#inheritance cycle fanfiction

[murtagh-thorn]

Murtagh Realizing You're Not Doing Well & Taking Care of You Headcanons

Murtagh is a very attentive, observant person and clocks that something is off with you immediately. Of course he worries, but also doesn’t want to pry or make you feel smothered, so just silently observes you for a while.

When it’s clear this is more than just a bad day, he starts keeping a more watchful eye on you, doing little things silently here and there to make your life easier. Any chores you were dreading are already done by the time you arrive, any items you need are suddenly waiting on your bed, little trinkets and your favorite foods are appearing here and there, etc.

He starts checking in with you to make sure you’re eating, drinking, and sleeping enough while gently reminding you that you’ve more than earned time to rest. If there are any tasks that are stressing you out, he offers to help or even take care of them for you with no hesitation.

Eventually, when things don’t improve and it’s clear you’re pushing yourself past your limits, he sits the two of you down and opens up about he felt after the battle in the throne room. How exhausted, angry, burned out, and completely drained both he and Thorn were and how it would’ve ended very badly for everyone involved if he didn’t take a break—all this to say, he doesn’t want to see you push yourself so hard that you lose yourself in the process and thinks a break might be a good idea, and why don’t you let him talk to Eragon about it on your behalf?

Eragon of course understands and tells you to take as much time as you need. You’re welcome to continue hanging around the academy without worrying about tasks or to take a trip elsewhere. If you feel you need to get away, Murtagh offers to show you all the cool places he found in his travels with Thorn.

If you opt to stay around the academy, Murtagh says his out of the way cottage is open to you whenever, and he even makes sure his spare bedroom is always prepared if you’re not together yet (or if your relationship is still new). If you are, of course you’re welcome in his room. He gets you all the things you need to relax, saying his book collection is all open to you, and takes care of everything—including cooking you meals that have all the nutrients you need to heal and loves making you tea.

If you need some time away and agree to accompany Murtagh and Thorn on a trip, he’s ecstatic to show you all his favorite places he found. He somehow even makes camping out in the open by the fire relaxing and secretly enjoys having you all to himself.

He seeks Eragon’s help out in learning meditation strategies, breathing techniques, and ways to cope and heal that he learned from the elves. As he’s teaching them to you, it inspires him to take better care of himself as well and it becomes a tradition for the two of you to do many of these things together.

He’s constantly bringing you little gifts, such as flowers he found in a field, your favorite snacks, or even hand-making you little wooden carvings. If he really wants to impress you, he acquires the elves’ help to learn how to make jewelry. The designs are always simple, but you can feel the love and care he put into them and never take them off.

Of course, night flights on Thorn with him are a must (or flying together on your own dragon, if you’re a Rider), usually followed by landing in an out of the way, remote location to just chat, stargaze (he loves astronomy and is pointing out all the constellations to you), snuggle, etc.

He becomes a bit more touchy feely during this time, regardless of where you are in your relationship. If you’re not together yet, they’re very shy, gentle touches to your arm, back, hand, etc. here and there. If it’s early, the touches are a little more frequent and he’s not as afraid to do things like smooth your hair, kiss your knuckles, or pull you into a hug. If you’ve been together for a while, he’s practically attached to you at all times, holding your hand, holding you against him, all the random kisses, lifting you off the ground when he hugs you, etc.

He’ll do whatever it takes to make you feel better, is constantly trying to make you laugh and smile, and always reminding you about how much better his life is with you in it.

[lordmorzan]

Murtagh likes to go to the public library after school, but they close early on Fridays. After Morzan forgets to pick him up, Murtagh wanders off on an adventure getting lost in the city because his dad would be too mad if the librarian calls the cops again.

[beastenraged]

Current Writing Projects

Yeah, yeah, still working on my old stuff.

I'm really hoping to complete Call Out the Difference, mistletoe oozes out poison and cross a threshold under the moon shine. And that is because I actually know how those three fics end, I just have to, you know, write them to that point.

But fun stuff I've been fiddling with on the side:

-A Inheritance Cycle SI where the Self Insert becomes Shruikan. Yes, that guy, the dragon that belongs to the evil emperor the entire series focuses on defeating. The dragon that's apparently so fucked up that all of the good guys have to kill him for the good of the world?

One-shot, focused on SI-Shruikan biting off Galbatorix's head and the aftermath because that would be fucking hilarious. Writing it, currently terrified by how it keeps getting longer.

-I want to write a Sonic the Hedgehog SI SO BAD. My problem? I don't even have a general character design or thought in mind. Or even where I would shove them.

Because there's so many characters (like Knuckles and Shadow particularly) that could use another buddy in their shitty childhoods! Whatever, probably won't write this. Forever daydream material.

-A Jujutsu Kaisen and Dandadan crossover! Mostly because in my heart I want to see the Dandadan characters kick the asses of certain JJK characters. Dandadan also deserves good crossover fics.

Don't get me wrong, I love both of the stories. But I will admit I'm more fond of Dandadan's portrayal of spirits as an important part of a worldly ecosystem than JJK's focus on spirits (curses) being an evil cycle that will never end. Sue me, I'm kind of an ecologist at heart.

I want to write it SO BAD. But it fights me. It fights me.

Haunts me.

[thesilverhunt3r]

Time travel au where Murtagh gets thrown back to being a teenager, kills off galbatorix, and hatches thorn. He starts planning to go pick up Eragon and talk to the elves.

He has the horrible realization that he's stuck with the throne. Fortunately, he also realizes that there is one responsible adult he's (technically?) related to that he could drag into this: Brom.

All of this results in Prince Murtagh showing up in Palancar Valley with a small entourage to recruit Eragon and Brom into this nonsense.

[thearunadragon]

I wish there was a fic where Garrow lived to meet Hrothgar. I wish even more that, in this fic, they absolutely hated each other at first and like challenged each other’s dad abilities around Eragon (but like eventually found common ground and agreed and are awesome) and Orik’s not sure if this is hilarious or uncomfortable and Eragon’s just embarrassed but it’s actually exactly what he needs for some reason.

I should write it. I just have to make myself. Because I really want to read it!!

[vulpinesaint]

kind of unfortunate that so many fantasy epics are also war novels because i will be honest i just do not like war novels that much... the grand clashing of forces is compelling obviously but it requires characters to talk about so much practical battle strategy and while i can get my brain to comprehend all these fantasy maps and kingdoms and borders and battalions and front lines and army movements it takes up. so much space in the book. feels like i'm fighting a war of my own trying to get through it sometimes

[calebsamor]

❪ ✦ ❫ 𝐑𝐎𝐘𝐀𝐋𝐓𝐘, grayson hawthorne.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: prince!grayson hawthorne × thief!fem! reader.

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐘: sadly, king tobias hawthorne died under mysterious circumstances. no one in the kingdom knows why, nor how, but what they do know: is that the king—instead of giving his grandchildren his inheritance—he gave a small peasant it. avery grambs. the news quickly spread out to the kingdom, and luckily, into a little thief's hands. y/n courts.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: royalty au, fluff, drinking/alcohol use, underage drinking, thievery, stealing, murder, blood and gore, romance, slow burn, opposites (yet similars(?)) attract, enemies to partners to lovers, they both fall so damn hard they can't even see when they started fallin, knife to throat, makining out, jameson hawthorne being jameson hawthorne, mention of death, em*ly laughlin, idk man i could go on in this series, probably actual proper grammar, use of capital letters, probably slow updates

𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐒: ongoing (chapters are being made in GOOGLE DOCS before posting)

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒: idk man probably a lot

𝐀/𝐍: alr CHAT im gettin my game mode on in here. the inheritance games but royalty au, headcanon by @silly-little-gooses. there will be some jameson x avery, nash x libby, nash x alisa (?), and xander x max in here too SO! also i made the reader like a small little character because im too lazy to make a whole ass character about it Imao

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘𝐒𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐖𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄. 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: @reminiscentreader @nqds @never-enough-novels @ilyiwdtpyiwmyhmtkys @evaswarner @sc11vb @sophiesonlinediary @starrynightsxo @f4iry-bell @his-littlefox @viivdle @aaron-warner @reyreadersblog @urbanflorals @imaseabear

𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐒: none yet!

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐗: none yet.

[modern-inheritance]

Good god, look at those poorly drawn dorks. You can click the picture to actually be able to read things.

(Eragon got some help making tshirts for the new Riders to wear for school spirit. Yes, this early on, he was thinking of school spirit. Arya got ahold of the materials and made these just for them!)

Version Eragon has on his desk below the cut.

[ivorydragoness44]

Murtagh Morzansson x gn!Reader: Wholesome

Word Count: 528 Warnings/Notes: mentions of baking bread and eating it, can be viewed as an established relationship, and Murtagh absolutely losing his table manners because he loves the food so much.

Summary: Murtagh shows up and unexpectedly, to him, gets to enjoy a small snack with a friend.

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

The smell of hot, freshly baked bread wafted through the air. It was particularly delicious that morning. The time since you had last baked even one loaf had been far too long.

Taking a deep breath in, you stuttered out a sigh as the ground quaked beneath your feet. A dragon had landed nearby, no doubt. And as you glanced out the open window, you saw ruby scales pass by. Thorn. In a matter of moments, a rhythmic knock sounded on the front door. “Thorn,” you barely held back a laugh, “please tell Murtagh that he can come inside. The door is unlocked.” It was not often, at all, that you would call out to a dragon through a window.

Putting a few kitchen items away while you waited, the dragon rider entered the house. “Oh,” Murtagh blinked, struck by the unseen wall of scent permeating throughout your home. “You’ve been busy, I see,” he smiled, walking closer. His eyes inspected every surface covered with fresh loaves and buns. “I have,” you nodded kindly. “Have you come with your appetite, or did you lose it on the flight over?” The corner of his mouth pulled up. “I think I left it here for safekeeping.” “You would.” Laughing, you shared a happy grin with him before waving him over to the table.

The pair of you sat at the small table, Murtagh swiftly pulling out a chair for you before you had the chance to reach for it yourself. “Honestly, Murtagh,” you said with a teasing smile, “everyone here combined could not measure up to your manners; so courtly.” “I think you may be exaggerating a little,” he said, smoothing out his tunic as he sat down. There came a pause about him however, when his eyes caught sight of two empty plates. Convenient. “You were…expecting someone?” “You, of course.” Gingerly, you set a plate in front of each of you, and placed a warm round bun on the dish-ware. “As if I would spontaneously treat anyone else.” Murtagh’s gaze met the plate. A faint rosy tint dusting his cheeks. “For that, I am most grateful.”

While you tended to your own little morsel, adding a small slice of butter, you heard a deep sigh off to your side. You peeked over to see that Murtagh’s eyes were momentarily closed. He chewed on the piece of bread heartily. It was as if he had not eaten anything half as good in ages. You giggled at the sight. “Murtagh?” The young man glanced up with eyes open wider than usual. There was a softness, a childlike wonder. “Is everything all right?” “Oh, yes,” he said with a mouth full of food. “This is delightful.” A laugh continued to bubble out of you at the sight of him. “Thank you. I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.” “No,” he shook his head promptly, “thank you.” “Would you like to stay for dinner? I know it’s hours away, but”— “I’d love to,” he blurted out, all sense of manners and reason completely vanishing.

If that was his reaction to a simple bread, you could only imagine an entire dinner passing his lips.

~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~ ~~~~

Thank you for reading!

[insanity-all-the-time]

i may be the only person on the internet who srsly ship Roran and Carn and genuinely i feel like a lunatic in an empty room raving to himself

like you guys are gonna read my manifesto when it's done? right? right??????

[where-dreamers-go]

Could I possibly request Eragon kissing reader for the first time, perhaps after a battle where emotions are high?

“Blood And Kisses” Eragon x Reader

(A/N: Thank you for requesting! So, I may have wrote this slightly more intense than planned. In my defense, I was watching Critical Role and trying to write at the same time. Warnings: Mentions of blood and fallen foes. Angst. Romance. Word Count: 683 words)

This was not how the trip was suppose to go. There had not been a plan in place for bloodshed. Not like that. Not with you with him.

Seeking out new locations and possible allies was suppose to be awkward and formal.

Eragon wished he had been in a diplomatic meeting as he wiped the blood off of his hand. The smear and stain was not his own.

A group of angry, loud, and fiercely loyal men had ambushed Eragon and yourself. No proper introductions.

Who the men were devoting themselves to? Eragon had no clue.

All the Dragon Rider knew then was that he needed to keep the pair of you alive. So he had you run. They wanted the magic user, the Dragon Rider. The hero.

Panting, Eragon did not begin to ponder how they knew him. Covered in sweat, he searched for you. His dear friend who was ill prepared for the amount of foes. His friend who held his heart.

Reaching out with his mind, he felt for your familiar presence. Those thoughts woven within images and songs.

Eragon’s heart hammered in his chest and distracted his hearing.

Where have they gone? He thought in worry as he stepped passed another lifeless body.

Faith that you avoided harm slipped from him every second without you in his sights. He needed to see you. Immediately. His close and dearest friend.

Brown eyes glanced towards any small change in his new environment. A bend in the grass. A creak of a door. Anything.

Where were you hiding?

Were there men Eragon had not stopped?

Did any target you?

The Dragon Rider could not bare the thought. His questions, his pleas, could only be answered once he found you. Once you were with him again. Close and safe. Out of any danger.

We need to leave this place. Whether those that attacked live in town or not, Eragon thought firmly, we need to go.

Boots hurriedly crossed atop trampled grass, he peered passed the last building on the road. Beyond that lay woods, hidden in the heavy shadows of sunset.

“Eragon.” A recognizable voice carried through the clutter along the back of the building.

He rushed forward without a thought. Spotting your form as you stood from your hiding place, relief flooded through his body and mingled in a whirling pool of emotions.

Before you could utter a single word, Eragon was in your personal space. His hand were examining yours with frantic intent upon sight of drying blood.

“Are you hurt?” Eragon asked, fingers moving to check your face. No ounce of timidness. He had no room for it.

“No. I got away.”

“You’re sure?” He tilted your face, gaze strong and heavy, not too unlike his breathing.

“I did what I had to. I’m not hurt physically. I promise.” You grabbed his forearm. “Are you all right?”

Eragon could see his worry mirrored in your eyes. He had never been so afraid of losing you. So suddenly. A scare of never seeing the light shining in your eyes again.

They’re alive.

Taking in a breath, Eragon leaned forward and became the closest he had ever been to his dear friend. Lips capturing your own with all of the weight of his emotions. The good, the bad, and the whatever he could describe running through him as he kissed you. Firm pressure as even his fingers barely moved on your face.

A minuscule separation for air and Eragon felt your free hand tangle into his hair.

“I can’t lose you.” Eragon whispered against your lips. His throat constricted upon hearing his own words. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

You gave his forearm a light squeeze. “No apologizing. Breathe.”

“We must leave.”

“My dear, Eragon, catch your breath.”

Most tension left his muscles. Being with you allowed him to be himself. No mighty titles.

Yet the Dragon Rider found your order difficult. His attention securely on you as your lips greeted his own softly and your hands held him in a tender embrace. A caring love.

How could he ever breathe normally again? 

~~~

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful.

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: 

Inheritance Cycle Tags: @shewhobreathesfire @

**Let me know if you would like to be tagged in insert readers, either through replies, ask, or message.**

[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

[everythingloveandanimated]

Hey Inheritance Cycle Readers,

I need some feedback. I am working on my AU story of Eragon and Saphira joining Murtagh and Thorn as they investigate the Draumars.

I’m trying to figure out how Umaroth and Glaedr would add to the scene.

Basically, trying to figure out how would Umaroth and Glaedr add or change the story?

The first priority is the protection and preservation of their kind, and the order of the Dragon riders, which means they want Eragon safer at all costs, and Umaroth doesn’t want Murtagh in a position that’s out of his depth.

Would they, or just Umaroth, give a history lesson on the Draumars to try to persuade Murtagh to not go?

I don’t think it would negate or cancel Murtagh’s reconnaissance mission from Carabel, since the mission is to find out what is currently brewing up North and how big is the danger that been moving in the shadows, in the grassroots, throughout the land.

Eventually, it gets the point where Murtagh is still adamant about looking into this threat, and Eragon, determined to protect his brother (and make up for failing to rescue him from the Twins), goes with him.

[newtalot]

With the release of Murtagh: The World of Eragon I have been scouring Ao3 looking for Murtagh-centric fics and haven’t come up with much, at least fics that are completed, which is criminal.

Specifically, the tag “Murtagh Morzansson Needs a Hug” has 19 works and that is the only “Canonical” Freeform tag Murtagh has on Ao3

[shewhobreathesfire]

oh my god I did it I uploaded the second chapter after 4 years LMAO

The second chapter of "Sympathy of a Rider" is up!

[thearunadragon]

I—

I just went through files of old writing to save what I liked so I could clear out some storage space, and I found this one snippet where I basically gave Eragon trauma responses from the fight against Durza because of the pain his back has caused him since, and it was, like, unexpectedly intense.

It’s very visceral and intense (and violent) for those of you who don’t like that, just a warning, but I got gut-punched so I had to share.

I would like to mention that I remember very little about writing this other than that I was eating peanuts while describing the illusion dissipating.

I apologize for the mistakes and typos. I have not edited this yet.

(START)

— Eragon picked at his meal, thick oats turning beneath his fork. He felt no hunger. The elves had left him many meals, and he had managed less and less of them. Oftentimes, Saphira would consume what he did not, but the elves had begun to catch on to his declining appetite. Such meals as the oatmeal, porridge, and toast became more frequent, as though they believed him ill. 

He supposed, grimly, that they were not far off.

But for training, Eragon did not deign to leave his tree-bound latibule, preferring to remain sheltered from the  hypocrisies and cruelty outside. The jeering faces and viciously upturned noses held no appeal for him. The whispers drifted from the canopies in the night, dancing about his tired ears. He knew the thoughts of this forest, and what he heard served only to make his heart ache further. 

Eventually, he pushed aside the bowl and glanced at his finished scrolls and papers, which had been amassed over only a few days to pile over the majority of the table. Heaving a weary sigh, he gathered them up and put them away, then tugged on his boots. The inside leather caused his socks to chafe against the sores upon his ankles and heels, and he knew they would begin to bleed. He lacked the strength to care. 

He abandoned his treehouse, trudging down the stairs with his sword bouncing dully at his hips and his eyes glazed and lightless. From there, he traversed the sylvan paths to a secluded clearing, where he knew the daylight and the elves had abandoned and he would have peace enough to train without their mockery. 

The forest fell silent as he came to a stop. Birds ceased their chirping and the baying wolves quieted their songs. Eerie solitude washed over him, sending a shiver down his troubled spine. The scar across his back prickled and pinched, but he ignored its complaints, brandishing his blade from its sheath. A slithering scrape buzzed through the chilled air, metal against metal, and his eyes sharpened, the sounds of combat replaying within his head and the visions flashing throughout his emblazened eyes. 

There was no other option. He had to train. Had to rid himself of the nightmare; of the living memory that plagued him so fully, so completely. His heart burned as though branded, and Zar'roc refracted the moonlight in a bloody glow. 

Drawing a final, preparative breath, he cleared his mind and steeled himself, drawing the scene into the reach of his fingers. His Gedwëy Ignasía itched, then pulsed in a surge of blue light. His surroundings melted away. Where once there had been royal pines, stretching their bejeweled limbs for the crown of the sky, now there were pillows of stone, columns chanting words of death and of omen. 

And, in front of him, was the face that followed his every waking breath. Crimson hair splayed across his back, silver blade flashing its wire-thin scratch in a glinting of light, and black cloak billowing behind his shoulders, was Durza. The Shade's eyes flared, maroon darkening to the hue of gore, fresh and slick against his hands. His lips split in a toothy smile. Familiar. Deadly. 

Toes grinding against the front of his boot, he sucked in a long hiss of air, and burst forward, matching the shaman's vigor. Eragon could still hear the peal of ringing metal. The clashing of blades. He could recall every rotting word and pestering laugh. But he knew the world around himself was silent in the view of others, but for the rapping of his feet against the dirt and the puffs of ragged air drawn from beaten lungs. 

For hours, the fight continued to transpire, a consistent redo. He repeated the same fight again and again, seeking to master, to obliterate, every action and move of the Shade's intent. He wanted to prove to himself, to know, that if he had only been better, if he had only been more skilled, he never would have suffered the wound to his back. 

Time and time again he hit the ground. His spine cracked against the dirt and stone. His muscles wrenched, attacking him in a feeling of fire and acid. A stench redolent of vinegar burned his nostrils, a shrieking filled his ears. Blood coated the back of his throat, threatening to make him gag, but still he was resilient, no matter how many such fits he endured. He had to do this. Had to prove to himself he might have done it. If only he had been stronger.

Eight fits passed, mocking his previous number of the day, and tears burned his eyes as he climbed to his feet, a line of fire crossing his back. And he raised his sword in quaking hands, leveling it once more, and prepared to try again. 

"Eragon, stop!" a voice ordered sharply. His head snapped upward, pupils narrowing and dilating in an undulating dizziness as he spun round to face his company. A woman of tall stature, black hair shrouding her shoulders and green eyes piercing in the blackness of the night hours, strode towards him. He met Arya's gaze with a venom he never would have dared in the past. A hardness and coldness unfamiliar within himself. "Have you taken leave of your senses?" she demanded incredulously. 

"I am training," he replied coldly. "What of it?" 

"You create scenarios you should never relive. All of this," she cried, gesturing at the pillars and sandstone and carvings and details of Tronjheim displayed in such lethal beauty around her, then at the form of the Shade, undeserving of light nor love. "This is madness. Where has your mind gone to? What possesses your thought?" 

He set his jaw, teeth locking together, and dropped his blade into its sheath. But he did not remove his hand from the hilt, knuckles white and palms raw. "I may train how I wish to." 

"No. This is unhealthy. Is Oromis aware of what you have done? Of how you pass your hours? To portray this in such vivid detail—every scratch in the walls and blow in the fight all in its place—would take hours. Hours of fixation. Of obsession. What are you doing to yourself?" 

With only a mutter of words, he extinguished the visage of the dwarven city, watching as Durza's face disintegrated and left his physical sight. He scowled. "I could have improved. Had I been more skilled, had I tried harder, I never would have been injured. It is in this fight in which I doomed us all and therefore it is in this fight that I shall train until I can take no more. And that is no one's choice but my own." 

Darkness drawing itself tightly around his aching brain, he started forward, brushing past the elf princess he had once had the faith to stake his soul upon, wanting nothing more now than to escape she and her judgement. Pain had filled his body fully now, immovable and ravenous, and he was helpless against it. His time to return to safety wore thin. 

"Eragon, you cannot do this any longer," Arya ordered. There was a pleading buried somewhere deep inside her words, a desperation, but he ignored it. He could not bear to consider it, else she would have him in her control completely. "You have put yourself through too much pain. You have been here since dusk and it is nearly twilight. I have seen you fall again and again and you insist upon tormenting yourself!" 

His expression twisted. Contorted in anger and in pain. "Whatever insipid agony I endure is what I deserve. I brought this upon myself for my mistakes during that fight. I will fix what I did that day or I will die attempting it. I will succeed or I will find relief in the void. Those are my options and I have made peace with them. My mind is not to be moved, Arya. I suggest you make peace with this now." 

Arya took another step forward. "And what will happen when your body gives out before your mind does? Will that be your peace?"

His expression twisted—something between anger and pain. But he said nothing.

His mind was made up.

And, with nothing else within him to say or to give within the limits of his strength, he turned heel and strode away, abandoning her in the dark of the forest he called a prison. 

END OF SNIPPET

I wrote this quite a few months ago, possibly even before I started posting much here on Tumblr, and I have a series of thoughts about this I don’t think I had previously.

1. This must have been SO overwhelming for Arya. She’s standing here, a hundred memories of what she endured under Durza whirling in her mind, and she sees Eragon—her ally, someone she cares up—doing something so obsessive, so self-destructive, completely centered around Durza. Someone who haunts her, and who she probably had hoped desperately he would never have to suffer because of beyond his back. That he could eventually leave behind without it following him. Only to have that hope torn away in a scene that is not only extremely dangerous for Eragon to dwell on, but in Arya’s worst nightmares to ever have to see. I welcome Ket to completely tear apart this scene from Arya’s point of view. 2. I realize that no one else will be as invested in this as I am, but it is very rare I enjoy my own writing, and this just shook me. Because Eragon’s pain is basically just driving him mad, to a point where he cannot differentiate between agony and discomfort anymore, to where pain isn’t even pain anymore, but normal. Because what else is there to feel for him? What else does he have?

3. He’s in so much pain he barely even understands it’s Arya he’s talking to. And, from my notes and from my time reading and writing Eragon, he would have felt extremely guilty about the way he spoke to her after.

I am sorry guys, and I apologize if it is cocky to rant about my own writing, but I got shook. I’m mad at myself for forgetting it, and honestly, I want to reuse something like it later.

Also someone get Eragon an ice pack, because damn.