#murtagh x thorn

[knuxblocket]

Murtagh' couse I love Inheritance cycle

[murtagh-thorn]

Dark Legacies Masterlist

You and your black female dragon, Gormlaith, didn't arrive at Eragon's Rider Academy on Vroengard like most other students. While many others arrived as children or teenagers with a brand new hatchling, you and your dragon endured many months of strife and turmoil to claim your place as pupils - which makes the two of you much older than most there. With Gormlaith's ties to an evil that once plagued the land, you're given a wide berth by elves and students alike until you meet someone who has also paid for his father's and former tyrant's mistakes. Will your forming friendship prove a boon or a target on your back in the years to come?

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, but they'll be listed in chronological order below, and some elements will be taken from other Murtagh x reader one shots of mine.

PSA: Gormlaith is an Irish name (meaning “illustrious princess”) pronounced GORM-lah

***

Part I: A New Shadow Your and your dragon's arrival at Eragon's academy on has long been expected - and feared. After being on the run for several months from men in masks who want you dead and your dragon as their slave for unknown reasons, you're finally safe on the newly hospitable Vroengard. But what do these men in masks want, will they follow you into a den of dragons, and are you truly safe from the rumor mill and politics of those around you?

Part II: Smoke on the Horizon 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.

More to come soon!

[hurricanes-art]

doodling a fairy tale au concept

dragons have opposable thumbs so they can commit crimes 👍

[inheritance-cycle-povs]

POV:

Your crush is the Queen of the Varden, and your master spins some girly fanfic of your relationship...

[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.

[ivorydragoness44]

Ah! I must write more of this

Murtagh Morzansson x Reader: Touch

Word Count: ~610 Notes/Warnings: Kinda touch-starved Murtagh and fluff. Summary: An evening with Murtagh, snuggled up and reading.

~~~~  ~~~~  ~~~~  ~~~~

  The room had finally reached an optimal temperature by the time you and Murtagh had ventured over to the couch.    “Thank you for dinner again,” you said, tossing your legs over his lap, “I don’t think my arms would’ve lasted much longer after today’s training.”    Chuckling, he rested his arms over your legs. “You’re most welcome.”    The pair of you settled yourselves onto the furniture further, ready to rest after a good meal and an exceptionally long day.    Leaning your shoulder into the cushion, you wrapped your arms around his closest one. It was one of your favorite things to do. To snuggle close and rest your head on his shoulder.    “Comfortable?” Murtagh asked, flipping open a book.    You smiled, “I have no complaints.”    He returned a kind smile before moving his attentions to the book in his hands.    With the short glance that you managed to get of the book’s cover, you still had no idea what he was reading. It could literally, almost, be about anything. This book in particular appeared relatively new to you. From time to time, you would ask about any book that he was currently reading. This time, you figured that you would hold onto your question for a little while longer, considering how interested he seemed to be with it.

Keep reading

[dark-elf-writes]

My friend have you ever thought of a HP x inheritance Cycle ?

well I'm definitely thinking about it now.

Trying to decide when would be the funniest time for Harry to show up tbh because imagining Eragon and Murtagh trying to keep an entire child AND a half dead elf alive while they run for their lives for the Varden is very funny, but a post war Murtagh being so convinced that he is evil and nonredeemable and everyone hates him only to be all but handed a tiny child that thinks he is the coolest person alive is also very funny and opens up the idea of poor Roran having to deal with a half delirious Murtagh (ant Thorn tbh) the very first time Harry has any issue because he is the only person Murtagh knows with a child who might know what to do

[redfurrycat]

🐓🐉🤠Eragon and Top Gun AU🤠🐉🐓

Hangster Shur'tugalar

I've recently discovered that Christopher Paolini is going to offer us another Inheritance book centered on Murtagh & Thorn (💕💕). This got me EXCITED like WOW! One of my favourite fantasy world!

Thus here I am with another AU.... I've other stuff to share later including a long (looooooong, not even finished yet) descriptive post of the plot I imagined or even a fic, depending on the mood (not my priority fic to write though). I clearly don't own any of the Inheritance world-building thingies (Paolini does!).

HOWEVER, the dragon names are from my own thinking with the Ancient Language I could find... I tried to make it as close to Bradley and Jake's callsigns as possible. One HELL of a mouthful though... Don't ask me how to pronounce their full names! xD

Name: Bradley Bradshaw-Machado

Family: Adopted by the Machado Family, unknown biological parents (are they though? 😏)

Place of Birth: Carvahall (is it though?)

Social Status: Farmer, later Shur'tugal

Female Dragon Name: Fethreldrvarya (short Varya)

From the Ancient Language, Fethr + eldrvarya (feather + burn)

[Pic Sources: x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x]

Name: Jake Seresin of the Broddring Empire

Family: King Galbatorix (father), Seresin concubine (mother), Bob Floyd (half-brother)

Place of Birth: Urû'baen

Social Status: Bastard Prince (technically heir to the throne BUT), ? (something secret for now), later Shur'tugal

Male Dragon Name: Kverstanglát (short Kvers)

From the Ancient Language, Kverst + anglát (cut + death)

[Pic Sources: x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x, x]

[Peacock Dragon Art doesn't belong to me, but to Dragarta Artist! You can find her and her other beautiful art on DevianArt or her own website Dragarta.com!] (I do have her okay to include her art into my post! Thank you so much! ❤️)

MORE TO COME! 😉

Check my pinned post for my other stuff!

[everythingloveandanimated]

I remember thinking (and hoping) that Alín would be a good match for Murtagh. Once she gets some more real world experience and matures and grows up a bit, I think she’ll be a candidate for him. She did help him in the battle in Oth Orum beneath the village, so she’s not opposed to fisticuffs, but she definitely needs to be trained in combat. It doesn’t need to be at Murtagh’s level, but she at least needs to be able to quickly strike to incapacitate.

She also knows how to dance and Murtagh should have a partner that dances. Murtagh also needs moments to dance for the joy of it. (Party at Carvahall. If there is any talk, it’s about events outside the valley or business or family or town gossip. A far cry from political machinations of the balls he grew up in.)

She also has a good relationship with Thorn, which would be important for any woman Murtagh ends up with. Though I would feel better if she didn’t have such a deified perspective of Thorn. Murtagh’s partner should snark with Thorn. All three of them would love it.

I know many of you will most probably kill me if I say this, but I need to take it out: I honestly feel like Chris didn’t develop Murtagh and Nasuada the way he should have. I mean, their supposed relationship. It would be great if they were together in a near future, I’m not hating on the ship, but it felt as if out of absolutely nothing Christopher decided to put them together… Murtagh decides to convince Galbatorix to bring her to Uru'baen to save her from getting killed and they’ve only spoken once. It’s not like he was already in love with her. If it had been Eragon instead of Murtagh, he may have fallen in love more easily, but we’re talking about Murtagh. This young man has enormous trust issues and I highly doubt that just because he thinks Nasuada is fantastically fabulous he would fall for her. It would take him way more time to do that merely because of his upbringing and so forth. And then, when he takes her and Galbatorix forces him to torture her… Yes, they do get to talk and sort of befriend each other, but I don’t see how –also we have to understand they know each other very little from before their current situation– someone like Murtagh would go to the extreme of literally risking his life for someone he knows very little. I am the first one that wants Murtagh to be happy and I think Nasuada is perfect for him, but considering Murtagh's– and even Nasuada's– way of thinking… It feels like, in order for them to actually be in love with each other, they’d need to know each other way better… I don’t know….

[murtagh-thorn]

Dark Legacies Part I: A New Shadow

Pairing: eventual Murtagh x Rider!Reader Summary: Your and your dragon's arrival at Eragon's academy on has long been expected - and feared. After being on the run for several months from men in masks who want you dead and your dragon as their slave for unknown reasons, you're finally safe on the newly hospitable Vroengard. But what do these men in masks want, will they follow you into a den of dragons, and are you truly safe from the rumor mill and politics of those around you? Warnings: mentions of past trauma, canon-typical violence, reader and her dragon both have trust issues, Vrael is present and annoying. 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.

***

Elves, students, and hatchlings alike scattered as a large, dark shape blocked out the sun. The younger students who hadn’t lived through the torture of tyranny lingered to get a closer look at the giant shape above them, some of their dragons pulling them to safety and others baring their meager fangs in an attempt to protect. Some elves ushered their wards towards the safety of the buildings that made up the island’s academy while others tried to put on a brave face and say it was just some new students arriving – no cause for alarm. But of course, the new students noticed the ruckus below all the same.

All the images and emotions of those under his watch flooded Eragon’s mind as he stood on a grassy knoll a ways out from the campus he and his delegation of elves, dwarves, and humans had built with their own hands. Unable to tolerate their panic any longer, he opened his eyes to watch the already large black dragon grow in size as it flew closer.

“I…heard she’d be large,” Vrael said from behind him, “but not quite…that large.”

Eragon tried to exude an air of calm, standing still as stone with his hands clasped behind his back. He felt Saphira shift behind him with a low growl in her throat.

“Now, now, you two,” he said. “We cannot punish the child for the sins of the father.”

Vrael scoffed. “Well, the closer she gets, the more she definitely looks like her father.”

Eragon finally turned to his companion. “I would respectfully remind you that you’re here to oversee and take information back to your queen. Not pass judgment.”

The elf stared at him for a moment before nodding his head. “Of course, Shur’tugal.”

Eragon turned to watch the duo’s approach once more. “You said some elven scouts had seen them wandering about the borders of Du Weldenvarden?”

“Yes, but they seemed intent on us not getting too close. How long has it been since Guardian Borvaris delivered the egg to her village?”

Eragon drew in a breath as the dragon neared, finally able to realize her sheer size. “Not very.”

The grass flattened as the dragon spread her wings and settled onto the ground, already sending out a low warning growl and baring her head to block her rider from view. She was much larger than either Eragon or Saphira had anticipated and just as fearsome as her sire: eyes wild, teeth bared, and the haggardness from several months of being on the run only added credence to the rumors that she was wildly unpredictable. Morbidity and beauty reigned in equal measure to bear what many who had spotted them throughout Alagaësia had feared returned – a new shadow.

Just as Saphira bristled to assert dominance, the dragon calmed and lowered her head. Still a few yards away, she settled flat on her stomach, head still alert and legs still tensed to rise again at any moment. The form of a young woman who looked close in age to himself appeared and slid off the dragon’s back to walk towards them.

“Will the dragon not come any closer?” Vrael whispered.

Be silent, Saphira warned as the rider came to stand in front of the group.

~***~

You shoved your hands into your pants pockets, playing with a coin you always kept stashed for moments just as these. Unsure what to do or how to address anyone, you subtly bowed your head at the famed Eragon Shadeslayer. “Shur’tugal.”

He gave you a slow, cautious smile and returned the gesture, placing a hand over his heart. “Welcome. I’m only sorry it took you this much time and strife to get here. We sent some of our trackers and students after you, but to no avail.”

“We’ve become…well versed at evading most people.”

“A truth I’m very sorry for.” He craned his head to look at your dragon, who hadn’t moved from her spot and was taking in the surrounding scenery. “Greetings, friend. Would you allow us to come closer?”

Your dragon gave a low warning growl again, but you could feel her fear and need for reassurance through your bond.

“I think she’d be more comfortable with one at a time,” you advised.

Eragon nodded, again looking to your dragon. You could feel her surprise through your link. No one had talked to her like she was her own sentient being beside you in…well, ever. “May I approach?”

The dragon lowered her head in a slow nod and you watched Eragon descend the hill to meet her. He was dressed well, like the elven scouts you’d scared off at their lands’ border. He wore mostly blue and grey tones to match his own dragon, with an impressive sword hanging off his hip and an expensive looking cloak over his shoulders. It was a much darker blue than his shirt, but both had matching twisting silver designs bordering its edges. You self-consciously looked down at your own beat up clothing and were sure your skin and hair didn’t look any better. Your dragon even could do with a bath.

An elf who had been hovering behind Eragon remained aloof as he eyed you with an air of disdain, occasionally throwing nervous glances at your dragon. You turned to see Eragon reaching out a hand towards her nose only for her to flinch back in surprise. He said something you couldn’t hear, keeping his voice soft and warm, before she slowly sniffed him and let him touch.

You sighed, inspecting the lush grass covering the hill. It had been so long since either of you could trust anyone – and for your dragon, she’d only had you since she hatched. What if her sense of trust was permanently damaged? What if yours was?

I am sorry, little one, an unfamiliar voice rang through your mind.

You glanced up at the blue dragon in front of you. Although much older and wiser, she was smaller than your own fledging dragon. You sensed comfort and warmth from her and sank into the feeling, unsure of the last time you’d felt it. You knew she didn’t need to enter your mind to feel the grief and exhaustion rolling off the pair of you in waves.

I am Saphira, Eragon’s dragon, she continued, and I will be teaching your own dragon – sometimes alongside you, sometimes separately.

“What are your and your dragon’s names?” the elf finally interrupted.

You sensed annoyance flowing through your brief connection with Saphira. “I am Y/N, and my dragon is Gormlaith.”

“Can she really be that young to need teaching? She looks to be a few years from her size, at least.”

You shook your head. “No, she’s only six months old.”

The elf turned wide eyes to you. “Six months?! She’s huge!”

Feeling your own annoyance grow, you crossed your arms. “I’m sorry, and you are?”

The elf seemed offended and puffed out his chest. “Ambassador Vrael of the elves of Du Weldenvarden, and trusted servant to Arya Dröttning.”

You glanced mischievously at Saphira before returning to the elf with a shrug and slight shake of your head. “Never heard of you.”

Vrael spluttered as Saphira grumbled something that could’ve been mistaken for a laugh. A light hand on your shoulder distracted you and you turned to see Eragon. “Saphira here will take Gormlaith for a quick flight. It seems neither of you has had a decent meal in ages, so my dragon will show yours the hunting grounds while I show you where you’ll be staying. You can wash up, then join me in my quarters for something to eat and we’ll discuss training and answer your questions. Vrael, you are free to go.”

“But—”

Eragon grabbed your shoulder and turned you away from the elf, giving him a stern and empty smile. “Enjoy your stay here, Ambassador.”

The wind danced around you as both Saphira and Gormlaith took off. You followed Eragon down the hill to the nearby woods, glancing back to see your own dragon giving Saphira a wide berth, but following nonetheless.

It will be all right, you said. We’re where we were always meant to be. They’ll protect us here.

For how long? Gormlaith replied, worry coloring her tone. Before or after the rumors spread of who sired my egg?

You hesitated as you followed your new teacher to a stone path. The light cutting through the trees suddenly felt more ominous than comforting. I’ll always have your back, no matter what happens. I won’t let them torment you.

A powerful wave of love and gratitude flowed through your mind. And I you, my friend.

“I again apologize that we couldn’t locate and bring you two to safety sooner,” Eragon said as the sun disappeared behind some clouds. You couldn’t help feeling grateful, as if you were out from under a spotlight.

You habitually stayed a few steps behind him to protect your back. Although there were likely no plans for backstabbing in these woods, it was a hard habit to break and one could never be too careful. “It wasn’t your fault. We had to constantly be on the move to avoid capture – or torture, maiming, killing, whatever they had in mind.”

Eragon slowed to match your pace, his dark eyes concerned. “The reports I received were mixed at best. Would you mind telling me exactly what happened while we walk?”

You swallowed hard, concentrating on the breeze, birdsong, and smell of incoming rain. You’re here not there, you repeated to yourself. Here not there. As she flew further away, you could feel the bond between you and Gormlaith weaken and tried your best to cling to it. You could feel her doing the same and sent a wave of comfort, forcing a deep inhale.

“This is the furthest you’ve been from your dragon, isn’t it?” Eragon broke the silence.

You nodded, letting out a breath that was much more shuddery than intended.

Eragon stopped and gently took hold of your shoulders, turning you to face him. “I promise you, you’re both safe here. I won’t let any harm come to you nor let rumors spread into a forest fire.”

You were sure your fear was evident all over your face. “But…her sire is—”

“I know.” He let his arms drop down to his sides, gripping the pommel of his sword. His eyes turned distant and his knuckles went white against the hilt. “Shruikan.”

As if the air itself was reliving the terror of the king’s dragon, the sky grew dark and the wind chilled. You closed your eyes, shoving your hands deeper into your pockets and hunching your shoulders as if to protect your neck. Just as suddenly as it appeared, the darkness and cold scattered away. You opened your eyes to see your mentor staring at you with a heavy gaze.

“But Gormlaith is not her father. She’s committed no crimes, and neither have you. I can tell she trusts and loves you wholly – which, of course, all Riders and dragons have these bonds, but it feels…different with you two. As if you’re already on solid ground like an experienced Rider and dragon.”

You frowned. “Are you saying you and Saphira didn’t get along at one point?”

Eragon chuckled, gesturing for you to follow him down the path once more. “We’ve had our arguments and squabbles. We’ve always had and will always have a steadfast love, as well as trust and respect for each other. But I think it’s a bit normal for younger Riders and dragons to take some time finding their footing with each other, so to speak. It’s a strange shift, suddenly having another being privy to your inner thoughts and feelings all the time. As it is to be privy to all their inner thoughts and feelings as well.”

You laughed. “Tell me about it. But for so long, all we’ve had is each other. I didn’t exactly have many close friends or family left before everything happened, and then after Gormlaith hatched, neither of us were sure who to trust. People in strange masks were constantly trying to kidnap her, kill me, and we were just trying to make it here. Of course, I could only hide her in a jacket or vest or cloak for so long…”

You emerged into a long, narrow clearing that followed the path and lost your train of thought at the buildings before you. A large, stone building stood directly in front, its massive double doors open to the forest. Even from your distance, you could see the detail in the stonework as well as the massive gargoyle of a dragon, wings spread in flight, right above the ornate wooden doors. Flanking both sides to create a loose semi-circle were neighboring buildings that seemed somehow woven into the trees themselves, all with large covered balconies that smaller dragons flew in and out of. A few larger dragons – but none as large as Gormlaith, or even Saphira – raised their heads to get a good look at you from their high perches as their young riders played some games in the grass with all sorts of different obstacle courses, balls, bats, and nets. You nearly teared up seeing the utopia Eragon had created. You were finally among your own people – well, if the rumor mill wasn’t already too vicious.  

You hadn’t even realized you stopped until Eragon put a gentle hand on your shoulder. “These are the Riders’ quarters. All of these balconies are made to house dragons.” He pointed to your left. “There are a few rows that are hidden by trees and other buildings, but normally we’ll have younger riders bunk together and have several hatchlings share a balcony. Obviously, once dragons become bigger, they’ll need a balcony with fewer roommates or all to themselves. Which is over on this side,” he turned to gesture to your right. “Gormlaith is obviously formidable size, so she’ll get her own balcony just on the end there, in this first row. Which means you will also receive your own private quarters. They’re modest size, but quite comfortable, if I do say so myself. This stone building in the middle is a common area for all the riders and is where we serve meals and have more general offices for myself and the other teachers here.”

No matter how long you looked at everything, it felt impossible to take in every detail. “It’s incredible what you’ve built here.”

He smiled. “Thank you. I hope you’ll find your stay comfortable.”

You turned your attention to him. “Forgive me, but…how exactly does this whole…system work?”

“Well, I can tell you more later, but,” he gestured for you to follow him towards the impressive tree on the end – your quarters – as he continued, “most students come to us as children with their fresh hatchlings and go through training as they grow. Once both they and their dragons are adults, they usually either stay here to help run the academy or go off toward Alagaësia to serve their respective leaders. But our academy is young enough that – ”

You both jumped as a ball narrowly avoided your head, bouncing to a halt at your feet.

“Careful now, Bronvir,” Eragon chuckled. “We don’t want to concuss your new classmate.”

You picked up the ball as Bronvir – a human child who couldn’t have been more than ten – stared at you with wide eyes. You gave him a small smile before handing his ball back to him.

“Do you ride the big, black dragon that just flew over?” he asked. A few of his peers who had been playing with him stopped to stare as well.

You took in a sharp inhale, prepared for the worst. “Yes.”

Bronvir smiled, revealing a missing front tooth. “Can I ride?”

You sighed in relief, laughing quietly as Eragon lightly scolded him. “Of course you can ride – with her permission, of course.”

A chorus of “oh, me too! – can I ride second? – no I want to be second! – how many can they carry at once? – can we go on a group ride? – can they breathe fire?” erupted as the children began to crowd closer into you.

“Now, now, let’s calm down,” Eragon yelled over the cacophony. “They’ve only just arrived, let’s all give them some space to rest from their travels.”

The children groaned synonymously before going back to their game, excitedly whispering about riding a full-size dragon and how they couldn’t wait until their own dragons were that big. Eragon continued leading you towards the large tree at the end of the row, which you could now see had an archway leading to a wide spiral staircase. “My apologies. They can be a bit excitable.”

“I’ll take that over what I was expecting.”

He gave you a sympathetic smile. “As I was saying, our academy is young enough that we don’t have too many who have already graduated to Shur’tugal status. Three of our graduates have stayed here to help care for the young, while four others have taken their services elsewhere. Although not all are riders – we train budding sorcerers in the art of magic and herbalism as well. We’ve only been a functional school for four years now and those who have graduated came here when they were much older than most students – much like you.”

“I got the impression when one of your guardians originally brought the eggs to my village that they mostly aim for children and teenagers.”

“Yes, but it’s ultimately up to the dragon. But older students are a bit more rare.”

The conversation stilled as you passed under the archway. The stairs seemed to branch out from the inside of the hollow trunk, but were still intricately detailed. You’d heard stories about how the elves did this with their own architecture as a way to preserve nature, and with how many elves were here as teachers and helpers, you couldn’t say you were surprised. By contrast, the common building looked more influenced by the dwarves and you’d recognized many of the games on the lawn as popular among human children. It was more soothing than you’d anticipated to see all the races who had isolated themselves during the war come together again.

You followed your new mentor up the stairs and past several landings that led to their own floors – all within and part of the tree itself. Most had archways with full views into the rooms, but at the top stood a closed wooden door with a dragon knocker. Another archway stood behind you, leading out of the tree and onto a series of bridges connecting the top floors of all the other trees that held riders’ quarters and balconies.

Eragon pulled a small black key out of his pocket, the handle carved into a dragon’s wing. “This is the key to your room, color-coded to your dragon. All the doors have wards placed on them so that they cannot be unlocked with magic by other students. However, if I or the other teachers suspect there’s something in there that’s a danger to either you or others, we reserve the right to lift the ward and let ourselves in.”

You nodded as he turned to unlock the door and stepped in after him. The room was a bit small, but felt like luxury compared to your travels and growing up in your small village. The furnishings were modest, but good quality, with a divider in the corner painted with an ornate tree that you assumed hid the bed, and a door on the opposite side leading to a small washroom. Once passed the bed, the floor dipped down into a small sitting area that led out to what would be Gormlaith’s balcony. The ceiling was high and domed with plenty of room for your dragon to move around comfortably. The balcony dipped down to create a reverse dome with part of it covered by what you assumed was a heavily padded dragon bed. The whole space had many warm tones, with plenty of hardwood accompanied by blue and green cushions, blankets, some small paintings on the wall, hanging shelves, and an overall demeanor that already felt safe and like home. You stood as Eragon moved towards the balcony to breathe it all in.

“Now, there are a few things to show you.” Eragon walked along the side of Gormlaith’s bed to the edge of the balcony. “These have doors that wrap around to provide you with privacy and protect from the weather. If you don’t already know the spell for this, there is a pulley system on the wall here that closes them.” He opened a small panel in the wall and pulled on a chord. Circular doors began to slide shut around the balcony until they sealed with a great boom, leaving the room dimly, but cozily lit from the lantern light on the walls. “They seal here in the middle, so you shouldn’t have to worry about any leaks.” He pulled on a different chord and the doors slowly opened again. “There are some minor wards over the balconies to keep out less intense weather. But if you just want privacy or if there’s a particularly bad storm, I’d advise keeping them closed. And now, over here – ”

Eragon returned to walk past you towards the washroom as you took a quick peek at the bed. It looked so comfortable, you almost wanted to ignore him to just flop straight on it. It was a double bed with a frame that looked again like it was somehow flowing out of the tree with a dark green duvet, two white feather pillows, and a small chest for belongings at its footboard. You forced yourself to Eragon’s side, but couldn’t help hoping he’d leave soon so you could test it for yourself.

He stood in the doorway to your washroom, where you noticed the accompanying tub was already full of steaming, soapy water. “This is your washroom and a bath is all ready for you. I assumed you didn’t have many belongings, so I’ve taken the liberty of decorating your room a bit for you. You have a few changes of clothes in the trunk at the foot of your bed, and also hanging here.” He gestured to a simple, but comfortable set of clothes hanging on the wall with a small insignia at the breast that looked like the mark on your palm. “The gedwëy ignasia symbol here marks you as a student. Once you get settled in, if you need more clothes, we can measure you and get you some, as well as test you and Gormlaith to see exactly where your abilities fall.”

You nodded and sighed, slightly overwhelmed.

He gave you a small smile. “I know it’s a lot to take in. Dinner won’t be for a few hours, so take the time you need to wash up, rest, and get used to your new surroundings. My office is in that stone building we saw earlier on the top floor. You can climb the stairs, then turn around and head into the door directly before you. Or there is also a balcony attached, if you’d prefer to land with Gormlaith. She and Saphira are almost done hunting and bathing in the lake and will return shortly.” He gestured to the small table between couches in your sitting area. “I’ve had a bowl of cheese, fruit, and bread prepared for you to tide you over until dinner. And with that, I’ll leave you to rest. Welcome again.” He gave you a small bow and dropped your room key into your palm before heading for the door.

“Wait. What do I call you?”

“I and the other teachers are referred to as ‘ebrithil’ here. It means ‘master’ in the Ancient Language, which we will teach you. Enjoy your quarters.” He gave you one last parting smile before closing the door behind himself.

You stood for a minute, soaking in the silence and sounds of the forest floating through the open balcony before moving to lock the door. Just as you did, Gormlaith’s connection suddenly became clearer in your mind, strengthening until you heard the telltale beat of wings. Your friend swooped onto the balcony, her claws gripping the railing that somehow seemed to hold her weight, before taking in the area. You felt her elation at seeing her very own bed and immediately settled into it with happy chirps and hums. You’d gotten so used to seeing her road-haggard look, the shine and sleekness from her bath amazed you. She truly was an illustrious dragon to behold.

You went to inspect the balcony yourself, placing a loving hand on Gormlaith’s nose as you passed. The view from your balcony was much more secluded than you anticipated and was sheltered by the canopy of the impossibly large trees that surrounded you and made up the rest of the riders’ quarters. You could faintly see and hear what went on in the yard and in others’ open balconies when the breeze parted the branches just right or the younger children screamed in delight at their game. You glanced up at the balcony doors and reached toward them, pulling from the magic you had even before Gormlaith hatched. You had a mentor in your village for a while, but she was strange and didn’t really use the Ancient Language much like you’d heard most riders and sorcerers do. But that was how she taught you and how you practiced. You used your hand to slowly pull the door partially closed to allow Gormlaith some privacy before joining her.

Comfortable? you asked.

Mmm, very. The bath helped. She leaned over to gently nuzzle your shoulder and you wrapped your arms around her nose to give her a big squeeze. As had become your tradition, Gormlaith gently lifted you several inches off the ground before setting you back down. You should take your own bath, friend.

Are you saying I stink?

Yes.

You laughed as she let out a stuttered exhale through her nose that could’ve been a laugh. All right, I’m going, I’m going. I’m assuming Eragon and Saphira would both rather us tell them our story when we smell nice.

Stay tuned for part II!

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

[hurricanes-art]

nerd bonding time

[alagaesia-headcanons]

When shipping Orrin/Murtagh, do you ever feel the need to just... give in to their alcohol abuse tendencies? I wanted to do a drabble with them but halfway their communication problem turned into retreating, moping and drinking :(

Oooh that idea has a lot of interesting possibilities within it. Of course, it’s perfect for angst, and I think there’s great potential to develop it into a meaningful resolution.

I definitely encourage you to keep going! I don’t feel like the characters relapsing into alcoholism to some degree has to halt the progress of your story, especially when writing Murtagh and Orrin. After all, the ways that both of them made mistakes with alcohol in the past is one of the many interesting overlaps between them. The way their communication issue led them back to drinking is an interesting concept in itself. It’d be a cool approach to illustrate what emotions they’re most vulnerable to and what makes Murtagh feel the need to drink versus what makes Orrin feel it. What parts of their relationship are most affected by these struggles? Do they try to keep it hidden? Do they ever drink together?

That has a lot of potential to shift the situation and explore their dynamic from an entirely new angle. Would Orrin first suggest it, or would Murtagh? How exactly would they interact in that kind of state and how would they feel about it afterwards? That could lead them to reveal or confess things they were avoiding and kickstart proper communication. Or on the other hand, if their drunken distress feeds into each other and makes their pain and misunderstanding even worse, it could make them realize afterwards that they need to deal with things directly before they break something that can’t be fixed.

Alternatively, maybe one or both of them realize what the other is doing without ever seeing them drink. Since they both had past experiences with alcohol abuse, they could be particularly conscious of the signs. Maybe Orrin notices the glint of a flask tucked surreptitiously in Murtagh’s pocket even though he’d never seen him carry one before, or he sees tiny drops of red staining the sleeve of his shirt. Maybe Murtagh notices the smell of Orrin’s breath through the heavy perfume trying to disguise it, or catches him bringing his goblet away with him when dinner is finished.

Realizing that the other is also struggling can spark deep empathy and concern. Perhaps that earnest care and desire to help can overpower the feelings that caused the communication issue to begin with. Or the worry and urge to help make it clear that their own drinking habits are harmful and need to be addressed. It could provide a lot of motivation to open up and work through hard things together once they see how much they’re both hurt by such miscommunications. And breaking their habits and recovering together could ease so much shame and fear and show Murtagh and Orrin the value of support that they’ve never had quite like this.

So much potential! I really hope that was helpful or inspiring in some way, and I hope it wasn’t overbearing or anything. I just adore chatting about ideas for the two of them. If you do finish the fic, please please PLEASE send me a link, I’d fucking LOVE to read it!!!!!!

(If it’s of interest- I haven’t really felt drawn to show them falling back to their alcoholism during their relationship, but it’s more because I don’t tend to emphasize substance abuse in my own writing. On an individual level, I find it somewhat uncomfortable to write in depth, and I’m not fully confident in my ability to depict it well. It’s a very interesting theme and I’ve enjoyed plenty of stories that deal with it, but writing it myself is a different beast I’m not always up for.

Within my own story, I work through the alcohol abuse they demonstrate during canon in the first part and bring it to a resolution before they meet. Orrin overcomes his brief but brutal descent into alcoholism during the first few months after the end of the war as part of his journey to properly process his grief for the loved ones he lost. In my headcanons, Murtagh’s drunkenness was more isolated and extreme incidents, also very unhealthy, but not consistent in a way that led to dependency. That makes it easier for him to overcome, facilitated by the fact that he simply has no alcohol to drink in his isolation. By the time they meet, they both have a resolve to not drink if they can avoid it.

For the most part, they’re pretty good for each other in that way. They want to support the other’s resolve to stay sober and don’t want to undermine that with any temptation, and that tends to keep them from initiating drinking together. (Though that doesn’t always keep them away from other unhealthy behaviors...) I’ve written a conversation between them where they first talk about that part of their past. In a certain way, it helps alleviate some of their shame and fear of judgment to know that they’ve both made similar mistakes. They empathize with that struggle and would never condemn the other for it.

Although, all this has made me consider some ways having struggles with alcohol come back up might play a meaningful role in the story, so I definitely want to give that more thought!)

[lostpirateinwonderland]

Hello and Welcome to the Tea Party! ☕️🫖

As stated in the mini bio, I’m 1/2 American, 1/2 Italian (si, parlo tutte due lingue ☺️). I’m also a huge Disney and Marvel fan. I used to be a huge super fan of Star Wars, but I left the fandom after Disney bought it. I still love most of it and celebrate May 4th, I’m just not active in it. I’m a big history buff, preferring to stay in the 1600-1790’s, mainly the Golden Age of Piracy and the American Revolution. I LOVE dragons (kind of an unhealthy obsession at this point, but you can never have enough dragons in my opinion) and am a big fan of the Eragon series. Recently, I’ve started to get more into book fandoms such as ACOTAR, TOG, FBAA, Fourth Wing, etc., so you might see me lurking over in those areas. However, I tend to bounce back and forth between different fandoms depending on my mood. I am over 21, but I would prefer not to disclose my age.

To clarify, I’m not a fanfic writer, but I am an avid fanfic reader. Please do not expect me to post stuff, I’m mostly using this account to be able to connect better with the fandoms that I am a part of.

As mean as it sounds, I will block people who have nothing more than a profile pic because of the scary amount of bots there are on this platform. It’s nothing personal, I’m just watching out for my own safety. Hence why I’m posting this; to let authors know that I am real and I unfortunately do exist in the real world (please send me to a different universe, I beg you 🙏🏽).

That being said, here are the fandoms that I am a part of with the characters that I will read fanfics for (most of them being character x reader format because I apparently have no self control 🤷🏽‍♀️):

Marvel

Bucky Barnes/Winter Solider

Namor (both comic and MCU versions)

Loki Laufeyson/Odinson

Warren Worthington III/Angel

Piotr Rasputin/Colossus

Pirates of the Caribbean

Commodore James Norrington

Lieutenant Theodore Groves

Lieutenant Andrew Gillette (yes, I’m using that version of his name, because I prefer it)

Turn: Washington’s Spies

Major Ben Tallmadge

Major John Andre

Once Upon A Time

Jefferson/Mad Hatter

A Court of Thorns and Roses

Lucien Vanserra

Azriel

Eris Vanserra

Here are movies, fandoms, and characters that I absolutely love, but don’t read fanfics for:

Disney

Treasure Planet

Robin Hood

Peter Pan—Captain Hook is one of my absolute favorites

Alice in Wonderland—The Mad Hatter being my favorite, but the Mad Tea Party scene is my absolute favorite 💙🫖☕️

Hercules

Bedknobs and Broomsticks

Zorro—The Guy Williams version is my absolute favorite. I always love seeing fellow Italians (in this case, fellow Ito-Americans) on the silver screen. 💚🤍❤️

Others

Chitty Chitty Bang Bang—I will not accept critiques about this beautiful and uplifting masterpiece. Grandpa Potts is my favorite 🤣

James Bond—I’m here for Q. Desmond Llewyn was absolutely brilliant (fun fact, he was in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang as well); I totally don’t recite the line about the grenade pen all the time. Ben Whishaw is at a very close second.

Austenland—Fantastic. I watch this every time I need a good laugh.

The Eragon Book Series—I refuse to watch the movie, as this is my all time favorite book and book series and I don’t want to ruin it for myself. Favorite characters being Angela, Murtagh, Sapphira, Solembum, Eragon, and Brom. I will occasionally read Murtagh x reader fanfics, but there are so few of them, that I read most of them years ago.

Harry Potter Series—Both books and movies. I also like the Fantastic Beast series. I’m going to be blatantly honest; I’m here for the dragons and Charlie Weasley. Don’t get me wrong, I love the stories and what not, but I have a giant fangirl moment every time he’s mentioned, in the stories, and/or I see dragons. I’m kind of like Lampie from Pete’s Dragon, except I get super excited about dragons, as they are my absolute favorites. 🐉

Hook—As stated with Peter Pan, one of my favorite characters of all time is Captain Hook. Dustin Hoffman was absolutely brilliant in this and I love the idea of Captain Hook facing an adult version of Peter. One of my favorite adaptations of the classic story. 🥹

The American Revolution—Not any film or story in particular, but I do love learning anything I can about the conflict and love the period. The exception to this is the TURN: Washington’s Spies series; I LOVE this series. Definitely my favorite TV series of all time. Hamilton the musical is fine, however I don’t care for Hamilton as a person, so it’s weird for me watching an entire production about him (he was pretty nasty in real life). King George was the only thing I really liked about it. Banastre Tarleton and the Culper Spy Ring are the two big things that I will devour information about the most as they are the most fascinating for me. If it weren’t for the fact that I am broke and don’t have time, I would absolutely join the re-enacting community for this time period.

The Golden Age of Piracy—As stated, I am a big fan of this time period. It spans a pretty long time time (most sources put it between 1690-1720, but there are many events that led to this giant boom and they started long before then), but I my favorite pirate/privateer out of all of them is Benjamin Hornigold. He was such a fascinating person and out of all of the pirates that are most famous, I would argue that he stuck to his moral code the most. Otherwise, same as American Rev; besides Pirates of the Caribbean, I don’t have any stories or films in particular. Black Sails is ok and Our Flag Means Death is hilarious, but I have a problem where I start screaming at the screen about how inaccurate it is (mostly with Black Sails. Out of all the things you could mess up, it shouldn’t be that hard to not mess up one of the biggest things in history that is associated with the start of the rise of piracy in the Caribbean, but apparently I’ve been proved incorrectly) 🤷🏽‍♀️.

Thank you for reading my long, extensive bio about myself. Feel free to tag me in any of the works listed above, I am pretty good at reading it, liking it, and placing a comment within a timely manner.

In the mean time, I hope you enjoyed your tea! 🫖☕️ Please pass me the McVities before you leave. 🍪

[wcrstarter]

@truaighe from here x

"I'm nocturnal. Or well, I used to be. Old habits die hard I suppose." She hadn't meant to sneak up on them, but she had been restless and decided to take a walk in the woods. Her feet had found their way here to Murtagh upon hearing his scream, instead of checking the traps like she had meant to. "I apologize, if I startled you."

Centuries, she'd lived only venturing out into the night, she was still unused to yet being awake during daylight hours. And perhaps, she couldn't rest because of her words....her plea and soft admission of her feelings.

Hold me like water, or hold me like a knife.

Not direct, in case his memories happened to be searched, as it would be too dangerous. But her sentiment was there. She did not know what to do about the King, Galbatorix was too powerful for her to challenge, and she did not want to bind herself to any of the leaders in the land and join the varden....it would force them at some point to have to fight Murtagh. Sonja didn't want that either.

Sonja knew she'd changed in a number of ways upon coming to this land, but she retained her ability to see in the dark as easily as she did in the day, she looked to Thorn and met his eye before bowing her head slightly in both greeting and respect to the dragon. She felt Szélanya stir in the back of their bond, and sent an impression to her, a quick fleeting of images to tell her to remain in her nest and sleep. There was no sense in them all being awake.

"It's cold out here. You can come inside, if you'd like. Four walls and a roof have a way of chasing away bad memories." The huntress offers, moving to where the faint moonlight would make it easier for him to see her, briefly causing her eyes to shine brightly in the dark. "I know it's not much, but its warm and its safe. And you, Thorn, I'm sure Szé wouldn't mind sharing her hollow. She's fond of you, after all."

Let me help, let me protect you how I can, before you have to go back..... Sonja pleaded behind mental shields, not daring to voice the request aloud, and be selfish.

We may have to act, if only to help them. Maybe your old fire friend....or going into hiding. Szélanya's voice filled her head, making her startle briefly. At times, she still forgot, when she retreated too deeply into herself.

[eliza-makepeace]

Murtagh pt.3

Thorn was alone this time. It was hard for him to not have Murtagh around, even if they were always connected with each other. It was funny, he supposed, knowing that Murtagh always felt calm when he was nearby, when Thorn knew he himself only felt truly comfortable when his Rider was with him. He knew how strange this symbiotic relationship must look from the outside, but as time went by they became even more reliant on each other than they had been before.

The dragon knew Murtagh wasn’t helpless. He had survived such horrible and complicated situations, way before he had even hatched, so it wasn’t as if Murtagh couldn’t do without him. Perhaps his Rider didn’t need him to keep him safe, physically speaking, but he knew he had become indispensable for Murtagh from the moment their eyes had locked with each other, and from the moment that silver scar had appeared in Murtagh’s palm. And Murtagh had become Thorn’s vital force. He was sometimes hard, and bitter, but Thorn understood those characteristics were learnt, and not something Murtagh was intrinsically. They were the product of what his life circumstances had forced him to become, of a life being unfairly treated, betrayed, and taken advantage of. And yet, despite that, Thorn could see a brighter light in his human Rider than in plenty other people with lesser hardships.

Most of the times, however, Murtagh showed himself to be what he truly was: a kind man who went out of his way to help people. Every time Murtagh went into a hate spiral, Thorn made it his duty to remind him of that fact, and Murtagh shrugged it off with an “anybody would do the same”. It angered Thorn. How could he say something like that, knowing as well as he did that it was entirely untrue? Specially, since his only reason to say it was to discredit himself. Thorn understood these tendencies, for he had them almost the same. He was born to immediately become a pawn in somebody else’s control, seeing the one person he loved being hurt because of standing for his beliefs, and then, see him stripped of his agency, possibility of choice, and his most intimate memories lay for the egg breaker to see and use for his own benefit, just to stop Thorn from getting hurt. Thorn had always known Murtagh’s selflessness, but it was taking Murtagh himself a longer time to own up to having that quality.

So Murtagh had gone to the closest town, and Thorn was afraid. Afraid of what? Perhaps of somebody recognizing him, and him getting into trouble. Perhaps of how Murtagh for the most part became melancholy when coming back from these trips, getting to see how common people lived their lives, so different to his own.  Either way, Thorn was left uneasy every time he saw the dark cloaked figure of his Rider disappear between the trees. And with every passing second, he grew even more restless.

His red eyes caught Murtagh’s unmistakable silhouette heading back to their camp, and a guttural sound came from his throat, urging his partner to inform him of whatever had happened.

Murtagh sighed and sat next to him. He looked alright, as far as Thorn could see, so things hadn’t gone as badly as other times. “Town was busy,” he mused, softly. Thorn knew what that meant. Busy meant markets, markets meant news. And news… well, news for the most part weren’t kind to the son of Morzan.

What did you hear? he asked, knowing it was better off for Murtagh to vocalize his frustration and disappointment than keep it to himself.

“Nothing nice”, he responded. “Nothing untrue.” He opened a bag he’d carried with him and took out some ink and paper. “Got what I wanted, though”.

Thorn snarled, and made a strong move of his scaled head. I don’t like it when you change subject, you know that.

“I didn’t”, Murtagh replied, slightly set aback by Thorn’s sudden aggressiveness. “I’d just rather not dwell on how people hate me. Instead of seeing this trip as lemon juice dropped on a wound, I’d rather see it as a trip that got me some nice sheets of paper and ink.”

I would have no problem with it, if only it were true. But you do dwell on it.

Murtagh took a deep breath. Seemed like Thorn wouldn’t let it slide. “It hurts. How couldn’t it?” He stood up, and started pacing, like a trapped lion in a cage. “I wish… I wish I didn’t give a shit about what random peasants think of me, but I do. I do care. All my life… All of it, I’ve wanted to fit in, to be accepted, and now it seems like that is more far away than ever before.”

It is not your fault.

“Who cares about that?” Murtagh asked, raising an eyebrow, and staring right into Thorn’s eyes. “It doesn’t matter whose fault it is, as long as people have someone to put the blame entirely on. Galbatorix doesn’t do the job. It’s only relatively satisfactory to blame someone who’s dead. But they aren’t wrong. Despite everything, I really was his right-handed man.”

You were what he made of you. Like your mother was for Morzan.

Murtagh huffed, rolling his eyes in exasperation, as if they’d already had a conversation like that before, even though they never had. “I cannot believe you’re comparing the two of us”.

Why not? You are more alike than you think. She’s as misunderstood as you are. Who knows who she truly was? There are rumors about her, the same as there are about you. Despite what you may say, you know at least half of what they say of you is not true. Who’s to say what we see and know isn’t just a small percentage of who she really was?

The Wanderer shrugged, feeling the conversation to be ridiculous and nonsensical. “So, what? Nobody cares. For all they know, she was Morzan’s Black Hand, and that is the way she will go down in history. Even if she clearly did plenty more.” He shook his head, and bit his lip. “History is not written fairly, Thorn. History has always meant taking the truth and adapting it to your narrative, no matter who you step on.”

History can be rewritten. The right people can be honored, and the villains properly vilified.

“I don’t want to be honored.” He said, almost a whisper, more to himself than to Thorn. “I just want to feel like… like someday, I will be in a place I can call my home, surrounded by people who care for me. For Murtagh. Just Murtagh. Not the son of Morzan, not the Wanderer, not Tornac of the Road. I don’t want to spend the rest of my theoretically immortal life pretending to be somebody else.”

You know you have a home. Eragon told you himself. You have a place in Carvahall, which is your inheritance just as much as Za’roc was. You have family there, your cousin Roran.

“Please, Thorn. Eragon was just being kind. Carvahall could never be my home. Those people wouldn’t accept me, and Roran less than anybody, no matter how related we may be. I don’t even know him.” He covered his face with his hands, his long fingers pressed against his temple. “I wouldn’t blame them. They do have reasons to hate me.”

I am sure they would end to understand. They know how hard wars are, they know how tricky being thrust upon one is, and hopefully they’ll have learnt that sides aren’t as black and white as they seem.

“I feel you are too hopeful, my love,” Murtagh said. He didn’t say it mockingly, but with admiration. Thorn had an incredible quality, which was being able to see things brighter than they were, him included. Murtagh was different. He knew the monsters were there no matter where he looked, and it took a longer time than sometimes it was worth it to prove to him that what seemed like a good person really was one. So, he understood the general contempt for him more than he would like to admit. If he hadn’t been himself and had been some farmer who’d seen the fearing sight of the Red Rider over his head, he would have wished him dead.

“Sometimes I envy them,” he admitted, lowering his head, as if owning up to it made him feel embarrassed. “I envy that they can have easy lives, that they have a house, parents, siblings, a life with them, friends they’ve seen since they were born and now, as grown men, get to meet up at the usual inn and talk about their wives and harvest and kids.”

I don’t think the life of a farmer is the life for you.

Murtagh couldn’t help but smile at that. “I don’t either. But sometimes I wish it were.”

You have a chance to do something meaningful, Murtagh. These people do not. You are educated, intelligent, prepared, and fit to help change the course of the world. You cannot hide away forever, and you know it. Once you heal enough, you will have a choice.

“I’m afraid.”

I know you are. That’s why you should do it.

“You mean, teach them? The new Riders?” He frowned his eyebrow, deep in thought. “I don’t think I would do such a good job. Besides, what kind of parents would accept the son of Morzan to teach their children?”

You wouldn’t be Morzan’s son. You’d be Eragon’s brother and one of the saviors of Alagaësia. Anyone would love their children to be taught by you.

“Well… Even if it worked like that, and it doesn’t, I wouldn’t be half as good a teacher as Tornac was. I wouldn’t know how to do with those children what he did with me.”

Yes, you would. In fact, you already have done something of the like.

“You can’t possibly mean Essie. I was just trying to be nice, and help her feel less alone.”

That is exactly what a good teacher should do. It’s not just about knowledge, it’s about how you see them, and treat them. You made Essie feel validated, and appreciated. And you would do the same for your students, if you had the guts to give yourself a chance.

Murtagh gave it a moment’s thought. He wouldn’t deny he found it appealing, to an extent. Essie did seem to have liked him enough. But the problem was she’d seen him as Tornac. She hadn’t been judgemental because she had thought there was no reason to be judgemental. But if he showed up as Murtagh? Things should be very different for that to happen. In truth, for the first time in a long time he was slightly excited about what the future held.

[the-vault-of-souls]

“Thorn was my undoing,” Murtagh finally confessed. “When he hatched for me and we bonded...” He shook his head. “I love him. How could I not? I love him even as Eragon loves Saphira. The moment I touched him, I was lost.”