#MURTAGH OWNS MY HEART

[alagaesia-headcanons]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[sassenach77yle]

There was a powerful urgency in him that roused me to response despite his awkwardness. Not wanting to lecture nor yet to highlight my own experience, I let him do what he would, only offering an occasional suggestion, such as that he might carry his weight on his elbows and not my chest. As yet too hungry and too clumsy for tenderness, still he made love with a sort of unflagging joy that made me think that male virginity might be a highly underrated commodity. He exhibited a concern for my safety, though, that I found at once endearing and irritating. Sometime in our third encounter, I arched tightly against him and cried out. He drew back at once, startled and apologetic. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didna mean to hurt ye.” “You didn’t.” I stretched languorously, feeling dreamily wonderful. “Are you sure?” he said, inspecting me for damage. Suddenly it dawned on me that a few of the finer points had likely been left out of his hasty education at the hands of Murtagh and Rupert. “Does it happen every time?” he asked, fascinated, once I had enlightened him. I felt rather like the Wife of Bath, or a Japanesegeisha. I had never envisioned myself as an instructress in the arts of love, but I had to admit to myself that the role held certain attractions. “No, not every time,” I said, amused. “Only if the man is a good lover.” “Oh.” His ears turned faintly pink. I was slightly alarmed to see the look of frank interest being replaced with one of growing determination. “Will you tell me what I should do next time?” he asked. “You don’t need to do anything special,” I assured him. “Just go slowly and pay attention. Why wait, though? You’re still ready.” He was surprised. “You don’t need to wait? I canna do it again right away after—” “Well, women are different.” “Aye, I noticed,” he muttered. He circled my wrist with thumb and index finger. “It’s just … you’re so small; I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you.” “You are not going to hurt me,” I said impatiently. “And if you did, I wouldn’t mind.” Seeing puzzled incomprehension on his face, I decided to show him what I meant. “What are you doing?” he asked, shocked. “Just what it looks like. Hold still.” After a few moments, I began to use my teeth, pressing progressively harder until he drew in his breath with a sharp hiss. I stopped. “Did I hurt you?” I asked. “Yes. A little.” He sounded half-strangled. “Do you want me to stop?” “No!” I went on, being deliberately rough, until he suddenly convulsed, with a groan that sounded as though I had torn his heart out by the roots. He lay back, quivering and breathing heavily. He muttered something in Gaelic, eyes closed. “What did you say?” “I said,” he answered, opening his eyes,

“I thought my heart was going to burst.”

I grinned, pleased with myself. “Oh, Murtagh and company didn’t tell you about that, either?” “Aye, they did. That was one of the things I didn’t believe.”I laughed. “In that case, maybe you’d better not tell me what else they told you. Do you see what I meant, though, about not minding if you’re rough?” “Aye.” He drew a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “If I did that to you, would it feel the same?” “Well, you know,” I said, slowly, “I don’t really know.” I had been doing my best to keep my thoughts of Frank at bay, feeling that there should really be no more than two people in a marriage bed, regardless of how they got there. Jamie was very different from Frank, both in body and mind, but there are in fact only a limited number of ways in which two bodies can meet, and we had not yet established that territory of intimacy in which the act of love takes on infinite variety. The echoes of the flesh were unavoidable, but there were a few territories still unexplored. Jamie’s brows were tilted in an expression of mocking threat. “Oh, so there’s something you don’t know? Well, we’ll find out then, won’t we? As soon as I’ve the strength for it.” He closed his eyes again. “Next week, sometime.”

Cap 15 REVELATIONS OF THE BRIDAL CHAMBER~ outlander

[troublemaker203]

Murtagh Fitzgibbons x Fem! Reader - Arranged Marriage Pt. 3

Word Count: 1854

Summary: After your father had been killed and your brother had been taken by the Redcoats, you were left behind. A group of highlanders come across your ravaged house and decide to take you with them to Castle Leoch. Since you have lost the protection from your father and brother, it is decided that you should be married, in order to keep you protected from the Redcoats.

Warnings: None

Part 2

As soon as the door of Colum's office closed behind you, you panicked. Should you try to escape? No. No, that wasn't a good plan. You would get caught and likely get thrown into the dungeons. So you would get married. Would you, though? This could not be real, right? Absentmindedly, you started to wander through the castle thinking about how you would handle this situation. Did you want to marry either of those men? Who would be worse? Dougal had made it known that he found you quite... pleasant. But did you find him pleasant, too? Not in the least. And Murtagh was a grumpy man; how could you ever find a way to live with such a person?               Because you were so caught up in your own thoughts you hadn’t noticed that you had walked outside and were now strolling through the gardens. A voice made you snap out of it. “Hello, Y/N,” Claire said, “I am surprised to see you here.” “Yes, well, I just came from…” you motioned towards the castle and Claire nodded. “Yes, I wondered when they would break the news to you. Have they… Do you know who you are going to marry?” “No. Colum said he will announce it tonight,” you looked down at your feet, “during a great feast, for all to hear.” When you looked back up at Claire, your eyes had welled up. “Hey,” she stepped towards you and put her warm hand on your arm, “I was once in your position, and, yes, I was scared, too, but now I can’t imagine a life without Jamie. Any man would be lucky to have you and I am sure that you will be treated with love and respect.” “But I don’t want to marry either of them,” you whispered, afraid to cry. “Of whom?” “Dougal or Murtagh.” “Oh.” Claire paused for a moment. “Dougal might be a little bit much in the beginning, but he is a strong man and he will protect you with his life, so you will always be safe when you’re with him.” “And Murtagh?” “Murtagh is… well, I think he will be the most loving husband you will ever meet.” “But he does not look friendly at all.” Claire laughed. “I know, but, trust me, he has a heart of gold. Don’t let his surly expression fool you, my dear.” You nodded. “Do you want to help me sort the herbs in my practice? It will help you get your mind off things. Maybe you could help me more often? I could really use some help with all of the patients; I do hope you’re not scared of blood?” You shook your head. “No,” you smiled at Claire, “and I would love to help, thank you.”

              You had never been in Claire’s practice before and your eyes widened when you walked down the stairs, into the big room. There were hundreds of jars filled with herbs of which you had never heard the name. “I don’t know how good I am at any of this.” Claire smiled lovingly at you. “Don’t worry, I will teach you everything you need to know, it won’t be that hard.” She handed you some jars after she had set down her basket with herbs and started explaining the various uses and how to prepare them. It took you two the whole afternoon to organize everything and you even helped Claire with a patient: one of the young boys at the castle had hurt himself on the fire in the kitchen and Claire had showed you how to dress his wounds. It was a very educational afternoon and you were relieved that it had taken your mind off things.               After a while, mistress Fitzgibbons came down the stairs to fetch you. “Hello, my dear, I came to fetch ye to get ye ready for the evening.” You looked at Claire who gave you an encouraging look. You followed mistress Fitzgibbons to your room where, unbeknownst to you, a beautiful dress was waiting for you. The fabric was sprawled out on your bed and it looked very expensive. You looked questioningly at mistress Fitzgibbons. “It’s a special dress, for a special occasion,” she winked at you, but you couldn’t feel happy about this so-called ‘special’ occasion. You felt like there were rocks in your stomach and you thought about how you could escape, but Claire had already explained that escaping would be impossible, since there were guards everywhere. “Trust me,” she had said, “I have tried.” Mistress Fitz had set you down on a chair in front of the mirror and started brushing your hair. You looked at her in the mirror and she looked at you, giving you a warm smile; she could probably see the fear in your eyes and she wanted you to feel safe. You smiled back at her, but your eyes did not smile. “Dinna fash, lass, you will be in good hands.” You wanted to believe her, but the truth was that you did not know any of those men and now you were expected to marry and, eventually – and sooner than later – share the bed with one of them. You knew that the consummation of a marriage was very important and none of these people would rest before they were sure that it had happened. You could already see them sitting, drinking downstairs, waiting for the moment that you and your husband – whoever that may be – went to bed.              You had been sitting in silence for a moment and Mistress Fitz was almost done with your hair. "Do you know when the wedding will be taking place?" you asked, hopeful that she would be able to have an answer to one of your many questions. "Not exactly, but I expect it will happen tomorrow, or the day after." "And..." you hardly dared to ask the question, "do you know to whom...?" The old lady shook her head. "No, I am sorry, dear, but you should not worry too much. These men may bark, but they don't bite, I can tell you that much." You smiled at her, glad for her attempts to put your mind at ease.        After she had put the last hand to your hair, she put her hands on your shoulders. "There, such a pretty lass." You looked at yourself in the mirror and she was right, you did look very pretty. "Up you get, let's get you in that dress." You stood up and started to undress yourself with the help of Mistress Fitz. You stepped into the beautiful green dress and the fabric had not only looked expensive, it felt really expensive, too. It was of the loveliest colour green and it suited you very well. You were laced up and as you glanced at yourself in the mirror, you could not believe that the woman staring back at you was really you. Mistress Fitz put a string of pearls around your neck to really finish the look. She handed you a pair of shoes and you knew that this was the last step before you had to go downstairs. Your heart was beating aggressively in your chest and you were afraid that it would jump out.

By the time your shoes were put on by Mistress Fitz, you felt really lightheaded and you grabbed the woman’s arm to steady yourself. “Come on, lass, I willna let ye go. Let us head downstairs.” You nodded, unable to speak, and the two of you started making your way to the great hall.

Once in the hall, you could see that it was greatly decorated and the long tables were filled with enormous amounts of food; it certainly looked like a special occasion. “Now, my dear, I am going to have to let ye go now, since you will be seated at the table in the front.” Still not able to speak you nodded that you had understood what she had said. She carefully let go of your arm, testing to see if your own legs could carry you. Fortunately, your legs had gotten their strength back; at least, enough to carry yourself towards your seat. Colum stood up as you approached the table. “Ah, there she is! Have a seat, Y/N.” “Thank you,” you said, sitting down next to him. Colum started to speak to everyone who was seated in the hall. “Welcome to this special evening, everyone. We are all here to celebrate the marriage that will take place tomorrow. A marriage between this lovely lady here,” he motioned towards you, “and the man who is waiting to reveal himself as her future husband.” You scanned the room. The chair on the other side of Colum was still empty. There was no sight of Dougal; was he to be your husband? You looked for Murtagh but he was not present either. They were both probably waiting outside the hall, and one of them would walk in when Colum would ask for your husband to reveal himself. “So, we have come to the point where it is only fair to this lady to know who her husband will be.” Here we go. “May I ask for the husband-to-be of Y/N to step into the hall?” Everyone had gone quiet and you could hear footsteps approaching. You closed your eyes, not daring to look at who it would be. The footsteps got closer until they stopped. “It will be hard to see who I am when ye’ve got yer eyes closed, lass,” someone said. You did not recognize the voice to be Dougal’s and when you opened your eyes, you were greeted by the friendly, brown eyes of Murtagh. Were you relieved? Murtagh took your hand and placed a soft kiss on your knuckles, followed by a small wink; so small that you were sure only you could see it. Were those small butterflies in your stomach? You could feel your cheeks starting to get red and you quickly looked down. “It is an honour to marry ye, Y/N.” You looked up and smiled at him, not sure what to say. Murtagh had let go of your hand and made his way to his seat. You noticed that Dougal had made his way into the hall as well and a slight hint of jealousy could be detected on his face, though you were unsure why. “A toast,” Colum started, raising his glass and you and everyone else followed him, “to the bride and groom to be.” Everyone raised their glasses higher and took a sip. You took a big sip of the strong – stronger than you expected – wine. “As I mentioned, the wedding will take place tomorrow and I promise that it will be an even bigger feast than tonight and you’re all invited!” This announcement was followed by a lot of people shouting and raising their glasses. You looked at Murtagh and even he was smiling slightly. You would be married to this man tomorrow…

Tag list:

@hobbitsesoftheshire

@mysticalsoups

[saphira-approves]

Can I come and tell you my deepest pain?

We should have had Morzan alive. I mean yeah, it would fuck up the whole narrative but imagine Murtagh being afraid of his father. He hates the king but fears his father.

Imagine him and Thorn; Morzan sees them, and he has problems with booze in canon, just how drunk he'd have gotten after Thorn learned to talk? There he is with his nameless dragon, half of his heart and soul, that he had to watch descend into stupidity. (Does he have its name written up here and there, does he watch it every day just to think about how he could make it real again?) Would he dream of killing his son and taking his dragon to himself? Would he want that even though he despises that sick joke of a connection that is in between Galbatorix and Shruikan?

And then Galbatorix finally discovers the name of the names. How would he beg for the king to use it to heal his companion?

Also, it would be very funny to watch our main characters run for their lives with an angry dragon after them, but y'know.

Should I write a fic about this

Oh you absolutely should write a fic about this (and let me know when you do! I’d love to read it!), and I should go back through my WIPs to find my time travel AUs…

I usually write more about Selena than Morzan, but I do love the idea of getting to see grown-up Murtagh’s reaction to seeing his father, especially in a context where Murtagh has lived without him for a while—whether that’s because Brom didn’t kill Morzan and Selena got both her sons to Carvahall, or because resurrection or time travel shenanigans happened.

As for Morzan still being around when Murtagh gets captured… I think there’s a 50/50 chance he gets Real Weird about the torture, in a “I was pretty sure up to this point that I didn’t actually care about my son but now my best friend is torturing My Son and I don’t like it actually” way, and I think that would be really fun to explore; I think, also, that when Thorn hatches and Galbatorix prematurely increases his size, Morzan would again be Real Weird about it because, like, that’s a baby dragon the size of an adult. He hasn’t lost his name, he just hasn’t really developed one yet; he’s a weird, warped mirror of Morzan’s own dragon. And when Thorn does, eventually, with difficulty, start to ‘grow up’, Morzan’s probably going to get twitchy about it—it’s been at least a century, more than two thirds of his lifespan, since he’s even MET a somewhat psychologically stable dragon; how much has he forgotten of their true intelligence, their real personalities? And when Galbatorix does find The Word, if Morzan asks him to heal his own dragon… honestly I don’t know if Galbatorix would be able to. Having power and knowing how to use it are two different things, we saw Murtagh figure that out in his own book with The Word. Would the king even know where to start? Would he allow Morzan to try for himself? Morzan probably wouldn’t have a clue where to begin, all we ever hear about him from people who’d met him is that he’s a powerful spellcaster, but not a very clever one.

Honestly, the whole situation might drive Morzan to split from Galbatorix; and even if not, it would still probably drive Morzan to be extremely destructive, to himself and everyone around him.

Also he’d be so pissed to learn about Eragon’s true parentage. Not even in a “my wife cheated on me?!” way but in a “oh my god can Brom stop being SO OBSESSED with me for FIVE MINUTES” kind of way.

[firegoddess96]

Bean duine briste

(Wife of a Broken Man)

Murtagh Fitzgibbons Fraser x Female OC

*I own only the OC, all other characters belong to the creators of Outlander*

Summery:

Having served with Claire as a nurse in WWII, Isla went with Claire and Frank to Scotland to see her mother’s home country. Her aunt Mrs.Baird told her stories of the stones and both Isla and Claire went to see for themselves the magic of the place. Neither expected to be transported 200 years into the past, nor did they expect to fall for rough and ruggedly handsome highlanders.

Will the women get back to their time and the loved ones they left behind, or will they fall too deeply into the strong arms of our favorite Fraser men?

18+ to Read!! (There will be smut down the road!)

Chapter 1:

One the road Claire and Isla traveled from village to village with the rent party. Slowly it dawned on the women that the men they were accompanying were more than just rent collectors, they were in fact Jacobites, supporters of the Stuart prince across the sea.

Night after night Dougal made a show of ripping off Jamie’s shirt to use his scars for their cause, horrifying Isla more that Claire, as she had never seen these scars and wasn’t told the story of his whipping. That first night when Dougal threw the shirt at Claire to mend and she fought him, Isla grabbed it and mended it instead without saying a word. Murtagh was grateful for her kindness and often started to show her small acts of kindness as thanks, after all, Jamie was the man’s heart and soul. So any act towards Jamie affected him greatly.

Every night throughout their journey Isla would mend the torn shirt and find small gifts the next morning. One day it was a few ripe apples and pears, another morning she found a bushel of heather flowers next to her pillow. It wasn’t until one morning, when she woke up to the smell of roasting meat, that she realized who was leaving these sweet gifts. Murtagh finished roasting the freshly caught duck and plated the bird just for her, finally thanking her verbally for the kindness and compassion she was showing his godson. He told her about the incident back at Lallybroch, the attack on young Jenny, the whipping, and the consequent death of Jamie’s father at the sight of it. Isla understood a little more of the stoic and quiet man after he shared the story, she realized the man held a strong love and loyalty to the young man who he followed everywhere.

They all continued their travels for a few more weeks, Claire tending to minor wounds with Isla’s help. Isla continued to mend the shirt when it was torn, and Murtagh spent more time with Isla, sharing meals and stories, until the day the English officer showed up at one of the villages. Claire had gotten drunk with some of the local wives and had made a scene trying to steal a goat back from the rents to help a mother feed her baby. And that was how Dougal arrived with Claire and Isla in the company of British officers telling stories of how they came to Scotland, planning their journey home. A plan cut short by the appearance of Black Jack himself.

Once again attacked by the vicious man, Claire being almost assaulted again, and Isla bruised and concussed. Dougal stormed in and took them away, stopping at a stream to make the women drink from a foul smelling river. Isla recognized it as the truth river, lies were said to burn the throat once one drinks from the stream. They both drank and both told him that they were not spies and simply came here by accident. Dougal, finally believing them, told them the only solution he could think of for their current predicament, for the two woman to marry Scotsmen and become Scottish citizens.

Back at the camp the other men are made aware of what happened….

“So, I have made up my mind about Mrs, Beauchamp, Jamie you will marry the lass. She’s a good woman, smart and Bonnie. And I ken ye are fond of the lass.” Dougal told Jamie, causing a blush to form on his face and the teasing laughs from the other men as they had all seen his interest in her.

“As for Ms Burns…” Dougal starts “I’ll marry the lass” Murtagh interrupts, staring expressionless at the chieftain.

“Will ye now? Well, I guess that will do fine, if the lass will have ye.” Surprised that the stoic man would take an interest in marrying a woman, after all, he had see murtagh fawn over his sister Ellen for years. It was hard to imagine another capturing his heart in the same way.

Across the field Claire and Isla sat discussing the new turn their lives were about to take.

“I feel like I am betraying Frank.” Isla’s heart broke for Claire, she had after all met frank and knew of the love they had shared. But it was looking more and more like they would never make it home to their own time. Isla knew that living in the past meant that they needed protection, and the only way to get that now was a husband. Isla had also seen the glances shared by Claire and her soon to be husband, knew that they could grow to love one another and be happy, which is all she wanted for her friend.

“Claire, Jamie is a kind and caring man, he would never hurt you and he’d continue to protect you. I know you love Frank, and he loves you, which is why he would understand. Frank researched this time, it was his specialty, and he would understand that the only way for you to stay alive and safe is to marry someone else. The man would move heaven and earth to keep you safe, he would want this for you.”

“What about you? You never mentioned anyone, is there someone you had back home? A man waiting for you?”

“God no! I’ve actually never been in a serious relationship, I’ve had the odd date here and there, but it never really went anywhere. None of them struck that spark, you know?”

“I do. Do you know who Dougal picked for you by chance? I didn’t hear him say.”

“No, he didn’t. At least you already know who you’re husband is going to be. And you know what to expect, I’ve never been with a man intimately, and now I don’t even know who I will be expected to sleep with.” A blush rose in her cheeks at the thought of a certain rugged highlander in her bed.

A silence lulled between the women, which shortly after was interrupted by Jamie and Murtagh walking towards them across the field.

“May I have a word lass?” Murtagh’s asked Isla causing her blush to deepen.

“Of course, I’ll talk to you later Claire.” She followed Murtagh into the near by woods, heart racing trying to keep her emotions and hopes in check.

“What is it Murtagh? Is something wrong? Did Jamie not agree to marry…”

“No lass, it’s not about that. Jamie will marry Claire, he agrees tis a good match. And he is ver’a fond of the lass.” He cleared his throat and stared fidgeting with his hands nervously.

“What’s wrong Murtagh?”

“It’s actually yer predicament which I wished to discuss Ms Burns.” Her brows creased questioningly at the sudden formality. “I wish to offer my hand as the solution to your problem. If ye would have me, I’d me honored to have ye as my bride.” A blush rose on his face so deep it was vibrant through his dark beard.

“Why are you offering Murtagh? Not that It is an unwelcome offer, quite the opposite actually.” His eyes widen in shock, believing that she would reject his offer, “But I will not say yes if you are doing this purely for kindness, like all the gifts you have given me.” Isla felt like she had just put her foot in her mouth and ruined her chance of getting the man she wanted, but she needed to know that he was choosing her for the right reasons.

“Isla, lass, have ye not realized? I have wanted ye since the night I first saw ye. “He grabs her chin and makes her look him in the eye. “Bonnie thing, with curves in all the right places, with that giant backside pressed right against me rocking the whole ride home” he growls stirring something in her. “Mind ye, it’s not just yer body I want, no lass, ye have made me want yer heart as ye have clearly stolen away wi’ mine. Yer kindness, to even the most cruel and distant of strangers. That someone would heal her captures and help a man w’out asking of his past.” His rough hand caresses her cheek as her eyes stared at him, with pure love and adoration, tear up at his sudden declarations.

“Isla, If ye will have me, I will protect ye and love ye, as I ne’er thought I’d love again. If ye say yes, ye will have all o’ me. What do ye say lass?” His eyes travel from her eyes to her lips, waiting for her answer. She leans in to him, like magnets they come together, their lips barely touching.

“Yes” he crushes her body to him as he passionately kisses her. She responds in kind one hand on his neck, the other combing up into his hair pulling him closer still. His hands wander along her curves, on her lower back in an attempt to bring her closer yet, while his other hand traveled further south over her hip and cupping her buttock firmly, causing a yelp which he happily devoured from her lips.

Reluctantly he pulled himself away, laughing at her lips chasing his. A blush deepening to a vibrant rose on her cheeks and a glazed look in her eyes.

“Dinna fash lass, ye will get more soon. But ye will be mine when ye do, and ye will no’ be leaving my side once ye are.” Murtagh whispers in her ear making her shiver and clench her thighs. Her response didn’t escape his notice, and his eyes darkened with lust at just how responsive his little bunny really was.

“Let’s get back to everyone and plan the joint ceremony, shall we lass?” Isla nodded and followed Murtagh back towards the clearing when they planned a joint ceremony with Jamie, Claire hiding somewhere until she had to be married the next day.

See you at the wedding….

[flyinghome-againstthewind]

Beside the Seaside: Ch 7

read on ao3

previous chapter

next chapter

Jamie might have called Murtagh in a desperate panic when he asked him to locate Murtagh’s cousin, Mrs. Fitz, and bring her to the inn, but he had done so knowing Murtagh was equal to the task. Still, when they arrived at The Fairy Hill’s doorstep in just a matter of days, Jamie couldn’t say he wasn’t startled by the haste at which Murtagh had brought her there.

“Mrs. Fitz!” he hailed in greeting, feeling his heart lift unexpectedly at the sight of the older woman’s beaming face. It had been nearly eight years since he’d seen her, but it felt like memories of another lifetime when they had both been at Leoch. “Welcome!”

“Och, Jamie lad, it’s good to see ye!”

He came around the front desk to embrace her and felt his throat swell when she uttered joyously, “You haven’t changed a bit.” He knew he had changed from the nineteen-year-old lad that she had known working at his uncle’s hotel. He was a father, for one, and… well, as much as he’d wished it hadn’t, the war had left him permanently marked in more ways than one.

“It’s good to see ye, Mrs. Fitz. Thank you for coming.” He met his godfather’s gaze over the woman’s shoulder, and while Murtagh did not look particularly pleased at the moment, the man had still shown up when Jamie had called. He had always counted on that with Murtagh.

“And who’s this wee yin?”

Jamie looked back to see Faith peering curiously at the three of them. He smiled and held out a hand to her, beckoning. “This is my wee Faith.” His hand rested lightly on her head once she was near. “Come say hello to our new cook, Mrs. Fitzgibbons. She’s an old friend of mine.”

“Ye can call me Mrs. Fitz — or Grannie Fitz if it suits ye.”

Jamie watched any hesitancy in his daughter melt at that. For all that she was a puir motherless thing, she had a habit of collecting parental figures, and he could practically see the moment she decided she would keep Mrs. Fitz held in her heart. “D’ye want to see the kitchen?” Faith asked her.

“Faith, I’m sure Mrs. Fitz wants to get settled first—”

“I can get settled after I see the kitchen,” Mrs. Fitz insisted, taking Faith’s hand in her own. “I’ll need to know what I’m working with, after all.”

He watched Faith lead the woman past the stairs to the doors they had always kept closed to the guests — but wouldn’t need to for much longer. The kitchen was modest, he knew, but he didn’t doubt Mrs. Fitz would be able to make it work, and there was a dining area for the guests, with small round tables and chairs. He’d already seen Mrs. Fitz in charge of a kitchen before, and he’d promised her the freedom to run this one as she saw fit.

Murtagh’s hand clapped his shoulder, snapping him out of his reverie. “Are ye gonna tell me why I had to race here wi’ Mrs. Fitz because yer business depended on it?” his godfather asked, parroting Jamie’s own words from their telephone call back at him. Murtagh’s arm swept out in front of him, gesturing to the space around them. “The place doesnae seem to be on the verge of collapse.”

Jamie let out a measured breath, and patted Murtagh’s upper arm. “Thank ye for bringing Mrs. Fitz,” he said, ignoring that last comment. “I was having a devil of a time trying to sort out where she went and which grandchild she had gone to visit.”

“She was wi’ Laoghaire in Inverness,” Murtagh answered baldly and, seeing Jamie’s momentary puzzlement, added, “the blonde wee lassie ye met at Leoch.”

“Oh aye,” Jamie murmured, remembering vaguely the young girl who helped Mrs. Fitz in the kitchen and sometimes worked as a maid at the hotel as well. “She won’t still be a wee lassie now though, I suppose.”

“That girl will be a lassie until she's fifty,” Murtagh muttered dryly. “Now are ye going to tell me why I rushed the woman here, or do I have to beat it out of ye.”

Jamie arched one brow at that. Murtagh was scrappy in a fight, to be sure, but Jamie had the stronger build. But Murtagh had known him since he was wee and was immune to any of the natural intimidation that came with Jamie’s size. “The inn is doing well enough, I suppose, but I’m losing business every day when my own guests cannae even eat here.”

Murtagh grunted at that, but still eyed Jamie a little too keenly. “I’ll stay for a bit. Just a few days. Ye owe me that at least.”

Perhaps he did, and there was a chance Murtagh truly needed the respite, but Jamie suspected the time would be used to keep an eye on him. None of his family had come to stay since he and Faith had moved here, but Jamie hadn’t exactly extended an invitation either.

“Aye, alright, I have an extra bed in the spare room next to Faith’s. It’s all yours.”

  ----------

  Claire had been hoping to find Jamie alone when she descended the stairs, but she instead found him behind the front desk with a tall and lean dour-faced man.

“Sassenach,” he called to her before she had much of a chance to decide if she should change course or not. He was grinning broadly and she felt the pull to go to him, to bask in that light for a bit. “This is my godfather, Murtagh. Murtagh, this is Claire.”

Claire extended her hand to the man, wondering if Jamie realized he hadn’t said anything further as to who she was — no this is Claire, one of my guests here, or this is Claire, she stays on the third floor and occasionally patches me up. Just Claire, as if she needed no further introduction.

Murtagh shook her hand, eyeing her acutely. “Wee Faith had a lot to say about ye when she was at Lallybroch.”

And apparently, she hadn’t needed any further introduction. That revelation not only startled Claire, but Jamie as well, she noticed. “Oh,” she said, “All good things, I hope?”

“Oh aye,” Murtagh said immediately, but something in his tone seemed to indicate a layer of… was it curiosity? Claire glossed a smile over her face and looked at Jamie, unsure how to proceed from there.

“Go and check on Mrs. Fitz, will ye? See if she needs anything?”

Murtagh’s expression changed to something even more surly, realizing he was being dismissed. “Just to remind ye, in case ye’ve fallen on yer heid lately, I’m no’ yer errand boy,” he said, but still turned and went out of the room.

Claire turned wide eyes to Jamie.

“Aye, that’s just Murtagh for ye. A wee bit rough around the edges, but more loyal than anyone I’ve ever known.”

“He, uh—” she stopped herself from saying that the man seemed lovely, because in the few moments that she’d known him, she couldn’t say that was exactly true, but she could tell, even with just a glimpse of it, that Murtagh was protective of Jamie, and that was certainly a credit to him. “Is he staying?” she asked instead.

“Aye, for a few days.” Jamie grinned then and leaned forward against the counter, inching closer to her. “He brought my cook here — Mrs. Fitz. I cannae wait for ye to meet her.”

“Oh, Jamie, that’s wonderful!”

“Faith is giving her the tour just now, we can go and introduce ye now, if ye’d like.”

“Yes, but first,” she said, suddenly feeling a breathless flutter in her chest to seize the moment while it was just the two of them. “I’d like to extend our stay here. That is, if you still have room,” she added quickly, and hoped her nervousness that he might already be booked didn’t show as plainly as she felt it.

“Aye, I do have room,” Jamie said immediately, without so much as a glance at his booking calendar, though he did fumble for it after giving his answer. “For how long?”

“For three more weeks.” It was impossible to miss the unrestrained smile that those words brought to Jamie, and Claire felt her heart flutter again in her chest. “If you can bear the sight of us for that much longer,” she teased. “It’s been… so good for Fergus here. I was actually thinking—”

“Miss Claire!” Faith’s voice rang out from the other side of the room, and Claire turned to see the girl followed by Murtagh and the woman she supposed was Mrs. Fitz. Jamie came around the desk to join them.

“This is Claire Beauchamp, she’s staying here for a few more weeks wi’ her son Fergus.” Jamie’s smile was rapturous as he said this, never taking his gaze from her face even as he spoke to Mrs. Fitz. “So I’m sure you’ll get to see them plenty.”

   ----------

The days of their summer in Nairn began to change shape by inches, first with the arrival of Mrs. Fitz and the opening of the kitchen at Fairy Hill. Unsurprisingly, Fergus was quickly charmed by the inn’s grandmotherly cook almost as much as he was by her cooking. And though she didn’t speak a word of French, Claire watched with her heart in her throat as Mrs. Fitz fussed over the two of them and was never put off by Fergus’s silence.

It was during this time that Fergus had decided he wanted to return to the beach. Claire had begun inviting Faith to join them in their afternoon excursions, at first to be a playfellow for Fergus, and then because something had begun to resonate with Claire where young Faith was concerned; there was no doubt that Jamie loved the child with everything he had, but there was still a hunger — a longing — in that small girl that Claire knew all too well.

So on a bright day in late June, Claire took both children to the beach. Fergus sighed and squirmed while Claire covered him in sun lotion, but he didn’t slip out of her grasp until she pressed a kiss to his greasy forehead in silent permission to go. “You too, Faith,” she called as both children moved toward the water. When the girl looked back at her, brows drawn together in confusion, Claire crooked a finger at her.

“My da never puts that stuff on me,” Faith said bluntly, even as she flopped down onto the blanket in front of Claire and sat perfectly still.

“Most people don’t put it on, unfortunately,” Claire sighed. “But you are even more fair-skinned than Fergus, and I don’t want you to burn.” She carefully rubbed in the lotion over the smattering of freckles along Faith’s nose and cheeks. Where Fergus behaved as though Claire was torturing him, Faith seemed to relish the attention and care. Poor love-starved little thing, Claire thought, with no ire directed towards Jamie. She knew, after all. She’d had Uncle Lamb and loved him dearly, but there was nothing to be done to fix the yawning emptiness where one or both parents had been. Driven by sudden impulse when she was finished, Claire took the girl’s face in her hands and kissed her forehead. “Now go and play.”

  ----------

“You know that you could speak English here, if you wanted to… don’t you?” She said this in French when Fergus had collapsed onto the blanket in the shade of a beach umbrella. Claire had watched him and Faith run ragged in the water and then work side-by-side on a sandcastle, and it was during that latter activity that the language barrier between the two had indeed turned into a barrier, with Fergus giving instructions in French to a blank-faced Faith and none of the work truly being done together.

Claire reached over and brushed Fergus’s curls back from his face. Faith was nearby, still working steadily on a moat around their castle, but even if she heard them, there was a sense of privacy in speaking in French. “Frank was wrong for what he said to you. And none of our friends here would mock you for having an accent or saying the wrong words. You know that, don’t you?”

“I do know, Maman.” His voice was soft and unconvincing.

“I am happy to speak with you in whatever language you prefer, but even I know my French is atrocious.” That got a smile out of Fergus — yes, she did know her pronunciations were that terrible. “But you’ve never belittled me for it, and you still know what I’m saying to you just the same. And I don’t want you to… to not have certain friendships in your life because of something that a very selfish person said to you.”

Fergus’s gaze turned contemplative, and he tilted his face up, staring at the underside of the umbrella, fingers laced together over his bare stomach. She brushed his cheek with the backs of her fingers and struggled to tamp down on the sudden swell of guilt that still had a foothold in her.

   ----------

“—Ye could hire more workers here is all I’m saying. The place seems to be doing just fine.”

Claire looked up from her breakfast as Jamie entered the dining room, Murtagh hot on his heels. Fergus had scarfed his food down already and gone out to the front with Faith and her chalk — some things didn’t require the ability to communicate, and the children were finding those spaces all on their own, in a way that made Claire’s tender heart ache to see.

“I don’t recall sharing the inn’s finances with ye,” Jamie shot back.

“I just mean that ye never take a moment’s rest for yerself, and ye dinnae need to be doing it all by yerself. I suspect ye can afford at least another staff person.”

“I have another staff person already — Hugh Monroe.”

Murtagh grunted at that, though what the noise was supposed to imply, Claire wasn’t sure. She dropped her gaze to her meal, unable to give them the privacy of not eavesdropping while they were conversing right in front of her, but the least she could do was make it seem like she wasn’t trying to listen in. “And what if ye wanted to take a day off every now and then, huh? Ye could go home and see yer family then.”

It was Jamie’s turn for a Scottish noise of displeasure, though Claire had far less trouble interpreting his frustration from that. “I’m no’ going to take time away from the inn in the middle of my busy season. Also, I dinnae recall ye being this much of a mother hen with either Willie or Rob,” Jamie said pointedly.

“Aye well I wasnae their godfather, was I? Just yours. Lot o’ good having Colum and Dougal for their godfathers did them, though, god rest their souls.” Claire couldn’t help looking up at that, and caught Murtagh crossing himself.

Jamie was stone-faced, and turned for the kitchen, disappearing through the swinging door that separated it from the dining area.

“Who are Willie and Rob?” she asked, and found Murtagh’s surprised gaze on her. She was rather sure her own surprise reflected back at him, that she had even asked the question out loud.

“He doesn’t talk about them?”

She shook her head.

Murtagh considered that with a quiet sigh. “His brothers. Willie was the oldest, then their sister Janet, then Jamie, and wee Rob was the youngest.” She had a suspicion, from seeing Jamie, that “Wee Rob” was more of an affectionate family name for the youngest, for surely any brother of Jamie couldn’t be small in stature.

“That’s a big family,” she murmured, a little dazed by the thought. It was only ever just her growing up.

“Aye,” Murtagh sighed, his expression darkening. “Then the three o’ them went to war, and only Jamie came back. Now it’s just him and Jenny.”

She sat with that news, feeling a cold damp fist around her heart. After all he went through at the hands of Jack Randall, and losing his entire unit, and then… his brothers, too. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because he’s no’ doing well, and I ken ye’re the only other person besides me who sees that.” Murtagh cleared his throat and straightened. “I’m his godfather, so I’ll always have his back, but he pushed everyone away when he came home, except for Faith. He willnae let me help him. But I think…” the older man raised one eyebrow, “he might let you.”

“And… you trust me to help him? You don’t even really know me.”

“Trust is a bit of a stretch, aye, but it’s plain on yer face that ye want to help him. So.”

Claire felt her face flush at those words, at being so thoroughly seen by someone who’d only been here a few days. “Jamie has been incredibly kind to me and my son. He’s… he’s been a very good friend.”

Murtagh grunted at that, though she couldn’t for the life of her sort out what he meant by that, either. “So, that’s why I told ye. And I have to go, he doesn’t want me hanging about much longer, but I trust… ye’ll keep an eye on him for me, aye?”

“Of course,” she found herself saying. Perhaps more startling to her was the realization that she had meant it.

He studied her intently for a moment and, finding something there in her face that reassured him, he nodded once and followed Jamie through the swinging door.

Murtagh left the next day, returning to Lallybroch, but their brief conversation in the dining room stayed with Claire long after the man had gone.

  ----------

“Claire!”

Someone pounded on her door, making her heart jump to her throat. She had just been to Fergus’s room to tuck him in for the night and was halfway out of her blouse, which she quickly began to shrug back into, trying to button it as fast as she could.

“Claire!”

More pounding.

It was Jamie’s urgent voice, and she swore under her breath as her fingers fumbled with the last two buttons. “Yes, I’m coming! I’m—”

She yanked open the door and took in the sight of Jamie looking more unraveled than she’d ever seen him before.

“Faith is sick. Please—She’s—she has a fever. Please come.”

She turned for her medical kit without a word, and by the time she returned to the threshold, Fergus stood in the doorway of his own room, peeking out in mild concern.

“Go back to bed. Stay in your room,” she told him, and followed a panic-stricken Jamie down the stairs.

[anoutlandishfanfic]

Chapter Thirty: Dhà

Hellooooo!!! Thank you so much for your patience as you’ve waited for this update. Life has been... an adventure, but its been really fun to come back to this. I may be a bit rusty, but I cannot wait to show you the rest of the (continuing) story.

You can find previous chapters HERE on Tumblr.

Or HERE on AO3.

{Dhà means two in Scots Gaelic... a second child... a second start at this fic. I thought it would be fitting.}

February 22nd, 1744. Claire.

The door slammed open with a mighty gust of wind, making me flinch and waking Brian from a sound sleep. He whimpered, then let out a full throated protest at the intrusion. Jamie’s face lit up as we heard the sound of a woman’s voice over his cries.

“Over here!” he leaned away from me, craning his neck to see the doorway without leaving my side. “This way!!”

My heart soared as she cheerily answered in French, “Hello! Yes, we hear you!!”

Jamie turned back to me and draped my arisaid a bit more modestly over my chest as I tried to soothe Brian.

The irony of my husband’s ministrations was not lost on me as this stranger was going to see a good deal more than my bare breasts if she was going to be helpful… but its welcome warmth had me sinking deeper into its folds, settling the baby and loosening the knot of tension around my heart.

The stranger appeared at the edge of our nest a moment later, followed closely by a second woman, and with Murtagh hot on their heels.

My gaze flew back to Jamie as he shifted, hesitantly positioning himself in front of me — even as we both knew just how much we needed her presence and guiding hand.

Let her be a help and not a hindrance, my soul whispered as a chill ran up my spine.

The woman’s face was weathered, her frame slight underneath her billowing, dripping cloak. She quickly assessed all three of us in a glance as she set her overflowing basket down and rid herself of her outer garments, rolling up her sleeves as she introduced herself.

“My name is Camille, my dear,” her gaze softened and my guard began to slip a bit. “Your father found my daughter and I in the market… May I see how we can be of help?”

“Please.”

The word tumbled from my lips in desperation before I could stem it and I felt Jamie tense against me as the woman took a step closer, kneeling about an arm’s length from my feet.

“Your baby sounds healthy and strong,” she nodded to Brian, her smile growing. “Shall I examine him?”

My words stuck in the back of my throat as the pull of another contraction began and I looked helplessly to Jamie, my mouth gone completely dry.

“He is well, but his brother is on his way,” Jamie’s hoarse voice betrayed his own emotions as he simply and swiftly explained the situation.

Understanding dawned at once and she inched closer as she began to ask a series of rapid questions –  none of which I heard.

The blood roared in my ears and the room began to spin around me as I fought to keep my head above the rising tide... to make out what the woman was saying.

I turned my head towards Jamie, my mouth opening and shutting again as the words stuck in my throat.

Help. me.

Great, black spots swam into my vision as hands suddenly reached out and tried to tear Brian from my arms.

“No!” I cried out as I clutched him even tighter against my chest, curling inwards as I tried to shield him.

My entire body began to shake… trembling from head to toe out of a panic that was quickly turning into a blind rage.

Get your fucking hands off my baby.

“Stop!” I tried again, gasping, and tried to find my husband in the chaos around me.

“Jamie!”

But it was Murtagh’s face that suddenly appeared before me and his warm, steady hand on my arm as he coaxed, “Much, a nighean… much.”

Blinking hard, I could finally make out Jamie just behind him. His face had gone completely white and he raked his good hand through his hair, standing it on end.

“Here,” Murtagh’s hand lifted and cupped the back of Brian’s tiny head, nearly swallowing him whole. 

“Give him to me, aye? He’ll come to nae harm… I give ye my word.”

I reluctantly nodded and loosened my grip on Brian as I shifted him against me. Murtagh opened his arms, eyes bright with unshed tears as he gently took him from me. Jamie murmured something in Gaelic to them both as he settled our son more securely in his godfather’s arms and sent them off into the shadows with a nod.

I began to tremble again as I lost sight of them, feeling completely unmoored and tossed about in a raging sea of pain without him in my arms. A mighty sob welling up deep within me and gained strength as it ran up my spine, bursting from my lips before I could stem it.

“Jamie.”

He surged forward and grabbed hold of my hand in an instant.

“I’m here, mo ghraidh,” he murmured low, squeezing my hand gently.

“Show me wha’ ye need.”

I tugged him towards me and he eagerly moved closer, slipping carefully into place behind me.

I turned my face towards his as he brushed away the curls that clung to the hot tears streaming down my cheeks and tried to gain a footing against him as wave after wave threatened to tear me in two.

He kissed me, then, long and hard. His spirit lifted mine, soothing and strengthening as slowly, ever so slowly, the tide that bound me began to recede. He kept his face close as I fought to both catch my breath and regain my bearings.

Jesus H Roosevelt Christ, I mentally spat as everything came crashing back into focus.

The absolute stranger at my feet… another perched on a crate at the edge of my view… Brian’s small noises from somewhere in the shadows… and the realization that this was happening a hell of a lot faster the second time around.

I slid my eyes shut with a hiccuping sigh and gripped Jamie’s hand even tighter.

“Aye, tha’s the way,” the rumble of his voice against my back and his reassuring words compelled the writhing mass of doubt within me to cease.

But it would not.

He registered this and let go of my hand, shifting me in his arms until he could see my face. Concern lined his face as studied me for a moment and his thumb stroked my cheek before he lowered his lips once more to mine, pulling all of the remaining tension from within me with his kiss.

I tried to settle against him and groaned in frustration as another contraction began, right on the heels of the last. I shifted listlessly in his arms, struggling to find a position that eased the pain in any amount.

“Here,” the woman’s hand rested on my knee as she moved closer, guiding me and helping me turn so that I could lean more squarely against Jamie.

I kept hold of her hand as my breath hitched and my eyes widened in surprise at the sudden strength of this new contraction.

Her face softened as she gave my hand a gentle squeeze before letting go and moving closer to me, settling herself into a better position to help.

My jaw clenched as I dug my feet into the mattress beneath me.

Bloody. fucking. hell.

… ...

Jamie.

Claire sagged against me, completely spent as her pain finally eased for a moment. They were coming one right after another now, without time for her to rest before the next one hit.

“He’s sure in a hurry,” she grumbled, echoing my own thoughts.

The midwife lifted her head and I repeated the sentiment in French. She chuckled softly, nodding reassuringly as she patted Claire’s thigh.

“He’ll be in your arms soon, mo chridhe,” I reassured her, praying it would be true.

She nodded, a shuddering moan leaving her lips as she was plunged into battle once more.

“Tha’s the way, Sorcha,” I encouraged as she began to push.

The midwife ducked her head to peer beneath the hem of Claire’s shift for a moment and helped my wife settle more fully into her task. They worked together, coaxing and crooning until they finally broke through to the other side.

“Fuck,” Claire moaned, sliding her eyes shut in exhaustion. “Damn you, James Fraser.”

My gut clenched at this and my heart dropped to the floor.

Watching you pay for the cost of my love is hell enough, my own.

“Oh, aye,” I hoarsely agreed and brushed a kiss across her temple, then more earnestly as she shifted against me and lifted her face towards mine.

“Take what ye need of me, mo ghraidh,” I hovered close. “I’ve got ye… I’m here.”

I tried to recall what had helped her before… my mind racing to remember what I’d said or done to give her comfort the first time. I could see her face better then, as she’d faced me, but there was something about supporting her in this way — holding her close as she gave everything within her to bring our second child into the world – that made it all entirely new.

I felt her stiffen in my arms and I laced my fingers through hers as she dove in, head first back into the storm… but she had a new spirit, a strength that had been all but gone not a moment before.

“Good!” the midwife exclaimed, beaming. “Here he comes!”

Her head disappeared completely from sight as she tucked Claire’s shift up around her hips and out of the way as she readied herself to guide my son into the world.

Claire’s nails bit into the tops of my thighs as the midwife guided her through the pain until she suddenly collapsed against me, a choking, strangled cry exploding from her lips.

“Well done, my dear!!” she cheered.

“A dhia, no chridhe,” I murmured, placing a kiss atop her head. “How verra braw ye are.

But my pride quickly turned to panic as the next pain started and I felt something change within Claire… the heels of her hands pushed against the tops of my thighs as her voice rose, twisting and clawing at the ceiling.

The midwife turned away from my wife for the first time since she’d arrived and beckoned wildly to the other woman in the shadows. Her assistant was at her side in an instant and she addressed me — not Claire — as urgency contorted her face.

“We need to move her,” she instructed. “She needs to lay back.”

I nodded and quickly moved to do her bidding, supporting Claire’s shoulders as I helped her lay against the make-shift pillows behind her.

Claire cried out again as they drew her knees up towards her chest, the knife edge of her scream flaying me wide open as I hovered above her. Her gaze grew distant, her face contorting as she writhed in pain.

“Sorcha.”

My hand trembled as much as my voice as I tried to reach her in her agony. 

“Sorcha, look at me,” I begged, my hands cradling her face.

“Please.”

Her eyes were wide, staring right past me as she screamed again.

Turn… Shoulder…

I could only catch fragments of the women’s words, but the next made my blood run cold.

Stuck.

I slipped my hand beneath Claire’s head and I leaned forward, bringing her lips to mine in a desperate attempt to keep her at my side.

Mary, Michael, and Bride — help her!

She trembled in my arms as I pulled away, but her gaze finally found mine for a moment as I hovered above her.

“Stay wi’ me, Sorcha,” I begged.

Claire jerked suddenly and let out a bloodcurdling shout, going completely limp in my arms. I frantically looked over my shoulder, but my plea for help stopped short at the sight of a bairn squirming in the midwife’s hands.

She looked up and beamed at me, announcing, “You have another son.”

My heart soared and the tears flowed freely down my cheeks as I turned back to Claire.

“He’s here, mo ghraidh,” I murmured as I felt her hand stir on my arm, her eyes closed.

I brushed a kiss across her brow and she lifted her hand to my neck. Her eyelids flickered and she blinked up at me.

Wee noises began to sound from behind me and I watched as the chiseled lines of pain immediately left her face and she was transformed with a curious, eager joy. She turned her head, trying to see around me, and I moved out of her way.

The bairn’s wee squawking turned into a loud, hearty cry and Claire reached out  for him. The midwife eagerly obliged and gently placed him within reach beside her.

She sighed heavily as her fingers brushed against the top of his head, skimming down each limb and finding him whole.

“Ye’ve done it, mo chridhe,” I swallowed hard, my voice breaking as a slow, weary smile lit her face.

“They’re both here.”

I could hear the midwife moving behind me, her hands flitting into view as she readied to cut the bairn’s cord.

The next moment she lifted him, easing him off the mattress and settled him on Claire’s chest.

I heard Claire’s breath catch, then release in a contented sigh as she held him close for the first time. Her hand trembled as her fingers traced the curve of his brow.

“He’s perfect,” she murmured in awe.

I couldn’t help but agree, nodding slowly as I added, “An’ sae wee.”

Her face changed, worry creeping into her eyes as she looked up and scanned the shadows just beyond us.

“Murtagh?” Her voice broke as she called out to him.

I could make out his dark shape as he moved at once, answering back “Aye, a leannan… I’m here.”

He quickly crossed the room and knelt beside us, his eyes bright and cheeks wet.

“Thank you,” I swallowed hard as I lifted Brian back into my arms. “Thank you for holding him close, ghoistidh.”

One corner of his lips lifted in acknowledgement, but he didn’t reply. His hand lingered on the bairn for a moment as I settled Brian more securely in my arms, then moved out of the way as I turned back to Claire.

I shifted beside her, moving Brian until his head was near his brother’s.

My heart soared as I saw them side by side for the first time. Claire’s hand moved to rest on Brian, looking from one to the other as she studied their faces.

“Wha’ will ye name him, then?”

Murtagh’s voice was so low that I almost didn’t hear him.

I looked up to find him beaming down at the miracle before him… the biggest smile I’d ever seen stretching across his face.

“Henry,” I whispered hoarsely. “Henry an’ Brian.”

[everythingloveandanimated]

Something I would love to see in subsequent World of Eragon books is Murtagh riding Saphira. Even better they go on a mission together.

Had this idea (not sure how feasible it is) that Murtagh’s mission to expose and defeat the Draumars takes him to Farthen Dur. Saphira firmly advises that she be the one to take him. She has the better rapport with the Dwarves and can use that to protect Murtagh, and if Thorn begins to feel claustrophobic, there isn’t easy access to the open sky and the dwarves could get hurt in his haste to break for open air.

Murtagh agrees for Thorn’s sake and safety

There’s reluctant agreement from Thorn plus a subconscious thought that he is not good enough for his rider but it’s decided nonetheless.

Murtagh is obviously nervous as they approach Farthen Dur. Not to mention a bit guarded from Saphira. The journey through the Beor’s is like a journey down memory lane. They speak of their journey, they speak of the first major moral disagreement between him and Eragon. Safira gives her input, Eragon was young and very set in his moral code. But she does agree that if Torkenbrand had fought, the results would’ve been the same. Murtagh notes that she doesn’t condemn his actions, she accepts them far easier than Eragon did, and she seems to understand his mindset better. (like Thorn, she notes that Murtagh seems to be part dragon. She is quite pleased with this little tidbit of revelation of Murtagh‘s character. Murtagh can feel her approval, it briefly helps his mood.)

Throughout their flying, she explains how Eragon sees Murtagh and acknowledges that the opposite nature of their upbringings do cause a rift of understanding in their relationship.

He faces Orik for the first time in a long time. (not many ideas for this part.) Later Orik tells him that he will never forgive him for killing Hrothgar but as long as he is king he will allow Murtagh and Thorn to keep their lives as thanks for their part in helping Eragon defeat Galbatorix.

The grudge is something that Murtagh expected and accepts with grace as well as heaviness in his heart. However, Orik’s decree that their lives are secure under his kingship surprises him.

During their visit Murtagh and Saphira stand in the very place Eragon and Arya stood when the Twins’ ambush happened.

Murtagh: That’s where it all went wrong.

Saphira makes a regretful sound and moves her head towards him in an approximation of a hug.

Saphira: I am so sorry, Murtagh. Our best chance to save you from Galbatorix would have been right here. I flew as fast as I could but I was too late. Arya went to look for you in the tunnels but when she found your bloody clothes and couldn’t see you by scrying she assumed the worst and us along with her. We failed you, and you and Thorn have suffered greatly for our failure.

Murtagh: (touching Saphira’s jaw) Thank you. But you were supposed to think I was dead. The twins told Galbatorix’s spy master Yarek that I was here. Yarek was the one who made the plans for my abduction and told the twins what to do.

Saphira: you told Eragon our first night here that you didn’t want the Empire to know where you were. Bringing you here endangered you and sealed your fate. Exactly what you were trying to avoid.

Murtagh: True. (he reminisces about his first time in Farthen Dur. He would not have met Nasuada if he hadn’t come. Would not have experienced her surprising kindness, and in a way Ajihad’s kindness. He was treated far better than he ever expected to be by those two.)

Saphira also brings him to the star sapphire. She explains how she fixed it using the collective emotions of the dwarves present, as well as her own admiration for the construction of Tronjheim and overall craftsmanship of the dwarves. She tells him how angry and heartbroken they were at her for destroying it in the first place. How they forgave her after she had made amends. She gives him a realistic hope for forgiveness his own debts. Opening himself up and sharing his experience, allowing other people to connect with him, will go along way in redeeming himself. He’s unsure sharing such painful raw parts of himself. Saphira assures him that he can show as much as he’s comfortable with, but should also show enough to cure ignorance.

After a moment he states his own forgiveness of her for not flying fast enough to save him, and for not being able to march on Uru’baen sooner to help save him and Thorn. Another approximation of a hug with her head and neck, while he hugs a section of her neck.

Because it wouldn’t be a true World of Eragon segment without some sort of fight turning everything sideways, some sort of conflict happens. Orik and Murtagh each have moments where they protect each other. 

Murtagh explains his mental situation and decision to kill Hrothgar. Orik gets a level closure. He still feels utterly betrayed, and will not forgive him but he thanks Murtagh for his explanation all the same.

Murtagh asks Orik for permission to go to Ajihad’s tomb and Hrothgar‘s tomb to pay his respects. 

Orik grants it.

In front of Hrothgar’s tomb, Murtagh considers making a dwarven rite of respect as a member of an enemy clan would make to a fallen rival dwarven leader. Saphira encourages him saying would probably be a good idea and would go a long way in making amends with Durgrimst Ingeitum. She calls it his own Star Sapphire. Murtagh is a reluctant at the political spectacle of it and how it will make him look (unsure if he wants to make himself vulnerable in this way). He didn’t join Hrothgar’s enemy willingly. But he still slew him under Galbatorix’s thumb, and more or less in Galbatorix’s name. Saphira tells him to think on it a little more, and to follow through when he’s ready.

He makes a promise that he will return with Thorn so they can pay their respects together.

In front of Ajihad’s tomb, he weeps. Regretful and devastated that he couldn’t save the man who spared his life and gave him a chance to prove himself. Regretful and utterly ashamed of what he did to Ajihad’s daughter. Knowing full well that Ajihad would never let him in the same hallway, or even in the same wing as Nasuada after her torture if he was still alive. Any chance however slim or imagined he has with her now would be near non-existent. (Murtagh later wonders if Nasuada had a part to play in Ajihad giving him the chance that he did. It breaks his heart even further that the kindness of these two has been returned with torment and failure to protect them). Saphira gives him a moment alone with his tears before reminding him of her presence. She gives wisdom and insight into Ajihad’s character and gives an honest assessment of the possibility of a relationship between him and Nasuada. Given their reputations and political positions it has a very slim chance of working out. She’s careful not to give him false hope for the future, but alludes to the fact that Arya and Eragon’s relationship seemed to not work out, and yet they are on good strong terms.



[renee-writer]

Jamie and Jenny Chapter 15

AO3

He blinks at seeing her. She is breathtaking. Her eyes are wide, seemingly equally as stunned.

 

“You are.” They say together. Both giggle.

 

She is used to seeing him in jeans and T-shirts. He usually sees her in the same. To see each other so dressed up, it affects both of them.

 

“Ladies first.” He gestures for her to go on.

 

“Jamie, you are brilliant.”

 

“You, Claire you are exquisite.”

 

They still stand in her doorway.

 

“Thank you. Shall we?” She nods towards his car.

 

“Aye.” he offers his arm. She takes it and they step out. 

 

“I am just not used to seeing you so cleaned up.” Yes, he is now the CEO of Lallybroch Distillery but most of the time, he dresses casual. Only when he has business meetings outside Scotland does he dress up.

 

He looks over at her. “Same.”

 

She works in the garden. When she isn’t, she works in the outbuilding developing natural remedies. Therefore has very little opportunity to dress up.

 

“It is nice to feel like a full adult, you know. Getting dressed up going out to a nice restaurant.”  She looks around at the candles on the table, the real linen napkins, the heavy crystal glasses.

 

“That it is.” He has had very few opportunities to date, focused on helping his dad build the business. Most dates were in his teens, fast food restaurants and movies, mostly. Never has he taken a lass out like this.

 

“Is Jenny alone or …”

 

“Nae, Murtagh is with her. She didn’t like it,” a chuckle, “but I am not sure twelve is old enough to stay alone.”

 

She nods thoughtfully. “It depends on the child and circumstances. I think you are right. She is mature but, with all that has happened, all she is feeling right now, having an adult around is a good thing.”

 

He feels the tension leave his shoulders and neck. “Thank you. I just never know if I am doing right.”

 

“You love her. You want what is best for her. That goes a long way towards doing the right thing.”

 

He takes her hand across the table. “It helps to hear that.”

 

She smiles tilting her head a bit. “I am no expert. A lot of this comes from Uncle Lamb.”

 

“Thank God for Uncle Lamb.”

 

“Amen.” She stops when the waitress comes up. They order and return to the conversation.

 

“What else did he teach you?”

 

“To be independent. A hard worker. To give as much as possible to others. Self defense.” She grins after saying the last.

 

“Ah self defense. So if any lad tries to make advances…”

 

She leans on her free hand. He still holds one. “He would regret it unless I wished for them.”

 

His breath catches. “Have you ever wished thus?”

 

“Not until now.” The air grows heavy between them. He reminds himself that he is in public.

 

“We shall have to see about that later then.”

Both their eyes drift shut and both pull in deep breaths.

 

“You should know Jamie that I am inexperienced.”

 

“So, you are a virgin?” His heart thumps heavy in his chest. She is beautiful, been all over the world. How can…”

 

“Yes. Uncle Lamb isn’t a stickler about that type of stuff and I had opportunities. It is just, it never felt right.”

 

“No, it didn’t ,” at her wide eyed look, he continues, “I am too. Dad told me that the right lass would come along. One who would steal my heart and not just harden my cock, begging your pardon for the phrasing,” she waves it off, “anyway, that I wouldn’t regret waiting for her. I haven’t .”

 

They look at each other, both amazed.

 

“You are…”

 

“Him.”

 

“Her.”

 

They are laughing when the food arrives and giggle through the meal.

[christiwhitson]

“Murtagh told me a bit about Ardsmuir, but not much. I could tell he didn’t want to dwell on it, so I didn’t push. He said Jenny turned you in for the reward money, though. How the hell did you convince her to do that?”

“Wasna easy,” he replied with a huff. “She gave me laldy and called me a clot-heided pillock, tried to badger me out of the notion for weeks. But her weans were hungry, mo ghraidh. I talked her ‘round eventually. The clearances… ‘Twas as bad as ye said it would be. Knowin’ it was coming didna make it much easier. And we were lucky, thanks to your warning and the preparations we’d made. But we still barely escaped starvation, and so many others lost everything they had.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my heart aching at the image he was painting. “I still feel like I should’ve been there with you. For richer or poorer.”

“Nay, Sassenach. You were right to go, and ye did exactly as I wanted ye to do. I missed ye terribly, but I’m no’ sorry I sent ye away. I’d have endured anythin’ to spare the two of ye that life. You deserved better. You still do.”

I didn’t miss the regret in his last statement, and I frowned anxiously.

“Bugger what we deserve, James Fraser. We’re here. I’m here, and you can’t send me away again.”

[alagaesia-headcanons]

I'll never get enough of the AUs where Murtagh in some way, at some point ends up in Carvahall instead of Uru'baen. There are so many potential variations of how he gets there and who he stays with and even the little differences have some really fun effects. I'm especially intrigued by the idea of Murtagh growing up there while still clearly remembering Morzan and his dragon and where he came from. I think it makes for an interesting counterpoint to canon where Murtagh can't escape his past and his father's legacy because that's what everyone sees in him. Instead, in Carvahall, his past becomes such a dangerous taboo that it can't even be acknowledged, much less focused on. Rather than his past restricting him in its grasp, it keeps sliding out of his own grasp, defying all his efforts to understand what it means for him and what everyone else might feel about it. Black and blue eyes and gleaming red scales haunt his dreams, but he has to swallow those memories down every time.

Assuming Murtagh grows up with Garrow and Marian, when he first arrives with all his fear, he's determined to never breath a word about any of that. But he gets older and starts to second guess that resolve- Eragon aches to know who his father is and Murtagh hates lying to him. He deserves to eventually know the truth (what Murtagh thinks is true, that is), even if it's painful. And it gnaws at Murtagh's own heart to wonder if his family would accept him if they knew, or if the only thing perpetuating his acceptance is their ignorance. At night, he tosses and turns wondering if he's turning out just like his father, a question he can never answer because he has no reference of Morzan beyond his own dim, scattered memories.

One of my favorite AUs like this that exist inside my brain follows that track and actually stays very close to canon. Murtagh grows up alongside Eragon, and plans to tell him about his past when he turns 16, but before that, the Ra'zac arrive and he's tortured as well as Garrow. He pulls through only to discover Eragon vanished with Brom and he goes to track them down, eventually saving them when they're the ones at the Ra'zac's mercy. Then when he's kidnapped and enslaved, there's so much more heartbreak and guilt because he's pitted against everyone he grew up with and cares for. And maybe Brom gets to live so there can be a reckoning when Murtagh does tell Eragon what he believes about their parentage, following him as he struggles for the courage to face his son and tries to find any way to help his step son, before it's all too late.

For something that goes quite differently, I've been thinking through an AU where both Selena and Morzan live. Selena fakes Murtagh's death to disguise her stealing him away and she and Brom raise him and Eragon in Carvahall. They love and protect them fiercely and the boys grow up safe and happy, but whenever Murtagh tries to ask about the things that happened before, they swiftly shut him down and dissuade him from ever mentioning it out of their own fear of the past. It leaves him feeling out of place and fragmentary. And that comes at a cost when Morzan appears, under orders to search for the egg. Murtagh has to hurriedly figure out what he was never able to, now with so much danger hanging in the balance, because no matter how Morzan could want to treat him, that might not matter against the king's orders. And Selena and Brom have to confront their own snarled relationships with Morzan that were never truly laid to rest. (It also caters to my desire to jerry rig the three of them into a very messy and emotionally charged polycule.)

In that one, I build something more redeemable into Morzan's character (soon I definitely plan to elaborate on why I find that a fascinating angle to take with him). I don't know if anyone would want it, but I wrote a drabble for that AU when Murtagh first sees Morzan again, and I could brush it up and post it. [EDIT: here's the fic] I just love the idea of small town farm boy Murtagh who's peaceful and amiable and also just a little bit off. Like maybe sending the guy who dreams each night about blood red swords and dragon's snapping fangs to go plow fields won't last forever.

[scapegrace74-blog]

The Man from Black Water, Chapter 3

A/N  A short intermediary chapter with no Jamie and Claire today.  With my vacation starting day after tomorrow, I should be able to get back to them in short order, but in the meantime, here is some more Murtagh being a loveable old curmudgeon.

Previous chapters are available on my AO3 page. 

“Trollop,” Murtagh swore.  “Teasin’ a man and then denyin’ him his prize.”

For good measure, he raised his wooden leg and swung it against the copper still, resulting in a deep tolling sound rather like a bell.

“Aye, jes like a woman.  Always havin’ the last word.”

Stalking out of the tiny, well-hidden hut, still muttering under his breath, Murtagh nevertheless took the time to padlock and then test the door.  There was no point giving away all his hard work to the first caird who happened by the upper reaches of Glen Isla.

The still was well hidden in a deep crack just below the ridgeline.  Using a crutch since there was no-one around to see, Murtagh navigated carefully across the boggy ground to a nearby spring that seeped directly from between the layers of the mossy cliff face.  Cupping his hand beneath the icy trickle, he drank deeply, the water so pure it was practically sweet.

“Like honey,” he pronounced, wiping stray droplets from his beard with the back of his hand.

A loose pebble tripped down the mountainside to his left.  Startled, Murtagh scanned for his rifle, realizing in dismay that he’d left it next to the still.  A long shadow blocked the morning sun.

“Dammit, Munro,” he snarled upon seeing his old friend standing on the ridge just above him, “ye near gave me a heart seizure!”

“Ye ne’er could hear anyone else when ye’re the one doin’ the talkin’,” Munro laughed, scampering easily down a gully to join Murtagh by the spring.

“How’d ye find me?”  Murtagh ignored the barb about his one-sided conversation, a superficial relief from his years of solitary existence.

“Ye auld bampot, ye leave a trail like a one-legged seed drill.”

The two men made their way back downhill towards the bothy. Murtagh wanted to insist that Munro go on ahead so that he could double back and nab his rifle, but there was no way he would risk giving away the location of the still, even to a man he’d broken bread with for over twenty years.  For his part, Hugh Munro shortened his steps and made a great show of looking around the glen, commenting on the latest sheep enclosure to divide the once-wild area and the deepening purple of the heather.  He was adept at navigating Murtagh’s pride and refusal to accept any assistance, despite being crippled.

At long last, they regained the valley floor and made their way into the bothy.  Munro’s mount and packhorse were tied next to the corral.

“Suppose ye’re hungry,” Murtagh groused as he hung an iron pot over the recently stoked fire.

“No’ nearly hungry enough fer what ye’re offerin’.  Mutton stew, is it?”

The barbs hadn’t changed in two decades and were blunt as a result.  It was a comforting ritual, as familiar to them as listening to the liturgy in church, and almost as infrequent.

“Ye’re a cold man, Munro.  The only way tae warm a heart such as yers is wi’ some whisky.”

Grabbing the unlabeled bottle from the mantle, Murtagh set about pouring two healthy portions.  Munro held it up to his aquiline nose, sniffing hesitantly.  With a game shrug, he took a large sip, his cheeks puckering above his kempt mustache.

“Ambrosia, is it no’?” Murtagh prompted after taking his own sip.

“Congratulations, Master Fitzgibbons.  After twenty some years, ye’ve finally succeeded in malting paint stripper.”

A tin mug was thrown across the table, glancing off the guest as he laughed at his own wit.

“See if I leave ye anythin’ in my will,” Murtagh groused before taking another long draught, pursing his lips in concentration as the spicy flavours rolled over his tongue.

“Wouldna wish tae undermine yer partner.”

The teasing gleam left Murtagh’s blue eyes.

“Silent partner, now.  Brian Fraser died last month.  A tree fell on ‘im.”

Hugh Munro said a silent prayer before quickly crossing himself. Without being asked, Murtagh refilled each glass and they drank a toast to their departed friend.

Several drams and some mutton stew later, the two men sat in the flickering flamelight, their booted feet extended towards the hearth.

“Where are ye off tae, then?” Murtagh inquired after Hugh finished his tale of a cattle drive over the Lairig Ghru in a snowstorm.

“Low country,” he said succinctly, using the Highland expression for anything south of the Grampian Mountains.  He wasn’t certain he should mention his exact destination, for fear of dredging up painful memories for his friend.

“Ye spend sae much time down there, ye’re like tae become a Sassenach yerself,” Murtagh complained, somewhat sincerely for once.

“Seems tae me there was a time ye werena quite sae opposed tae certain Sassenachs,” Munro tested the waters.

“Those days are done,” Murtagh pronounced with finality, rising unsteadily to his feet and escaping to his narrow bed with only a gruff goodnight.

Hugh Munro stayed up staring into the fire, contemplating how time was not the mender of all wounds.

[iironwreath]

oc weapon names

ada: wolfram (pistol), mike (rifle) wolfram is another name for tungsten or its ore, which (iirc) is used in making bullets. if asked why her big gun is named mike, she says it's short for micycle

azul: silverthorn (longsword) used with a shield, azul named her longsword in honour of the deity that saved her from lolth's influence, the arch heart. silver is one of corellon's colours and azul associates them with deep, dangerous, but beautiful forests of the arborea

cadiana: judgement (maul) gifted by elspeth, taken from the dead blue dracolich judge moravax, former master of law for emon. cady is a paladin of erathis the lawbearer and sees fit to dole out judgement in her name. they thought moravax saw fair judgement for allying with the cult of tiamat as a leader after being a false worshiper of erathis. cady enjoys the irony

cihro: venenum (shortbow) (pronounced ve-NEE-num) one of my dms chose this and came up with its history, but it's latin for venom. this was either a vestige of divergence that became dormant and then awakened again by cihro, or was a plain shortbow transformed into a vestige. it originally belonged to an elven assassin and he acquired it from the dissolved remains of his partner's drider mother. its saying is “If your heart is true, then so will be your aim”

crow: bleeding heart (longsword) crow's hexblade and pacted weapon. named for multiple meanings, since crow's virtue name also has layers. the bleeding heart is a flower also known as dicentra, her lover's name and the woman she forged her blade and pact with. bleeding heart can also describe "sincere emotional outpouring." the sword is wholly symbolic of her heart and devotion and desires. also, she stabs people and then they bleed!

genevieve: anathema (battleaxe) while evie mostly utilizes her claws and hemomancy in combat, she will occasionally use her blood maledict on other weapons. anathema is a word for "something or someone that one vehemently dislikes" or "a formal curse by a pope or a council of the church, excommunicating a person." originally named because she saw herself as anathema to the monsters she hunted for the slayer's take, its meaning transformed when she became a lycanthrope and became the hunted

iona: analemma (longbow), salt in the wound (rapier), paprika (dagger) analemma is named for "a graph or plot in the shape of a figure eight that shows the position of the sun in the sky at a given time of day (such as noon) at one specific locale measured throughout the year." her father gifted it with the intention of "protecting people year-round" after her original bow broke in a fight. salt in the wound is straightforward, what it says on the tin, and paprika is her own little joke that she doesn't tell anyone

koda: skylark (scimitar) named after a bird he likes, but also that it's light and airy in his hand and "sings" through the air. purely by coincidence: "It is a bird of open farmland and heath, known for the song of the male"

murtagh: mistsplitter (trident) no fancy origin, murtagh is a water-themed character and just thought of his trident being sharp enough to split mist. his surname, riftwarren, also comes from the merging of two different words, so he kept that system. his dual harpoons don't have names

nepenthe: vidrinath (greatsword) named for the drow/undercommon word 'lullaby.' these songs were sung by drow priestesses to help ease students/children into trance. nepenthe thinks of it as putting people to sleep forever, and the juxtaposition between love and violence is incredibly lolth-flavoured. as a mother, she also once sang these songs to her daughter

[fansandtheic]

May the Chaotic Singer's Story

I know the likelihood of you actu Please bear with me, my skill lies in singing and artwork (drawing/painting) I'm a dreadful writer.

I wanted to thank you and explain just how big this book may be to other abused souls out there. This book hit me as hard as reading Eldest since my riding accident in 2009.

Your most recent book, Murtagh, hit home big time. Your portrayal of Murtagh and Thorn's struggle with PTSD and prior abuses really reached my heart and soul. How it took Murtagh starting to die for Thorn to push past his fear reminded me how my sister saved me then how I was ready to run with her to ensure she never got physically harmed. I thought I was about to die one day at the hands of egg-donor. My put her own well-being at risk and it snapped me out of my fear. I started planning on how to run away with my sis next time we were up there.... It's like an hour drive from where we lived with Dad and we didn't know the way well but I didn't care. The physical and other worse abuse I could handle for myself but not my younger sister. (I was 14 she was turning 12 that fall). We never went back because Dad found out and of course protected us. He's an amazing Dad, just abusers are very good at hiding what they do.

I was only able to break 14 years of utter fear of that monster for someone I loved and would give my life for. That whole part where Thorn breaks that barrier in his mind I cried, a lot. I wish this book had been out when I was still in HS (graduated in 07) because maybe it would have kick started my healing earlier... But even now at 34 this book will help my journey to continue healing. 

I'm still the black sheep, the most disliked in my family. I feel I'll never be truly loved by anyone by my Dad, my sister and her kids. I'll always be the outcast, especially thanks to being forced to do bad things due to pure terror of what IT would do to me. I still deal with people IT fooled into thinking she was some amazing person and mother.... I try to set the record straight but with people are so blinded.

Since I mentioned Eldest... That book didn't start hitting me as hard until after I developed Atypical Trigeminal Neuralgia on both sides after being thrown from my scared mare. - totally my fault for taking a skittish Arabian mare out on a windy day without locking the dogs up. The part where Eragon explains what it is like to fear moving wrong as the pain can trigger at anytime and for seemingly no reason.... I lived that every day since Oct of 09 to my 2 surgeries in 2021... And from July 2023 to current. The pain being called The Obliterator.... I shared a couple quotes with other TN sufferers and they had to know what author had such insight to chronic pain. A few said they'd be checking the books due to the insight that book showed. 

Thank you, this was absolutely the book I needed to read right now. Your writing again gave me inspiration again to draw, and that's been somewhat rare in years to feel inspired.

You are helping people with your books. I can't wait to see what else this series brings, what your amazing mind and writing brings.

Thank you

~ May the chaotic singer

[rocketslacker]

I got tagged by @soul-cairn in like December and then forgor 💀But! Here's my top albums for last year! On the top we have albums that are "newer" additions to my ever-growing hoard of music. Most I knew already but hadn't gotten brainrot about.

Good Kid 3 by Good Kid - Easy pick and #1 in Last.FM just in general. A lot of my scheming this year has been w this one, my enjoyment of it skyrocketed much more in November but. Still. Fave here is probably First Rate Town, but it's very hard to choose. Mimi's Delivery Service and No Time To Explain are also great. They all go hard. In A Million Years by Last Dinosaurs - Last Dinosaurs in general has been very present in my playlists this year, the vibes are immaculate. Fave her is probably Zoom right now, but it zooms between that, Andy, and Sunday Night. Ground - I'm cheating w this one since it's technically a single rn, but it just genuinely changed my brain chemistry like nothing else had done in a few years. Banger. Middle is albums that have just been here year after year. Centésimo Humano by Mad Tree - Akaiitori tagged below introduced me to these guys and I haven't been safe ever since. Alquimia will always reign supreme, but I listened to a lot of La Ciudad Y El Humo and Rubí this year. Fear Is Fleeting by Puppet - MY BELOVED !!! Much like Ground altered my brain chemistry, this completely rewired my braincells. Like this just goes so hard, this is my EP, this is my everything. Fave here is Killing Giants by Puppet & Murtagh ft Richard Caddock !!! But also listened to a lot of Listen to the Storm. Immersion by Pendulum - There's always a lot of Pendulum, but I was surprised it was higher up than In Silico this year. I did listen to a lot of Encoder and Watercolour.

Last but not least, bottom three are albums that have been in my radar and I have been listening to for a while, but didn't get attached to until 2023. Danger Days by My Chemical Romance - A classic. Listened to it so much while working on stuff, I still can't name much of the songs from it since I was often away from the screen, but Planetary Go remained stuck in my head for a long time. I Know You Know Who I Am by Puppet - I'm still not too attached to a lot of the songs here, but it still broke through to my top 10. Here, my favourite would be Good Day, and My Own Thing. Yokohama always holds a special place in my heart. No Mal Que Dure Una Vida by Lika Nova - Also got introduced by Akaiitori, i got super bad brainrot during the summer with Manos Al Fuego and No Me Dejes Caer.

Tagging: @akaiitori @foolish-spectre @ovytia @incorrigiblyindecent @literalfuckingdragon @ayahoes AND everyone else who wants to do it!

[ivorydragoness44]

Murtagh Morzansson x Reader: Leaves

Word Count: 389

Summary: The Reader just wants to push Murtagh into a pile of leaves, but it’s not going as well as they had hoped.

Notes: It started out as an imagine...but now it’s an insert reader

~~~~ ~~~~

  Raking and sweeping leaves off of well-used pathways was not your ideal activity for the day,  but there were positives. For one, it was a task that did not need your full attention. Your mind was free to wander. Overtime, you had also concluded that such a task was doing wonders to your arms. You just did not appreciate the soreness.

  Completing another plentiful pile of leaves, a soft voice graced your ears. A smile swept over your face and you spun around. “Hello, Murtagh.” The smile on his face made your heart sing.

  “I had no idea you were being put to something so laborious,” he said, his smile faltering.

  “I volunteered,” you shrugged. “I was kicking the leaves aside anyhow.”

  He glanced around at the piles and rows of leaves within the vicinity. “You’ve done a great job. I haven’t stepped on a single leaf all morning. Just don’t overwork yourself.”

  “I have been taking breaks, lest my arms scream and fall off.”

  As Murtagh chuckled, a humorous image formed in your mind. With a small smirk peeking out, you stepped closer to him. From the simple action, he only looked at you curiously, expecting you to further the conversation. You, however, had something else in mind.

  With a mischievous smile growing more noticeable on your face, you took another step forward. Despite your close proximity, he did not back away.

  Murtagh looked at you quizzically, but otherwise said nothing.

  Deciding to further your attempt, you placed your palms to his chest in an extra small effort to shove him into the pile of leaves behind him.

  You let out a quiet defeated huff when he hardly leaned back.

  “What are you doing?” He finally asked, eyeing your hand placement.

  “Failing spectacularly,” you said. Dropping your arms to your sides, you stepped over toward another pile of leaves and turned your back to it.

  Murtagh hesitated, a look of concern washing over his face. “At what, exactly?”

  “Being playful.”

  No sooner the words left your mouth, you allowed yourself to fall backward into the leaves with a crunchy thud. The next thing that you heard was Murtagh’s own laughter.

  “Is that why you were pushing me?”

  “Trying to.”

  “Hahah…alright…I’ll join you.”

  You barely registered his words before he dropped down beside you.

  “Better?”

  “Yes.”

~~~~ ~~~~

Thank you for reading!

Reblogs are appreciated