This is my first fanfic, so please take it easy on me. :D Reviews would be infinitely appreciated! Do tell me if I should continue on with this fanfic. :)
Chapter 1: In the Caves of Tronjheim - Murtagh
Without further ado, the guards who'd led Murtagh shoved him into the room that would be his cell, slamming the door behind him.
The powerful shove threw him on his knees, which scraped painfully against the cold stone floor. Grunting, he heaved himself onto his feet. Just as I'd expected – no one in this place is going to show me any mercy.
When he regained his bearings, however, he was bemused to find himself in a chamber that seemed more of a haven than a prison.
Richly pattered rugs hung from the walls, while a huge round carpet occupied the center of the floor. A wide – albeit sloppily made – mattress awaited him to the right along with several pillows. To the left, a supple fire burned in a hearth well-supplied with firewood. At the very end of the room was a wooden shelf struggling under a number of yellowing tomes and volumes, enough to keep him company for hours. Though there were no windows, a cool, soothing breeze ran through the cavernous space.
It was far, far from the treatment he had originally expected from the Varden. Ajihad's dark eyes had held for him the promise of being ostracized during his time in Tronjheim, and he was astonished to discover otherwise. After a few moments of hesitation, he lay himself slowly on the bed, all the aches in his body flaring back to the forefront of his consciousness. Before he fell asleep, he thought of his dingy little apartment in Uru-baen, and the image brought back painful, stinging memories that made him shudder.
He awoke feeling more alert than usual. Immediately it disturbed him that he couldn't tell what time of day it was, and as comfortable as he felt, he knew he had to be on his guard, lest the Twins come back and try to wrest his mind from him again. Sorely he wished that Eragon weren't too far away to come to his aid if ever need be.
He swung his legs out over the bed, and an envelope sealed with a wax emblem fluttered out beside him.
Wary, he picked it up, broke the seal, and unfolded the parchment. The script it contained was delicate, almost feminine.
Son of Morzan, These will be your living quarters for the rest of your stay with the Varden. Contrary to what you may have assumed, I trust you, Murtagh. You may have come from under Galbatorix' s wing and resisted our efforts to probe your mind, but I know you mean the Varden no harm in journeying here with Eragon. For the time being, I will prohibit you from leaving this chamber for the security of Tronjheim's people, but I do hope you find these lodgings appropriate. Sincerely, Ajihad
Ajihad's kindness continued to unnerve Murtagh. The man still addressed him as 'Son of Morzan', but that he should 'trust' Murtagh put him off. Galbatorix would never have said the same for me, he realized, his stomach knotting.
A strange new scent permeated the room. He followed it to the door, where he was astounded to find a plate piled high with rice and poultry. He put a hand to his stomach; it was grumbling wearily. Deciding to take the Varden's hospitality for what it was, he sat down and scooped as much of it as he could into his mouth. The food was still hot and tastier than anything he'd eaten the past few months. He moaned and tried to fit more and more into his mouth after every bite. Alas, he choked on a small bone.
He coughed so loud he didn't hear the door creak open behind him.
"Whoa, what's happening here?" It was a young woman's voice, light and clear as a bell.
Intruder! Instinctively he reached for his hilt, only to be reminded that they'd taken his hand-and-a-half. He turned to face her but his vision was blurred by tears, and he could naught but reel helplessly on the ground, coughing. A son of the Forsworn, felled by a bone in his throat, he thought grimly.
"Um, do you need any help?" From the sprightly tone of her voice, and it was hard to discern whether she was genuinely concerned, amused, or plainly mocking him. He put a hand out to her to tell her to stay where she was and slowly brought himself to his feet and reached for the wineskin beside his bed. The scathing pain subsided after a few gulps, and he breathed deeply.
He whirled around to find a young lady no older than he was, standing by the door, looking at him expectantly. Her skin was a deep and lustrous ebony as Ajihad's, and he took it that this was her daughter. She had round cheekbones that reminded him of cherubs, and dark eyes shaped like almonds that seemed to twinkle in the light. Her satin vestments and the regal way she held herself gave him the impression of royalty, and he thought of how most of the women in Galbatorix's court would have looked like mere peasants next to her. Her wavy chestnut tresses were piled high in a messy bun on her head, and daringly he wondered how she would look like if he were to pull all those pins free...
Blood rising to his face, he averted his gaze to the ground. He fumbled for words to break the awkward silence. "How may I help you?" he said stiffly.
She stepped forward. The sound of her boots echoed through the bare walls. "I'm Nasuada, the daughter of Ajihad. I just came by for a visit. It is a pleasure to finally meet you, Murtagh Morzansson."
A slight shiver ran through Murtagh at the mention of his name. He lifted his eyes to find her still watching him attentively. Feebly, he tried to meet her gaze with the same intensity. "It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Lady Nasuada."
A brilliant little grin bloom on her face. "Are you comfortable here, where you're staying?"
"Very much, yes. Do thank your father for me. He's very kind, considering the trouble I'd put his guards through."
"I heard you gave the Twins quite a challenge. They said they'd never come across someone so young but with a mind so well-defended. It's admirable, to say the least." She paused. "I wonder where you got your training." They were standing in front of the hearth, warmth rolling off the flames, casting shadows on the angles of her face.
A pause, as alarms went off in Murtagh's mind. What if Ajihad had sent her to probe me? Oddly, the thought unhinged him. "I, ah, have my ways...Took quite a lot of rocks and hundreds of workers upstairs to get those walls up, so I'm glad they're working."
Nasuada laughed lightly. Despite himself, Murtagh smiled.
"I can't blame you for it. I was never comfortable in the Twins' presence, let alone allow them inside my head. I must say, for you and Eragon to have rescued Arya from Durza without so much as a scratch and then travel over eighty leagues in so short a time – it's an impressive feat."
"Bah, those stories are exaggerated. We were pretty bruised from all the fighting. We wouldn't have done it without Saphira." He grinned, imagining how the dragon would've reacted when she heard that Nasuada left her out of the story. "That's very kind of you to say. Thank you."
She bowed her head courteously. Her expression turned to one of genuine concern. "I've heard many stories about you...But there is one thing I've always been curious about, though. The scar on your back – how did you get it?"
He flinched from the flashback, the screaming pain across his back. He thought of lying to her as he always had, but he felt that she should know the truth. "I was three years old, playing in the field when Morzan came out drunk and hurled a sword at me," he said. "My father hated me, even if I was just a kid." He felt for his left hip, for the nub of rumpled tissue. "I was healed with magic, but even then I was left with this aberration on my back. For the rest of my years in that place, I had to live in hiding from everyone else lest someone find out that one of the Forsworn had a son. It hurt to see Morzan sending my mother out on these senseless missions and watching him hurt her whenever she did something wrong." He stopped abruptly, a twinge of anger tugging at him.
"I'm terribly sorry." Nasuada blushed.
"It's alright. I'm very grateful to the Varden for taking me in in spite of everything."
For a few moments, she just stared deeply into the flames. "I can't imagine what it must have been like for you...Growing up with the wandering tribes was not easy, but I wouldn't have gotten along without my father."
He stared at her, suddenly curious. "Why so?"
"Like you, I didn't have a mother." She smiled at him faintly once more, but this time he saw past through her facade. Her eyes were mournful, her tone heavy. "I never even met her; Father said she passed into the void after giving birth to me, but I have always thought otherwise. The tribes migrated almost every month in search of fertile soil, and we would spend most of the year just marching under the blaring sun. I was scared of most of the tribesmen – they all seemed so warlike, so eager for battle. I only felt safe when I was with my father. I had no friends, so Ajihad would have me read tomes about the history of Alagaesia instead. I was awfully lonely, but after hearing your story...I realize my childhood was hardly unpleasant at all."
"Well, that's all in the past now. The worst is behind us. There's only the future to look forward to now." And think of the future he did. With a jolt he realized that he faced bright times ahead here with the Varden, away from Galbatorix.
"So, ah, how will you be spending your time here?"
"Well, there's those books reserved for me. I can finally become the fat scholar I'd dreamt of becoming."
They laughed.
Nasuada's eyes seemed to search him. "Won't you be lonely?"
"Yes, but as I've always been."
"I hope I made good company, then."
"You made wonderful company."
The silence that followed was not unsettling but shared. The world around Murtagh seemed to shift, as though a great weight had been lifted off his shoulders. And he looked at Nasuada, this woman he'd barely met but now knew more of him than he'd dared tell anyone.
She met his gaze with eyes that glittered. Does she feel the same way?
To his disappointment, she broke away. "Oh my, it's probably supper in the court now. I'll have to take my leave, Murtagh. I really enjoyed talking to you. And I hope to visit again soon." She took his hand in hers and squeezed it, then turned on her heel and walked away. The slamming of the door seemed to reverberate throughout the flat.
Her last sentence rang in his mind. An unbearable lightness flooded him, and he wasn't quite sure what he felt exactly.
Eragon visited him later on, whether day or night he couldn't tell. He felt more jovial than he usually did, even repeating that joke about becoming a fat scholar.
Eragon was looking at him strangely all the while. "I heard Nasuada visited you. Did she say anything interesting?"
Murtagh looked back on what they talked about, and realized they were things he would rather not have told anyone else. Aside from that, all he could remember were her almond-shaped eyes, the fullness of her lips. "No. She just wanted to meet me. Doesn't she look like a princess? And the way she carries herself! When she first entered through that doorway, I thought she was one of the great ladies of Galbatorix's court. I've seen earls and counts who had wives that, compared to her, were more fitted for a life as a hog than of nobility."
Eragon just continued staring at him. And Murtagh could naught but grin at him like an idiot.