#murtagh made me do it

[alagaesia-headcanons]

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[faarkas]

BALDURS GATE 3 MURTAGH OATHBREAKER

[sparklepirate]

Hey wait shit I just realized something.

So one of the big themes in this book so far is that Murtagh is super super protective over children. It, you know, makes sense that he ruminates on this a lot. He was abused... At every point in his life, but especially as a child. So, while he's extremely hesitant at the idea of having children, he knows that if he were ever to do so, he would give everything in him to be a good father. And in the meantime, he is viciously protective over the children he meets- Essie, saving her from Sarros and making sure she's safe from her father. The street urchins in Gil'ead, beating up their dad for being neglectful towards them (perhaps not the most tactful move, but still). His whole motivation for helping Carabel in the first place was purely to save Silna, because he couldn't stand the idea of a child being scared or hurt, or suffering any of the same horrible experiences that he did.

Which. Um. Made me wonder.

... Does Murtagh know that Eragon made Elva? Like... Like he probably knows she exists, but does he know, like, what her powers do to her, and how she got them, and that it was Eragon's fuck up that made her and made her suffer so much? Because uhhh. He would lose his absolute fucking mind over it if he ever found out. 😬😬😬😬

[yourlocaldragondealer]

TIC signatures

I was bored

Eragon:

he learned how to write when he was fifteen. You cant convince me he wouldnt take the easy route and write in capital letters. Also i think hed really care about legibility.

Nasuada:

She also wants to make it legible and Ajihad always made her write in cursive so she still does that a little. Nothing too fancy tho bc she has to write it multiple times a day and doesnt want to bother

Arya:

Shes a lefty and ill die on that hill. She also doesnt rly care too much about it but likes the swing she can do with the A bc she cant do it in elvish. (This got a little ugly, i had to write it like seven times before it looked good)

Murtagh:

Totally the person to practice his signature. Writes really straight and with tall letters. Cares more about the Look than legibility but its legible enough. Really doesnt like signing contracts anymore tho, for… obvious reasons.

Brom:

Illegible except for the first letter. No fucks left, not after a century of this. The tired parent signing their kids test without even taking a look at the grade (eragon failed grammar again).

Oromis:

Knows how to write in human/dwarfen letters but is unused to it. Tries his best anyways and it actually looks really good. Very round letters, smears his i dots

Galby:

Used to be very fancy about it but is getting a little lazy. Still dramatic enough for the big lines in the t and the x tho.

Bonus: Angela

Doesnt like giving signatures (it wastes her time bc no one knows her real name and she definitely wont reveal it for something this boring so the signature will be worthless anyways) but if someone makes her she’s going to waste her their time like theyre wasting hers and take an eternity drawing flourishes around it. Probably even more than i did. Normally only gives strange warnings or hexes the parchment or something tho bc she just doesnt like it.

[ace-and-ranty]

Tonight. I am thinking about Murtagh and Brom.

It's interesting to me that Murtagh has HangUps(TM) about his mom for saving Eragon and not him, and HangUps(TM) about Eragon, for being everyone's most specialest little guy, despite having suffered considerably less than Murtagh did.

Both of which are, you know, understandable. Neither are his mom's or Eragon's fault, but they are unfair and it makes sense Murtagh would feel some resentment.

What I find interesting is how he never mentions Brom?

Cause arguably, Eragon and Selena did their best to help Murtagh. Selena died trying! She couldn't have done more than that!

But Brom could have.

And tell me Brom wouldn't have tried, had it been Eragon left behind in Galbatorix' claws. Tell me Brom "could not bear to separate himself entirely from [Eragon]" Holcbombsson would not have blown his cover clean off to get his son out of the palace.

But it wasn't Eragon left behind, it was Murtagh. And Brom needed Galbatorix to believe he was dead to avoid retaliation for Morzan. So he could hole up in Carvahall with Eragon. He had many good reasons, in the grand and small scheme of things, to not blow his cover up for Murtagh. But it was still a decision he made. He left Murtagh behind.

The very thing Murtagh resents his mom for! Something she didn't do, but that Brom absolutely did. Brom did choose Eragon over Murtagh. And Murtagh doesn't even think of Brom, not even a little.

I guess. Because at the end of the day. Brom is the only one of the trio Murtagh didn't love. Who cares if some rando family member he never met abandoned him? Who cares if the one person who could have reasonably saved him didn't? What really hurts is when his loved ones, who tried their best, failed him. Do you ever cry.

[hiswhiteknight]

Unbelievably Outlandish - Part 12

Summary: Before starting down a new crossroads, the Reader goes onto an adventure of literary traveling. Suddenly tossed into an unbelievable story that has swept the world, The Outlander Series itself. How will a twenty first century woman survive?

Note: It has been a super long time since I've posted, like a year or more. I'm going to try to post weekly, but it depends on my schedule. As for a tag list, I'll be starting a new one – please send me a message to be added to the tag list. I don't always get to look through comments, so please message me.

Note Note: I own no characters, except reader, clearly this is based off the lovely book series Outlander by Diana Gabaldon and tv show. This follows more the tv show, but it’s far from accurate. I’m going to try to get better with using less proper English, but who knows maybe I’ll get into Scottish slang.

Pairing: Jamie Fraser x Female Reader

Words: 2700 (SO LONG)

Warning: Angst, playfulness, cursing, slow start

It turned out, in Angus's mind, the dog turned out to be a good distraction for you. It kept you from running around because you found yourself always training the dog. She was an angelic thing, who always got into some kind of trouble along the way. Your whole life you've been much of a rule follower, but as of recently you were finding you had a lot in common with the dog.

With this being said, you have yet to find a name you'd like for her. Often you found yourself filling the boredom by naming old fictional characters you loved when you remember the character Gilbert Blythe from Anne of Green Gables. Outside from being incredibly charming, he was intelligent, kind, and had patience and devotion for the ones he loved. You imagined you had a lot in common with Anne Shirley or you hope you did. And with that thought, you named the dog Blythe.

Jamie enjoyed watching you work with the mischievous creature. He could tell this was the first time you were filled with joy since you arrived in Scotland, "Why don't you go over and talk to the girl," Murtagh said from next to him.

He shook out of his daze, acting like he wasn't doing anything weird, "I like my bullocks, thank you."

Murtagh shook his head, "She wouldn't have that mutt if it wasn't for you, you know."

The men continue to work around and pack things away, "You and I both know she is a stubborn woman, if she wanted that dog enough she would have got it without myself or Ned mentioning a word."

"Coward," Murtagh whispered to Jamie.

"Damn right," he chuckled back.

You were working on the pups reactivity and word commands. While growing up you didn't get to have a pet, but your mother told you about when she raised dogs as a child. Your family moved around a lot, so having a pet wasn't in the cards. "Don't get too comfortable girl, we're going to be off soon," Angus barked at you from afar.

You turned around losing the smile on your face. With the time being away from the castle, you still hadn't earned much trust and you most definitely didn't give the men much energy. Outside of the pup, you were like a empty soul and it was coming to be more evident with every passing day. The dog plopped herself next to you watching Angus with her tongue out. Even Blythe was better respected and well liked by the men, even Angus though he'd deny it if anyone commented. Their acceptance of the dog made you more tolerant to their attitude and patriarchal manner. "Yes master," you bow.

"It's nice you are starting to learn your manners," he smirked back while making gestures towards the men.

With a deep inhale and low tolerance of attitude today you started to trudge towards your horse, "It was sarcasm, idiot," you grumbled.

He appeared to have the same tolerance of my attitude, "Watch your tongue girl or you'll get it cut off," Angus advanced forward while gripping his dagger.

Jamie and Murtagh were about to make a move when another man's voice appeared, "Everything alright miss," a British voice caught your attention.

Angus directed an aggressive response to the man. You turned to look at the man and in your daze started to register things about this man. He had a proper accent, boots, and his hair read a gentleman. He was clearly a British soldier and he could mean serious trouble. You turned to look at Jamie for a split second before charming a smile, "Excuse me sir," you asked, ignoring the comments from the other man to rile this man. This was not the time and place.

You could tell the tension with Dougal increased. He didn't trust what you would say, "I was asking if you were alright," he stepped forward again, ignoring the men behind you.

"Oh, I'm sorry you had to hear all that, sir. You shouldn't have had to hear a lady speak out of tune like that. It was very unbecoming of me," you looked embarrassed. Let's hope your acting skills are up to par. You ignored Murtagh mutter unbecoming to make fun of you, "It's just Angus here is a very, very, very," you paused to look at him, "Very distant cousin." You turn back to smile at the officer, "I sometimes gets so overwhelmed by his voice and tone I just lash out. I apologize," you put you hand on your heart. The dog looked up at you oddly, not recognizing your behaviors.

He smiled at you, not acknowledging the grumbling Scots behind you, "Not necessary, my lady I understand quite well actually." He bent down to scratch the puppy sitting in front of you, "I'm sorry your accent."

You scratch the back of you neck, "Right, I must sound so improper. I'm Y/N O'Mulligian. I came to visit some family here from the colonies at my brother's request. He said I could use some real life hard work. He likes to call me a debutante," you sent him a teasing smile.

Responding well to your story, he rises and smiles at you. A relief was lifted off your shoulders, you were almost past this moment when Dougal interrupted, "Enough," he shouted, "She is the guest of the clan MacKenzie and her business is none of yours." You clearly spoke too soon because the officers defenses shot back up.

"So off you go," Angus finished.

You had to stop yourself from rolling your eyes, "Are you sure you are alright, miss," he looked unshaking at you. He clearly felt so much privilege he did not care remotely about the strapping Scottish men standing around him. You wanted to smack yourself in the forehead how stupid these men had to be to not recognize the importance of this one man.

Dougal looked as if he was going to fight the man. You put your arm on his bicep to stop him, "Of course, good sir," you smile, "It's nice to know chivalry is not dead. I have more hard work to learn as you can see, it was very nice meeting you."

"Pleasure is all mine," he smiled back before frowning around the man watching this moment. He backed away into the blacksmith area to continue his work.

A minute passed by and you felt a firm grip on your arm drag you towards your horse, "It's best you didn't speak," Dougal scolded in your ear.

Anger surged through your body and it took every fiber of your being to say nothing. But as you were shoved onto your horse, you looked in the direction of the soldier and back at Jamie. You knew if you yelled it'd bring attention to Jamie, a fugitive to the English Army.

You continue to seethe on the ride. Blythe sat up, doing her best to see over the horses head to look ahead. "What's the dog's name," Jamie trotted next to you.

"Blythe," you muttered directly.

"What a cute English name," he emphasized on one word of his sentence.

You pulled back on your horse and halted, "Excuse me?"

He chose to stop with you, trying to not say directly what he'd like to say. It's been odd between you and Jamie. You weren't sure if you were pushing him away out of anger or fear, but none the less at this moment it appeared to be anger, "Nothing, it's a cute name."

A sarcastic laugh left your mouth, "No, no, you had a tone," the man halt to watch another scene unfold, "You clearly have something you want to add, some hidden message you feel you want to hide. Say it."

"Nothing, you seem to just like the English a bit more than an Irish Woman from the colonies I thought would," he said like his words meant nothing. It didn't matter the fact that maybe he felt jealous or he had a right to comment on any intention or likes you have. That comment engulfed your whole body into volcano, hell fire fiery.

Heat was written all over your face and Murtagh didn't have enough time cool down your fire with rationality, "The boy is just saying, you were awfully chummy with the Brit," Angus chimed in, "like a girl in heat."

And there goes Mt. St. Helen, "Un-Fucking believable, do you know how fucking dumb you are, like every single on of you are just egg head fucking dumb," you scream enough to make the echo quake the woods around you.

"Lass," Ned sent a warning your way.

Tears started to brim your eyes and Jamie knew he'd set you up to fail again. You point to Ned, clearly a man of reason, "That man back there," you continued to yell, "Was an English Officer out patrolling." You looked to Jamie and everything deflated in you. Everything from the past and the reality of your new world just collapsed in your soul, "I was trying to save you."

A sigh leaves your lips and you talk lightly while using your hands to emphasize your point, "Men are idiots and will always fall for charm, so I used mine to protect you all," you continued to go on, "Call me a hussy, I don't care. And that plan to charm the officer actually worked until you opened your trap, my lord," you bowed your head at Dougal. Something than broke in you, in that moment, you were exhausted at being angry. You had no more fight in you. You gave Jamie another look, "I was scared. I was trying to save you," you whisper.

Taking a deep breath, you dismounted from you horse, "Now where are you going," Angus shouted at you.

The anger stirred up again, spinning around to look at him, "To relieve myself, thank you," you speak loudly while stomping into the woods.

You knew what Dougal did to Jamie in the pubs and you weren't sure why. It wasn't much of your business, but you could see it chipping into Jamie. You were stuck again in your thoughts, give into this new world and let these people in or continue to bury who you knew you were inside a dark cave and never leave.

The ride to the next village was quiet, especially after finding Scottish men hung out on display. You wanted to vomit at the lack of humanity in the cruel act. If this was the normal the British did to Scots, I'm not all shocked of their lack of kindness and trust towards me. I'm sure I wasn't helping the matter either.

When you got to the pub, you chose to join in with the drinking. The owner made a bee line as Blythe trotted behind you and laid at your feet, "Lass, we do not let do-," he stopped mid sentence from the look you were giving him. You were sitting up straight, dead face.

"You were saying, sir," you answered curtly.

"What can I get for you miss," he finished instead.

"A pint of whatever, I am not picky," you said, resting your feet on the chair in front of you.

The men went a distance away from you, you imagine to process the thing they just witnessed. A man approached you with a smile on your face and you shake your head putting your other foot on a chair and shoving it away from your table. He quickly turn around, "You'd make more friends if you weren't so prickly."

Murtagh patted at the dog, "My expression and acts are nothing but kind, sir." He shook his head, "Plus, I don't need any more friends when I only need you."

He chuckles, looking at Jamie, "It was a kind thing you did with the soldier. I'll be the only one to admit, that was a good eye you have."

"Don't think much of it, it was also self preservation because I'm not a exactly the kind British soldiers have a keen sense to protect," the man brought you your pint and you started to drink while you viewed in your surroundings.

He pointed at you, "You like everyone to think you're this cold hearted she witch."

"Maybe I am those things," you said like it didn't bother me to have that reputation.

Murtagh shook his head, "You are quite the opposite lass and the only person you are hurting are you." You roll your eyes sighing as he looks at your with a smirk, "And maybe a red headed boy who I suspect would do anything to see you smile once again." You sit up straighter as Murtagh stands while looking at you, while gesturing to Jamie. He lifts his eyebrows speaking you the truth, "Don't think I only talk to you because your good company. I get sick of seeing the boy mope around with his worry for you. A single smile from you can set his day."

You glare at him as your cheeks warm red, "Mind your business."

When he walks away, you sit and continue to process your reality and options. Every now and again you catch a glance at Jamie. You could see his expression and the change in him over the last few weeks. You stand walking your glass over to the bar with Blythe walking behind you. You could tell Dougal was about to start his speech. He wouldn't need Jamie today if you guessed right. Those hanging men were part of this community they didn't need to see Jamie's scars. You leaned against a pillar near Jamie, "You alright," you asked him catching eyes with Murtagh.

You shake off his knowing look. Jamie stood up straight looking at you bewildered from the sudden change in your demeanor, "Are you talking to me?"

"Don't make it a thing, just answer the question," you whisper.

"Aye, I'm fine," he whispers back, glancing at you for a second too long into silence. He clears his thoughts, "If you don't mind me asking, what changed your mind with speaking to me?"

You smirk, "Murtagh paid me."

He shook his head, "Sure," he was trying to hold back a smile. Something appeared to pop up in his head, "Look Deoiridh, I'm sorry about."

"No," you stopped him, "Jamie, I'm stubborn and I don't know what I'm doing. I'm not from a place like this, so."

You noticed a change in his eyes when you said his name instead of Mr. MacTavish. This is where he stopped you, "I only want to help."

"Does that mean you agree I'm stubborn because Murtagh implied I was prickly earlier and that's why I don't make friends," you say while trying to hold back a grin.

He shook his head making his red hair shake with it, “You see comments like that are a trap and I will not be stepping on that one.”

“Smart man,” you say to him.

“And now a compliment, I might think you are wanting to be my friend again,” he whispered back with a smirk.

You see Dougal getting ready to do your speech, “I should be getting out of here and up to my room. I shouldn’t be down here when,” you stopped to look at Dougal, “Well good night.”

“Goodnight Y/N,” he whispered back.

“And Jamie, just for transparency sake, the jury is still out if we are friends,” he paused appearing to hold his breath. You offer a small smile, “I need you to walk over to Murtagh and tell him I was nice then I'll consider being your friend. You know for the sake of proving Murtagh wrong. It's the price you have to pay for my friendship.” And before he can respond, you and Blythe make your way upstairs.

[gotham-ruaidh]

thermodynamics - a 7x03 story

Ian had been gone from camp for some time – his departure had been rather sudden, following a brief but promising glimpse of pheasants in the treetops – but not too long to start worrying.

Had they pushed harder this morning, they would have made it out of the forest by nightfall. But tonight would be another night sleeping rough beneath the trees.

Claire didn’t mind.

That afternoon, as she unpacked the saddlebags and gathered wood for the campfire – Jamie within earshot, speaking in Gaelic to the horses as they drank from a nearby spring – she realized why.

For months – since the fire, the loss of her children and grandchildren, even the whole terrible night with the Browns and the even more terrible aftermath – a small, pinching weight had settled between her shoulderblades. A low, dull ache that no herb or gentle massage could cure.

Psychosomatic, to be sure – but that didn’t make the weight of it any less crushing.

But today, as she bent to gently set down an armful of branches for their fire and stood up, reaching to soothe the ache that she knew would be there…it wasn’t.

She puzzled it out as she continued about her chores. Finding the skillet and spices and knife for cooking; digging out hers and Jamie’s bedroll and setting it half behind a bush; worrying the pouch full of gold bullets sewn within her pocket.

It was the first time in years – since they’d come to the Ridge, really – that she hadn’t had some kind of schedule. Free to take an extra day to get to Wilmington. Free to wander, to explore glades and caves and stop to admire especially large trees.

Free to spend more time with Jamie. Not just in the evenings over dinner or before bed, but to share all moments of the day. Sharing space, and food, and sights, and smiles.

A warm hand settled on her shoulder – and she startled.

“Hush, a nighean,” Jamie soothed. “I’m sorry, I thought ye had heard me.”

Swallowing, she turned to face him. Touched his stubbly cheek with the back of a hand. Worrying the new fine lines at the creases of his eyes.

“It’s all right.” Her voice just above a whisper. “I missed you.”

A fleeting half smile, his hands enveloping her free hand, squeezing. “I told ye I wouldnae go far. I didn’t.”

He knew what she would do even before she did – and he was ready, lips soft and strong as she kissed him.

“I miss you.”

He drew her closer, arms locked around her waist. “We’ve time, before Ian returns…”

Her lips just lightly touched his, beath warm against his mouth. “You must feel it. The need. How strong it is.”

He swallowed, nodding. Touched a small spot in the middle of his chest. “Right here.” His hand settled on her stomach, above her navel. “And here.”

She nodded. “It’s always there, but…more now. Like when we were on the road.”

His hand glided up, tracing the buttons of her shirt, settling on the cool skin of her neck. Eyes locked on hers. Watching her lips part in a small gasp.

He smiled. “Gathering your wee herbs. We fooled nobody – no’ Dougal, or Ned, or Murtagh, or Rupert. Willie, maybe. But I didna care. I had to have you.” Leaned in for a quick kiss. “I wanted your body, but I craved your heart. I have it now, aye?”

Another quick kiss. “I didn’t think I could ever feel this again. Is it because we have lost everything else?”

Frowning, he pulled back a bit. “What are you saying? We haven’t, Claire.”

“We have.” Her hands skimmed his shoulders – worried a new tear in the back of his shirt that she’d need to mend later – eyes fixed on a tree behind him. “We’ve lost our home, our family, our responsibilities. Our routine. No more farming or whisky making for you. No more patients for me. No more waiting for Missus Bug’s dinner, or sitting with you in your study as you talk to the tenants. No more…” She cleared her throat. “No more reading with Bree and Jem by the fire.”

High above, a hawk cried out.

“Don’t hide from me. Look at me, please.”

She didn’t want to – but she did. Found his eyes shining with the same tears.

“Do you no’ remember what I said to you once? That nothing is lost, only changed, Claire.”

She did remember – a night in these same woods, not too long after enduring yet another loss.

“We haven’t lost our memories. Our family isnae wi’ us right now, but they’re alive and safe. Our tenants can bide wi’out us for a while, but we’re coming back. When we’re in Wilmington, and in Scotland, you’ll have patients again and I’ll find my way again. Changes, aye, but not losses.”

He brought his forehead against hers. “I haven’t lost you, Claire. You haven’t lost me.”

She closed her eyes, nodding.

“I can’t even bear to think about what’s to come. If I was to lose you on the crossing.”

“Dinna think of it.” He kissed her cheek.

She shifted slightly and found his mouth in another kiss.

Another kiss.

“We’ve time afore Ian returns wi’ supper, a nighean. That is, if you’re not too decrepit to lie wi’ me in the leaves.”

She smiled against his lips. “I’ll grab a blanket.”

When Ian returned with a pheasant, sometime later as dusk settled in the forest, he frowned that the fire had not yet been started. But he lit it, set to work plucking the bird, sorted the spices and knives. Knowing his auntie and uncle would be quite hungry.

[briar-rolfes-research-oubliette]

ON MONDAY, I (FINALLY) MADE IT ALL THE WAY THROUGH THE NEWEST ERAGON BOOK!

MURTAGH

“A Book I Read”

It took three very patient friends of mine to encourage me to finish reading this. I took notes the whole way through, and I am now sharing those in hope of finding loving community with my fellow haters.

Important context:

I loved Eragon, which came out when I was roughly eleven

Christopher Paolini was the first author to ever disappoint me

I used to love epic fantasy, until feminism, coming out, and learning about literary criticism made me just too mean to enjoy it

Since 2015, whenever I’ve had writer’s block, I’ve found inspiration by looking at this screenshot:

Christopher has managed to create a life where his mum has never stopped doing his laundry or his editing for him. He has never worked a job in his life. He has infinite time to work on his craft, and yet, with all of those advantages, he writes the way he does. I don’t hate him, but I do want to destroy him in single combat.

LET US BEGIN.

17 November 2023

I forgot how obsessed this man is with proving he knows rare words. Picking up my phone to google the word “trenchant”.

He really just didn’t want to say the dragon had a sharp sense of humour huh? Oh, no, it’s TRENCHANT. It wasn’t even for dialogue I identified as comedy but Murtagh thought it was TRENCHANT. He and Thorn have been alone in the wilderness for too long

NOT NASUADA BEING DESCRIBED AS HAVING ALMOND EYES

Of course the protagonist has grown a beard. He’s A Man Now.

I have a theory that this book is about coming to terms with marriage. Murtagh is like “our bond… our bond that lasts until death… the oldest magic… only the two of us understand each other. But, we’re also trapped with each other,” and I’m like hm. Fascinating. Say more

Instantly Murt befriends a child, to prove he is good really.

It’s so weird to read a book by a grown man with kids who is like “how did we all start out so innocent and pure…” like have you MET five year olds

This whole fork fight scene makes me feel second hand embarrassment deep in my soul. It’s SO This Guy Is The Best And Coolest

“Fencing with effortless ease” I do not care how well trained he is: you cannot kill four men with long swords by stabbing them with a little fork in “four hard impacts.” It’s just not happening.

I’m really dwelling on the idea of magic as “imposing your will” on something. It’s very.., something. Murtagh cleans his shirt by “imposing his will on the garment” like. Okay, I suppose in a way that is how all laundry is done, but it’s. Hm.

How come he’ll clean a shirt with magic but not shave with magic? Why are these books SO obsessed with beards and shaving and how to do shave and using magic for shaving etc etc, Eragon was also majorly preoccupied with this

Paolini’s got so many complexes on the page. All the “we’re half brothers and your dad killed my dad” stuff is A LOT

The naming stuff… SMH what would Ursula Le Guin say about all this

I’m obsessed with how even as (gasp) an OUTCAST!! Murtagh can’t not be the coolest guy ever for any time at all. It’s like a disease

Giving the child the enchanted killing fork was the worst decision ever made. Murtagh gives her a murder weapon and is then moping like “what’s it like… to live without killing…” literally pages later.

I’m really startled that Murt is delighted to see a tiny flying magical grass boat come down from the sky and circle him instead of being like “wtf, I’m being Watched,” which would be the true act of a man we are told is paranoid

I just got to the bit where Murtagh offhandedly says that magic users who “are the heaviest” always have the most spell reserves.

Like……… what???? Magic eats your fat?? It burns glucose??

You could be a better mage if you just, ate a bunch of raspberry frogs before each fight??????

It’s food powered??? You really want to go there, Paolini????? Wizards in the candy shop, eating sweeties like Mistborns?

GOD, if only Galbatorix had chugged a bottle of red cordial before his last big fight!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

(I return after losing my mind about this to my partner for forty minutes)

If it was “if you’re hungry you can’t FOCUS” I’d get it. But I always assumed it was like, you know how other fantasy does it? Some kind of pool of ADDITIONAL energy that you are accessing and that can be used up (until you go too far and start using life force or whatever). Like, it’s CHANNELLING it that makes you tired, not that it’s literal food energy.

Murtagh is always running or doing his sword forms or whatever and now I’m like “DUDE, NO!!!?!? DON’T BURN YOUR WIZARD CALORIES!!?!?”

I like when magic can’t do EVERYTHING, when it’s consistent or limited in some way, but I do hate the idea that it’s this predictable. Food energy becomes raw magical power. I GUESS.

(A little later)

Screaming at the suggestion Thorn can tell when Murtagh is horny.

I don’t like the euphemisms. It makes it worse

The fact he can’t talk to his dragon whenever they’re “too far apart” (distance never specified) is making me insane. Why did I pick up the dragon riding book if it’s mostly about leaving your dragon locked up at the bike rack

I know Thorn is basically a rescue dog with anxiety, but it bothers me how much he’s left on his own. The narrative just has no idea what to use him for other than speedy transport for the first um… 200 pages, it seems? He’s meant to be his own creature with his own intelligence. He doesn’t go anywhere without Murtagh though. So what is he doing all the time

I think Paolini WANTS his world to be big and mysterious (his introduction literally just keeps saying things in the world of the story are mysterious) but he HAS to keep explaining everything

24 November 2023

I’ve figured out something that annoys me about the world of this book, in terms of just how the worldbuilding is not actually that magical. It has the D&D problem!!! Which is to say that every regular person on earth is Level One and every important character is like, level 12. And part of what makes that even worse is that all women in this world are level zero.

I’ve been watching my friend Chris play the first Alan Wake game and we realised that all the faceless enemies that are possessed by Evil in the game are… working class men. The protagonist is this literate wealthy New York writer who is constantly killing faceless workers—farmers, loggers, coal miners, builders. And that’s not an INTENTIONAL commentary by the game, but it’s very revealing. And This book is the same in that: there is no such thing as a complicated poor person. They’re all either Dirty Evil or Dirty Good. Murtagh is going around, writing poetry in his head and inventing magical computer code, and then every child is an urchin who is like Oi Guvnah, and every dad is gruff, and every woman is worried.

The language used to describe everyone who isn’t a Fighting Man is so demeaning. And even then, we only need to respect the leaders of those men. The leaders are the only ones with depth who might need to be taken seriously.

It’s like Murtagh has a tally in his head where he is going “finally, a guy who is level 6”!

Most people in this world exist to deliver information to the protagonist.

Paolini either thinks his readers are too dumb to understand that his characters exist between scenes, or he doesn’t understand himself that we don’t need to see every time Murtagh enters a city under a new name and how he does it. Or know what he ate for dinner and how he prepared it and where he slept and what he dreamed and, and, and—

It’s weird because Paolini is being self indulgent as fuck but it is NOT fun to read. This dude really just needs to go write a survival story or something… A guy in the woods depending on nothing but his wits and his axe and his beard and his libertarian values

I don’t understand the stakes at play. All the magic scenes with Mind Penetration are so sudden and hard to actually understand as action. And the way it works is about brute force, so the dragon is not going to be at risk of being taken over except by another, even bigger dragon

It would be fun to read the Murtagh city sleuth segments if Thorn was backseat driving a little. I think that their bond should not get thinner over distance. The fact that it does just defeats the point of a magical bond.

Why does the dragon have to stay so far away? Like… it’s established that there’s a spell to conceal a dragon from sight. Dude. You could just go fucking invisible

There’s so many decisions that just are so bonkers to have made. The whole fetch quest for information pissed me off so bad. “You have to join the guard” (40 pages of emotions about uniforms ensue). This guy learned about plots from video games

Paolini had kids apparently, but you can tell he doesn’t really understand kids. “How do they all start out so innocent and pure,” says a man who has never heard a seven year old describe someone being killed by farts before.

The description of Murtagh carrying a cat that doesn’t want to be carried is very funny. I don’t know if Paolini has ever carried a cat before. If you’re carrying a cat that doesn’t want to be carried close to your chest, and you tighten your grip when it squirms… say goodbye to your nipples, my man

It’s strange how much Paolini doesn’t explore the things that seem to be the point. FOR EXAMPLE, the fantasy soul bond trope loves to say “even during sex!??! 👀” because it’s about INTIMACY, and some alien presence always being there. The dragon rider trope is popular because dragons are powerful and wise but also Beasts. Magic is fun to read about because it can do things that can’t be explained.

Paolini’s world is big, but nothing in it has any real substance. Nothing in it has any real consequence, and it makes it impossible to really invest in anything that happens. None of these poor city folks have a life once they leave the scene of delivering Murtagh information… or if they are a woman, delivering him a hot meal. There’s no sense of a world that exists outside Murtagh’s point of view!

25 November 2023

The towns so far don’t feel at all distinctive to me! I was interested in the one with the massive lake, but then it having this massive fish in it was the only point of interest. It would be fun to have been like “oh the fish has ruined our summer festival! It’s ruined the nobility pleasure cruises! It’s also eating fishermen!” Or “Why do all these fishing boats have huge spikes on the prow? Well,”

Again, these guys are all level one in peasant dirt town. They have no capacity for individual thought and no ability to adapt.

It’s like Paolini doesn’t know what makes people and places in fantasy feel distinct, or have culture. It’s so evident in how much he HASN’T thought about. For example, the bonkers amount of restrictive gender norms that he doesn’t seem AT ALL CONSCIOUS OF? Everyone who died in the war was A Man. No women died in the war. But that hasn’t resulted in any social changes. There aren’t more women doing work, for example, like being fishermen

I remember being thirteen or so and reading the bit in the second book where Arya explains to Eragon that she’s better and stronger than a human woman, because she is an elf, so Eragon doesn’t have to worry about her in battle. I was this kid there like “man, that sucks. I assume he’s coming back to that assumption later,” and… he never did. He still hasn’t. And that sucks

The dragon riders were not THAT long ago, in the world of these books. It makes me wonder—were none of them human women? I always assumed that some were human women, but… did dragons only choose elf men, elf women, and human men? If they chose human women, then even being accepted into a paramilitary dragon force didn’t change gender expectations in the rest of the world. What the fuck. He’s really never thought about this.

Women keep showing up as cunning-mysterious, as humble dirtmothers, or as innocent children. Oh my god I’m just describing maiden mother crone. That’s all he’s capable of.

I just got up to where he rescues the werecat baby (innocent girl child) and settles in to hear the stories of elder werecat (cunning-mysterious)

I noticed the Arya Problem with how Nasuada is described in this book, too. Every woman has to be the best, most capable, most powerful woman ever, to be worth the attention of The Boys. Otherwise they can’t respect her. Only two literal queens can be considered worthy of just two average guys who got pet lizards. Even then, they’re not actual equals.

“She still empathised for me.” Yes, don’t worry, Murtagh, I remember that’s what women are for.

I should note that the reason Nasuada is considered so powerful and so much worthy of his love and is her strength as a person. This is proven in the Eragon books because “she still empathised” with Murtagh whilst he was medieval torturing her. He was medieval torturing her for like… most of a book and that’s how they fell in love. Because she could see in his eyes that this guy torturing her… was Complicated. He didn’t really WANT to be medieval torturing her so she actually felt worse for him than he felt about how he was (and I can’t stress this enough) medieval torturing her

I just can’t imagine that THE QUEEN OF A WHOLE CONTINENT would still prefer the guy who sadly tortured her. He’s her top preference. Out of EVERY OTHER MAN IN THE WORLD

I put the book down until the day before I was meant to have finished the book for book club:

10 March 2024: from page 274 onwards

The evil witch is called BACHEL?????!!?!??!? Fucking BACHEL. Pronounced “buh-SHELL”, the guide at the back says. You changed one letter in Rachel, don’t lie to me Paolini

I got so mad being reminded the evil king Galbatorix was defeated by “Eragon forcing empathy upon him” so that he magically exploded himself out of guilt that I had to put the book down and complain to Charlie for five straight minutes

I guess that’s why Galbatorix made Murtagh torture Nasuada for him. He knew that if he’d done it himself she would have empathised with him too hard and he would’ve exploded himself

Murtagh has never met a single person he has respected. Murtagh is the specialest boy in all the land. Eragon had to leave the country because they were both too special to share a continent

Murtagh decided on where to go and he was immediately surrounded by armed guards who took him to where the plot was

Paolini uses the fucking word “admixed” while discussing EATING A PIE. The flavours admixed in his mouth. Just because you know a word… doesn’t mean it’s a word to deploy about eating a pie

I HATE how the only people strong enough to do the strongest magic are Elves Or Human Riders. It’s fucking magic my guy! Why is it checking your goddamn DNA! Also, hey! Wasn’t it supposed to come down to the strongest wizards being the guys who ate the most for lunch?

In a world of Magic how come every wizard battle ultimately comes down to who is a better Professor X?? I came here for fireballs, not Mind Battles. I don’t care about your Mental Wards

Hahaha Murtagh!!! Get trapdoored, bitch!!!!

Dragon panic attacks: conceptually cool but a bit ?? Like ah… the plot literally comes to scoop him up and carry him away. Yet again something outside of Murtagh makes a decision for him about what to do next

Murtagh’s poetry is going to make me explode myself like Galbatorix in book 4

If there’s something I like about this book so far it’s just the bits where he and Thorn are camping. Not flying, because then Murtagh is using the time to think and that’s horrible. The bits where they make campfires or whatever feel like something is actually happening. A guy and his dragon hanging out

Man. The way this novel is plotted really reminds me that it’s not actually that hard to write a book.

Murtagh goes to the evil village (oh yeah there’s an evil village. It is where Bachel lives. She is evil because she does magic without using the magic language). The village is called:

NAL GORGOTH

But I couldn’t remember this so I kept referring to it in my head by another, more familiar, name

Murtagh is so freaked out by finding a village with architecture that he doesn’t recognise. He’s like “My god!!! Nasuada has to be warned!!!” Ok but about what??? New ways of building pillars???? The art deco movement threatens the land??

Kinda fascinated by how much this village represents a threat to CULTURE. The architecture, the people… Everything about it so far is designed to be A Foreign Threat. The inhabitants are Of All Races (except elves they are too cool too pure etc). The humans have A VARIETY OF SKIN COLOURS, which memorably never happens in Alagaesia, a continent once explicitly described in the Eragon books as only having two (2) black people on it at all (then one died) (the other is Nasuada) (the one who died was her dad)

This guy with a goatee isn’t quite human. He is maybe part urgal and he is so uncomfortable to look at! Mainly he has arms that are a bit too long!! Bachel isn’t a human and also isn’t an elf, and that’s also deeply unsettling.

Bachel also fundamentally represents a threat to THE STRUCTURING POWER OF LANGUAGE, huh??

Bachel is so far the most interesting character in the book!

Bachel has: ALMOND EYES and AMBER SKIN

Murtagh is so upset and confused when Bachel calls him “my son” like… I’m cryign. “But she’s not my mother! I know my mother!!” he thinks, in a panic.

If this was a fantasy novel written twenty to thirty years ago, then the sexual tension between Murtagh and Bachel would be absolutely insane. Alas, this is a world of abstinence, and sexuality is only ever meaningful looks between a queen and the guy who tortured her (it is weird how he keeps caressing Nasuada’s face on the gold coins)

It’s very funny that Bachel has specifically fourteen warriors. The prose keeps telling us that there’s fourteen of them. So you get Murtagh stepping forwards and then sentences like “the fourteen warriors attending Bachel shifted”

She seems like a perfectly normal cult leader to me? Why is she automatically a threat to Nasuada! How come the two of them can’t arrange a toxic political marriage that becomes… something more 😉😉😉

Nothing annoys me more in this book than Murtagh being able to identify specific vintages of wine. It keeps happening and it pisses me off

Bachel is a half elf!!! “It had never occurred to him that such a thing might be possible.” This is truly and absolutely unbelievable to me. Nobody in this world ever has sex

How did it take so long to get to such an objectively cool village!!! Like this is just a cool place!!! Sorry that Nar Nar Goon is evil but like FINALLY something has style

Three thoughts at once:

I’m so bored that Paolini’s mind can’t get more interesting than temple virgins, let alone wearing white to represent ritualistic purity. Like… nobody in this world fucks anyway, why does it matter!

Murtagh should also wear white all the time

Lesbianism doesn’t count as a violation of being temple chosen. Alín is wearing lesbianism

Paolini has never once written a woman who is Normal. He just can’t conceive of it. You can feel how he starts sweating.

Murtagh finally realised it was a cult. What sets it apart as a cult is that the followers appear to be “half-wits” to him

I’m going to detransition to break his fucking neck

Paolini has learned nothing since he had a woman deliver the exact same line in like 2008. The fact that another editor just thumbsed this up. The fact that this is in a book published in 2023. Well, now I’m REALLY embarking on an antagonistic reading: that’s right, I am reading women as capable.

Obsessed with Bachel. She is a girlboss and I’m a feminist xxx

Book is constantly weird about how much she is capable of eating and drinking at her feasts and how it makes her appear swollen and bloated etc etc. Murtagh is so weirded out by this because he feels it is unfeminine… as though she is not a witch and we weren’t told earlier that how much magic you have is directly equal to how much you eat. (Meanwhile he is only picking at his food and eating just enough of it ‘to be polite’ as though this is not making a decision to have less magic than her)

She has so much charisma compared to anyone else in the book. If my choices are her or Murtagh then sign me up boys!!!

Okay but much like how this would’ve been a VERY charged relationship 30 years ago, I’m weirdly disappointed Bachel she isn’t not described as megahot? Like the book keeps telling me about this virginal templemaiden or whatever, because Murtagh is only attracted to women he can rescue. But I’m actually just like… I think this woman is hot. Tell me more about her. It’s wild that this book is written by a guy like Paolini, who told me all about Oromis’ pubic hair in 2008, and who barely thinks women are people. Yet he doesn’t want to discuss her tiddies?

This book could, and should! have started when Murtagh landed his dragon in the evil village of Nar Nar Goon. That’s the point that stuff got actually interesting. Everything before this was literally video game fetch quest logic plotting that earned him the right to fly to Nar Nar Goon.

Boar hunt. More like BORED hunt. And then suddenly there are so many pigs, a comical number of them flying everywhere

This motherfucker using the phrase “the boar was lying athwart him” in a sentence in an action scene????

Murtagh is nearly dead and the boar is lying athwart him?

I’m going back in time and bullying the author at school

RIP Murtagh, trambled to death by 30-50 wild hogs

Oh god every time someone knocks Murtagh out he has a vision or a bad dream or a flashback or whatever and it’s so tiring

“EXISTENCE WAS A TOMB WHEREIN THE SINS OF THE PAST LAID INTERRED???” Do you ever read a sentence that sounds so much like the author is jerking it? “All had been lost, and there before him lay the instrument of their destruction” he is furiously jerking it oh my god. “Destroyer of hope, eater of light” oh, god, he’s still going

…This book is. Weird about mothers

Murtagh flies into a rage because Bachel mercy killed a guy who was dying bc of boar trampling because “I COULD HAVE HEALED HIM!!!!!” And the mercy killing is proof it is a cult. Because doing it Bachel’s way meant the guy was too relaxed and at peace when he died

Paolini’s family were in a cult, as I understand. So it’s kind of weird how much he doesn’t really understand how being in a cult works

I don’t really remember how religion works in this world, but I do remember tuning out of a long boring passage in book 2 or 3 where Eragon learned about all the gods and decided he was an atheist. It’s especially weird to be like “holy shit, an EVIL religion??!” In a book where religion has absolutely never come up before now

Oh my god, Alìn was whipped for being ‘too familiar’ with Murtagh!!! That’s because she’s so pure and a helpless victim girl in all white :’((

In my mind Bachel and Alìn COULD be in a fucked up lesbian relationship with bad BDSM etiquette. Of course Paolini can’t imagine a world where women have enough personality or agency to fall in toxic love with each other. Also even though he has people tied up and strapped down and whipped and being tortured etc in every book don’t think he knows that BDSM like. Exists. Boooooo

Murtagh: killing one guy who is dying of a punctured lung is the ultimate evil!

Also Murtagh: I know an invisibility spell, but to sneak out of my room I am going to suffocate seven men to death

Genuinely upsetting to read those men dying. He made it impossible for air to enter or exit their lungs with a word. Veins popping clawing at faces etc. God, what a way to go. So unnecessarily cruel. Yep, there goes the good guy

The main way the village is evil is that there are unsettling carvings everywhere. Paolini read some Lovecraft, but he did not understand what was up with it. Or maybe he did, because this book did get a lot more weird about Racial Purity once Murtagh arrived in Lovecraft Village

11 March 2024

There’s a bloodstain that “filled Murtagh with the apprehension of evil” and it confused me because these books are so gory. Earlier he killed four men with a fork. But like oh yeah I guess it’s because when Murtagh murders people now it’s bloodless. I guess. His murders are good you see

This chapter is called The Bad Sleep-Well you can tell Paolini thought he was a real genius for this one

Okay but why are there bats… roosting… in a cave… at night. And why is Murtagh worried that red light will risk waking them? Animals cannot see red light?? SOME FARM BOY YOU ARE, PAOLINI

Okay I have to stop nitpicking. I have to restrain myself until my Vyvanse kicks in

“Murtagh felt a sense of not just age but antiquity. Whoever had built the stairs had done so long before Alagaesia had been a settled place. What was it Bachel had said? That the cultists had lived in Nal Gorgoth since before elves were elves... He was starting to think she had told the truth.”

Sorry uhhhh, Alagaesia was settled?? When they talk about The Grey Ones, are they talking about a race PRIOR TO COLONISATION?????????

“He continued forward. Deeper into the womb of the earth. Deeper into the black unknown, seeking, seeking, always seeking a farther shore, every sense razor-sharp and razor-scraped, skin all goosefleshed, cold sweat dripping down the back of his neck and gathering around his belted waist.”

God it’s so overwrought...

He found the well!!

Oh my god. The well is a natural magic hotspot and that means it “wasn’t the sort of thing that the Draumar ought to have dominion over.” It’s a natural resource???

“Not that he would want Du Vrangr Gata to assume control over such an important location either. This was exactly what the Riders had been created for: to oversee and mediate that which could destabilize the land.”

Murtagh is going to bring democracy to the Middle East

He’s too scared to mentally contact his dragon with Bachel around. If he was a proper horse girl he would find a way

Oh Galbatorix BECAME evil because he met Bachel and she manipulated him. Haha oh dear. No, you can’t just come to the conclusion the dragon rider paramilitary force who controls the resources are bad on your own. Not just because they sent you into the mountains when they knew it was dangerous and wanted to find out if you’d be killed up there! No, a manipulation had to have happened

It’s funny to me that the evil ancient witch queen who lives in seclusion in the mountains uses the new name for the city of Uru’baen. Oh no, she knows it as Ilirea. She’s hundreds and hundreds of years old. You know what that is? Evidence of Find And Replace, to me.

Bachel’s eyes are “glowing with fevered ecstasy.” I could make her feel that way. Also. Because, I know about sex

Always with the fucking passing out at the end of the chapter for Christopher James Paolini

NOW Bachel is being described appropriately as a hottie. FINALLY. GOD! It only took Murtagh being mind controlled in his brain but I. I!!! I could see the glorious light of truth!!

“He followed, dumb and wildered.” Well, not as much as that sentence. (You can be bewildered. But can you ever just be wildered????)

The dedication to making Murtagh the most pitiful little meow meow in existence in the Galbatorix flashbacks I’m… what happened to the joys of a guy who is evil because he was convinced or was tricked, not because he was fully brain abused???

The Urgals are racially… uncomfortable. Yellow eyes and Murtagh just straight up saying “how do you speak English”

The evil guys have masks and they put them on and like channel the animals the masks are of and on one hand it’s an idea I THINK is cool but also combined with the everything it really has this “tribal stuff is threatening” vibe all over it

“What do you want, witch?”

“I want you.”

Obsessed with how he’s shackled to a table and there’s still an incredible lack of sexual energy to this scene. This is like a day at the office for both of them.

… oh, but she is wearing claws and claws DOES equal a threat of penetration. Maybe a little sexual? As a treat??

Him being tortured reminds him of torturing Nasuada. Wow, it was their first date!

It’s just like. It’s fucked up imo. She should never kiss you Murtagh!!!

Is anything more boring than a torture scene.

Also, was he not drugged right before this scene? How is he able to mentally evade her and power his wards etc?

I’m mad that when he’s brought fancy foods by Alìn he doesn’t share his food with Ubek the Urgal

Oh my god Ubek tells him a story where the moral is just him outright saying at the end, “it’s important to stay close to the people we care for, even if we don’t always fit in so easily” lmao. Subtlety of a mallet

Is anything more boring than a torture scene? How about a torture chapter!!!1!1!1!

This chapter is interminable. Oh my god.

Oh, so we did all that and he gives in I guess. I can’t believe how little agency this man has had throughout this book????

Haha oh my god, Bachel is studying his nude and compliant body in front of her court. Telling him to turn around so she can inspect his back (no mention of his ass even though it is out, tragic). Fucking love it. Now that’s bdsm. Pledging my allegiance to her instantly.

I am BORED. I liked when he was at least doing things of his own volition!

He flies his dragon off on Bachel’s orders and we get the line “Never had air smelled so… so… delicious.” Cryign

GASP he’s killed… CHILDREN!!!!!!! I hate how it only becomes horrifying for him to have done these murders once he realises they’re HUMAN children. Urgal children? The implication is that would’ve been a bit tacky but ultimately fine

Prison brothers blood pact. I feel so little about this. Ubek is 5000x more interesting than Murtagh but he’s been slotted into what is unfortunately a sort of magical indigenous person trope but where instead of being a human being, he is an orc. Which makes the whole trope much worse

Murtagh touched Alìn’s face… gasp! She’s been corrupted by the Touch Of A Man!!!!! (I do not care about this.)

(I care a little. For example she didn’t touch HIM. He just reached out and she didn’t pull away. This is the biggest decision about this character’s life, and she isn’t even allowed to be the one who makes it. He decides on her behalf, and she must be okay with it. Because she doesn’t pull away or fight him off.)

(Also Paolini doesn’t seem to be aware that ‘a woman who has been pledged not to be touched by a man’ would um. USUALLY be understood by a reader as euphemistic. Not that her purity could be forever ruined by a man literally just touching her face)

The way Paolini fills Murtagh’s brainwashed dialogue with oops all ellipses makes me want to tear the book apart with my teeth

Worst: how Grieve the guy who is part urgal is perpetually referred to as “heavy-browed.” “the heavy-browed Grieve” I’m sorry but I missed phrenology school, is that bad??

Also if he’s maybe part Urgal but Murtagh is now given a chance to making it clear that some of his best friends are urgals... Why is Grieve so distastefully described? What’s wrong with being half urgal? My suspicion: it’s the bloodlines intermingling

I suspect I can just skip every fucking dream sequence and flashback. Nothing of any value in these

This one guy, Lyreth, who trapdoored Murtagh for 2.5 seconds ages ago in the book, is TWICE referenced as holding/ touching the waists of “village” or “cultist” women in his dialogue tags. That’s the full extent of it. It’s not that there’s a giggling tavern girl sprawled in his lap while he’s speaking. These faceless women are exclusively sketched into existence by how a named male character’s hand is on their waist. We don’t know anything about how they are responding to his touch, which is extra in-your-face considering that Murtagh just obliterated a woman’s ritual purity by touching her face without asking. And it’s only ever these women’s waist. It’s not their hips or thighs or boobs. He’s not kissing their necks. I’m sure in Paolini’s mind this guy touching women’s waists is meant to read as sexual, which is supposed to reinforce that he’s a scumbag… but it doesn’t work because it’s so impersonal. These women are just… unmoving waists that he is just touching. It serves as a good illustration of how women—and sex and sexuality and bodies—are handled in these books. Men are never ruled by their strong and muscular bodies. Men have minds, and magic, and telepathy battles. Even when Murtagh is on a torture table or when he’s naked in front of a powerful woman who is actively inspecting his body, he doesn’t feel vulnerable. He doesn’t have an ass or a dick. The wind doesn’t make him shiver. He’s just a Mind. But women, well. They only have bodies when men touch them. The course of Alin’s life is defined by Murtagh’s touch, and even Nasuada, a fucking queen, only gets physical description via the coins Murtagh has in his possession and his memory of the cuts and bruises he left on her body. And women also have no minds—unless they’re werecats or elves or half elves, the only kind of woman who are remotely threatening, the only kind of women who are “as good as” the baseline of human men. Nasuada is proven as Murtagh’s equal because she was able to overcome the torture of her body. If he hadn’t tortured her, or if she had broken down, she wouldn’t have proven herself worthy of being his romantic partner.

Eragon’s romantic interest also started out being tortured. Not by him, but “girl who is tortured but is too strong to give up her secrets” was her entire characterisation for a book and a half, until he rescued her. That’s uh. That’s how you find girlfriends who are good enough for your protagonists.

THESE FUCKING BOOKS.

Bachel has put Thorn in a special wrought iron muzzle. Yet again, this is just objectively cool

We learn about who the cult worships: evil dragon underground. He makes fumes come out of the earth and they brainwash people and give them visions. He will come out of the ground and eat the sun unless every living thing worships him.

Really Bachel is not leading a cult she is leading an environmental rescue mission. Quick we gotta get everyone to worship this evil dragon STAT, or he’s going to wipe out all life on earth.

Why does an evil dragon living under the earth with the power to eat the sun (?!??!) actually want or need to be worshipped by “every living thing”. What is his motivation?? And why would that stop him eating the sun?

“The sculptures would have horrified most any artist in Alagaesia, no matter their race.” Mark this down as one of the worst sentences he has written yet!!

I realise now I’ve been misremembering multiple main characters’ names

I like Bachel telling Thorn to stay, like he’s a dog. That’s good to me

Murtagh is learning about the power of friendship to heal himself last minute, I guess

Why is Murtagh pausing to duel fucking Lyreth, the most boring man in the world. Is it because of the waists he touched??? I have never felt this man was worth any time at all

NOT Paolini specifically pointing out that Lyreth “smelled of a cloying peach scented perfume” and that he’s physically weaker than Murtagh as Murtagh overcomes him. Lyreth was too feminine to be strong, in the end

This book is obsessed with the word “youngling.” Murtagh says to Thorn “don’t kill any younglings.” He’s fighting Lyreth but he’s not worried because he himself is “no longer a youngling”. Fucking fuck off! just say youth. Child. Kid. Teenager even!! Come on!!

Murtagh going “this is taking too long” in the duel: me at the whole book thus far

“Is wrong-think to worship Bachel or Azlagur,” says Ubek. This is real dialogue in a book published in real 2023. Oh yeah btw everything he says is written like this

Oh, the urgal’s size and brute strength makes him Murtagh’s equal. I see

Grieve is legitimately yelling “kill the non-believers!!” and calling them desecrators??? Cartoon hours

To start winning the fight, all Murtagh had to do was find his magic sword! It stores all his potency and he inherited it from his father. Freud?? Don’t worry about it

The cultists are bleeding green blood???? Does this mean they’re not human or is it the lighting or what.

Groups of dragons are always being described as a Thunder Of. They’re only ever being described in visions but it’s always being described as “a thunder of dragons”, because Paolini is very proud of inventing his very own collective noun for dragons I guess

Buncha little pasty freaks showing up.

Murtagh’s ultimate challenge: he has to fight one hundred gollums

Paolini inventing new guys for his dungeon at unprecedented rates

Murtagh is legitimately busy trying to think of new names for his sword NOW?? He is just going to stop in the middle of this urgent fight to go find where the bad woman (Bachel) took the good woman (Alìn) to go “my sword has a bad name. It could have a good name.” Did he not have time while he was mouldering in the dungeon to think about this

He’s checking his compendium, like in video games.

Books have never been worse. If Murtagh/Paolini calls this sword Scar I will legitimately never know peace

Oh the sword is called Freedom now. Get it? Like America? It’s the most important value??

“Seeing the armor, Murtagh realized that the leather garb the cultists had donned for the festival of black smoke had been made to resemble Bachel's fantastic suit.”

what a sentence

This is the worst

I hate how her spear has a name and a dramatic history. Like come on

Fucking mind battles again

Alin is just… I’m sorry to her, but she’s not a real person. She’s a cardboard cutout in distress

The final boss fight should not be taking place in the magical world of the mind

Now she’s calling him “infidel?” Okay

The ultimate battle: the structuring power of masculine language versus the primeval chaos of raw women’s emotion!!! Who will win!! Hint: Christopher Paolini wrote this!

“She seemed merely a woman again.”

‘Merely’ is how Paolini always describes women (when he thinks they’re worth describing of course)

Wait… is the only reason Bachel has been intimidating REALLY just because she’s been channelling a tough evil boy dragon? Once the mask is gone and he’s not empowering her… she’s merely…

I’m going to kick Christopher Paolini’s fucking ass

Murtagh feels so emotionally close to Bachel. As he splits her skull. Normal book

For real why were ALL the Riders so afraid of Bachel??? The gas fumes? Face masks not invented?? This seems pretty easy to solve like if they’d just. Sent more than one guy?

He passes out and the chapter ends of course. Then he wakes up in the city

Ah, Alin is blonde and blue eyed. She was a pale skinned virgin who needed rescuing from an evil and also foreign almond eyed amber skinned woman who was whipping her. You know how it goes

I hate how Alìn always calls Murtagh “my lord.” She’s like one of those medieval fighting game banners of a sexy woman. She’s a cartoon.

Isn’t it a shame that when Murtagh hastily gets out of bed to bow to Nasuada he is wearing pants. So much funnier if he wasn’t

I’m so over this book holy shit

Oh, for being the apparently only sole survivor of Murtagh’s obliteration of her cult and everything she’s ever known, Alìn is being promoted to… Nasuada’s maid. That’s not what she asked for. That’s just what she’s being told she’s going to do from now on. Fucking hell.

Nasuada is Jealous of this blonde woman and I was afraid for her because Nasuada is also famously the only black woman on the continent. But of course she has nothing to fear because only the most powerful woman in the land could ever be remotely Murtagh’s equal, which she proved by being stronger at being tortured than him

She asks him to stay and she touches his hand just lightly

The END??

They don’t even kiss?!!!?!! I had to read it twice to be sure. SEXLESS BOOK.

[saphira-approves]

…having a really weird moment right now because I never do soulmate AUs, and specifically for Inheritance Cycle I don’t think they work very well, but I’m suddenly. EXTREMELY tempted to do a Murtagh/Nasuada soulmate piece in the flavor of “you feel the pain of your soulmate’s injury”. Maybe with a little flair to make it more specific to IC but I haven’t decided yet what that would be.

Just. Listen. Hear me out.

On the one hand, say they don’t figure it out before Murtagh is captured. Ajihad does—he never tells Nasuada how he identifies Murtagh by his scar, remembering when she was small and screaming in pain from another child’s wound half a world away. When Murtagh gets his head injury in the battle under Farthen Dûr, Nasuada doesn’t see him until he loses the bandages, and neither of them comment on their own headaches. And then Murtagh is captured, and for months Nasuada is wracked with pain from nowhere; she begins to carry herself carefully, delicately, not out of fear for her own person but out of a desire to be kind to the soul entwined with hers. And then Nasuada is captured, and that’s when they figure it out—when Galbatorix gives Murtagh the burning iron and the order, and Murtagh feels the iron on his own skin.

On the other hand, say they do figure it out. And Murtagh disappears, and they think he’s dead, and Nasuada is aching but she’s sure, she’s so sure, that it is grief and soul-magic and the last wounds of a dying man clinging to her bones. But then the torture starts. And she realizes, too late, that they’ve made a horrible mistake.

[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

[the-wine-dark-sea]

I just finally finished reading Murtagh and it might sound weird, but I love how much this book is about trauma. I love that it explores the ways in which the events of their lives are affecting both Murtagh and Thorn.

For example, I did not go into this novel expecting to read about a dragon having a truly disastrous panic attack, but I'm glad that it went there. And in a more positive way, I like how Murtagh interacts with children throughout the story; the way he wants to keep children from suffering as he did shows his empathy and sense of justice.

And I love that while their history shapes them, it ultimately does not define them. Murtagh's renaming of his sword is such a great symbol for that and it made me quite emotional.

But while they're more than what they were made to do in the past, it's also great that those things are still acknowledged as their actions and that Murtagh feels accountable for them. He isn't simply portrayed as some poor, misunderstood character, he's shown to actually have some darkness inside him, to be ruthless at times and to have a certain penchant for violence with the way a fight can make him feel. All that feels like a good continuation from the rest of the series.

But also, oh my god, he went through so much. The flashbacks to his past were so heartbreaking to read, especially when there was nothing to balance them out in the present. The Nal Gorgoth part got so bleak, but it didn't feel pointless or gratuitous. It was just hard to see his struggle for autonomy, both physical and mental, repeat after he thought all that was behind him.

And I like that in the end, his survival is a group effort. His inability to ask for help is such a big theme throughout the book, I like how it's kind of his fatal flaw in relation to the plot and that he eventually overcomes it. (And that Thorn overcomes his own biggest established issue at the same time. And I relate to the idea of conquering your fear for others when you couldn't do so for yourself.) I'm always a sucker for a good character arc and I loved this one.

On another note, I kept enjoying the Lovecraftian feel of it all. Christopher Paolini sure loves his world building, and this really gave me the feeling of some deep hidden lore, waiting to be explored yet probably never fully revealed or understood.

So yeah I loved the book and am excited for more, whenever we might get that.

[tonhalszendvics]

Hey hello, it's not me again poking around the Inheritance Cycle's timeline.

The question: How old is Murtagh?

In book 1 we have a lot of reference to past events.

Eragon found Saphira's egg, and if I am not mistaken, she hatched eighteen days later. (see Ch. Dragon Tales, the hatching is in Fate's Gift) When the ra'zac came, Sloan said Eragon tried to sell the egg circa three months ago, which means she was 2,5-3 months old when Garrow died and they fled. (Ch. Strangers in Carvahall)

Murtagh in book 4 said Tornac and Garrow died around the same time. (Ch. Small rebellions) (Side note: according to Inheriwiki, this was still 7999. In Murtagh (2023) Ch. A Question of Faith placed this event to the end of winter. New Year must be in the spring in Alagaësia.)

Eragon turned sixteen on the way from Dras-Leona to Gil'ead. (Book 1, Capture at Gil’ead) During their fist night in Farthen Dûr, Murtagh said he had a dinner with the king on his last birthday, on the day he turned eighteen. (Ch Hunting for Answers) In the same chapter, it is also stated that he was three when he got his scar, and Selena vanished for months (Eragon in Ch Dragon Tales said she spent five months in Carvahall, and for that I'm angry forever, but let's not go there).

The answer: Murtagh was already at least five month past his third birthday when Eragon was born. Which means, he must have had his nineteenth birthday at the latest around the time the story started, and when he was still very much in Urû'baen.

Possible explanations:

He was talking about birthday celebrations and he didn't have any after he reached the age of majority.

His mind glitched and he forgot how old is he. (Like I do from time to time.)

Dear author's mind glitched. (It happens. No hard feelings.)

Edit: Sad Tonhal is sad. Someone already made a timeline, which makes some things clear. Others... not so much. LINK

[where-dreamers-go]

Well, dang, now I want their reaction to chubby!reader's advances! Your writing is just too good! (I hope you don't mind the Eragon spam on my part tho. If you feel like it's too much lmk)

(A/N: Hi there. It’s all good. If I’m overwhelmed I’ll make sure to say something. Promise. :) Here, we have the same two silly Riders! I had to think on this one a bit more. My writing for this is so silly and ridiculous. Warnings: suggestive comments and obliviousness. Word Count: 465 words)

Murtagh lounged on his side reading a book at the end of the bed. Relaxation time after a busy week. A treat to see. Some times watching your love in the middle of a calm activity was more attractive than him practicing with a sword. It gave you ample time to appreciate him being himself. No need for preparing for something out of his control, out of the home you two made. A safe place.

Safe, homey places meant domestic and intimate activities were possible.

You were keen on having some with your doting Murtagh. If he was willing.

“A good read?” You smoothed your hands up his back and settled them at his shoulders.

“The beginning was fast paced, but…it slowed.” Murtagh answered and flipped to the next page. “More information for later.”

“Do you like it?” You leaned down to kiss the back of his neck. Your thumbs worked into his muscles.

“The book or your attention, love? Both have a similar answer, but one I like much more.”

“Both, then.” You decided. “Can I ask which you prefer?”

Chuckling, Murtagh tapped a finger onto the book as your hands ran down his lean figure. “We’re headed towards dangerous territory…”

“Oh?” Your hands stopped at his hips. “Not up for adventure?”

“I thought you wanted me to have a quiet night in?” Murtagh smirked over his shoulder.

“Cheeky.”

Eragon balanced on one foot, keeping hold of his position a little longer than expected. Sweat dripped from his hairline. Even a Dragon Rider enhanced by dragon’s magic had difficulty preforming the Rimgar.

“Looking good, love.” You called from the shade of a tree.

He wobbled slightly.

“Especially at this angle.” You snickered into your wrist and continued watching as Eragon concentrated to his best abilities.

There was much enjoyment to be had. Starting to tease Eragon was definitely included for yourself. But there could always be more.

Thankfully, no one else was around.

“Eragon?”

He grunted.

“You have a cute butt, did you know?”

“Yes,” he huffed as he teetered from side to side, “you’ve told me…before.”

“Small, but cute.”

“Why’s—WHOA!”

Covering your mouth, you witnessed the Dragon Rider fall to the ground.

Eragon rolled over onto his side to face you. “I must ask… Why were you staring at my rear?”

You gave him a flirtatious wink.

His face reddened even more than it had from the Rimgar.

“The rest of you is handsome too,” you added. “Shame you’re wearing clot—.”

Eragon quickly said your name in a warning tone.

“What?”

“Someone could hear you.”

“Not if we go back to your room,” you suggested. “No one can hear us there.”

“I do need your company for a proper bath.” Eragon reasoned with mischief in his eyes.

“Don’t you always?”

~~~

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

Best wishes and happy reading.)

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: 

Inheritance Cycle Tags: @shewhobreathesfire @emburbaguette

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

[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.”

[ivorydragoness44]

Murtagh Morzansson x Reader: Time

Word Count: 5,016 Warnings: nsfw (Minors do not interact), me hating on the elves a little bit (sorry), a bit of a whump in the beginning (Murtagh is kinda exhausted from his day), shower scene, fluff, unprotected sex (they have magic though, they should be fine, right?) Summary: It’s about a week past their wedding and Murtagh and the Reader feel as though they’ve had less time alone together, but now they found at least more than one moment together. A/N: My first Murtagh smut fic. Um, so I went ‘chronological’ with this, being that I’ve only ever written as far as the Reader and Murtagh cuddling. So, this was my attempt at what Murtagh may be like for his first time with his s/o. ALSO! I tried to keep the Reader as gender neutral as possible like with most of my xreaders on my blog.

~~~~  ~~~~  ~~~~  ~~~~

  In the meeting room in one of the towers, the sun outside had already set. Murtagh continued to sit to Eragon's right at the table.

  The room held an equal amount of each race. This was true, with the exception of the elves, who had insisted on these evening meetings. They had reasoned that it was best to gather after a day of training and such. Apparently this was their way of being considerate. Murtagh strongly thought otherwise, all considering that they had this supposed change of heart nearing the eve of his wedding. Now it had been over a week since then, and he was far beyond reasoning with the elves for the remainder of the month.

  None of this was unknown to his love waiting at home for him each night. For this, he refrained from glaring, keeping an oddly specific request to his partner. Thorn, however, had made no such promise.

    All matters of discussion had been seemingly resolved, dwarves too shifting in their seats from the time spent.

    Eragon was the first to speak up after a few moments of silence amongst them. "If there is nothing else regarding the trade with our neighbors... I think we can save other topics for another day."

    Murtagh inspected his brother's appearance then. The way he vaguely slumped into the back of his chair, and had been occasionally shaking his leg beneath the table the past hour was obvious to him. Quite honestly, he did not blame him. At least he knew that he was not the only one that found these necessary meetings rather tiring. Especially with as many as they have been attending.

    Eragon peered around the room. The attendees nodded collectively in agreement.

    As Eragon took a breath before uttering a dismissal to the group, an elf interjected.

    "There is still the matter of dragon housing," they began, making Murtagh dig his fingers into the armrest of the chair. "They are at a constant state of growth, we must accommodate for that."

    If looks could kill, the elf would have dropped to the cold floor from Murtagh's piercing eyes.

    Likewise, an urgal opened their mouth to speak, but a loud gutteral growl rattled the windows, silencing every being in the room. Murtagh hid his smile behind his hand as all eyes dared to look out the window into the darkness.

    "Unfortunately...I believe that we should wait until a later date to go over the dragon housings," Eragon concluded. "Sleep well."

    With a nod, everyone stood, beginning to make their way to the door.

    Murtagh stood, relief trickling through his veins, but paused, seeing Eragon smile at him. "What?"

    "You don't look like you want to throw someone out of the window anymore," he spoke in a hushed voice as the others filed out of the room.

    "I might change my mind yet."

    Eragon laughed, "Don't run home too quickly. You might startle them."

    "I would transport myself in a flash if I could."

    "Good night, Murtagh."

    "Good night, Eragon."

    In his relieved and still slightly annoyed state, he rushed home, accidentally splashing his boots through a muddy puddle as he did so. He grunted in his agitation. The last thing that he wanted to do was track mud into their home. However, he was just happy he was going to be able to return home before his partner fell asleep.

    Jogging up to the front door, Murtagh magically wiped off the mud. He saw no reason in wasting time doing it manually when he was so close to being in his love's arms.

    Thorn yawned widely and both dragon and rider exchanged their nightly farewells.

    Quietly padding through the house, Murtagh made his way toward the bedroom.

    Pulling the last of the curtains shut, the only source of light in the room came from the oil lamp on the nightstand. You had figured Murtagh would arrive home late into the night again, as was the case since you had married. Which led you to leaving the low flames ignited, for him not to stumble in the dark. Not that he ever had.

    There was a muffled sound, but you thought nothing of it. As you released your hold on the curtains, then did you hear the hushed call of your name. Freezing in surprise, a bright grin took over just as easily. Spinning around, you saw Murtagh standing in the doorway.

    "Murtagh!" Your voice breaking the silence of the room that had been there for far to long.

    Skipping toward him, he strode over to meet you halfway. You reached out and cupped his face in your hands, nearly letting yourself crash into him. A gentle kiss in greeting was reciprocated before he spoke.

    "I'm sorry for my less than clean state," he said, eyeing the light strain on his trousers.

    "As long as you're here."

    Holding his face adoringly, you noticed he looked exhausted. His eyelids half closed and his stance was not as upright as usual.

    "I know these meetings are important...but I can see the toll they are taking on you. At least five more of those hours long sessions and I'll have to prepare you a pillow and blanket for them."

    Giving a tired smile as you smoothed over his cheekbone with the pad of your thumb, he said, "I'll try my best not to collapse asleep in your arms."

    "Why don't you clean up, then you can relax for the rest of the night?" The water could be quite soothing, especially in a safe place. Thankfully, after all of his years, he had somewhere he could feel safe.

    "That is a lovely idea."

    Looping your arm around his, you unnecessarily helped him to the washroom. Unfortunately, the light from the lamps in the other room did not reach. A solution appeared, or rather Murtagh's voice, creating an orb of soft light to float by the ceiling.

    It came as a surprise to him when he looked down to find your fingers making easy work in removing his tunic. Not one complaint left his lips, nor did he refuse you as he lifted his arms up and leaned over as so you could pull off his shirt as well.

    "I'll start the shower for you," you offered, leaving him to pull off the rest of his clothes. "I doubt you want to wash with cold water at night."

    He chuckled, "You're right. It does not sound appealing."

    Reaching into the shower, you began to adjust the knobs on the wall. Some seasons, it took some more fine tuning as to not shiver or burn off your toes.

    While you were fiddling with that, you could just hear the little laundry basket in the corner being filled.

    You both had seen one another without clothes. It was not entirely new. When one or both of you were changing into other outfits; day and night, but not often, you had gotten more comfortable with one another being in what usually felt like a vulnerable state of undress. It was safety, and it was trust.

    Testing the temperature of the water cautiously with your fingers one last time, until you thought it was optimal for bathing, and you flicked off the water droplets. You turned to notify Murtagh, who you now saw completely nude.

    You swore you could never find a finer man, in or out of Alagaësia.

    Blinking, you darted your eyes back up to his face. It was of the tiniest fraction of a second, but you knew he had noticed.

    "The water is warm enough now."

    "Thank you. I won't be long." He gave a sure smile before stepping into the bath.

    All the while, you were internally debating whether to join him or not. You eagerly wanted to spend more time with him. That, and you could tell he was hiding his mild exhaustion.

    By the time he had both feet in the shower, you said, "I'll join you." It may have sounded rushed and hesitant all at once, but you were not about to take it back.

    He turned, meeting your gaze.

    "If that's all right." You asked to be sure, feeling your heart beat against your chest.

    Murtagh's face softened more somehow; it must have been quite a meeting. Giving a nod, he stated, "I welcome your company."

    Small but cute smiles were shared and he stepped closer to the falling water, behind the curtain and out of your sight.

    The warm rush of anticipation ran through you like a wildfire.

    You already cleaned yourself up for the day, planning on hopping into bed just before Murtagh had arrived. But, you did not mind going back in there again. This was especially so since you wanted to help him relax from his day, and quite honestly, the past few days.

    Shedding yourself of your sleepwear, you stepped into the shower; Murtagh's hand quickly finding yours to assist you before water had the chance to touch your skin.

    Once in the shower, you noticed that he had already lathered up his washcloth with soap; holding it with his other hand.

    Upon seeing that your legs were steady on the wet floor, he released your hand, his eyes now trained up to your own.

    Neither one of you had done such a thing before, so it was all a bit quieter than usual. A different kind of quiet. Hesitant and unsure.

    "Here," you said, reaching for the washcloth, "turn around."

    Releasing the cloth to you, he did as you softly instructed. With his back to you, the tension in his back and shoulders were much more noticeable than you had previously assumed they would be upon his arrival. Spending time talking business, politics, trade, and anything else, especially with elves that had their minds set on such topics usually resulted in a less than desired situation.

    Placing the cloth to his shoulder, you began to gently smooth the fabric over his skin. As you drew the cloth down to his shoulder blade and across his back to the other, then did you begin to feel the muscles beneath his skin lessen their daily strain.

    Murtagh's shoulders rose as he took a breath. "Thank you." His voice was low and heavy.

    "It's the least I can do," you said, washing down his back, not following the twisted line of his scar, but stopped in line with his hip bones. "All considering you have had the same look on your face for days... even before the wedding."

    "Your face had mirrored the same expression," he gave a laugh.

    "Have you discussed it with Eragon?" You asked, moving his arm towards you to get him to turn around.

    "About the elves and their sudden desire for daily meetings?"

    You rose your brows at him and he continued.

    "I plan on doing just that tomorrow...but I wanted to be with you this evening instead." His eyes softened, instinctively reaching up to rest his hands on your waist, but hastily withdrew them.

    "You will hear no complaints from me, I assure you," you said, bringing his hands back up to you before focusing your attentions on washing his arms. "I sincerely think that we have seen less of each other since our wedding."

    You heard a huff of air leave his nose at your comment, leading you to look at him curiously. "What?"

    "I believe that is debatable at the moment."

    "Hilarious," you smirked, leaning in to peck your lips to his.

    Humming contently, Murtagh kept his eyes closed, resting his forehead to yours.

    Once finished washing his arms, you moved on to wash his chest. The washcloth seemed to not lose any suds as you continued lathering his body.

    He inched closer, his toes lightly bumping into yours.

    Eyes down from his proximity, your thoughts were engulfed with nothing but the man in front of you. Years of training and surviving in general had led to a very disciplined appearance, by the way he had a toned physique. It made you wonder if he was aware of the extra time you were taking to rub the cloth delicately around his torso. Even so, you washed down to his naval, and just a fraction lower.

    His thumbs began rubbing small circles over your skin. And his voice was but a whisper. "Sometimes when I'm with you...I feel as though my heart is going to burst."

    The kind and loving nature that you shared with him was nearly too much for him to handle at the beginning of your relationship. But now, with time, a lot had changed.

    "And yet, I feel so calm...I am calm," he declared, peering at you through his eyelashes.

    "Good," you smiled, coiling your arms around his middle.

    Featherlight kisses from Murtagh's lips were placed over your face. The tenderness in his actions were proving to make your smile permanent.

    Delicately, his palms slid up your back, cradling you to him in an embrace. His face traveled over to rest in the crook of your neck. There, the two of you remained for some minutes. Simply enjoying the other's company and the safety that came with your love.

    "I should finish bathing," he breathed against your neck, "lest we run the water dry."

    A laugh bubbled up and escaped your grasp at his words. "That would be difficult to explain."

    "We do not have to explain anything to anyone," he said simply, pulling away from you with the cloth from your hand.

    He made a good point, you had to admit. Sometimes you would forget that socially, things were different here. Cultures were shared as well as point of views. It was nearly shocking at times to learn or be a part of such a situation, while also so refreshing during others.

    Murtagh hastily got to work on washing the rest of his body while you occupied yourself with adjusting the curtain that had managed to bundle in on itself at certain points.

    As Murtagh stood back under the water to rinse, you stepped up behind him. Sliding your hands across his back, you vaguely helped to guide the water toward the remaining soap suds. It was a valiant effort, you were sure.

    When no more remnants of soap lingered, you placed a soft kiss to his back. He was warm, smooth, and smelled remarkably better than whatever he had trudged through.

    Turning around, Murtagh tilted his head back down, only for his face to be met with your hands. You hastily wiped water droplets away lest they streamed down into his eyes. He blinked, but otherwise made no comment.

    With your fingers combing through his hair, his eyelids became heavy with each pass. A ghost of a smile laid claim on his lips. And nothing else could come to mind except you.

    When you had stopped practically massaging his scalp, you poked the tip of his nose with your finger cutely. Before you could retract, he kissed that same fingertip. The action sparked some giggles out of you.

    "I never knew something as mundane as a bath could become one of my new favorite activities."

    "Neither did I," you agreed.

    With newfound confidence, you brought your arms up to rest over his shoulders. "We should do this more often, Murtagh."

    Kissing his lips with his instant return of affections delighted you far more than anything else.

    Murtagh placed his hands to your back, leisurely caressing up and down. His head tilted and you found yourself arching into him. His kisses held less restraint, firmer in his determination.

    You had a growing need for him; his closeness, his love.

    Unfortunately, the time in the shower had to come to an end. Water had to be saved for future use and the need to have your skin mirror that of a raisin was not there. But considering the circumstances, you would not mind as much. It would have been worth it.

    Since you were closer, you had reached for the towels and gave Murtagh his. Drying off did not take nearly as long as your time under the flow of water.

    Carefully stepping out of the shower, your ache had not subsided. Focusing on it, you began to gradually realize what it meant. This brought on a curiosity as to whether or not Murtagh felt the same way.

    With the towel tied securely around his hips, your thoughts became more rushed. He would have to retrieve his sleepwear from the bedroom. Holding your towel to ward off any shivers, you did not dress just yet though your clothes waited.

    Attempting to find the right words to ask, Murtagh's attention snapped to your quiet expression.

    "Are you still incredibly tired?" Your voice smaller than you had intended.

    His eyelids squinted in the slightest. The question could still be mundane, but it was likely not what he expected you to ask.

    Eyes staring into yours, he was careful to respond, not knowing what was exactly on your mind.

    Voice low and calculated, he said, "Not incredibly...I am at ease. Why do you ask?"

    "I thought that perhaps we could..." Taking a pause from the sudden shake in your voice, you tried to form the right words.

    He had instantly seen your apprehension and slid closer. There was nothing more that he wanted than for you to be at ease. Placing his hands gently on your arms, he caressed tenderly to reassure you.

    Getting to your eye level, he said, "You may speak freely, my love. You will find no judgement from me, least of all here and now."

    "Love me, Murtagh," you breathed out.

    A split second of surprise sparked in his eyes, but they remained sincere and as kind as ever. Kissing your forehead, he smiled and said, "I love you, and I shall love you forever. If you want me now, then I am honored by your trust and love for me."

    Placing your hand at the back of his neck, you pulled him close. Kissing him, you deliberately weaved your fingers into his hair. The way he melted into you made your heart sing.

    After some moments, Murtagh snapped into a realization. "Wait just a second. I'm sorry," he said, kissing you once more before striding through the room.

    Standing there, you watched as he shut the bedroom door and muttered the name of names.

    Returning to see your quizzical expression, he explained briefly. "I placed wards on the room to block people from scrying...and to keep anyone from hearing us."

    The efforts he took to ready the room were very much appreciated. Grabbing his face to kiss him, you heard Murtagh stifle in a breath through his nose in surprise, the orb of light in the washroom extinguishing.

    Steering him towards the bed, careful steps were taken. The covers and blankets had already been folded down from your nightly routine earlier, so there was one less thing to do.

    When the mattress hit the back of his legs, you both stopped. Dropping your towel, the two both of you then reached for the bundled knot on his towel, letting it too fall to the floor.

    Playfully pushing him against the bed, he gave a laugh before he climbed up first with you following close.

    Murtagh hardly laid on his side when you gently pushed down at his shoulder to have him lie on his back. Giving his temple a kiss, his body sank contently into the mattress, getting distracted by the softness of your actions and the plush bed. His eyelids drifted closed for a time as you made your way on top of him.

    Straddling his hips, you leant down and kissed his sternum. It was brief, but it was one of the many acts that had crossed your mind. Sometimes, like this, you could hardly phantom the idea that you had found one another.

    After getting situated, your eyes landed on his.

    Murtagh gazed up at you as if he were seeing stars for the first time. Complete awe.

    You let out a giddy laugh and grabbed his hands, interlocking your fingers with a gentle squeeze. It was then that you each looked at your wedding bands, smiling at the memory. After a some time, you slipped your fingers away from his, placing the palms of his hands onto you chest. His throat bobbed as he swallowed thickly. A chill ran through you, sending tiny bumps littering across your skin. You continued to hold his hands there until he finally yet gingerly kneaded your skin there. You hummed contently, gliding your hands down to his wrists to allow him to roam your body freely. However, his hands remained there for a moment longer before caressing down your abdomen and up your sides, making your skin prickle delightfully at his touch along your ribcage, a delicate and sensitive area. Moving over again, he rested his hands on your hips.

    All you could hear was his and your quiet breathing.

    "You're stunning."

    His name hung from your lips as you smiled bashfully.

    Murtagh in turn took your hands, gliding them up his torso, and to his lips. There, he tenderly kissed each fingertip.

    The smile on your face crept up again. Leaning down to lay on top of him, he released your hands, and all the more kisses were exchanged. His arms wrapped around you and his hands swiftly proceeded to delicately trail his touch down your back. One of his hands went further than the other to cup your butt.

    All the while, you had plenty on your mind. Running your hands all over his chest in an attempt to memorize him felt like an essential. The way his chest rose with each breath and pressed into yours.

    Diving your hands between his head and the pillow to weave your fingers back into his dark locks of hair. You felt him hum against your lips, making you smile into the kiss.

    A light squeeze came to your cheek, resulting in a surprised squeak from you. Leaning out of the kiss, you looked at him with amusement, "Murtagh."

    He looked down sheepishly, a shy smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

    You pecked a kiss to the tip of his nose, getting him to return your gaze. "Do it again," you whispered.

    Grinning, his hold on you tightened. Rolling the pair of you onto your sides, laughs and kisses were shared. He squeezed you again but his hand soon leaves your skin cold as he trails down your thigh, ensuring that your leg was promptly over his hip.

    You gave his hair a short tug, and Murtagh pushed his hips against yours, igniting a new friction more into the forefront of your minds. Pulling him closer, you deepened the kiss. And for a short while, that is how you remained, your bodies gently rocking against the other.

    The ache was there now. Everything had you literally throbbing for him. If you paid any mind, you could feel your own heartbeat pound against your chest.

    Rolling the two of you the rest of the way over, he was on top. You trusted him to take the lead in the motions. By doing so, you could sense that the air between you had shifted. You took a steadying breath.

    Looking into your eyes, he asked in a breathy voice. "May I?"

    You nodded. "Yes. I wish you would."

    He pressed a kiss to your lips, and you were not sure if that was his way of thanking you or simply out of love again.

    Murtagh propped himself up onto his hands, a chill drifting over your skin as his warmth left you. Looking down between your thighs, it appeared as if he was considering his next move. Then, slowly, he guided himself to where you needed him most. Easing himself inside with such caution it was driving your body wild in impatient anticipation though you appreciated his weariness.

    Lifting your hips, you intended to help, and simultaneously alleviate your need for his touch.

    When his hips meshed with your own, he took a breath in pause. Looking to you, he wanted to be sure that you were all right. "Does any of this...me, bring you discomfort?"

    "Hardly. I think we're doing well so far."

    He nodded, as if satisfied that you were being completely honest with him. He began to move steadily with confused swivels of his hips and a crease appearing between his brows.

    After nearly a minute, you spoke up. "Perhaps you're thinking to much, love. Take your time. We'll figure this out together." You offered a light laugh. "I'm certainly in no hurry."

    You beckoned him closer, and gave a soft kiss. Extending out your consciousness to meet his, he let you in. Letting him get a sense of the sensations tingling through you from his actions, and now you his.

    Foreheads together, feeling the other's breath. A quiet moment of peace. Murtagh moved his hips slowly, seeking a rhythm that was comfortable for the both of you.

    Coiling your arms around his back, your hands splayed out, able to feel his muscles contract and stretch.

    Murtagh kissed you once more before placing his face into the crook of your neck. His breath seemed hotter there, but still very controlled.

    After some long moments, your legs quivered beside his.

    "Are you all right?" He asked, halting his motions.

    "Yes, Murtagh," you replied, breathier than you had expected.

    Wrapping your legs around his waist, he returned to his soft gyrations. A recurring thought kept you, how he made you feel amazing and so well loved. Another stray thought and your body arched up to meet his, breath hitching.

    Murtagh placed firm kisses from your collarbone and up your neck until his lips enveloped yours in a deeply passionate kiss.

    Fingers digging into his back, pressing so firmly into his skin that you were afraid of leaving a mark. But it was an amazing kiss. Rare, but very much welcomed.

    As your confidence rose, you moved your hips in time with his. But all to soon stopped as a shiver ran through you, breaking the kiss.

    "It's alright. I'm here." He assured through less than controlled pants for air.

    You leaned your head beside his, finding comfort in all that was him.

    A strangled moan burst forth from his lips. The natural sound tingled your ears and ran down your neck. His back felt like a smooth stone under your hands as his body tensed. There too was an additional warmth as he released into you after each shakey pant.

    His body shuddered, and all you could hear was his breath.

    You had never heard him breathe so spastically before.

    Murtagh took a long calming breath and you felt a wetness on your neck. "Murtagh," you called to him softly, stroking the back of his neck. Facing you, you saw it. Tears. Tears lined his eyes and streamed down his cheeks.

    "I'm alright," he sniffled with a reassuring smile. "Are you?"

    "Yes, but... the need is still there. It's impossibly stronger."

    He nodded and tucked his forearms between you and the mattress, his hands hot on your back as he nestled close to you. Then, he circled his hips and your eyes closed. Pressing his forehead to yours and feeling his breath fanned over your face.

    "Breathe, darling."

    The pit of your stomach tightened and you pulsed around him.

    He moaned out your name like a forbidden whisper.

  Softly, he spoke more clearly. "Look at me."

    In a drowsy flutter of eyelashes, your eyes locked with his adoring ones.

    "I love you."

    You were barely able to utter a single syllable in return as the throbbing clenched, stunning the pair of you for an instant.

    Murtagh's hips were flush against your own, unable to move from the overwhelming rush of new sensations; both his and yours.

    An immense amount of relief and a physical lightness coursed through your body. It sent chills running across your skin.

    Releasing a sigh, you relished in the moment. You blinked dreamily as Murtagh placed gentle kisses along your face.

    "I love you," you finally replied, not that you could have managed it beforehand. It, however, was only the verbal recognition. Through your linked minds you knew he felt the emotions before the words.

    Murtagh nudged his nose to yours before shifting his weight. Carefully, pulled himself out and away from you. Eyes took a brief survey of what you had accomplished together.

    "Would you mind if I help you clean up?" He offered. "You had done the same for me earlier....I would still ask even if that was not the case."

    "I don't think I could move, even if I wanted to," you laughed quietly.

    Using a few words in the Ancient Language, he magically removed and dried the bodily fluids that had leaked out.

    "I'll return in a moment. I'm going to get you something."

    Sliding off of the bed, Murtagh retreated into the washroom. When he came back, he had a cloth in his hand. Resting himself beside you, he started to dab the fabric over your face. It was cool and damp. And soon, your body's temperature was guided back down.

    "We may have to take a quick bath," you stated, Murtagh tending to your legs with the cloth. "I did not know such an activity would have sweaty results."

    Together, you shared a laugh. You meant what you had said, but your body still felt rather weightless. "Though, I do not think I'm ready to stand on my own two feet just yet. My head feels like I'm flying in the clouds."

    "As do I," he agreed.

    Extending out your arms for him to rejoin you, he obliged.

    With the cloth all but forgotten, Murtagh crawled back up to you and snuggled close. You both would find yourselves in the shower once again, but for now, you were more than content in being bathed by the other's love.

~~~~  ~~~~

Thank you for reading! Wow, if you’ve read this far, also, thank you, and I hope you enjoyed it.

[modern-inheritance]

"Dark Magic"

*Rubbing temples*

Paolini never really defines dark magic in Inheritance Cycle. It's most frequently associated with Shades and Galbatorix. Durza taught Galbatorix 'dark magics' before he went on his traitorous rampage. Durza uses 'dark magics' to give Eragon his curse (??? look I'm still not fully clear on wtf Eragon's seizures were, we could go into a full side tangent rant on this but I digress) and used it in a variety of other ways. There's scattered mentions of 'dark magic' throughout the books beyond these.

But we are never told, as far as I am aware, about what exactly it is. What we know of magic is that it is typically shaped through use of the Ancient Language, some creatures, like dragons, can effect the world through the use of instinctive magic, and that magic in other cases and places just appears in the world (floating rocks, etc, though come to think of it no wait stop sciencing).

In this TED Talk I wi– I'm kidding. We're here to talk about MIC adaptations again.

MIC has always been a bit of a science experiment. In the later books we can see Paolini really using science to explain what happens when Eragon or others craft certain spells. Hell, he even uses coding in Murtagh, which made me grin a bit. I'm awful at it but If/Then statements are coding 101 kinda things. But a lot of the time we are left in the dark (pun somewhat intended) on how certain things work.

I (have I??) explain some things via science/biology/etc in MIC. Elves bones have to be stronger to resist their innate strength or else they'd shatter their skeletons every time then did something with force, so I adapted the Spartan-III augmentations of Titanium Carbide replacing the typical materials of calcium and whatnot. There's a weird bit of their diet that changes because of that. I have a few others but that's the main one I think I spent ages going over in my head.

So what is 'dark magic?' How do we explain it scientifically, or in context of the mix of language and science that the IC magic system is based off of?

WELL!

I just realized I don't remember what I was LANGUAGE!

RIGHT! WHY DID I TALK ABOUT SCIENCE?!

I am currently writing a story about Eragon's seizures and what people are doing to see about finding a cure. This requires me to look at dark magic. And since we have no canon idea of if dark magic would draw from the same language as 'regular' magic, making it just...regular magic with inherently dark motives, which is boring, I decided to change it up a bit.

The Ancient Language is, well, ancient. One day I will spell Language properly without autocorrect but here we are. Although AL (it is not today) is considered locked in, I wouldn't be surprised if there were other languages and/or dialects of AL. The dwarves and the dragons are the 'true' inhabitants of Alagäesia (were-creatures?? more like where did they come from but again, I digress)–

and you know what I just read the Ancient Language and Grey Folk pages on the wiki and now I'm kinda mad bUT I'M DOING WHAT I'M DOING ANYWAY.

Long story short: there are several different dialects of AL, influenced by a lot of different factors. The dark magic Ancient Language dialect was created by shades and other malevolent creatures w/ sentience and magic usage, and is purposefully absolutely fucking convoluted, varied and jumbled with lots of uuuuh what's the word influence fuck I just had it

the caster can choose and mix and match their syntax and structure at will. to prevent their curses from being undone unless you were present during the casting and know almost word for word what was said and used for the curse/spell. The dragon's magic that undid Eragon's curse was basically like a cleanse and used dragon's instinctive world weave magic to rewrite Eragon enough that he sorta DNA mixed (sorry Paolini, in MIC we do get some fun DNA rewriting because Ket wants the science....mmm....science......) with elf code and a little bit of dragon code (possibly, I'm a little on unsure on this, elves are already a mix of their original base with dragon code due to the orignal bond and I'M GETTING OFF TOPIC AGAIN) and he became different enough that the curse no longer worked and because he was uh...well, he was kinda factory reset. It wiped any and all spells attached to his body.

uh

okay. I...think I made my point. I'm...I'm sorry I just completely lost my train of thought after 'attached to his body.'

um.

Have a good day, I guess.