#then I realized I’m just Eragon

[good-morzan-inheritance-cycle]

Eragon would be that white woman that sees one of those highly reactive pitbulls and be like “let’s get him a pup cup and sweater and name him Edgar.”

[murtagh-thorn]

Dark Legacies Part III: Kindred Souls

Pairing: eventual Murtagh x Rider!Reader Summary: After your and Gormlaith's timely rescue of Murtagh and Thorn, the Egg Delegation you were traveling with sees fit to take their prejudices out on you--luckily, Murtagh is there to return you safely to Vroengard and the two of you realize you're more alike than you first realized. Warnings: mentions of past trauma. A/N: Not sure how much I like this one, but I've stared at it so long, it just needs to be posted at this point.

This is a series of one shots and drabbles that all take place in the same universe, about six year after the events of Inheritance. You can read most of them out of order (except for the first three 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. There is a timekeeping system at the top of each fic/page break with "Ground Zero/Year 0" being the year of Gormlaith's birth, again about six years after the events of Inheritance, and going up from there. PSA: Gormlaith is an Irish name (meaning “illustrious princess”) pronounced GORM-lah. See the Dark Legacies masterlist here!

***

Year 1

The strength of Thorn’s headache made itself known through their mental link as Murtagh studied the sunrise through the trees. He groaned and slowly shifted behind his Rider.

Did the younglings leave? he asked.

Yes, Murtagh replied. Although Y/N seems close to my age, hardly a youngling. They returned to the delegation early this morning and told me to wish you well.

Thorn growled, carefully lifting his head and blinking blearily.

How are you feeling?

Groggy, but I think I could fly perfectly fine. Barring any more masked men—in which case, I will eat them.

Murtagh snorted before gathering up his bedroll and stomping the fire out. He took his time packing and eating, his eyes wandering to the still-charred landscape around them. It seemed strange that the forest that had been the source of so much chaos yesterday now calmly sat in the distance with meager birdsong and animal noises coming from within its half-charred branches again. A mourning dove cooed, and he couldn’t help but imagine it rebuilding its nest amidst the rubble—a feeling he knew well, and he was sure Y/N and Gormlaith did, too. It was something he also went through (and was still partly going through) when he first arrived at the academy, and was also the main reason he and Thorn were still helping Eragon operate things from the background with their own secluded cottage deep in the woods off-campus.

Eventually, he could stall no longer and with Thorn gaining coherency, mounted up and took off into the sky. From above, he could see the charred circle of forest much more clearly. He hadn’t realized before just how big the blaze was. Gormlaith was only a year old and already had the destructive radius of a dragon twice her age.

And she’s not even fully grown yet, Murtagh thought.

Thorn hesitated. Do you think she’ll grow as big as Shruikan?

That likely depends on her mother, but I suppose we’ll see. A dragon that large could be a boon to Eragon’s academy and the Riders as a whole though to be honest—especially after having such a sizeable dragon against them for so long.

Thorn let out a low growl of agreement before going silent once more. As they flew, Murtagh began composing a poem in his head as usual during long flights, although his thoughts kept straying to you. He couldn’t deny how impressive your entrance had been and were admittedly easy on the eyes as well—

I think something’s wrong, Thorn suddenly interrupted.

What’s wrong? Do you need to land?

No, I’m fine, but look below.

Murtagh peered around the edge of the red dragon’s neck as he began to slowly circle. Below lay the small town of Bullridge, its square bustling with the weekend market. Several yards away from the sea of tents and customers atop a grassy hill sat a familiar black dragon—alone. Murtagh’s eyes scanned the settlement, but he could see no sign of the Egg Delegation that was supposed to be with you and Gormlaith and a sinking pit began forming in his stomach. Surely not.

There was no need for words as Thorn descended a few feet away from the large black female. She craned her neck towards them as Thorn’s feet touched down, growling in what could’ve either been a greeting or warning. As seemed to be her wont, she was using her body to shield her Rider from view. She slowly moved her wing out of the way to reveal you standing next to her, biting your nail with a troubled look on your face.

Murtagh quickly dismounted and jogged over to you. “Y/N! Are you all right? Where’s the delegation?”

You took a deep breath as you hugged yourself, murderous rage and hurt in your eyes. “They left.”

The pit in his stomach grew deeper. “…They can’t have—”

“They did. Some of the vendors at the market said they saw them leave before dawn had even fully broken. They said they were setting up and the whole group seemed in a hurry to leave before I could even return. The plan was to leave after dawn—that’s what they told me after I got permission to come check on you two—”

Murtagh gently took your forearms in his hands. “Breathe.”

You did as bade, this time not so tense.

“Stay with Thorn. I’ll be right back.” He hadn’t even fully finished his sentence before he was marching towards the town square, pulling the hood of his cloak to obscure his face.

He could sense Thorn moving towards the pair of you from the back of his mind. If they truly left them, the dragon began, then that was incredibly foolish and dangerous, and Eragon needs to get involved.

I agree, Murtagh replied. I sincerely hope this is some sort of misunderstanding, but I fear not. After all their strife to get to the academy and the danger still lurking, I can’t believe they would do something like this—especially the elves should know better.

Murtagh easily blended into the crowd, his simple cloak and clothes concealing Zar’roc strapped at his hip. He approached a stall with an older man selling small trinkets and clothes. He beamed at Murtagh. “What can I do ye for?”

“You didn’t happen to see the Egg Delegation from Eragon’s Academy here this morning, did you?”

“Oh, yes! You just missed them.” He pointed towards the hill where Gormlaith could just be seen cresting the top of it. “That big black one is all that’s left. They left in the wee hours of the morning while I was settin’ up me stall. Didn’t even wait for first light before they was off. Seemed in a might hurry, too.”

Murtagh bit his tongue to withhold the curses and couldn’t help but close his eyes and sigh.

The man’s smile disappeared. “Is somethin’ the matter, sir?”

“No,” he gritted out, forcing a smile. “Everything’s fine. Thank you for your time.”

The man nodded as Murtagh turned and stalked back through the crowd. The shoppers took one look at his determined stride and parted quickly before he trudged back up the hill. Upon return, the look in your eyes told him you knew exactly what he was going to say, so he just sighed. He shook his head, hands on his hips as he looked out over the field below. A dirt road led from the town square to several farms, the animals braying from their fields as the bustle and talk of the shoppers created a jarring atmosphere against the dangerous situation you were now in.

You leaned against Gormlaith in defeat.

“Those irresponsible…daft…pig-headed…snobbish…” There weren’t enough words in the common tongue to describe their idiocy and arrogance—especially for someone as bright and loyal as you. Although the rumor mill could be quite vicious, especially among the older students and elves who had very clear memories of the war, the younger students and dragons seemed to balance the scales with tales of your successes and kindness. Not to mention Eragon praising how advanced you were and calling you and Gormlaith one of his best multiple times. Your only crime was of association, and Murtagh couldn’t help the protective twinge that ran through him.

“It’s fine,” you muttered, chewing on your lip.

“No,” he turned towards you, hands still on his hips, “it’s not fine, it’s unacceptable. If we hadn’t been here, and especially if those masked men had been, you’d be in very real danger right now.”

You and your dragon shared a look. “We’re used to it.”

Now it was Murtagh and Thorn’s turn to share a look. He returned his gaze to you as you half-heartedly kicked a clump of dirt with your shoe. “Well, we’re headed back anyway, so we’ll escort you.”

You glanced at Thorn before nodding and fully standing. “Well, um…the rest of the delegation had the rations, so we’ll need to stop by the market before we go. It’s about a day and a half flight back and we’ll likely need somewhere to camp or stay this evening.”

Murtagh fumed. They took the food with them, too?

Thorn growled. What insolence.

If Eragon doesn’t punish them, I will. Consequences be damned.

As will I.

Murtagh swallowed the insults he wanted to throw into the wind and tried to develop a calm demeanor for your sake. He gently touched your elbow and hoped it didn’t seem like the harshness in his gaze was directed at you. “We could use a restock as well, so I’ll come with you. Thorn can keep Gormlaith company.”

You nodded, laying a hand on your dragon’s snout and giving her a firm pat. Gormlaith gently butted her head up against your back before turning and descending over the crest of the hill after Thorn.

You followed Murtagh back down into the town square, drawing your own hood. Although with the academy symbol emblazoned on your armor, you were hard to miss. The locals, however, were so caught up in their shopping and trying to wrangle their own children that they hardly paid you any mind. For all they knew, you could be a young couple completing your morning shopping.

A couple, eh? Thorn teased from over the hill.

Murtagh meandered over to a stall selling preserved meats, staring a bit too intently at the package of jerky. All right, yes, I find her…intriguing. But you know it would take far more time and friendship than this for me to even consider anything like that.

I know. Lucky for you, she seems to have that time, being a Rider.

Let us hope. I would like to befriend at least. She seems she could use one…How goes it with Gormlaith?

She seems to prefer keeping to herself. Not that I mind, necessarily. I’m still not used to being around other dragons with how much time we’ve spent away from the main group at Vroengard.

“Back again, I see!”

Murtagh glanced up to see the trinket salesman from earlier. He stood behind the table happily, smiling so big his eyes disappeared.

“Did ye find a solution to yer problem, sir?”

“Yes,” he glanced back around to find you at the bread stand as the vendor followed his gaze.

“Ah! A lady friend!” He gestured towards the table in front of him that held all sorts of simple, but finely crafted jewelry. “Me son and I crafted these ourselves in our home forge! Perhaps one as a gift?”

A small, silver dragon ring that looked like it would fit your finger caught his eye. A tiny black jewel made up the dragon’s eye as its wings spread in flight from a side view, the tail twisting around to create the ring shape. He hesitated.

Well? Thorn piped up.

The vendor smiled expectantly at him, but he shook his head. It’s far too soon. “Maybe some other time.”

“As you wish! Me son and I are here every Saturday until midday if you ever change yer mind. We also take commissions if ye’re looking for something specific.” He pointed to the banner above his head. “Olric and Sons, if ye ever want to find us again.”

Murtagh gave the man a faint smile before turning back to the jerky, handing over his coin to the saleswoman before taking the packet with him.

No ring? Might’ve cheered her up a bit.

I told you, it’s far too soon. We only properly met yesterday.

Bah, you could use a good time.

You just said you understood my need for more time.

Thorn sighed. I do and I will respect whatever you decide. Just don’t discount it as an option for the future. And who knows when we’ll be here again. You could always pocket the ring for later.

You can fly. We can come back anytime we want.

He finally caught up with you at the bread tent, several small, bagged slices in your hands. You gave him a small smile before scurrying over to the meat stall he was just at. The shopping trip continued in much the same fashion: the two of you going your own separate directions while throwing the occasional glance and smile at each other from across the way. Murtagh couldn’t deny he found your comfort with silence reassuring. After spending four solitary years in the wild and the last two still acclimating to being part of a community again, some people’s need for constant chatter unnerved him.

A half-hour passed before he made his way back, carrying a bag with enough food to last until midday tomorrow. You had already returned and were securing Gormlaith’s saddlebags by the time he began carefully storing the food away in Thorn’s.

You glanced over at him. “Has Thorn eaten yet?”

“He ate enough yesterday morning to satisfy him until we return—unless you feel you need more after your ordeal yesterday?”

I am fine.

Murtagh nodded. “What about Gormlaith?”

You finished strapping the flap of the bag in place. “The same.” You let your hand hover over the lip of the bag and the air rippled as the flap suctioned in place. He raised his eyebrows in question as you made eye contact. “Gormlaith goes upside down a lot when we’re in combat.”

Murtagh began to strap his own bags closed. “But you didn’t use the Ancient Language.”

“I grew up in a small village with a healer who was powerful in magic and that was how she taught me whenever I could get away.”

“You had magic before Gormlaith?”

“Yes, I was born with it.”

No wonder Eragon mentioned how advanced she is. “What village are you from, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Ivorson, about a half day’s ride from Dras-Leona.”

“Is your family still there?”

You hesitated, a dark look crossing your face that made Murtagh regret asking.

“Forgive me, I shouldn’t have—”

“No, it’s all right. My mother began a relationship with a man when I was young, but she died before they could marry. He took pity on me and adopted me, but then he died as well. I…was never close with the woman who later became his wife and their children. We don’t communicate.”

Murtagh nodded solemnly, sensing there was more to the story but refused to pry. “I’m sorry.”

You nodded with a tight smile before rubbing your hands over your thighs in what seemed to be a soothing motion. “We should head out before it gets too late. From here, we can likely reach the outskirts of Narda by nightfall, then make it to Vroengard by midday tomorrow. Well,” you smiled ruefully, “you two are well-traveled, you probably already know that. I’m not sure why I felt the need to tell you.”

He smiled. “It’s all right. We’ll let you two take the lead so we can cover your backs if necessary.” He climbed and swung himself up into the saddle, watching curiously as Gormlaith lowered her belly to the ground. You used her foreleg to hoist yourself up, swinging onto the back of her neck, but not into a saddle like his. Your setup was…peculiar, to say the least.

What looked to be a giant, leather blanket covered the back of Gormlaith’s thick neck, held together by straps that wrapped around her neck and shoulders. With her size, she was much too big to sit on and wrap your legs around her throat. Instead, you laid flat on your stomach between the spiked ridges along her neck. At the top of the “blanket” was a raised lip that ran all the way around. Two triangular handles protruded from two holes in the front. Several raised strips of more leather ran along the blanket perpendicular to you, and a curious lever sat on one side. You settled onto your stomach, scooting up into place, before pulling the lever. The raised strips on the side came up around your waist and the backs of your thighs, securing you in place in a tight fit via buckles that clicked together.

Both dragons stood in preparation. Murtagh and Thorn had obviously noticed Gormlaith’s large size yesterday, but now seeing her raised to her full height next to Thorn made him realize she was already bigger than him. Even with Murtagh’s tall height, he doubted he could’ve wrapped his legs around Gormlaith’s neck the way the saddle wrapped around Thorn’s. Barring a pavilion like Galbatorix used to ride Shruikan, as odd as it was, that did seem to be the only way you could ride.

Before he could question you, both dragons took off. He could sense Thorn’s curiosity about your “saddle” as well, but the pair stayed quiet. Woadark Lake passed below them as they climbed higher and higher into the sky, enjoying the peace and quiet, briefly interrupted by a flock of birds noisily flying by. The first part of the flight included a blue, cloudless sky, but more gloomy clouds gathered as they pressed on. Around mid-afternoon, both dragons landed to let their Riders stretch, relieve themselves, and have a late lunch.

Once on solid ground, both of you sitting with your backs to your dragons, Murtagh finally said, “I can’t help but be curious about your…saddle situation.”

You nodded. “Most are. I know it’s not typical, but it was the best I could manage the six months we were on the run. Gormlaith grew quickly and still does, and it would’ve been too difficult to just keep making a new, bigger saddle each month. So, we improvised, and now we’ve just become comfortable with this setup.”

“You’ve never considered any sort of chair or pavilion? That looks hard on your back.”

You shook your head, the breeze gently rustling your cloak as sounds of nature softly played in the background. The sky was beginning to look darker as the clouds rushed by overhead and the wind picked up. “We’re comfortable this way and I fight on dragonback a bit differently than everyone else. This accommodates for that.”

“How does it work? And how do you fight?”

“I’ll show you—plus it looks like rain might be coming, so we should continue heading for Narda anyway.”

You both mounted up again, but before laying flat, you grabbed one of the triangular handles protruding from the front of your saddle. “It’s a pulley system.” You pulled and a thick chord came out, allowing the handle room to become longer and longer with a soft vvvrrrrr noise. You let go and it snapped back into place, then patted the raised lip. “The reason this is raised is because it needs room to coil around the pulley inside. There’s also a lock here,” you flipped a switch on the side of the lip facing away from him, “so the handles stay in place. I always ward my clothes or armor before riding Gormlaith and hold onto the pulleys while I slide over her back to get at a better angle to fire projectile spells, arrows, or even swing around closer to our opponent. Then I release the tension and let the pulley pull me back up onto the saddle.” You settled onto your stomach, pulling the side lever and letting the buckles close in around you. “Then this helps keep me stable when we’re flying for extended periods.”

He raised his eyebrows, now grateful for his own normal saddle. “That’s an impressive contraption. Did you build that yourself?”

“I designed it but had help from a friend I grew up with who moved to a different town. He’s a bit of a genius when it comes to things like this.”

“I’m still not convinced that’s not harmful for your back.”

“It’s not so bad.” You smiled. “Plus, it’s the perfect position to take a nap if I need to.”

He laughed as both dragons again prepared themselves for takeoff. “I’m not sure how I feel about a nap on dragonback.”

“Only because you can’t lay down,” you grinned.

“Mm, did you bring a pillow with you as well?” he teased.

“Nah, it’d probably blow away.”

“You could always strap that down as well.”

You grinned. “Now there’s an idea.”

He laughed again, this time louder and brighter, as both dragons took to the sky once more.

You seem to enjoy talking with her, Thorn commented. I haven’t heard you laugh with another person this much since…well, ever.

I do. She’s bright, witty, quick—

Mmmmmm, Thorn said suggestively.

Stop it.

Stop what?

Murtagh sighed and shook his head, glancing at you where you lay on the saddle. He couldn’t help but admire your form for a moment before tearing his eyes away as you began to turn your head towards him. He did his best to distract himself by composing more poetry for a while, then switched to mentally going over all the words in the Ancient Language he’d learned from Eragon. Although his brother was usually so busy, he was nowhere to be found, he had carved out time specifically to help Murtagh enhance his skills in the language and magic itself. Galbatorix had only trained him enough to make a perfect attack dog, and never enough to make either Rider or dragon much of a threat to him.

He still was getting used to the idea of learning from Eragon and sometimes it still filled him with bitterness. During his four years in the wild, he had frequently stewed on the fact that their mother chose to save Eragon instead of him and he’d been given all the opportunities to learn and just be a Rider in full that Murtagh and Thorn never received. There had been many times when they’d first traveled together before Thorn had hatched, and then during their battles where Eragon seemed to judge him with no understanding of the lessons life had taught him—although he seemed a bit more forgiving now that he was older. He and Eragon had had many talks since he came to the academy hashing through arguments, understandings, apologies, and the like and he was sure there would be many more to come. But he was at least in a place where he didn’t feel an insurmountable grudge against his brother, and no longer felt the need to correct everyone who referred to him as such with “half-brother” instead. Although with how busy Eragon had been running the academy and Murtagh taking on the task of investigating these masked men, they’d only had a very small handful of lessons in the last two years. During much of the first year, Murtagh had also been away helping to track you and Gormlaith, but you hid your tracks well. Maybe that was also part of the reason he was so mentally invested in you two.

More time passed as the dragons flew through the sky. The clouds grew darker as the afternoon went on and a strong wind blew at their backs, speeding their progress. The air eventually began to feel heavy and warm, and thunder boomed above them as they passed the northern tip of the Spine.

An unfamiliar mind gently touched his and he couldn’t help but recoil. The presence didn’t delve any deeper but pulled back the tiniest bit. It’s me, you said.

Oh. Are you all right? he replied.

Yes, I just wanted to check on you and Thorn. We should also land soon. We’re almost to Narda and I think the storm is almost here. We’ve flown back this way before and there’s a small coastal village with an inn there, as well as a covered nook in the mountains not too far off that should fit both Gormlaith and Thorn easily. If you two agree.

After confirming with Thorn, he said, Yes, we’ll do that. He wasn’t used to the touch of another person’s mind who didn’t wish him harm, but yours felt almost comforting. Like warm tea after a cold, dreary day that held curiosity and compassion, but also had a twinge of darkness caused by a life full of hardship. He could sense you were kind but cautious—a combination he understood and held respect for.

The dragons landed in a grassy plain on the outskirts of town. Both Riders dismounted as the wind made the long grass dance beneath your feet and thunder continued to rumble overhead. Gormlaith reached out so that both Murtagh and Thorn could hear her. Although similar, her mind felt much darker with a much harsher “lone wolf” mentality, and Murtagh could sense she was fiercely protective of you, even more so than Thorn was of him. She would do whatever it took to make sure you were safe, even down to some questionable actions. The cave in the cliff isn’t far. Follow me.

Both dragons took off as you pointed down the dirt road. In the distance, he could see the lights of a small village. “This way.”

You both picked up the pace as several drops began to pour down. It quickly became a deluge, forcing the pair of you to run. He followed closely behind you as you navigated the streets with ease through the downpour, the lanterns on poles and houses swinging in the wind. Your foot caught in a puddle and you would’ve fallen flat on your back if Murtagh hadn’t been there to catch you and set you upright. You muttered a thanks, looking a bit embarrassed, before climbing the wooden steps of a large building off the docks. As the swinging wooden sign came around, he caught a glimpse of a painted tankard of ale and the words “The Singing Sturgeon.”

Murtagh held the door open for you as the two of you practically blew inside.

“Make sure to shut it firmly behind you please, else it’ll swing open again!” a man’s voice called from behind the bar.

Murtagh did as bade, sighing and glancing at you as you both lowered your hoods. The main room was a bit run down, but still warm and inviting. It was small, but there were plenty of empty tables and seating with a roaring fire on the left wall. A small boy stood on a stool and stirred the cauldron that hung over the flames, glancing at you and scurrying through a door behind the bar. Murtagh expected to see an old, grizzled man behind the bar, but instead saw a younger man with a slicked-back ponytail, kind face, and well-to-do outfit cleaning out a mug with a rag. He followed you as you made your way towards him, sliding into a stool at the bar.

The man smiled. “Welcome back, Y/N. I see you have a friend with you. Two stews and watered wines?”

You glanced at him and when he nodded, turned back to the bartender. “That would be great, Borden. Thanks.”

Borden smiled and wrapped his knuckles on the bar as if knocking on a door before setting the mug aside, slinging his towel over his shoulder, and disappearing into the kitchens.

“We only started off a few hours after the delegation did,” Murtagh said, glancing around the mostly empty main room. A few other patrons sat huddled in the corners, but seemed taken in by their own food, drinks, and company. “Would they be at this inn?”

“Not likely. Usually, the elves in charge of the delegation know the spell to teleport, so take turns teleporting everyone near the town we have to stop in. Then it’s the same for the journey back. They’re probably back at Vroengard right now. Eragon always gives delegation members the rest of the day off, so I’m not even sure if he’s noticed Gormlaith and I are still gone.”

“I’m sure he does. He seems to keep good track of his students—especially after what happened to you.” He paused as Borden and the child returned from the back carrying two trays laden with bowls, breads, and cheeses. Borden placed one in front of you, then took the tray from the child to place in front of Murtagh. He turned back to the child. “Thank you, Torg. Could you give the soup another stir?”

Torg nodded before racing over to the cauldron again. Borden turned and took two clean tankards off a shelf behind him and filled them with watered wine. As he handed Murtagh his glass, he noticed Borden only had two fingers on his left hand and three on his right.

You dug in your purse and handed him some coin. “How much for the bread and cheese?”

Borden smiled. “On the house. You two enjoy yourselves and do let me or Torg know if you need anything.”

“Wait, Bord, how is Torg? He was really sick last time I was here.”

“He’s much better now—and thank you for recommending those tonics, they did help immensely. I do have some things to take care of in the kitchen, but just yell if you need anything.” With that, he disappeared through the door again.

“You mentioned you were trained by your village healer. Is that how you knew what tonics to recommend?” Murtagh asked as he tore a piece of bread off.

You nodded, swallowing a spoonful of stew. “I learned magic from her as well as healing and anatomy. The original plan seemed to be that I would take over her position once she retired, but she abruptly just sort of…vanished. Then Gormlaith hatched not long after and that was the end of that.”

“Did this healer have a name?”

“Helena.”

“Helena what?”

You shrugged. “Just Helena. She was shorter than me, but had this big, brown curly hair that she always wore in a braid with all these headscarves to keep her hair out of her face when she made tonics or worked on patients.”

“Did she heal everyone with magic?”

“Sometimes yes, sometimes no. She seemed to be trying to keep a low profile. She didn’t even tell me her name until I’d been going to see her for six months and I was never allowed in her house or workstation unsupervised.”

Murtagh finally took a bite of his stew, expecting the usual subpar, but filling food most small taverns had. He made a sound of pleasant surprise. “This is delicious.”

“Borden’s an amazing cook. Torg, his son, helps out a lot, too, and they make some of the best food I’ve ever had.”

“I agree. This puts some of the food I’ve had in court to shame. Does Borden run this whole tavern and inn by himself?”

“His wife helps him. She’s likely asleep right now, but she usually manages renting out the rooms upstairs. There aren’t many of them, but they’re comfortable. I think this is my…fifth time here?”

Murtagh nodded. “So…you said you fire projectile spells from Gormlaith’s back as you slide around. What sort of spells are those?”

“Well, I sort of made them up and they are wordless, which Eragon doesn’t like. He prefers I use the Ancient Language, which I try to do in lessons and when I’m tired or really need to concentrate. But wordless magic just sort of is second nature after my training with Helena.”

“You mentioned crossbows as well. Do you prefer that over a longbow?”

“I, um…actually was never taught how to use a longbow and inherited two crossbows from my mother’s lover when he died. So, I’ve always used those.”

Murtagh hesitated, suddenly feeling slightly bashful. “I would be happy to teach you sometime, if you’d like.”

You nodded, suddenly shy as well, as you turned back to your soup.

Doing all right? Murtagh sent to Thorn. He’d been so enraptured with his conversation with you, he’d nearly forgotten to check on him.

Nice of you to drop in, his dragon teased. Yes, we’re doing just fine. Gormlaith is finally starting to talk, albeit slowly and in small spurts.

What are you talking about?

Maybe the pair of you.

Thorn.

Murtagh.

Murtagh made sure to send the mental grumble through their link, feeling Thorn’s amusement in return.

We’re doing just fine. Don’t worry about us. I’ll let you know if we need anything and will be keeping an eye on any danger towards you as well. It wouldn’t take us long to get you if need be.

Murtagh nodded before returning his attention to you as you began asking questions about the longbow. The rest of the meal was an enjoyable mix of talk of combat, more books, your trainings compared to his own knowledge and experience, and more. It truly felt as if he could talk to you for hours without running out of topics. You were highly intelligent and insightful, and he found himself wanting your opinion on several topics just to hear what you had to say. But the silence between you two was just as comfortable and he found himself enjoying being in your presence alone.

It seemed neither of you noticed once you’d finished your food and he was unsure how long you sat there after. He felt the familiar tug of sleep on his lids by the time Borden came around to check on you again. He smiled at your whistle-clean trays. “Did you enjoy your meals?”

“Yes,” you replied. “Thank you, Bord. Do you have any rooms available? I’m assuming Suzy is asleep.”

“She is, and we do! Would you prefer two singles with double beds, or one double with two twin beds?”

“Two singles,” you both said in unison before glancing at each other in embarrassment, then looking away.

If Borden noticed, he was kind enough not to say anything as the two of you worked out the payments, Murtagh handing over his own coin when necessary. The academy was funded by tributes from all the kingdoms, which in turn became the teachers’ and other staff members’ wages. It was odd, but good to have a regular form of money again.

Borden handed over the keys before telling you your room numbers and bidding you a good night. The pair of you climbed the stairs to the second floor, where the hallway lay open to the floor below. Another set of stairs ascended to a third floor that Murtagh assumed led to Borden and his family’s private quarters.

You both reached your respective doors, and he hesitated putting his key into the lock. He glanced at you just as you began to open the door. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

You gave him a small smile. “Goodnight, Murtagh.”

“Let me know if you…need anything?”

You nodded. “Same to you…I’ll, um, see you in the morning?” The tiniest spark of fear danced behind your eyes, belying your sudden anxiety about being abandoned again while sleeping.

Murtagh nodded. “We won’t leave without you. You have my word.”

You smiled, seeming more at ease, before disappearing behind the door just as he did his.

***

Murtagh smiled to himself as you rubbed at your eyes again from Gormlaith’s back. Early in the morning, you’d both broken your fast together in the tavern again, said goodbye to Borden, and were off into the sky. You and Gormlaith both were clearly not morning people, which Murtagh and Thorn found amusing. They weren’t exactly either, but you were exceptionally grumpy, and it took all Murtagh’s restraint not to laugh at your unamused facial expressions and grumbles.

He felt your mind gently touch his, your crankiness tinged with slight amusement. I know you’re laughing at me back there.

Need a nap already? Too bad you don’t have that pillow.

You be quiet.

Murtagh couldn’t withhold his laugh then and thought he saw your shoulders shake with your own. You turned back to glare at him, but he could tell you were trying not to laugh, which only made him laugh harder. You smiled and shook your head before facing forward again.

The rest of the flight continued much the same as yesterday: comfortable silence with the occasional check-in, although you always reached out first. He didn’t want to invade your privacy and felt odd purposely reaching out to another person. He hadn’t done it in so long and during his travels with Thorn, only reached out enough to sense danger nearby.

Vroengard finally came into sight just as the sun climbed directly above them. Gormlaith pushed faster, Thorn following and struggling to keep up. She glanced back and slowed, growling quietly to herself.

It’s surprising how a dragon so big moves so fast, Murtagh thought.

Not necessarily, Thorn replied. Her wingspan is bigger than mine and will likely become even bigger than now. He paused. It feels very odd not to be the biggest dragon anymore.

Murtagh wondered how big Thorn would’ve been now if Galbatorix hadn’t sped his growth. Even without magic or torture involved, he’d heard from Eragon that most dragons had some growing pains as they got older and the bigger the growth spurt, the worse it was. He hoped Gormlaith didn’t suffer too greatly.

He sighed as the academy came into view below. Both dragons began to sink closer to the treetops, making for the grassy hill where you and Eragon had first met and where returning dragons and their Riders usually landed. The hill stood empty before them, but several students and elves pointed up and shouted at your group’s return.

Gormlaith touched down first, Thorn not far behind. The red dragon sighed, settling onto his haunches with closed eyes as he still felt some lingering effects of the poison. Murtagh quickly unbuckled himself and slid down to give him a reprieve from his weight, watching as Gormlaith sank to her belly again so you could do the same.

A roar sounded in the distance as Saphira flew towards them. She landed quickly with a whoosh that sent hair and cloaks flying before Eragon quickly scrambled down.

“There you are!” He ran towards you as you met him in the middle. “Thank the gods you’re all right.” He turned to Murtagh. “And thank the gods you happened to be nearby. Thank you for bringing them back.”

Murtagh nodded. “I take it you know what happened?”

Eragon scowled. “Yes. The delegation members have been dealt with and reassigned as necessary.” He returned his attention to you, putting a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry and swear to you I will do everything in my power to make sure this never happens again. Thank you for doing your duty to protect the eggs and new Riders—or trying to, at least.”

You clenched your jaw and nodded, obviously still feeling the sting of the ordeal.

Eragon tried to give you a comforting smile and a small pat on the arm. “Why don’t you and Gormlaith go bathe, eat, and rest for the rest of the afternoon? I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow morning for our private classes.”

You sighed and nodded, your face finally showing some signs of fatigue. You made your way back over to Gormlaith several yards away as Eragon stepped closer to Murtagh, lowering his voice. “And you look as if you’ve something to tell me.”

Murtagh nodded, gripping Zar’roc’s pommel. “The masked men showed up while Thorn and I were alone, not far from where the delegation was—and they were dangerously well-equipped. If Y/N and Gormlaith hadn’t been close by and insisted on checking on us, I don’t think we would’ve returned here.”

Eragon took a deep breath, a troubled look on his face before glancing at you. Murtagh followed his gaze as you wrapped your arms (well, as best you could) around Gormlaith’s snout. She gently lifted you several feet off the ground before lowering you back down, parting to take off towards the lake most dragons used to bathe. You made eye contact with the pair, smiling sadly before jogging off towards the Riders’ quarters.

“Come with me,” Eragon said, nodding back towards the main building. “Tell me everything once we’re in my office.”

Murtagh and Thorn did as bade, looking down over the settlement as they flew. Several students trained with other teachers and elves while others played, read, and flew about with their dragons, creating a cacophony of joy and safety. For all his faults, Murtagh couldn’t help but admire the hard work his brother had put into creating this community and wished he’d been more a part of its creation.

Both dragons landed on the large balcony outside Eragon’s office, the Riders disappearing inside. Murtagh gave him all the details of his attack, as well as your rescue, then his rescue of you.

Eragon pinched the bridge of his nose at the end. “By the gods, it was even worse than I feared.”

“I’m not sure if this is too advanced for her,” Murtagh started, settling back in the chair across from his brother’s large oak desk, “but it might be a good idea to teach Y/N and Gormlaith whatever teleportation spell the elves use. Although you said they were punished, rumor mills like this are hard to shake. Someone may very well do something similar to them again.”

Eragon sighed. “It’s a spell that requires a lot of energy, which is why usually only the seasoned elves perform it. Once it’s been used, the user will have precious little energy left, which is why there are always multiple elves in each delegation, as well as at least one dragon and Rider duo. But perhaps you’re right. The knowledge alone might be good for them.”

“Exactly how advanced are they both?”

“Very.” Eragon paused to take a drink out of a glass of water on his desk, the fire crackling in the background. “She’s mentioned she had talent in magic before Gormlaith hatched, and then I suppose life on the run is a good teacher. I have them in group classes with the much older dragons in the afternoons, then Saphira and I have been giving them both private lessons most days from morning to midday. Although that does mean the work piles up in the afternoons…” He glanced at the high stack of papers on the corner of his desk and sighed.

“What sort of things do you train them for in the mornings?”

“More basic magic that’s commonly used between dragons and Riders, hand-to-hand combat, meditation, some poses Master Oromis taught me, reaching out to sense living things and connecting with nature, combat on dragonback—that sort of thing.”

Murtagh nodded, thinking back to his few lessons with Eragon where he’d also learned some of Oromis’ poses and mental exercises. “I could help, if that’s an option. I have plenty of experience with combat, both on the ground and on Thorn, and we could always practice any of the elves’ teachings together.”

“Mmm,” Eragon raised his eyebrows. “Now, there’s an idea. She’s extremely advanced in magic, too, so she might be able to help you. Although she uses a lot of wordless magic, which I’d prefer she stop, she does know a decent amount of the Ancient Language enough to hold quite complicated conversations with the elves.”

“Is she fluent?”

“No, but she’s getting there. That’s a good idea, I think you two could really benefit each other. I’d still like to meet with her once or twice a week just to see how she’s doing, but you could take…” he leaned over to glance at a piece of paper on his desk, “Monday, Wednesday, and Friday if you’d like? We usually meet around eight o’clock in the morning and go until midday, then break for lunch, then she joins the others for group lessons with the elves.”

“I can do that.”

“Good! I’ll show you where I train with her later this evening.” He smiled lightly to himself. “Well. Your first student.”

Murtagh laughed dryly. “Sounds like I’ll be learning from her just as much.”

“That’s how any good teacher and student relationship is: sometimes, your student ends up being the one to teach you.” He paused. “I’d always hoped you’d teach one day. Perhaps this will be a good trial run? You did travel together for two days and stayed at an inn together, yes? How did you get on?”

“Very well. I enjoyed talking to her.”

Eragon smiled wryly, gently scraping the handle of his letter opener over his jaw. “Mmmm.”

Murtagh sighed in defeat. “Why does everyone keep making that noise at me?”

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

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Stabilize, pt. 1 (Multi-part story, extended war timeline)

PART 1 (you are here) // PART 2 // PART 3 // PART 4

(A/N: Heads up. We've got some Gil'ead content mixed in with lots of blood an' stuff. Durza being himself. The usual, really. Except if you don't like broken bones {specifically those of the chest varity} or mentions of what's pretty much extra extreme flail chest {only funky moves for a little bit thankfully}, then this isn't the story for you. Next chapters are Eragon's and other POVs of the event since Arya is not exactly comprehending things going on.)

Summary: What should have just been an outreach mission to help heal and treat citizens of a recently captured city goes wrong. Arya finds herself tossed into her own mind with little to no control over anything around her, watching confused and in pain as the world whips by. Outside her body, Eragon, Saphira, Glen, Blödhgarm and the other spellcaster guards work franticly to stabilize her, uniting as a family Eragon and Saphira had not quite realized had formed around them.

~~~

MODERN INHERITANCE: STABILIZE, PT. 1: BACK AND FORTH

Dim light assaulted her eyes as Arya blinked them open. She took a deep breath, tensed in preparation of cracked bones and torn muscles protesting…but nothing came. A few twinges of nearly healed wounds at her back, red scars pulling at…skin. She had skin on her back again.

‘Just get up. Think later, get up now.’

Arya grit her teeth and, a phantom of soreness remaining, gingerly pushed up from the ground. It felt…odd. To not taste blood upon waking. Why didn’t she? 

The answer fluttered into her mind like an afterthought, all her faculties focused on drawing her legs under her body and starting the cautious rise to standing. ‘Healed. Why am I healed?’

And then something slammed into her, and a hand slid around her neck

The world spun and shifted and it felt as if someone had grabbed her by the back of her shirt and yanked her to the side. As if she was being thrown through open air over the Crags, breath ripped from her lungs and

“–on’t move, don’t move. Shh, shh, you’re okay, you’re gonna be okay.”

Blurry shapes. Nothing hurt. Besides her head, really. A headache more powerful than the worst thunderstorm she had ever encountered bashed and exploded behind her eyes every time she struggled to move them. 

An odd brush of feather light pressure at her forehead. Trailing down, smoothing those wild fringes back. A familiar voice, calm, just the hint of a distressed warble at the very end of each garbled word. 

Couldn’t move. Even though they said not to. Tried to speak but lips barely parted and something warm rushed out of her mouth. Slid, cooling rapidly, from the corners of her lips to the edge of her jaw and tickling her ears before settling along the back of her neck. 

More shushes. More pronounced warbling. More gentle stroking of her hair. 

Other…hands? Maybe. Pressing on her chest, at her sides. Something felt off, a tug and a vibration felt inside her body. Muttered words, soft. What should have been an alarming sudden flare of energy, magic being worked, and the tugging eased significantly.

The world suddenly darkened as the figure above lowered their face to hers, pressed shaking lips to her forehead. 

“I’m s–––. I love you.” She felt her eyes rolling back, back to

He slammed her back against the cell wall, one clawed hand around her throat. Smiling a smile that would have been perfectly at home in one of the human fairytales, wolfish and sneering and just begging to be wiped off his bone-white face. 

If it was a fight he wanted, she would give it. He had healed her, and she would not let the opportunity slide. Get up. Cause trouble. Any way she could. 

He caught her right hook as she swung for his exposed armpit, pinned the offending wrist to the cold stone. The amused laughter died in his throat when her left, two knuckles raised, impacted squarely in his solar plexus, air whooshing from his lungs. He would have doubled over had she any more strength, but as it was her blows were still pitifully weak for people of their calibre.

He released her right wrist and slammed his palm down behind the knee that shot up to take him between the legs. Bone snapped, he snarled loud as her freed hand tangled in his hair and yanked as her head went back with a silent cry, a ragged growl all that escaped her.

Cold fingers finally clamped down at her throat. Success! 

‘Take me seriously you flaming headed fuckwad! I’ll dig your rotted heart out with the next spoon I s–’

Another wave of nauseating movement. 

Someone was screaming. It couldn’t be her, she still…still couldn’t move. But someone was moving her, she could feel pressure at the bent crooks of her knees and roughness at her cheek and something supporting her upper back. 

She felt…oddly weightless. It almost felt good. 

A cacophonous clatter, the unmistakable sound of ceramic shattering. “–here–. Down, gent–, gently.” Lowered, tipping back, world spinning. Eyes wandering, trying to take in something, anything. 

What was happening? Why couldn’t she move….

Eragon. Oh shit, Eragon! And Saphira, they

They were in danger. 

Screamed at her muscles to move but nothing worked. 

And just like that the surge of fear, the surge of energy to do something, it vanished. Everything was floating again. Everything was

Sparks flickered in her eyes. Arya came back to herself as her body dropped to the ground where he had thrown her into the opposite wall. 

She couldn’t tell if she should be amused or just a little bit frightened by the clump of bloodied hair in her reflexively clenched fist. She bared her teeth and chose the former. ‘Trouble caused.’

Durza seized her collar and yanked her body to the center of the tiny cell. Sat on her snapped femur, eyes blazing as she yowled in pain at bone grinding against bone, instinctively tensed muscles trying to rip the breakpoints past each other with each contraction. 

‘Least his bony ass is keeping them aligah fuck.’ Honestly. Arya was starting to wonder if she was simply delirious all the time now as the man-shaped monster settled his hand around her throat again. ‘I think he has a thing for that.’ 

Ah yes. Very delirious. Everything shouldn’t be so funny right now. She really would have laughed if she could get any air in. A Shade. With a thing for choking! Well, maybe it wasn’t so unusual, Shades were bloodthirsty and manic at the best of times, genocidal and mad with devastating power at the worst. 

Morbid curiosity drifted through her mind. ‘What makes him different? He’s got some self control…’  Things were getting hazy again. Durza had well and fully settled now, sitting on her legs, hunched over her like some rabid dog. Stars burst in her fading vision when he lifted his grip slightly, let her gasp in and out for a handful of seconds. 

“I want you to remember this one, little elf.” His smile was back, a new darkness to it. “I had…a spark of inspiration after I left you last.” 

One of his cold hands slipped under the prison tunic, gliding over the bruises left as he grasped her side and squeezed. Slid up to her ribs, grinning like an excited child as he felt the muscles shift and undulate under his touch. Her skin was blazing, an obvious fever having taken hold. No matter. It should not interfere with his plan. 

Arya frowned, teeth snapping. ‘Knock it off, I’m not for that.’ Her chest rumbled, the deep connections to the dragon pact awakening again. ‘Hands…to yourself.’ 

And he still smiled. Stroked the spaces between her ribs with the utmost care. 

“It would be…dangerous. To attempt something so extreme in your previous state, as lovely as it was.” He mused. “Extreme, and yet…remarkably simple.” That altogether far too toothsome grin stretched further. “I’m sure you’ll agree. Shall we begin?”

She spat at him. Struggled to sit up against his weight and the forces he applied. 

Durza clicked his tongue. “Shh, shh, shh. Now, now, little elf. So impatient.” 

His hand slipped from her ribs. A cold chuckle filled her ears as he pressed his palm between her breasts, flat to her sternum. “Don’t look so disgusted, little elf. I am not here for that.”

‘Wonderful, then wha–’ He was muttering the Ancient Language. When he finished, she didn’t feel anything different, but the words floated in her mind until she latched on to their meaning. ‘Wards? Why ward–’

He released her throat. Pressed his now free hand beside her head, leaned over her. Watching her face with a glint of utter anticipation in his maroon eyes. If she wasn’t busy sucking in air and trying not to squirm away from him as his other hand slipped down to wrap around her side, clinging to the curvature of her ribs as if he could lift and hold her like the spine of some old tome, she would spit at him again. 

She really, really wanted him to stop making his stupid smile even bigger. It had to be some hallucination, no one could smile that fucking b–

Durza tightened his grip around her ribs. Lowered his face till the tip of his nose brushed hers.

And whispered, “Jierda.”

“–lease what––r y–– did, –– interfe––. Now! Quick–”

A harsh growl of frustration, cracked with a contained sob and an apology and something clicked inside her mind or her brain or whatever and

The world exploded. The rabble of voices shot spikes into her ears as she instinctively tried to arch her back, tried to get away from the source of the pain. And there was so, so much pain. Hadn’t felt this in so long, really felt it, not just in her mind, it was here and now and everywhere and nothing was spared. 

There was so much yelling and hands were pressing her down as she thrashed and tried to just get. Away. A ragged voice above her was screaming in anger, that was probably it, anger, before another set of hands gripped onto her shoulders and what had to be forearms clamped her head and neck in place. 

Warmth bubbled up from her throat instead of the scream she wanted. Choked on it. Something jammed into her mouth, a muttered spell, and the…stars, was that blood? That had to be blood, she could taste it–

The Ancient Language was flowing off someone’s tongue so rapidly it all blurred together. 

The pain stopped. 

Cold. 

She was so cold. 

Blood was still being pumped from her mouth, she could feel it at the back of her throat, endless. She still couldn’t…couldn’t breathe. 

“––orry, I– so sor––.” The hand from before slid over her forehead, shaking. “Slyth–”

No, wait, no she knew the feeling from before. Her chest, her ribs, everything was sha

A thud of overpressure. That’s what it felt like. For just a split second, time the width of a fragile hair, a pulse of overpressure rushed her chest and felt as though her lungs and heart were squeezed as it passed. 

And in its wake her ribcage, each and every piece of it, shattered. 

Arya went blind. There was only white. A keening whine in her ears. A weight settled on her chest as all her muscles seized and spasmed as just…

Pain. 

For a moment, that was all that existed in the world. For eternity. It was all she had. 

And the pain remained as her eyes cleared, wide, wide eyes, staring up into his as she could feel just barely through it all the chill touch of his fingers stroking her face, mapping the agony of her expression. 

“There there, little elf.” He cooed, wandering over the slope of her cheek, her lips parted in a silent scream that wouldn’t come, the bridge of her nose, the hollows beneath her eyes. “There, now. It’s not over yet.” 

His own face held fascination, eyes hooded, tip of his tongue tracing his thin lips as he watched the explosions behind the green fire, the confusion, the beautiful pain. All for him. 

Durza settled back on her legs, tucked his heels tight to her knees to further jostle the lump of her broken femur. The fresh shock among the waves of agony snapped her up, back struggling to arch more than a scant handsbreadth off the floor.

A pitiful wail, strangled and disbelieving, trickled from the elf’s throat. Oh, she had never made that sound for him before. So confused, so afraid, so much delectable pain and misery. 

The soft thud of her settling back to the concrete ground rolled her eyes into her head. Her throat spasmed, blocked her airway out of shear pain. And he couldn’t have that. Not yet. 

So he seized the wild hair at her forehead and pulled her head down, tucked her chin and hissed a word to wake her. 

His growl was fire in his veins. “Breathe, little elf. Breathe, and see what is left of your pitiful body now.” 

And Arya…Arya tried. She was so dizzy now, the blanket heavy on her mind, on her broken body, and she tried to wheeze in a single breath.

Her chest rippled as she watched. Rippled. Like ice-splintered water. Her ribs sagged–

And then the pain of the barest attempt hit and everything

Black. Something over her eyes. It was damp, too, and smelled like…like sharp herbs, all pungent and smoky. 

So cold. Shivering in fits and bursts. 

It didn’t hurt as much as before. Something…dulling. Unlike the first absence of pain, it wasn't complete but was...soothing. And there was…was someone hovering over her head, something brushing her face. 

Tried to speak again. A dusty, barely there croak that died before all of it could escape. 

Light, flaring and painful against her still-closed lids. 

Stormy curls. Brow pinched in concern. “–on’t mo–. St– –ill.” Small hands cupping her face, the frown forcibly easing. “Good w––k. Er–gon a– Saphi– –– safe.”

Eragon. And Saphira. 

Had to help, had to get up, go–

“No! No, no y– mal––na–!”

Locked in place. Her chest wasn’t…wasn't moving when she tried to breathe but…still could feel air coming in. How…

The world fumbled into focus. For just a handful of seconds, she found herself staring up. Staring up at…

‘Angela?’

She could hear others in the room. Murmurings of the Grey Folks’ tongue, a massive pool of energy swirling and surging and sinking and dissipating in pushes and pulls. All…all gathered over her body.

Her shattered body. 

Stars above. 

What…what happened?

The herbalist flickered a new light over her eyes. She couldn’t flinch away. The small woman seemed put more at ease by whatever she found, and Arya could feel her nails gently scratching her scalp through…blood. Dried blood. As she combed her hair back from her face. Like her mother had…so long ago…or not so long? 

It felt nice. Angela wiped the pungent rag across her forehead, murmuring something that she couldn’t quite hear. Someone was sleeping. More than one. Back soon.

That…that was good. Maybe she could 

Something on– in – her chest tugged. Slowed. Warmth surging, spilling over her hip, down her side. A different type of heat replaced it, glowing in her stomach, warming her insides. Another tug. Serrated. 

If she could have cried out, she would have. Not that it…it hurt, not quite as much but the feeling of it–

“Shh, shh, elfl–ng. We ha– y–. Sleep.” Angela’s fingers softly swirled at her temples, skin damp from the blood wiped away. Arya couldn’t help but see the worry still embedded in the witch’s eternal eyes. “Slytha.”

He left her on the floor. 

Sat on the cot and watched her. 

Watched her struggle. 

Sometimes, when it all was too much, when her lips had to be dusky and she couldn’t…couldn’t see. Couldn’t feel anymore because there was…there was so little air…he would lift a hand in a most permissive gesture, and her chest would rise without her command. Crisp, fresh oxygen would flood her body and mind and lungs and she would scream it out in an instant because…because she could feel all of it moving. Shifting. 

But…

She couldn’t move her eyes. Dropping her gaze…it moved her body just slightly. Just enough to ripple her shattered bones and oh it was…it was too much. 

But he hadn’t won. 

Because she could still feel it. Clamped in her sweaty hand, sticking to her clammy skin. 

A clump of blood red hair. 

A small…small victory. 

A small vict

Or

Y

A deep breath. Twinges of settling across her chest. Cartilage tweaking and popping as it finally, finally took proper shape with a nice, big inhale. 

And out.

“...Oww��.”

It was barely a wheeze, but at the pathetic sound slipping from her lips a chorus of chairs ripped back and clattered to some poor, abused floor. Arya winced at the rush of footsteps, still blinking and trying to clear her eyes as halos of light splashed across her vision. 

“Don’t! Don’t move, don’t move.” Glen already had a hand on her shoulder, damn near skidding his legs out from under him as he pivoted into her line of sight. What the hell was wrong with his voice? Low, concerned, urgent. Shit, he only used that voice when someone was really in a bad way. “Just stay down.” 

Arya worked her mouth. Her tongue was dry and sticky. She could taste iron. A lot of it. “Gllnn?” Little more than a croak, but it was something. “Wha…wha’appn.” She swallowed hard. It didn’t help. “Er…an’ ‘Afira?”

A curly mess of dark brown and honey. Something, a…window maybe? Clattered and crashed and a great whumph of air, snuffling and sniffing, filled the room. And it was a room. Arya could see crossbeams above, could hear a small fire crackling somewhere. The sounds of others sleeping. Hushed whispers in another portion of the house. 

 “We’re here! We’re here.” Oh, that silly Rider. Eragon leaned in and, pushing Glen’s warning hand aside, touched his forehead to Arya’s from where he stood behind her. “Saphira and I are fine. You…you took the hit. You saved us.” 

Arya blinked. 

And in a rush, the…day? Week? How long…

It all came back.

They were all in the city. Going through the streets at Eragon’s insistence, helping to heal and tend to the fallen friends and foes and civilians alike. Knocking on doors, offering aid. 

She had been out front, ahead of the others. Glenwing had been held up at the last house, showered with gratitude for healing the eye of a poor girl who had been caught in the crossfire. 

If he had been there it would have ended badly. In some way, it did, but in her eyes…in her eyes it was a small victory. 

Because she felt the surge, heard words flying from spittle flecked lips, wild eyes and robes swirling as the half mad mage had darted from his hiding spot between hovels. Arms outstretched towards the Dragon and Rider over her shoulder, the last syllables so very close to leaving his lips.

Wyrda had sprouted from his chest as she barreled into him, both of their bodies slammed to the ground and skidding in the bloodsoaked dust on the road. 

Then a snap like static turned to lightning, a wave of overpressure. The energy had nowhere to go but outward, the guidance of the spell lost, a sphere of pure force rippling and radiating and

Wyrda’s hilt ripped from her hand. A childlike rush of panic at losing the sword before a half realization of just what was happening, was going to happen, touched her thoughts. 

Weightless. Wind ripping, clawing past her head.

Emergency wards flared. Protected her neck, her spine, skull, heart, liver, most arteries, her brain. Drew power from the diamond sewn into the hem of her combat jacket at a prodigious rate.

That was fine. It would hold, could hold against damn near anything but now she had to worry about

Dust exploded outward.

Primaries flared BRIGHT as the energy allocated to protect the rest of her bones was instantly sapped away from her body’s reserves. Failed. 

Bits of…cinderblock? Brick? She must have already been through the wall by the time the primary wards winked out. The stone raked across her face, scratching. Rough. A scream from some poor, poor woman simply minding her own business in her own house. 

It felt like she went quite nearly through the other wall. There was something between that one and the first, some flimsy, wooden thing that burst into pieces. A dull hope that none of them hit the woman who now had a person sized hole in her front room. 

Secondary wards around the other organs ripped off like so much tissue paper. When…. Not important.

She felt her back strike another plastered wall. Solid. At least it…stopped her. Hard. Sudden. 

There was a lot of crackling and crunching. When she tried to breathe. Slumped to the ground as friction lost to gravity.

Her neck wasn’t broken. Her heart…it was definitely…beating. She could…kind of see…things.

Her chest…and her stomach…felt…warm.

Could still feel…fingers. Toes…. Wiggled for good measure.

Her vision winked out for a…was it just a few seconds? It had to be, because the woman was still screaming. 

Damn. What a set of lungs.

Arya slowly lowered her gaze. Dropped her chin to her chest. Visual check for damage.

Legs splayed out in front. Armor, marching bare bones kind, guard duty kind. Stops over-flex kind. Feet pointing. Right ways. Not broken. Then. 

Her hand bumped against something as she tried to pull her arms in.  Everything was…spinning. 

She leaned over the chunk of…wall? She was draped over on her right. Vomited. 

Vomited red. 

Arya looked up and mumbled an apology to the shrieking resident. Looked down again.

Hm. Possible…abdominal…injury.

Wood. A piece of wood, twisted up with some…metal? A…‘stud plate,’ she remembered Simon, all those years ago, calling it while they helped…to rebuild that little town…in Surda….

Against…regulations. For it to be stuck…in her chest…like that. Big…fine. For sure. Other little… bits…sticking out. 

Shouldn't…shouldn’t it hurt?

She blinked. Something changed.

Eragon was clasping her face in his hands, a wild, horrified look to his dark eyes. Blue, big, Saphira through the hole behind him.

“Don’t move! Don’t move.” He was already chanting words. Stabilize? No, no. She was…she was fine. It didn’t hurt. No hurt, no…problem.

She smiled at him. Big, broad smile. “Are you…two…okay?” 

Huh. Speaking was…why was it hard?

He finished the spell. The feeling of warmth spreading across her chest slowed. She almost missed it. Crackles almost stopped.

“Shh, I’m fine, Saphira’s fine.” Eragon snapped his head around, his voice a screech. “BLÖDHGARM! GLEN!” He turned back, wiped something off her face with his thumb. “You did so good, Arya. You…you kept us safe. Good…good job.” More words tumbled from his lips. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, okay, you’re okay. You’re okay, it’s all going to be okay.”

She wanted to laugh and tell him, ‘of course it is! You two are safe!’ but she…she couldn’t get the air to say them. 

Maybe if she just…closed her eyes for a second. 

“Arya, no, no, please, no.” Eragon grabbed at her face, pushed wild hair from her eyes and pressed his lips to her forehead as if trying to breathe into her skull. 

Hm. Hopefully there wasn’t any wood there. And that wasn’t how he was supposed to do CPR at all. They had taught him better than that, and she…she didn’t need it, her heart…was still warded….

“GLEN! BLÖDHGARM! I NEED HELP HERE! THERE'S TOO MUCH BLEEDING!” 

Bleeding?

Glen’s face was white when he saw her. 

Blödhgarm…he hissed. Like housecat. As he ran over.

Their hands were covered in blood when she saw them move them away from her chest. 

…Oh. She must have…gotten cut by the wall.  

Well…if it was bad….

Maybe whatever they saw would…would heal faster…if she just…took a nap.

[saphira-approves]

Okay so I finished Murtagh last night and I think I’m just going to put a lot of my slightly more coherent general thoughts here under a readmore. Spoilers ahead! Beware!

Right off the bat I want to bring us back to The Fork, The Witch, and The Worm. Not to Essie (although reliving that encounter from Murtagh’s perspective was EXQUISITE), but to Eragon, because the thing I love most about that story is that Eragon is glad to see his brother, even from afar, and is glad to see he’s alright, and hopes that Murtagh will one day join him at Mt. Arngor. We’ve talked recently on the blog about ill feelings and condemnation towards Murtagh during the war, especially on Eragon’s part, but the ending of The Fork makes it clear that—while I would love to see Eragon acknowledge and work through them—Eragon no longer holds those feelings, and in fact really wants the chance to reconnect with his brother and his friend, because he loved him like a brother before he even knew they were related, and after everything that’s happened, he loves him still—even if Murtagh is going to have some trouble believing or internalizing it.

And so I present the theme of this initial reading response: Murtagh is so, so loved, to an extent that he does not fully realize. He knows that Thorn loves him, obviously, but I believe it’s significant that—even though he has some Complicated™️ thoughts about Selena and harbors resentment towards her for, in his mind, choosing Eragon over himself—the memories of her that we actually get to see/“hear” (page 90 my beloved) are fully memories of Selena’s love for him. “…beautiful boy” anyone? “My strong boy?” That is her BABY and she LOVES HIM. Also, again, DESPITE HIS RESENTMENT, Selena’s love is the REASON HE KEEPS HIS SCAR! Scar lore alert! Scar lore alert! SELENA WAS THERE AND SHE’S THE ONE WHO HEALED HIM! (though I am still partial to thinking Brom was involved. I’ll write about that later it doesn’t matter right now)

(Also, on a bit of a lighter note, HIS HORSE TOY?????? Horse girl Murtagh CONFIRMED!!!! Little me would have been so jealous. …on a completely different note, I have woodworking connections and access to real horse hair. Hm. The Ideas.)

And then Tornac, son of Tereth, may your name live on forever. THE FIRST MEMORY WE GET OF TORNAC IS A HUG. THE FIRST TIME HE HUGS MURTAGH. MURTAGH HE LOVES YOU SO MUCH DO YOU KNOW??? I KNOW YOU KNOW A LITTLE BIT BUT DO YOU KNOW????? And the way he LEAPS to Murtagh’s defense when he falls in their escape, he REFUSES to let Murtagh languish in Urû’baen, that’s his BOY, his BEAUTIFUL STRONG BOY, that’s HIS SON, NO TAKE BACKSIES, MORZAN! He sees Murtagh’s darkness, yes, but more importantly he sees Murtagh’s goodness, and he knows Galbatorix will do everything in his power to destroy it, and that is something that Tornac simply cannot abide. You remember how I posted about Brom saying it’s easy to die for what you believe in, and then like ten pages later he dies for Eragon? Yeah. Yeah that one. That post. Do you see the point I’m making?

Tornac died for Murtagh. Selena did too, I’m pretty sure—it’s never been explicitly stated, in this book or the rest of the Cycle, but we know Selena was anxious to leave Carvahall as soon as Eragon was born, and that she died shortly after returning to Murtagh. I think Murtagh knows, on some level, but I also think that actually acknowledging it is going to break him just a little bit. Selena left Eragon and returned to him, presumably to spirit Murtagh to Carvahall as well, but she left too early. She wasn’t recovered. The real tragedy of this is that, if she’d left any later, she might truly have been too late—Morzan had been killed, and Murtagh would have been collected to Urû’baen before she reached him. Depending on how much she was coordinating with Brom, she might have known this, and made the choice to return to Murtagh anyway, because it was the easiest choice in the world. Eragon and Murtagh both believe that Selena left them. As Murtagh believes Selena chose Eragon over him, I’m pretty sure Eragon believes the inverse. In truth, Selena was trying to choose both of them, to save both of them. It’s a tragedy that she failed, but the most important thing about such a tragedy is that the love is there. It didn’t save them, not at first, not until much later, but the love is there and it matters because those are her babies, those are her sons, and she would gladly die for them. She did die for them. It was easy; she believed in them.

So yeah, I think eventually Eragon and Murtagh are gonna have a talk, and some revelations are going to be made, and a good long cry is going to be had all around. Catharsis! They need it!

But that’s not all! Murtagh is loved not only by the dead and the distant, but by the living and the near, too. Up to this point, the werecats we’ve met have been aloof, proud, intentionally distant. I always got the sense that Solembum likes Eragon and Saphira, but I don’t know that he would call them friends, even if Eragon and Saphira would, and he’s the most in-depth werecat we’ve met. But now we also have Carabel.

Carabel, who, from her position within Gil'ead, watches the people around them, and discerns their character: this is a skill I would say she has honed to near-perfection. When we meet her, she is desperate, though she hides it well. She sees Murtagh, and she measures his character, and what she sees is enough to make her take a chance on him, and she's right. Murtagh saves Silna, compromising his own principles to do so—swearing an oath he knows he'll have to break—and is so clearly relieved to see Silna safe with Carabel, despite the deceptions. We know, also, that Selena had been liked enough by Solembum for him to speak with her, and I wouldn't be surprised to discover that Selena was at least respected by werecats, if not outright known as a friend; it's possible that this, too, helped push Carabel to take a chance on Murtagh, though she makes no comment about it. Whatever the case, ultimately it is Murtagh's character that she gambles on, and Murtagh being simply who he is fulfills her hopes—not only in saving Silna, but his kindness towards her even when she was difficult, carrying her only when it was necessary and setting her on her own paws when he deemed it safe. Just in being himself, he earns love from two strangers, and the respect of an entire race.

(This echoes throughout the book, in all of Murtagh's interactions with children—he cares so much about kids. Not just as an abstract moral stance: he truly, genuinely cares for children on a deeply personal level. Essie in Ceunon; the two boys in Gil'ead he gives coins to, twice, and reprimanding their father for using them to pick marks; Silna; the children in Nal Gorgoth. In telling his story to Nasuada, he broke when he reached the children he slaughtered under Bachel's control.)

And Alín! Alín, who was raised to revere dragons, who cannot help but idolize Thorn. She is terrified of Murtagh, as a stranger and a strange man, but his connection to a dragon allows her to view him in another light. I can write so many essays about Alín, I'm probably going to, but here I'll just say this: despite her circumstances, despite how she was taught, despite how thoroughly she has been programmed by the cult of the Dreamers, the simple truth of Murtagh's compassion gave her the room to question, to think for herself, to ask herself if what she has been taught and raised to believe is truly right. Murtagh doesn't make the decision for her, he physically can't—it is Alín herself who finds the strength to break herself free, inspired by Murtagh, but not wholly because of him.

And in the dungeons of Nal Gorgoth, Murtagh meets Uvek, an Urgal shaman, and can I just say: I would kill and die for Uvek. He's got similarities to Murtagh that aren't discussed in plaintext, but are easy to draw: they both tried to be alone in the wild, thinking it would be better for them—different reasons, but they came to the same conclusion—but both have come to discover that they are better off in a pack. With friends. With brothers. With family. (As an aside, I really hope Uvek becomes one of the first Urgal riders.) I love the metaphor they share, about trust being a knife with a blade for a handle; and I love that once they decide to trust each other, they both jump in, feet first, 100% on board. That's always been Murtagh's method anyway (Eragon-era Murtagh my beloved, looking after this stupid dumb kid with his whole ass), and it is incredibly refreshing to see someone else with the exact same mindset throw their whole lot in with Murtagh. The gentle forehead bump! Uvek loves this crazy squishy Murtagh-man.

And finally, finally, Nasuada. The Guinevere to his Lancelot, and there's not even an Arthur for them to dance around, except for the Arthur of Public Opinion that would prefer to view Murtagh as dread Mordred. I couldn't keep from laughing, just a little bit, every time Murtagh was encouraged to/shown visions of taking the throne, because lol! Nah, you dumbasses, that's the love of his life for whom he broke his own shackles and turned on his tormentor and slave-master. The day he turns against her of his own volition is the day he is No Longer Murtagh. He keeps the newly-minted gold crown so that he can keep a piece of her with him—a coin!! A tiny little portrait!! An accurate tiny little portrait, to be sure, but one he'll soon be able to find in any decently full purse!! He may not want to admit it to himself, he may try to distance himself for her own good and the good of her rule, but he cannot truly deny his heart. As for Nasuada himself, she doesn't even hesitate to take him in—and she would have no reason to, having heard about Gil'ead, except that she knows him, she has seen his true being in a way only Thorn can relate to, and even in uncertainty she cannot believe evil of him. She's the one who reaches out to comfort him when he crumbles in telling his story, she supports him without a word when he struggles to stand, and she wants so badly for him to stay, Public Opinion be damned. She won't destroy what she's built, but she will move heaven and earth to be able to keep him near, for as long as he wishes to remain.

This whole book, really, was just a chorus screaming to Murtagh, "YOU ARE LOVED!! YOU ARE WORTHY OF LOVE AND YOU ARE LOVED!! IT IS THE LOVE THAT ENDS WARS, THAT DEFEATS FEAR, THAT PERSISTS IN THE FACE OF DEATH AND RUIN!! YOU ARE LOVED!!" And maybe he can't hear it yet, not with his ears, but his heart, eventually, might start to catch him up. And I absolutely cannot wait to see it.

[where-dreamers-go]

"Unexpected And Appointed" Eragon x Modern! Reader

(A/N: A prologue to “Here And There” and an extended version of an Eragon Reaction with “Are you armed?” So back to clumsy Modern! Reader and their first signs of clumsiness, which wasn’t all physical.

Warnings: Mild curse word and use of (Y/F/N) for Your/First/Name.

Word Count: 1,048 words)

A light breeze granted you a delicate mercy as you walked. Easing some of your discomfort.

Your destination in your sights.

How could you stop to rest? You could give yourself the thought later.

Almost there. You could do it. No horse. No boat. Definitely no vehicle to aid you on the last trek of your journey.

Squinting your eyes against the midmorning sun, you could make out figures in fields. Trees adorning the area around.

You can do this. Remember, you thought, be as formal or friendly as possible. Use titles—please.

“Wah—.” You stumbled over a patch of grass.

Easy. Breathe. Just introduce yourself calmly. I’m the ambassador. Don’t blank out and freeze up on Ancient Language. Do your best. You smiled, attempting to encourage yourself as your pack weighed down on your shoulders.

Passing another cluster of trees, you felt odd. As if you were being watched.

Just breathe. Think of another song for goodness sake because if the dragons get in—

“Who are you?”

You quickly turned to the voice.

A tall young man stood three paces away from you with a long gardening tool at his side. The hair on his head was windswept and brown. A light shine to one of his palms.

You blinked as your fear tumbled into a fluttering mess.

The man was almost human.

Eragon.

“I asked: Who are you?” He voiced louder in the Ancient Language.

Clearing your throat, you answered with a round of dry coughs.

Sounding real confident, you thought sarcastically and swallowing. Don’t panic.

He did not move.

Standing in the shadow of a mountain, you held gazes with the Dragon Rider.

Eragon Shadeslayer did not know you, however you knew of him. Not that it helped much as he narrowed his brown eyes your way.

“Are you armed?”

Tilting your head, you did your best to translate the Ancient Language. Learning the language tied to the world took work. Practice in the face of it held a challenge.

Yet, you understood, you hoped and looked down to your arms in confusion. Then you glanced back to Eragon.

“. . . Yes. You can see them?” Your words were unsure. Doing your best in pronunciation.

His features skewed into his own doubt.

There was an obvious miscommunication no matter how small and it was up for debate who slipped up. Awkward when both were strangers.

For a split second, easily to be missed, the corner of the Dragon Rider’s lip curved up.

“Yes. I can.”

Perhaps you would be all right.

Why would he ask that? It—crap. No. I misheard a verb or something. Think. You sighed. Great. I’m all ready making myself look less capable.

Once more, you cleared your throat.

“Queen Nasuada…sent me…to look at the mountain.”

Realization sparked in his brown eyes. Shoulders relaxed and he took a couple of steps forward.

“My name is (Y/F/N).” You nodded. “The ambassador.”

Honestly, you had no idea what the greeting protocol was anymore nor were you inclined to bow after walking all morning.

So what if he was much closer and smiling slightly?

“Greetings. Welcome to Mount Arngor,” he gestured toward the snowy-capped mountain. “I am Eragon, Dragon Rider.”

I KNEW IT! You thought with a smile.

“It’s a pleasure to meet y— Oh.” You stopped yourself and continued in the Ancient Language to your best ability. “Good…to meet you, Dragon Rider.”

Eragon nodded in kind and responded, “And you. I was not expecting you for another week or more.”

“I…” You frowned.

How do you say walk? Crap it.

“I walk fast,” you finally answered in the common tongue. “Especially when I hear noises I don’t recognize.”

Leaning on the tool, Eragon mused with a smile, “It was for the best you arrived early. Safer still, a storm looks to be approaching for later in the day..”

“I’ve been doing my best to avoid thunderstorms and parties.” You added. “Being sick while traveling doesn’t help anything.”

“Parties?”

The confusion on his face nearly sent you into a laughing fit, you held strong to avoid doing so.

“Not a party per se. I may have met King Orik on my way to Hedarth.” You pulled on your bag’s strap and said, “I’m not sure if I rambled too much or if I somehow made a good impression. I almost didn’t catch a ship without giving a portion of my life story to him.”

Shaking his head with a smile, Eragon rested the gardening tool over his shoulder. He did not add commentary as he turned towards the mountain.

“You must be wary from your travels. I will show you inside.”

“Thank you.” You followed after the Dragon Rider

* *

Wind blew against Mount Arngor as the thunderstorm rolled in. Walls of stone held you and every one residing with the utmost protection.

You laid across a bed. Your new bed and room in the fortress. Safe quarters for the new ambassador. The second ambassador.

Stretching your legs only made you want to groan at more than one event.

One, being the awkwardness of introducing yourself to Queen Nasuada’s first ambassador outside of Alagaësia.

Two, having to recover from both traveling and ascending all the steps into the mountain.

If my legs weren’t fit enough before, you thought, they sure will be.

No one else seemed to be fazed by the stairs.

Tiredly, you took a breath and counted what you were grateful for. Among them and high on the list remained your survival.

Even knowing what a map of Alagaësia looked like, it took a great amount of will power to travel through it and come out in one piece.

Anything to get away from suspicious side glances and Alagaësia’s politics. You thought, and here I’ve been introduced to most people and have only gotten questionable looks from one person. Too bad it’s Eragon. But I expected nothing less when I’m the unplanned and newly appointed ambassador to the Queen. That and I seem to speak better Ancient Language to everyone else.

~~~

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Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

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[everythingloveandanimated]

Probably low chance of happening…

but I really want Murtagh and Thorn to meet Rhunon.

(Not in order)

Rhunon is happy that Zar’roc has been renamed and that Murtagh has taken it upon himself to rewrite the sword’s history. Also proud of him in her own way.

Thorn: If it’s not an imposition, Rhunon-elda, may I watch you work?

Rhunon questions Thorn’s interest in smithing. Thorn: I suppose you could say I’m interested in the creation of art. Turning ordinary things into works of beauty.

Rhunon makes a comments about Murtagh resemblance to Morzan and Thorn’s scale colors being similar to the scales on Morzan’s dragon.

Thorn asks what Morzan’s dragon was like.

Murtagh asks why Morzan named his sword “Misery”.

They got onto the topic of Eragon and Rhunon making Brisingr. Rhunon says that Eragon “pestered” her into making one. Murtagh chuckles at Eragon’s persistence. Rhunon asks what Murtagh thinks of Eragon and their relationship as kin.

In the forge Murtagh creates a poem stanza but finds it hard to write outside the forge as if the inspiration leaves him and what he’s trying to capture in words can only be captured in the proper atmosphere.

Rhunon becomes interested in his scribbling, Murtagh reads it hoping the Attenwrack, the meter from Galbatorix’s court, doesn’t offend the elf. She comments that it’s not as melodious as the elven meter. She mentions that Eragon wrote a poem, more like an epic, for his first Agenti Blodren.

Murtagh gets a bit miffed at once again being compared to his brother. Thorn gives him a nudge and his own soothing thoughts.

She gives him some tips about writing poems. Murtagh creates stanzas based on what he sees, sort of recording the world as he sees it. Or it’s something born of something he feels. He doesn’t have any grand plans of a compilation of his poems. Merely just the observations of a traveler (or a man dealing with his past.)

At some point this comes up…

Murtagh: I grew up around gilded tongues Rhunon-elda. I may not always like what it said, but I prefer a blunt truth over veiled statements.

Rhunon applauds this.

Thorn comments that Murtagh is an accomplished dancer, this briefly piques Rhunon’s interest.

Murtagh: The steps from the court of the mad king won’t offend you?

Rhunon: if you can still enjoy the steps after all, he’s put you through. I will be fine. Cheeky hatchling.

Thorn rumbling with laughter: I’ve never heard someone call you a hatchling like that!

Murtagh: in the case of years, you’re more of a hatchling than I am.

Thorn: perhaps. Though given her age I assume you’re practically fresh out of your egg.

Murtagh scoffs with humor.

Thorn: Queen Arya is probably also a hatchling to her.

Murtagh briefly remembers the day Thorn hatched. Thorn touched his arm with his snout, positioning himself behind Murtagh as a human would to give a hug from behind.

Thorn: I do not regret hatching for you, dearest friend.

Murtagh curves his arm to caress Thorn’s lower jaw and leans his head against Thorn’s head. Eyes closed, a smile as he soaks in Thorn’s comfort and affirmation.

Rhunon sees this and notes the softness in their relationship that wasn’t as prevalent with Morzan and his dragon. It warms her to see Morzan’s son so gentle. She watches as Murtagh stands to wrap both arms around Thorn’s snout; they lean into each other.

Rhunon: You were a foreboding scourge to us, Morzan. But for his all sins your son does not have the same twisted nature you do. She softens. The boy must get that from his mother.

Not Rhunon related, but Murtagh and Thorn do briefly meet Dusan and Alanna, the two Elven children of Du Waldenvarden. They briefly interact with Thorn who rumbles contentedly from their touch. Murtagh is taken by their youthful beauty. As they depart Murtagh realizes that the children would be potential targets for Du Eld Draumars if they had any cult supporters in Du Waldenvarden, He thinks darkly that if anyone threatened or set hands on the children, he would personally see to it that their captors would not live to see another sunrise.

When Murtagh and Thorn leave Du Weldenvarden, they say goodbye to Rhunon. It’s understood that there is a respect between them. Rhunon appreciates Murtagh’s mission, she appreciates Thorn’s compliments and appreciation of her work. Murtagh and Thorn respect her as a smith and thank her for her time, allowing them to be in her forge, and for her wisdom. She wishes them well.

[magicandmundane]

thanks for getting me into the inheritance cycle bc im like 200 pages into eragon and i just realized that the writing is so entertaining that i actually pace myself while reading?? like usually im too dyslexic and impatient to read carefully, so i'll just skim paragraphs and let my brain fill in whatever words i skipped over. but this series makes me read it sentence by sentence and i love it

saphira is best girl

Omg anon, that’s amazing! I’m so happy for you. These books mean so much to me, so if I can share that with a few people, then I must be doing something right around here lol.

If you’re having a good time now, then you’ll be having a blast with the later books because this series just gets better as it goes on. It’s really fun to watch Christopher’s writing grow because he wrote Eragon as a teenager. Keep me posted! And feel free to dm me, I’m always happy to talk about The Inheritance Cycle.

Yes, Saphira is best girl. She was my favorite in book one, but tbh Eragon himself really grew to be my favorite character. His development is incredible.

I’ll leave off here for now. I could talk about these books all day lol. Happy reading, anon!

[modern-inheritance]

I keep saying it, but I still don’t like that Paolini said it felt more in-character for Arya to take the throne, even when she clearly didn’t want to (imo) and explaining it as being tagged on to her dedication to her people and the culture of service and sacrifice.

Arya has been fighting for seventy. YEARS. She was rarely in one place long. I know she was probably yearning for a time of peace, and a time where she didn’t have to do that, but Arya, and yes I’m talking Canon!Arya here, does not seem like the type that CAN stay in one place long term without constant stimulation and challenges. She’s seen as late teens/very young adult by the other elves. She still has growing and learning to do, especially now as a Rider and with Firnen to get to know! She’s had EXTREME trauma not only over the entire course of the war but over the past year (or two, again I don’t know how long the ��epilogue’ really is) alone!

I honestly do not see her being able to stay still there, in a social environment she detests, playing politics, when we are shown just how much more happy she is when she’s both physically and mentally challenged! Arya shows what I like to term Battle Joy when in combat, Eragon says himself that she looks and IS so much more carefree and herself when she’s fighting. She NEEDS that stimuli, she’s grown fully accustomed to spending her days traveling and moving and fighting and squabbling with difficult generals and leaders, which while it’s similar to some of the Knotted Throne duties, it doesn’t have the same catharsis or physicality to it.

I really think that if Murtagh and Thorn had reached out to them, Arya and Firnen would have answered and been at their side as soon as physically possible. I really don’t think that Arya could last long on the throne, even by human standards, and I just hope that Paolini realizes that while he’s built her character to be self sacrificing for her people, he also built her to do that more physically than she does sitting on the Knotted Throne nursing her third migraine in as many days while the Elf Lords play out political 5D chest at a glacial pace.

I wonder if Arya getting cornered into accepting the throne was also something The Dreamers had a hand in. After all, it keeps her from investigating around Alagaesia like Murtagh is. She is also considered a war hero, too, so she would have a lot of support from the people. Meanwhile, they can make sure that Murtagh stays a villain to the people of Alagaesia and constantly spread the word of all atrocities he’s committed and keep him isolated in that way.

The Dreamers probably think they have no reason to fear him since he seems to have no support whatsoever. Or they think they still have a shot at enslaving him. Little do they know that he’s probably the most dangerous to them out of the three. Now if he just loosened up about letting others touch his mind to communicate and also swallow his pride and accept some rider education from Eragon and Arya, he’d be even more unstoppable. After all, he figured out with Bachel that her lack of education was a weakness just as much as it was his.

If Murtagh’s adventures can prove that Alagaesia needs more riders, it might allow Arya to leave the throne to someone else and force her people to see that she’s needed outside of their kingdom. I’m hoping that’s what will happen so that she isn’t stuck in Ellesmera the whole time. Or at the very least allow her to leave the elven kingdom more often and accept that she has duties beyond just being their queen. Murtagh will need help eventually after all and Eragon can’t physically be there.

[aaaghhhhhh]

The Inheritance Cycle was the first real secondary world fantasy I’ve ever read and it’s embedded itself in my psyche in a way no other series will ever be able to but this fact is usually not something I’m very aware of. But sometimes I’m sitting down to write the daily prompt and I’m thinking of the scene and then i realize it’s like: wow. It’s just like Eragon. But if like, he sucked at the magical meditation thing.

[good-morzan-inheritance-cycle]

Because this is technically a book blog, I’m gonna share my weird reading habit I didn’t know I had.

Context. I’m very Mexican Italian, as in lived in Mexico, Italian family and Mexican family. And because of this, I speak with my hands. Lots of gestures and movements. Hard to misunderstand me when talking in person because of it.

But due to this, I’ve found that I use a LOT of hand gestures when I imagine characters talking. Particularly vocal ones. Like, Nasuda, Eragon, Angela. Anyone who tends to tell stories, argue, or is diplomatic I imagine has very clear body language unless stated otherwise. And even then, they ALWAYS use their hands when speaking, even if subtle.

And I didn’t realize I had this, UNTIL it became an issue of reading a book where a teacher/mentor/crazy dude/story teller, doesn’t have hands. He’s an amputee on grounds of punishment, and using hand movement for his magics. So although hand movements would fit his character in my mind and canon, he LITERALLY CANT. I have to keep reminding myself that he doesn’t have hands and I can’t just give him Spector ones for my brain, because that wouldn’t make sense for other characters seeing him, and not mentioning him literally waving his arms around like a madman.

Anyone else got their own reading quirk?

[modern-inheritance]

I wish I had a better grasp of when I’m doing show not tell and vice versa. I’ve got this fic that I’m not sure is going to be posted. It doesn’t feel right. I think part of it is because I am trying to write Eragon’s pov in some places and Arya’s in others (and no, beta readers it’s not THAT fic) and I just…I’m struggling a bit.

It starts out as Eragon being frustrated with Arya never staying past when he falls asleep. He’s let this build up over two months, and was trying to just sort of ignore it even though it really bothered him, so they could keep the peace in the rest of their pretty decent and smooth early relationship. Arya didn’t quite realize how much it upset him, and she reveals to him that the reason she leaves to sleep in her own tent is because she can never predict when she’s going to have a nightmare or a nightmare-to-Recall episode, which started happening for the first time in the field around Varaug’s death and began occurring semi-regularly since Dras Leona. She didn’t want to worry him or wake him up. Seeing someone in a fully involved Recall episode can be really, really hard and really quite frightening. She had it kept under wraps from Eragon and anyone else who would be pretty obligated to report her relapse to a commanding officer.

Iunno. It just…it feels stilted somehow. I’ve always had trouble writing Eragon. At this point in MIC he’s really matured, he isn’t the brash youth we first met, but he’s frustrated as all hell and in some ways angry, as he feels like, though Arya swore to him in AL during their claimed mates ceremony, that she loves him through thick and thin, like she is having second thoughts and is running from their relationship. She’s not. She’s just trying, as always, to protect him, and, as she and the other elves are learning over time, he doesn’t always need quite so much protecting.

Eragon is a very empathetic dude. He catches on fairly quickly that Arya leaving isn’t about their relationship, it’s about her trying to keep him safe from what she sees as her personal demons. And when she confirms to him that she does indeed want to continue their relationship, his anger disappears and he’s more concerned for her, and only a bit frustrated when she pushes that she thinks she’ll hurt him. They come to a compromise to try to have Arya stay the while night after Eragon is taught by Glen and Brom how to help her through Recall.

I donno. I’ll keep working on it of course. But this one just feels off, and since the idea is already down I doubt I’d ever be able to do a full rewrite. We’ll see if it ever gets posted

[lailanihan]

1, 4 & 5 for the OC ask

1. Your first OC ever?

PROBABLY A HP/AVATAR/ERAGON MEDIA CROSSOVER OC I MADE FOR RECESS RP DURING SCHOOL

I don’t remember her name but she was a very unique special goth loner girl with red eyes and had one covered and of course she also was hiding some big secret (I think she could talk to snakes but also the Secret was just that she was a Freak and Born Weird)

i look back on this now and wonder how I didn’t recognize I was ND sooner lmao

4. A character you rarely talk about?

In reality I think I don’t talk a whole lot abt my characters online aside from occasional snippets even tho I talk abt them like 24/7 IRL

I think one I don’t talk abt a whole bunch tho is Idunn? I haven’t had a whole lot of time to develop them tho! OH ALSO a revival of another old OC (about as old as Derek, actually I’m realizing now maybe older oops lmao) Sven! He’s. Been renamed because he had a dumb pseudo Japanese name from before when I was a weeb and he was just a naruto fan character

Here’s a recent sketch I’ve done of him as I’m trying to figure him out actually

5. If you could make only one of your OCs popular/known, who would it be?

Honestly? Amihan. She gets the least interaction when I post her, but I also feel like I don’t often show her in the light that makes her such a fun character. I feel like she’s my character that I feel most safe facing towards the public (though I just know u cant ever save ppl from misenterpreting ur works ever). She’s an outgoing, kinda ditzy, lightly esoteric, very flirty/glam and super silly god-being/diwata that masquerades as a Normal Human in a small backwater harbor town. She is also deeply tied to an externalization i realize now of Bisaya identity and it is something I love about her and also about myself, and is something I would gladly share with the world.

[that-house]

What pieces of media have been formative in your taste?

Let’s see... to count it as formative id say it’d be stuff I read around 10 years old or earlier so here’s some of it. I’ll just address book series

Warriors (I’m a rare exception in that it didn’t make me a furry but it did give me a taste for violent stories)

Eragon (epitome of mediocrely written fantasy, remains one of my favorite series but I’ve reread it too many times to want to read it again any time soon)

Harry Potter (liked it until I realized (a) how shittily built the world is and (b) how rancid Rowling is)

Percy Jackson + other Riordan stuff up to trials of Apollo which I hated (some of the funniest protagonists/writing in YA)

Wings of Fire (violence and dragons are recurring themes in stuff I like)

Hunger Games (at least the first two books. Not a big fan of book 3)

Unwanteds (like if Harry Potter was better, at least until the second series which I loathe)

Fablehaven (like if Harry Potter was better, including the second series, which isn’t as good as the first series but it’s still decent unlike the previous entry)

Amulet (one of the most batshit insane plot twists in anything I’ve ever read. Kazu Kibuishi you absolute madlad just changing the whole genre halfway through huh)

Yeah. Lots of fantasy and sci fi. Big fan of cool power systems (bonus points if they’re “hard magic” with strict rules about their limitations and whatnot).

[modern-inheritance]

What's the origin of your blog title?: When I first started writing Modern Inheritance/MIC I couldn’t think of a name. I just tossed Modern Inheritance down and fully believed I’d come up with a better name for it at some point. But uh…that was in I think 2015-2016. So….Yeah. Guess I’m stuck with it, even though it’s a horrible misnomer. But ya know, ‘Inheritance Cycle with Cherry-Picked Modernized Elements and Extensive Worldbuilding and Plot and Characterization Changes Focused on the Effects of War, Trauma and the Neverending Pathway of Healing and Mutual Support These Poor Guys Need’ just doesn’t roll of the tongue, nor fit in a tumblr blog name.

OTP(s) + Their shipname: Honestly, my version of Eragon and Arya, because in MIC, I CONTROL THE NARRATIVE MWAHAHAHAHA– But normal answer-wise, Roy Mustang and Riza Hawkeye, Royai for short.  

Favourite colour?: All shades of green. And earth tones. 

Favourite game: Honestly I enjoyed Rise of the Tomb Raider a ton, to the point that I wish I could erase my memory of it and play it again.

What song is currently stuck in your head?: I’m watching/listening to a Pokemon 4 player nuzlocke on Original151 so….oh, well, it WAS a Pokemon game theme, but now Miss You ft. GG Magree by Seven Lions started up.

Weirdest habit/trait?: Shiiiiiit, we do NOT have enough time for this one. But one that I thoroughly enjoy is that the MIC Crew is in my head usually. And when alone, I typically am talking as them, letting their characteristics, mannerisms and general selves guide the conversations. It’s wonderful, and when I’m distressed they stop, and ngl it kinda scares me. (No, I’m not hallucinating or anything of the sort.)

Hobbies: Woodworking, leathercraft, learning bushcraft, firemaking, maintenance (but not cleaning areas!), sharpening chisels. I fucking love sharpening chisels. Oh, and I guess the whole fanfiction thing.

If you work, what's your profession?: Senior Thread Gremlin and Machine Whisperer with Zero Qualifications. AKA, Commercial Embroidery on a HappyJapan USA 6 head machine for a small company in the US that does stuff for things across the country.

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be?: I was really interested in megathrust earthquakes, supervolcanoes, tsunamis, and all sorts of disasters. Geological Hazards. But then I realized it was all academia and I hated it. Plus never got into grad school.

Realistically?: I’m actually pretty fine where I’m at.

Something you're good at: Writing! Especially fanfiction. 

Something you're bad at: Handling the issues around lack of interaction and engagement with my niche of a niche fandom fanfiction.

Something you love: Lexi, my dog! She’s a boxer with her whole tail. 

Something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: Modern Inheritance/MIC.

Something you hate: Not going to lie, even if it gets me hate. The Murtagh/Nasuada ship. It makes zero sense. The unhealthy nature of it scares me.

Something you collect: I have OCD of the type that encourages hoarding. This is another question that would require a lot of time and I am not up for it.

Something you forget: My leg tattoo. The bathroom at my house is tiny, and the number of times that I have dropped trou to take a piss in the middle of the night, sat down, then launched my head into the fucking door at mach 10 because I saw my tattoo out of the corner of my eye and thought it was a giant spider is too damn high.

What's your love language?: I’m AroAce. But if you want to show me love, you can always ask me questions about Modern Inheritance and we can have a chatter session. Trust me, I will immediately look at you like a puppy who you have just given a treat to for the first time ever.

Favourite movie/show: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood, English Dub (fucking fight me) 

Favourite food: Iunno. I just like food.

Favourite animal: Cats. I have their brain. I was raised as one.

What were you like as a child?: What kind of question is this lmao (said the woman with selective memory of childhood)

Favourite subject at school?: Biology I guess. But I enjoyed learning on my own more than classwork.

Least favourite subject: Math. 

What's your best character trait?: It amuses me that you think I’m this self-aware.

What's your worst character trait?: See above.  

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be?: I roll with the flow. Go with the flow? I wish I had the ability to just sit down and channel the rabid writing energy and urge to write whatever WIP I have in mind. 

If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet?: Fuck meeting some rando historical figure, I’d grab my mum before she got sick and talk to her as an adult.

I...don't know who to tag, but anyone who sees this is very welcome to do it!

Get to know your mutuals Game

Oooohh thank you for the tag @holy3cake

No pressure tagging @gwalch-mei @beginning-writer + OPEN TAG FOR ALL to answer these 27 random questions, I'll put a blank version in the comments!

What's the origin of your blog title?

Originally, "OnCrimsonWings" is my Ao3 username, which was a poetic kinda reference to Dante from Devil May Cry because his demon form has red wings. When I made this blog I knew I wanted it to include a reference to Lancelot/The Weeping Monk, so I just added "Lanced" to the Ao3 name.

It works on so many levels- as I also like winged Whumpees as a trope in general, and the name to me brings an image of a winged creature or person pinned by something sharp through the wing. It also works more as a poetic angel metaphor for Lancelot, as he's referred to as a dark/avenging angel in the role he's been molded into by the Church in Cursed, a role which is ultimately his downfall, like a fallen angel with crimson, or bloodied wings...

OTP(s) + Their shipname;

Lancewain; Lancelot (The Weeping Monk) x Gawain (The Green Knight) from Cursed

Melvik; Mel x Viktor from Arcane (also Jayvik; Jayce x Viktor, and Meljayvik; Mel x Jayce x Viktor)

Zaundads/Vanco; Vander x Silco from Arcane

BuckyNat/WinterWidow; Natasha Romanoff (Black Widow) x Bucky Barnes (The Winter Soldier) Marvel

Gwaenyra (Gwayne x Rhaenyra; House of the Dragon)

Colonel Everett Young x Dr. Nicholas Rush; Stargate Universe - I actually never really saw a shipname for these guys or I've forgotten it if I did know one

There's a bunch of others but that will do for now lmao

Favourite colour?

Purple!

Favourite game/s?

The Witcher 3, Skyrim, currently enjoying Monster Hunter, though the thing I have most hours in might actually be Fall Guys...

What song is currently stuck in your head?

In Maidjan by Heilung, I'm excited to see them live again soon!

Weirdest habit/trait?

I sit like a goblin in any and all chairs. (Except for when I'm physically tattooing, or in a formal meeting. Otherwise? If there is a chair I will be perched on it like a bisexual ass Goblin 100% of the time).

Uhhh and I can bend the first knuckle (closest to the fingertips) on my fingers whilst keeping the second/middle knuckles perfectly straight/locked.

Hobbies:

Playing piano, making cosplays, making chainmail, listening to music, playing D&D, keeping snakes and also doing Archery, as of late!

If you work, what's your profession?

Tattooing- for the next two weeks anyway. I also volunteer at my local zoo and do commission pet portraits!

If you could have any job you wish, what would it be? Realistically?

Tattooing but at a studio with a working toilet, repaired roof and decent non falling apart floors, where I am NOT the sole member of the studio 😂

Otherwise, doing something arty like making things or running my small buisness full time. Or if all goes well with this insane Uni plan I have, then working with snakes in some way shape or form. Not sure how, yet but. I dunno, it might be cool.

Something you're good at:

I'm a really creative person and I come up with a lot of really cool ideas!

Something you're bad at:

Maths, I mean I just struggle with numbers in general. And telling my left from right 😂

Something you love: 

Daniel Sharman. I mean. Look at him man's stunning

Something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: 

Snakes! And I did that when I took the snakes in to Scouts and taught them about snakes with not much prep time at all 😂

Something you hate:

People trying to control other people or put their views on them. (Eg. Very religious people that try and force you to believe their religion. Or Antis that hate on a fictional trope or ship or theme and think no one is allowed to read or write it. That sort of thing)

Something you collect: 

Books! I have several hundered, at this point, and that's after having to bin about 300 due to severe damp in a previous house.

Something you forget: 

I dunno. I forgot

What's your love language?

Giving gifts, I think, but I also like touching/leaning on people who I love (only when my skin doesn't feel bruised, which is basically always, and honestly most of the time I'm touch averse lmao). I'm not really sure.

Favourite movie/show: 

Movie; Labyrinth, Lost Boys, Avatar I & Avatar II: the way of water, LOTR Trilogy

Show; Arcane, The Witcher and Cursed

Favourite food:

I really like homemade stew and mash, but I can't make it (thanks fatigue) so I haven't actually had it in years. I love roasties (roasted potatoes) with copious amounts of butter on.

Favourite animal:

Snakes! Specifically I love Dumeril's Boas, Madagascan Ground Boas- and have one of each myself- and I have a soft spot for Boelen's Pythons and European Adders!

What were you like as a child? 

Always daydreaming in my own little world, shy, but also I had anger issues at the age of 4... so a bit of a shitbag lmao.

Favourite subject at school?

Art or Science, though I also liked music!

Least favourite subject: 

Maths. I always used to get yelled at for refusing to do homework, and for drawing in my book and putting my headphones in to listen to music. (It was actually helping me focus, but the fact I had ADHD was completely missed so I just got yelled at for it. I still got a B in my GCSEs though so fuck em!)

What's your best character trait?

I'm incredibly organised (because if I wasn't my life would be an absolute shambles as my memory is shit), and I'm very good at problem solving! If character trait more means "personality" then it would probably be that I am a very caring person.

What's your worst character trait?

I can be very stubborn and headstrong paired with the fact I am a control freak and like things organised, then that tends to frustrate both the people around me and myself...

If you could change any detail of your life right now, what would it be?

I'd cure my disabilities. Just so I could continue tattooing and take on the studio- or just open my own elsewhere, or I'd go get a career out in the field with snakes and not have to worry about fatigue, collapse, pain or dietary issues wherever I went!

If you could travel in time, who would you like to meet?

Chester Bennington, 100%. I miss him. It's one of the biggest regrets of my life that I was meant to go and see him live on that final tour and I couldn't afford the tickets thanks to an unexpected bill. He was, and still is my hero.

[whumpforthewin]

1, 4, 22? -S

Ah! Thank you for the ask!

1: “What got you into whump?” If we’re going all the way back I read the Eragon books and the half brother is lightly tortured in the first and I was like ‘Oh. Oh??’ And I was like 8 or 9? I remember writing whump after than without knowing what it was called. But in fanfics Criminal Minds and Spencer Reed.

4: “What do you wish you saw more of in this community?” Uhhh… I’m personally a fan intimate or creepy whumpers so that would be something. Just like, noncon touching that could go further but doesn’t so the threat is there.

22: “Most controversial whump opinion?” This is a tough one??? I don’t really know what would or wouldn’t be?? But nothing is or should be ‘off limits’ in terms of whump. We should be able to recognize that writing something is not endorsing it. Just because I don’t like killing off my whumpees doesn’t mean I think it shouldn’t be allowed. Or if there are certain tortures I don’t do, eye trauma for example, they shouldn’t be allowed. BUT I do think some tortures need to be handled more delicate than others, due to society and the like, lady whump or mental illnesses are two that come to mind. But idk how controversial that is.

Thank you again for the ask!!

Also, no I didn’t realize anons were off I will attempt to fix that!!

[sapphicbookclub]

Author Spotlight: J.L. Heeren

Today I’m spotlighting the author of Shadow Herald, a novel our book club also has a pleasure of reading this month. If you’ve been following the blog for a while, you will know that my favorite genre is fantasy so I’m happy to lean more about a sapphic fantasy author!

Writing Sapphic Genre Fiction

As a kid trawling my father’s big glass bookcase for books to read, my favorites were always the charmingly-designed fantasy stories — the ones with decorative flourishes and maps and sometimes even glossaries that gave deeper histories of worlds apart from our own. The Hobbit. Dragonlance. Forgotten Realms. Eragon. I fell in love with the sense of adventure, the magic, the desire to fight for a more just world — and also, the dragons. The dragons were very important.

But despite my overwhelming love of the genre, I didn’t take an interest in the romances inserted into many of these stories.

If a man and a woman so much as meaningfully crossed their gaze, you knew they were going to end up together by the end of the story, and you knew that anything she could do herself would be overshadowed by how she affected him. Something about that thoroughly disinterested me. It wasn’t even that I wasn’t a romantic — because I did find myself a little too enamored with the description of women being radiant whether they donned dresses or armor — but something else entirely. I didn’t know it at the time, but it was mostly because I was gay and the stories just weren’t.

Compulsory heterosexuality was everywhere! Even when I dipped my toes into more modern YA fantasy, it didn’t get much better.

(If anything, it got worse!)

It used to be that if you wanted a story with LGBTQ+ characters, you had a real hunt ahead of you. When I first realized I could seek out stories with characters like me (i.e. lesbian), I kept running into steamy romances and contemporary fiction, over and over and over again — which are fine genres, but not the ones that I craved.

It often felt like I had to choose between the stories I wanted to read, and the characters who would most resonate with my lived experiences.

But this story had a happy ending, because I live in a world with so much more variety now. Just look at all the titles listed on this blog alone! If you want niche LGBTQ+ fiction these days, it can be found with a clever search and a click of a button.

And if you’re determined enough, you can click around even more and learn how to make that niche fiction yourself. Now I have the honor of getting to make those charmingly-designed fantasy stories. Which means that I get to decide who gets a seat at the round table. There's satisfaction in writing (and designing!) genre fiction where, finally, characters can be LGBTQ+, can be disabled, can be women who aren’t dismissed, belittled, or posed “in the way” of the narrative.

Here’s to everyone else excited to enter an era of fiction where they can be seen. May the stories in your favorite genres be ever plentiful!

J.L. Heeren is a book designer and author of LGBTQ+ genre fiction. An avid reader since childhood, Jordan majored in creative writing and publishing at the University of Iowa, and dove into the world of indie publishing after graduating. She currently lives in the American Midwest with her lovely cat and unique taste in fashion. You can find more of her work at jlheerenauthor.com!