"Oh, Murtagh," she said, stroking his fevered brow. "Be strong, my love."
Murtagh looked up at her from the dungeon floor, panting raggedly with pain. "I'm so tired of all of this," he said in a broken voice, clutching her hand close to him. He suddenly looked up, his eyes dark with worry. "You cannot be here, Esmeralda. If he knows you're here, he'll—"
"Don't be afraid," Esmeralda said softly, kissing his filthy hair gently. "My father will not dare to hurt me."
He relaxed slowly under her touch, the fear and pain slipping away. There was nothing but the soothing beat of her heart and the quiet hush of darkness. He closed his eyes, exhaling a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. For a blessed moment, there was no pain, no Galbatorix—he was free, right here in Esmeralda's arms...
And at that point, the door slammed open with a—
BANG.
"Sorry I'm late," Murtagh said conversationally as heads turned to look at his dramatic appearance. "Anyway," he continued, pulling off his cloak, "Have I missed anything?"
"Where's Thorn?" Eragon asked curiously.
Right here, the dragon said, and appeared. Let's get started.
Eragon blinked. "Where'd you come from? And you can't possibly fit inside this room without it exploding, but yet you are—"
It's called deus ex machina, Thorn said, walking around a cushion three times and settling down. It's very useful. You ought to use it sometime.
Eragon frowned. "Good writing shouldn't use that," he pointed out. "Writers should seek out logical ways to finish off the story and/or get the character out of impossible situations. You can't just appear out of nowhere and say that's that."
Arya rolled her eyes. "If you recall, Eragon, I saved your life using deus ex machina when Durza was about to mince you. So I wouldn't be too picky. At any rate, everyone's here, can we get started?" The elf looked around imperiously at the surrounding personages. There was a chorus of nods. "All right then. It's casting time again—everybody, time to pick the fanfiction stories that you want to star in—"
"Ooh! Oooh! I have something I'd like to say," Trianna volunteered.
"Yes?" Arya said icily.
"I'd like to lodge a protest on the behalf of all one-dimensional characters out there. We're always so flat and meaningless and can be described in one word. I mean, come on, people! We're real! We have feelings! We're—"
Oooh, Saphira said excitedly. Does that mean we can't call you a slut anymore?
"Hey, I didn't want to seduce Eragon!" Trianna yelled. "CP made me do it and ran away. Besides, I have better things to do with my time than try to suck up to this idiot with boy band hair."
"Oy! I'm brunet!" Eragon said, annoyed.
"In the movie you weren't," Nasuada pointed out.
"Yeah, well, the movie sucked. Why are we citing it anyway?" Arya said, waving a hand dismissively. "If we want to talk about who the movie slandered, I want to put in my two cents. I am not some weeny little damsel in distress waiting around to be rescued. And I certainly don't wear slinky little dresses and say, 'Oh, Eragon, rescue me—'"
"When did that happen?" Durza said, wrinkling his forehead.
"The authoress can't be bothered to rewatch that piece of crap, so we're just going to have to rely on what she remembers. So I don't know. Sometime after she started crying from sheer pain," Arya said.
"Well, I did have to rescue you," Eragon said, hurt. "You might give me credit for that."
"Yeah, thanks a lot for setting precedent," Arya snapped.
"What do you mean?" Angela said, annoyed. "Nobody ever writes stories about you being rescued, you know. You get to be bitchy and warrior-princess-like in fanfiction. All I ever get to do—if, that is, I appear at all—is to sit around and look quirky and play with toads. People, I can fight. Didn't you see me and my stick weapon thing at Farthen Dur? Wasn't I amazing? Yet no one cares about me—"
"It's called a huthvir!" Orik roared, getting to his feet. "Know its name! I have a complaint, too. No one cares about dwarves. We can't be Riders, we're short, we are totally ripped off from Tolkien, so everybody hates us."
"They don't care enough about you to hate you," Islanzadi pointed out cynically. "Don't feel so bad, Orik; elves aren't much better. All we do is sit around having orgies and listening to bad poetry when we could be killing Galbatorix. Only, we're fadinggggg so we can't do any of that. And who the hell is Tolkien?"
"Only the guy who revolutionized modern fantasy," Orik said disdainfully.
"Well, whatever. You know what? I'm tired of being nice and vegetarian. I want to get a good story this time," Islanzadi said forcefully. "Arya, my daughter, I'd gladly trade roles with you. As long as I can show off of my fancy sword moves instead of sitting around and doing nothing."
"You know fancy sword moves?" Murtagh said, sitting up. Islanzadi gave him a suspicious look, and he shrugged. "If you teach me some, I'll trade roles with you," he offered. "I'm sick of being angsty in stories, stuck between Empire and Varden and destined to fall in love with some OC. A nice long vacation with Thorn in Du Weldenvarden sounds perfect."
"Deal," Islanzadi said. They shook hands.
Murtagh dug around in his pocket for a while and came up with a grubby sheaf of paper, thrusting it at Islanzadi. The elf queen took it and flipped through the pages, her expression growing more flustered with each passing moment. "'Oh, Murtagh, be strong my love?' What is this?"
"The reason why I was late," Murtagh explained. "It's another request for one of those angsty-Rider-being-beaten-up-by-Galbatorix things. And then there's Esmeralda, who's Galbatorix's daughter—"
"You know, considering I always use protection, where are all these daughters sprouting from?" Galbatorix said, shaking his head. "And in the end they always join the Varden and dethrone me or some such nonsense."
"And they're always illegitimate," Murtagh said helpfully. "And always women. Classy, beautiful, regal women with eyes of jade. Or sapphire. No ruby, sadly." He frowned. "I like ruby."
"No, only evil villains get to have ruby eyes," Galbatorix explained. "Hey, Durza, did you have red eyes?"
"Marrrroooon. That's dark purplish-red," the Shade said happily. "Thus showing my conflicted nature and justifying my evil deeds by showing how I was possessed and stuffs. See? Not pure red, which is just Badass Evil."
Islanzadi coughed slightly, interrupting the conversation. "How many times do you get tortured in this story, Murtagh?" she asked. "It seems like every other page…"
"Oh, dozens," Murtagh said airily. "It's all part of the angst."
It's annoying is what it is, Thorn said, snorting.
"But the fangirls love you!" Eragon burst out. "Why are you trading away your role, Murtagh? You know, nobody loves me. I'm always the idiotic little brother to you—"
"Not always," Nasuada interjected. "Some writers show you as the manly and heroic hero of the Varden. Our one hope and all that crap." She sniffed.
"What?" Eragon asked, piqued.
"I don't think nearly enough credit is done to me," Nasuada said sulkily. "Lace was a brilliant idea, you know. I run the Varden. I do it well. Yet all focus is on you and Murtagh—"
"Well, we get to be love interests sometimes," Murtagh said, patting her on the back. "Admittedly, OCs—other characters to you lot—are the preference, but still. They're building on a Romeo and Juliet-esque kind of tale."
"Romeo and Juliet?" Nasuada asked.
Murtagh shook his head at her ignorance. "Romeo and Juliet is this play that this English guy wrote. Basically, two lovers engage in a forbidden love and end up killing themselves."
"And this has to do with us how…?"
"Because I'm the Conflicted Evil Rider and you're the Rebel Leader. See? Forbidden love."
Nasuada frowned petulantly.
"Well," Islanzadi said, "Now that I'm supposed to be playing your role, Murtagh, I suppose I have to, you know, hook up with all these ladies?"
Murtagh shrugged. He glanced at Eragon, who made a gagging sound.
"What?" the elf queen asked, perturbed.
"No one likes femme slash," Angela explained kindly as the vomiting noises went on. "Only guys. Eragon and Murtagh are the ideal pairing. I've never heard or read of any female slash stories."
"But you're brothers!" Islanzadi cried out.
"Maybe," Murtagh allowed.
"Maybe?! CP freaking said so in a Big Plot Twistat the end of the second book!"
"Well, actually," Selena said wryly, "That's a bit, ah, in dispute."
Everybody turned to look at her. "When did you get here?" Galbatorix said.
"I was always here. Even though I'm dead, people still write about me sometimes. QED, I am here."
Everybody thought about the sheer illogicalness of this and shrugged. "Okay, so what were you saying?" Galbatorix asked politely.
"See, Morzan is definitely Murtagh's father," Selena said, "but nobody is too certain who is Eragon's father. There might be another Big Plot Twist in the third book, you see. So be sure to act excited and gasp a lot if the father turns out to be someone else."
"Like who?" Eragon asked excitedly.
Selena gave him a mysterious smile. It was ruined when Brom said, "Me."
Galbatorix blushed. "Or me."
They stared. "So much for using a condom," Trianna said disparagingly.
"I do!" Galbatorix squealed. "Well, most of the time."
"It's probably Brom," Selena said, taking pity on Eragon, who looked as if someone had run over his pet cat. "Only a very small percentage vote in favor of Galbatorix."
"How can you not know who Eragon's father is?" Arya asked, interested. "Or did you sleep with ten men consecutively?"
Selena shrugged demurely. "It's a Mamma Mia!-situation. Did you watch that, by the way? That was a great movie, wasn't it? Very perky. Gods know I could do with a little happiness." She frowned. "I don't think I'm better off than Murtagh, really. I'm always the tragic, weeping mother who gets the shit beaten out of me by my abusive husband. No one ever highlights my fantastic magical skills or anything. Nooo, I'm always the tragic mother—"
"Better off than bitch goddess," Arya said sourly.
"Or, like, weird toad-obsessed witch," Angela put in.
"Or slut!" Trianna said indignantly. "Or power-hungry-crazy-lecherous—"
"At least you people appear," Galbatorix said gloomily. "Selena, you're dead and you still get roles in AUs, you know?"
"Wait, are we talking about fanfiction roles or canon?" Eragon asked, waving his arms for silence. "Because Galbatorix, you actually do appear in fanfiction. Quite a lot, actually. As the BIG EBIL KING and all that. After all, someone has to be the one-dimensional villain."
"I do a mean evil cackle though," Galbatorix said, smiling proudly. "Want to hear it?"
"No," Eragon said, but Galbatorix did it anyway. The other characters shoved him into a closet and continued complaining.
"I think," Trianna mused, "I am possibly the most hated character. And the most abused and the most slandered, while we're at it. Slut slut slut. That's all I am. Flat and boring."
"I am the queen of flatness," Arya said, shaking her head. "It's all surface—rock diamond hard surface. No one cares about me. 'Oh, that Arya—let's make her emotionless. Let's make her glare and stare impressively, and not give a single whit about her true feelings, because bitchy warrior princesses don't have any feelings—'"
"I'll trade roles with you," Selena said, raising a hand. "I could do with a little sternness. I'm sick of having to be Tender, Sweet, Generally Useless Mother all the time."
"Awright," Arya said, and they shook hands. "Hey, Eragon, that means you can't pursue me anymore!" she said, looking gleeful. "I'm your mother! And yours, too!" she added, pointing at Murtagh.
"Islanzadi and I traded roles, remember?" Murtagh said. "So I'm your mother now. Or, ah, my mother's mother. And you're Islanzadi's mother. And my mother is in fact Eragon's object of lust—"
"Isn't object of affection more accurate?" Selena wondered.
"No one seems to love each other in Alagaesia," Murtagh mused. "Only lust, you know. Hey, I just noticed—no one ever ends up happily. Mom and Morzan—Morzan went psycho, chucked a sword at me, beat up Mom, died. The end. Eragon and Arya—complete disaster; need I say more? Brom—loved a woman and 'was her undoing.' Whatever. And then there's Roran and Katrina—"
"Right here!" the aforementioned lovers said, popping up from behind the sofa. "You called?" Katrina asked.
"Don't you two get tired of that?" Arya said, noting with a discerning eye the mussed state of Katrina's hair and the wrinkled fabric of their clothes.
"Tired of what?" Roran said, raising his hammer menacingly in his right hand as he fastened his belt with his left.
"Ah...being heroic. And useless." Arya nodded at Katrina.
"I'm not useless!" Katrina yelped.
"Okay, then name one thing you've actually done. And finding Horst at the beginning of Eragon doesn't count," Arya challenged.
Katrina's mouth opened slightly. There was a long moment, and then she said weakly, "Well...I might be able to do something in the third book, you know." She contemplated this and rallied magnificently. "You'll see! I'll do horrible things to those nasty Ra'zacs…right?" She looked anxiously up at Roran.
"Of course, my dumpling," Roran cooed, and everyone turned away to retch at the nauseating PDA that followed.
"Hey, Roran," Nasuada said after she flushed the anachronistic toilet, "Come join us. Surely you can't like being all, you know, Stronghammer-y all the time? Fancy a change of scenery?"
Roran thought about this. "Nah," he said at last. "I like my role. I get to make heroic speeches and lead Carvahall. Occasionally, in AU fanfictions, I get to be Eragon's big brother. Admittedly, I have to be a little psychotic sometimes, but hey, it's worth it. Plus, I get to snog Katrina all the time." And he proceeded to do just that.
"Well, at least someone's happy," Trianna said sourly.
"Urrgh," Eragon said, watching as Roran and Katrina sank back behind the sofa again. He gave Arya a wistful glance.
"No can do, Eragon," Arya said with a brutal cheerfulness. "Off-limits. I'm playing Selena now. Go chase someone else." She and Selena exchanged a high-five.
"Well, that's all very nice, but what about the rest of us?" Brom demanded, crossing his arms. "I don't want to play the 'grumpy old mentor' again. And gods know I don't want to go through yet another fanfiction tutoring him—"
"I was a good student," Eragon protested.
"Yeah, because you weren't the one teaching," Brom grunted.
"Well, I didn't want to be taught by you anyway," Eragon said. He sniffled, looking sad and pathetic.
"Oh please, enough angst," Arya said, waving her hands dismissively at Eragon. "Gods know Murtagh is angsty enough for the whole damn canon—"
"Your mom," Murtagh said, staring up at the ceiling.
"I beg your pardon?!" Arya said indignantly.
"Your mother," Murtagh said. "I'm Islanzadi now, remember? Islanzadi, who's now me, is going to be playing my role. We traded. Yes?"
"Well—" Arya said, flustered.
Morzan appeared out of nowhere to join the conversation. (Being the authoress's favorite character after Murtagh and Thorn, she feels that she has sadly neglected him.) "Hi," he said, waving.
"Morzan!" everybody said and waved back.
"Hello, sweetheart," Selena said, patting the space beside her. "Sit—oh, wait. I'm not your wife anymore."
"What?" Morzan said, looking puzzled.
"That's your wife," she said, pointing to Arya, who looked rather alarmed by this turn of events. Morzan, it was noted, did not look entirely displeased. "We traded roles," Selena explained. "So now I get to fight and kill people while Arya is sweet and motherly."
"Ah," Morzan said monosyllabically. He sat down besides Arya, who scooted as far away from him as possible.
"This wasn't in the deal," Arya hissed at Selena. "No mention of Morzan then—hey! Stop it!"
"Selena's job description: a tender, sweet, loving mother who gets the shit beaten out of her by Morzan. Well, at least you get to be emotionful. Is that a word?" Selena paused and shrugged. "No matter; no going back on the deal now."
"But I'm still unhappy with my role," Brom persisted. "I'm tired of being cranky and old and wyrd-cursed and—" he paused, his face lighting up. "Can I be evil? I want to play somebody evil. Evil and cranky. You know, good and cranky people never get to have any fun; we have to teach and mentor and other crap like that. But evil and cranky—I mean, if you get pissed off, you can just blast a village to pieces or something." He looked coyly at Durza. "Well?"
"You know, Brom, for some reason you didn't make being good sound all that enticing," the Shade said, rolling his marroooon eyes. "I'll stick to being dead and evil."
Brom looked frustrated. "Damn!" He paused, then had a brainwave. He opened the closet door. Galbatorix tumbled out, still cackling.
"Bwahahaha! Ahahahaha! Ahahahahahaha—"
Brom was about to kick him, but remembered that he wanted something from Galbatorix and therefore had to be nice. "Hello, Galbatorix," he said as sweetly as he could.
"Ahahahahahaha—what?"
"How would you fancy trading roles with me this time around? Instead of lounging around growing fat and evil, you can champion the side of Good, engaging in exciting activities like, ah, training a dragon Rider and fighting and, um, visiting the elves. Yeah. Stuff like that. Very exciting."
Galbatorix peered at him, a little gidddy after all that exciting cackling. "I sense a trap," he said evilly. "I KNOW YOU, BROM OF KUASTA. YOU ARE A FAILED DRAGON RIDER, NO LONGER A—"
Brom kicked him in the head and shoved him back into the closet.
"You are very violent for someone on the force of good," Arya said, now filing her nails. She looked up and smiled brightly at everyone, trying to ignore Morzan. The Forsworn was snuggling against her, looking like a puppy without the puppy dog eyes. "Morzan, stop it. So, people. Any other, ah, objections to your designated roles?"
Hands shot up throughout the room except for Murtagh, Islanzadi, Arya, Selena, Roran, and Katrina. Possibly Galbatorix's hand shot up too, but nobody cared one way or another because he was in the closet.
"Oh, come on, people, it can't be all that bad," Arya said, now mildly hypocritical now that she was Selena. "Morzan, get your fingers off me or I will break them. Anyway, what could you guys possible want?"
"Recognition for dwarf rights and a more significant role in the future of Alagaesia!" Orik rumbled. "And some creativity," he added as an afterthought. "I hate being ripped off. It makes me feel so secondhand."
"People to notice my awesome fighting skills," Angela put in.
"I AM NOT A SLUT!" Trianna shrieked.
Dragons are fine the way they are, Saphira and Thorn said, making goo-goo eyes at each other.
"Can't I be evil for once?" Brom asked petulantly.
"I like having marrooon eyes," Durza said happily.
"Lace was a good idea," Nasuada scowled.
"Can't I be something other than an idiot or a hope?" Eragon said forlornly.
Everyone voiced their objections and fell silent. "Anyone else?" Arya asked pleasantly as she punched Morzan across the face. The Rider keeled over and flopped.
"I think there are more main characters than this," Eragon said, puzzled. "What about Oromis? What about Elva? What about—"
"Elva!" the authoress cried suddenly, banging her head against the wall. "Poor Elva. I completely forgot about her. Oh well, nobody ever writes about her, anyway. And screw Oromis; I hate him. Carry on."
Everybody stared, then shrugged because it was easier than rewriting the whole story to fit Elva in. "Okay," Arya said, rubbing her palms together. "How about this? Brom, you become Trianna because she's an evil slut; Trianna, you trade with Angela because she's not an evil slut; Angela, you should become Nasuada because she has awesome fighting skills; Nasuada, turn into Brom because he's an established Great Leader. Everyone happy?"
There was a pause as everyone tried to work that out. Then they all nodded, beaming.
"But what about me?" Eragon asked forlornly.
Everyone stared at Eragon, Rider/Hope of the Varden/Idiot Little Brother/etc. He sighed sadly. "Okay," he said. "I get it. I guess no one wants to be me, huh?"
"The story wouldn't be right otherwise," Angela, now Nasuada, said, patting him on the arm. "You have a certain...Eragon-ness about you. We need you right where you are."
Arya rubbed her forehead and sighed. "How about you trade with Morzan?" she suggested, painfully aware of the Great Sacrifice she was making. But nobody could pull off a sad and pathetic face better than Eragon. "You can be...your dad. You know. And…"
Eragon's mind tried to work this out. When it did, his whole face lit up like a beacon. "And we're—we're—married?!"
"Yes, we are," Arya sighed, then yelped as Eragon grabbed her by the waist and started to snog her enthusiastically. Everybody awwwed. Roran and Katrina clapped. Once they let Galbatorix out of the closet, he clapped too. Then they started picking out their stories and practicing their new roles.
"Do you think that's a good idea, switching main characters like that?" Nasuada/Brom whispered to Brom/Trianna. "I mean, the stupid books are all about him. And Morzan…"
On the ground, an unconscious Morzan snored.
Trianna smiled, batting his eyelashes. "Who'll notice the difference? Anyway, we're all got what we wanted. So shut up and let's live happily ever after."
And they did...until Brisingr came out. And then there was mass confusion.
But that's another story.
The End
XXXX
This is, ah, my attempt at parody at the 'stereotypes' of Eragon fanfiction. X.x I don't know if it was funny; I wasn't actively trying to make it funny since I can't write humor, but if it is that's a bonus. -nods-
Modeled vaguely after 'Looking For Work' (I think that's the title) by Erestor (a fantastic LotR parody writer on ff). Also based vaguely on the stuff on Anti-Shurtugal. XD The intent was NOT to offend anyone; just to get this out of my system. And the language is a bit more, ah, down-to-earth than what I usually use, but it works. I think, anyway. -.-;
Hope you enjoyed this little piece. Please read and review!