I frist wrotte this in spanish like two years ago, and someone asked me to upload a version in english. At the time I didn't felt confident enough to translate it, but now I do. Still, english is not my mother tongue so there are probably a lot of mistakes. If that's so, I would apreciate if you corrected me in reviews. Altough this fandom has been dead for ages, I hope there is someone out there who wishes there could be a fanfic of this beautiful ship.
The wind blowed waving his hair. She couldn't help but remember that seducing hallucination the king had induced her. Looking at him, only for a moment, the eye bags and the severe expression disappeared. The gentle and luminous face he had in that dream of fakeness, in wich they shared a shining perfect life together, was coming back. It took her just a blink to get to reality again, and see that in his empty eyes there was no calm or compassion. No, they remained like before, the contained rage and hate, about to overflow from his dark orbs. It was like the scar in his back were still open, bleeding. Then all the pain from the last instants, from the last days, from the last weeks fell over her like lead. Crushing, lacerating, the pain of one thousand lashes... no, the pain of metal and fire drilling into her skin, the pain of the rider holding the iron and torturing her, with the face covered by a mask. All the suffering, the tears of frustration, of impotence, of agony, that she should have never spilled. The king draining her mind like the waves of the sea wear down the salt from the mountains, turning her in a shadow of what she was.
Her bones ached. Her body was heavier than ever, she felt older than ever. It was like she was confined to the Adivine Room for ten entire years. She felt so tired she wasn't sure she could stand in her feet any longer, and yet, she would do it.
Murtagh didn't stop whisering things in the Ancient Lenguage.
Not so far away she could see Eragon. And when she saw him, a powerfull relief took over her heart. Galbatorix was dead. Alagaesia was free. From now and on, nothing could be so serious, nothing could be so big, so dangerous. She had now fullfilled her duty. She had leaded the Vardens to Uru'baen. They had won the war and Eragon and Saphira managed to kill the tyrant. What was it that felt so empty then? A little smile sketched in her lips while watching that boy who seemed more elf than man, but he had the greatest heart she had ever seen, so alien to what was going on between her and his mid brother, where they seemed to be locked in a fragil bubble.
In that moment, Murtagh's rough voice with a tremulous murmuring made her turn and meet face to face with him.
"I'll leave" she knew exactly what he meant by that, just as he had understood that time when she asked him 'Why'.
Asking him to stay would be pointless. They both knew it. There was no place in Alagaesia where her, who would most likely become queen, and a rider who was at Galbatorix's service could be together. He wouldn't ask her to leave with him, and she wouldn't ask him to not go. He didn't want to be selfish, because he knew he was poison, corrosive acid, and he would consume her. She was too proud to tell him 'I love you'.
He looked at her for a second. A soft glint blinked in his pupils. It was like he was trying to tell her something, like he wanted her to understand his angst that way. The young one knew better than anyone the shadows that surrounded his heart.
In that instant, he just got closer. Even for being a tall woman, he was a little bit taller. He inclined his head to her, with the face at the same height as hers, and then... he kissed her.
He had never kissed her before. Not even in all hours they spent together, tellling each other all sort of things, and she told him about the places where she used to play as a kid. It was in this ocation when he kissed her. And it was presicely that fact what made that kiss so bitter. It was like his lips were gall and at the same time the licuor you drink in paradise. The contact was so gentle, so soft and kind, so full of devotion. It was like the Dragon Rider considered her the most precious thing in the world. Even though she had the clothes dirty and the face drained.
"Thank you" he whispered in her ear when they splited. And she couldn't help but freeze, with her fingers over her lips watching him leave. Seeing how he disappeared in the horizon, and the wind of the dragon wings shaked her hair.
Then she realized she was crying. That it had costed to Galbatorix the most horrible pain to make her cry, and it took it only one kiss to Murtagh. She understood then how important the son of Morzan had became to her because she wanted to kneel in the ground and cry disconsolated, that she wanted to hit the ground and kick it and scream with all her lungs untill her throat were ripped. Like she was not Nasuada, leader of the Vardens with her arms full of scars she proudly wears, and she was reduced to a foolish teenager wanting to cry for months because of love.
But she didn't. She stood frimly, rigid. Standing on her feet. When Eragon, who wasn't looking aproached to ask her where the rider and his dragon were. Nasuada only pronunced softly "They left", making an effort to not crumble in front of the boy. Eragon would go to look after his brother to ask him to stay.
But Murtagh wouldn't stay.
And many years after, when his heart would be free of the poison, and he would come back to Alagesia, Nasuada would have been dead for a long time ago.