life aside; he fights hard to survive. So his willingness to die to guard his mind hammers home how important that is to him.

Because of that, even though such a situation never came to pass, Murtagh’s admission that he would give that up to protect Eragon’s life is the most salient proof of his devotion to me. And that’s considering he also fights the Ra’zac and infiltrates Gil’ead for him! I honestly don’t have another word for it- Murtagh holds a truly profound devotion to Eragon that is built upon his desire to help others and to fervently protect the people he cares for. These aspects are so integral to him that they determine his most significant choices.

[saphira-approves]

mr paolini sir i might actually genuinely spontaneously combust

[haveyoureadthisbook-poll]

Look at tumblr's 2024 year in review here

Movie version of this poll

tv show version of this poll

[thefatesofspring]

Another thing I’ll never understand about the ACOTAR fandom is why playing an instrument is an ick!!

Tamlin playing the fiddle which is just a violin basically (believe me I’ve seen art depictions of people confusing a fiddle with a flute) is honestly amazing to me, the violin/fiddle is also one of the most difficult instruments to master & yet Tamlin plays it so well it captivates EVERYONE!!

You know what is icky THE BAT BOYS.

Tamlin has ACTUAL hobbies: playing the fiddle, writing poetry, a few times it’s been eluded to that he likes gardening

meanwhile the flying rodents do nothing but drink, gamble, fuck, lie, steal, beat, bully, torment, harass, exploit, abuse, imprison, gaslight & manipulate, dress their partner in clothes made by their mother, breed, force people to secrecy, attack, buy more homes than need be. There’s probably more but off the top of my head that’s the basics & none of which are hobbies or anything to fall in love over.

[littlefeltsparrow]

Feyre’s arrogance is actively cultivated by the Inner Circle because it lets them contain her in a bubble of ignorance. If Feyre feels sure of her authority as High Lady, then she trusts that the Inner Circle will be subject to her power and never betray her. That illusion makes it easy to undermine her, because she is convinced of her security in their world. Her naïveté, coupled with her rapid rise to power makes her easy to persuade and manipulate.

Also, Feyre’s alignment with masculine power makes her think that she no longer needs feminine solidarity/sisterhood which isolates her even further. Lording her power over her sisters pushes them further away and prevents the Archeron sisters from fully uniting with one another. Her willful blindness to the injustice of Nesta’s plight is a way of convincing herself of her authority and the false idea that she could never be subject to such treatment.

[good-morzan-inheritance-cycle]

I need this as canon, IMMEDIATELY

Personal headcanon: Whether it be the younglings at Carvahall or the young rams in an Urgal village, Thorn loves hiding younglings under his wing and act like he doesn’t know they are there. It’s one of his favorite games. He may pretend to take a nap as a cover, hide his nose in his tail so no one can see his smile. Murtagh can always sense he’s up to something by sensing an underlying humor in Thorn.

[roseadleyn]

okay but why is the entire inner circle so toxic towards each other? like found family my fucking foot they hate each other. cassian and rhysand gang up to beat azriel even tho azriel was beaten as a kid, mor and amren talk abt wine and men and occasionally power, feyre is only included because she's rhys' victim i mean wife and she has no friends of her own, rhys locked the entire inner circle up in velaris for 50 fucking years... i mean they don't even need threats or enemies atp. their family is enough evil for them

edit;: rhys and cass fucking know about azriels childhood trauma and still beat him btw

[somnas-writes]

Azris fic idea

Azriel and Eris are finally at the stage in their new relationship where they’re bold enough to sleep in the same bed.

Azriel doesn’t even touch Eris until he gets impatient and hugs him. Azriel absolutely melts and falls asleep so fast.

They both sleep fantastically that night, but come morning Azriel doesn’t wake up. At first Eris panicked, but upon further inspection he realizes that Azriel is in the deepest sleep ever.

On Az’s end, laying in that bed is the warmest he’s ever been and he hasn’t had a full night sleep in who knows how long— once he closes his eyes, he’s out.

He sleeps nearly three whole days, when he finally wakes up he doesn’t know where he is but he’s never felt more relieved.

[murtagh-thorn]

In the mood to chat, so tell me your deep thoughts about anything Murtagh or Inheritance Cycle related: GO.

[solarisetlesetoiles]

this post is brought to you by me having feelings about dragons with non-standard hoards and various posts I've seen about Murtagh being kind of a nerd

[alagaesia-headcanons]

@marimo331 Thank you for the prompt!!! The timeline I'm working with is rather different, so I though an AU would be fun for this! I didn't exactly include dragon egg idea, but something along those lines. (also I already broke my resolve to keep these under 1k hhhh I am nothing if not long winded :'V !)

As a vague set up for this AU, the conflict that decimated the old Riders doesn’t go so favorably for Galbatorix and he isn’t able to secure power, so he and the Forsworn don’t last long after the war. When the chance to rebuild the Riders later presents itself via Eragon and Saphira, it doesn’t require the bloodshed it does in canon. There’s more weight on the Riders’ impact on Alagaesia’s cultures and power dynamics.

-

One month ago, after a series of concerning reports from the port city of Reavstone, Orrin contacted Eragon and requested aid for their investigation. A number of sailors- too many to be explained away as a crew that helped themselves to an excess of rum- have told similar tales of damaged ships and lines, snatched glimpses of uncanny creatures in the water, and ghastly sounds echoing in the caves of the eastern cliffs. A few weeks later, Eragon declared that Murtagh and Thorn would meet him at Reavstone in five days.

That should make the day of their arrival today.

Orrin can’t help but tersely wonder if the reason Eragon didn’t come himself is because of the wrong foot Orrin started off on years ago when the issue of the Riders suddenly reared its head after nearly a century of their absence. Eragon is kind hearted and has likely forgiven his past falters, and it’s of little consequence either way since he did provide the help they asked for, albeit not personally. But all the idle waiting leaves his mind drifting down such paths.

Lost in thought, he doesn’t notice at first several raised voices mingle with the cries of seagulls overhead. “Sire,” Graytooth utters, touching his arm once. His guard points up, redirecting his returned attention to the horizon. A glittering spark of red hangs there in the sky.

“Tell Powel to hail them and ask that they land in the north courtyard when they draw near,” he instructs.

More than an hour passes as they close the distance, the buzz throughout the city steadily mounting as they do. When he finally gets a clear view of them, Orrin worries briefly that even the north courtyard might not be big enough, but Thorn lowers himself with remarkably graceful precision, neatly nestling his enormity amidst the buildings of the keep. His ruby hide casts dazzling sparkles all around. He tastes the air primly, then lowers his noble head, observing all of them curiously.

As he does, in a flash of movement between his wings, Murtagh dismounts with an unhesitating leap to the ground. Running a hand fondly along the length of his neck, he makes his way around his dragon and Orrin gets his first look at the second Rider of the new generation.

Only having Eragon as a reference point, he’d pictured Murtagh resembling his half brother, but in the flesh, he is actually quite different. His figure is wiry and angular, at once appearing more lithe while also sharper around the edges. Loose curls of dark hair are half tied up behind pointed ears, a mark of the changes of a Rider, although he clearly hasn’t shared Eragon’s transformation into the spitting image of an elf. Murtagh doesn’t look entirely human, but he’s not sleekly polished in that elven way.

He’s very handsome, in fact. His eyes are clever and the subtle, sly curl of his lips is compelling. He wears a fine, form fitting tunic with sleeves that reach to his elbows, perhaps to better accommodate use of magic. Orrin would think he’s more of an athlete than a warrior if not for his scarlet sword.

Hand on his chest, he bows his head and greets, “Murtagh, at your service.” Then he holds his hand out towards his partner. “And Thorn, at your service.” Thorn pushes a paw forward in such a way that it hinders the other nobles from approaching, something Orrin feels an unexpectedly profound pulse of gratitude for. The dragon chuffs sonorously and blinks at him, and a breath of awe flutters in Orrin’s chest.

“I am honored,” he exhales, after almost forgetting his decorum facing the odd pair. “I am King Orrin, and on behalf of Surda, I want to thank you for providing your help with these unusual troubles.”

“Of course your majesty, the Riders will always serve people’s needs,” Murtagh replies automatically, giving the formalities only a cursory consideration. “I am the Riders’ expert on unusual troubles, after all, and I feel like I’m due to get another one under my belt,” he quips, wryly alluding to his past which Orrin isn’t wholly familiar with, but that he grasps the broad outline of well enough to know ‘unusual’ is an understatement. “Eragon told me what you said. I was impressed by the insight you had on all the reports.”

“Ahh, well,” Orrin fusses his fingertips over the clasp of his cloak. He didn’t realize that’d been passed along. “With Aberon’s library at my disposal, it seemed only right to do a bit of research.” He pauses for one beat, but Murtagh doesn’t interject, watching attentively. “Well- from all the sources I could gather, I’m very skeptical that it could be a Nïdhwal of any kind. It would be far too close to shore and I couldn’t find a single thing that would account for the sounds. One crew had convinced themselves that Ra’zac had made a den in the cliff-” Murtagh hums in his throat, entertained- “and their paranoia was threatening to spread into a panic. Luckily they listened well enough for me to assure them that it can’t be Ra’zac, as they’d never get so close to the sea.”

“Exactly, exactly,” he concurs intently, waving a hand towards him, “because they suffer in damp nests and-”

“They can’t swim,” Orrin finishes, gesturing back. “Right. Old accounts were thorough enough to rule them out easily, but left more to be desired about other creatures. I have a handful of theories on what this could be, but nothing definite.”

Thorn snorts, his breath ruffling Murtagh’s hair. “Thorn’s right, it sounds like you would be quite the asset for figuring this out. Do you plan to be on the ship that’s going to guide us to the cliff side?”

Orrin falters for a moment, taken aback by the prospect, then instinctively glances over at Graytooth. The look he gets in return is faintly exasperated, although not particularly determined to deny him. His guard wontedly remarks, “It would be dangerous.”

But Orrin can’t focus on that, his mind alive with the thought of fresh, open air outside of city walls, escaping the overbearing and ever present pressure of his court, the allure of a meaningful mystery where his curiosity and urge to understand might have a purpose for once. -And having a dragon and his Rider circling overhead! Surely, with them, the danger wouldn’t be so great.

Indeed, Murtagh offers, “We’d do everything we can to see to your safety.”

“...Do you think it’d make any difference? If I were there?”

Murtagh considers him with an even stare. “I think there’s no way it wouldn’t. In my experience, the right companion might make all the difference when it comes to unusual troubles.” The right companion. Orrin struggles to believe he could ever fill such a role. Murtagh tips his head and shrugs, saying, “It’s up to you if that seems wise, though. I can’t say for sure, and there’s only one way to know.”

Scattering the people gathered in the courtyard like a flock of startled sparrows, Thorn rearranges his legs beneath him and lays down, resting his head on his front paws, flicking the tip of his tail. Orrin feels the projected touch of his mind and his instinct to immediately refocus on his mental defenses lurches up, but after a heartbeat, he relaxes and listens to the dragon say, We’d like to hear your theories.

Orrin can’t restrain a small smile, touched. Murtagh shifts his weight and straightens his shoulders. “I’ll tell you what I learned, then. Whatever I can do to keep this danger from harming anyone else, I’ll do it. So- if it might help, I will join,” he vows.

Thorn purrs as Murtagh grins.

[fantasymindpalace]

and you know what?? fuck madja the healer too because why would she only tell rhysand about the pregnancy risks and not feyre? that man literally had the entire night court down to the fucking healer conspiring against their own high lady. the level of treachery the inner circle engaged in to withhold the truth from her is why i don’t care about nestas “delivery” when she told feyre. nesta using a mean tone and raising her voice is still not as disrespectful as hiding the truth. the ic didn’t like nesta’s tone because they didn’t appreciate their lies being revealed.

[witheverynesta]

Feyre "I came back from the SC and instead of checking on my recently turned fae sisters, I went to fuck my husband" Archeron.

Feyre "I forgive my sister but if my family was talking shit about her I wouldn't do anything (except halfheartedly tell them to stop)" Archeron.

Feyre "I lock my depressed sister up in a house with open windows where she can potentially kill herself instead of trying to help properly" Archeron.

Feyre "I lock my sister in said house with a creepy guy despite my sister saying multiple times she didn't want to be near him" Archeron.

Feyre "I'm so nice to everyone until I became High Lady and let the power get to my thick head and started looking down on everyone including my first ever friend" Archeron.

Feyre "I think of myself so highly that I can't help but meddle in other people's business and spend my free time matching people up depending on the aesthetic" Archeron.

[moonstrck]

Rereading ACOSF and Nesta and Cassian’s first sex scene ended in such a fucked up way, imo.

Despite obviously feeling a connection and saying he was “beyond lies right now” after calling her “sex” beautiful, Cassian immediately switches up and stonewalls her. She had said “just sex” at first when they began messing around, yes, but you can tell he pulled this just to spite her and leave her reeling.

Especially how when complimented she said “no one’s ever called it beautiful before”, showed him her genuine self and shared that the experience was “too good”. Almost like she knew it was too good to not end with some kind of punishment and pain, like everything in her life had up to that point.

I just found this so… ick. I’ve been in a position like that where someone just changes their demeanor and shows complete loss of interest in you after they’re satisfied and it’s such a disgusting feeling of being used. She even said she felt empty afterwards. And she had been self harming via sex before this (WHICH WAS ONE OF THE REASONS SHE WAS LOCKED IN THE HOUSE OF WIND!!!) and he did this. Again, ick