Disclaimer: Christopher Paolini owns all these characters
Author's Note: All the words in italics are the character's inner thoughts.
Nasuada nervously pinned her hair, pricking herself in the process. This was normally a task for Farica, but the queen of the Varden had insisted on dressing herself today. Throwing the pins down in disgust she hurriedly donned the white silk sari that Orrin had given her. He had hoped that she would wear it when she married him, but today Nasuada wore the dress for a different occasion. Despite the torches on the wall, she shivered as she descended into the dungeons of Orrin's palace, both from the chill of the grim underground passage and the forbidding atmosphere. She stopped before a thick wooden door, guarded by four urgals. Nasuada took a deep breath, fitted the key in the lock and pushed with all her strength.
The door to the prison cell opened, letting in a flood of light that momentarily blinded both the prisoner, who lay prostrate on the floor, and the queen who stood tall in the doorway. The injured man sat up with an expression of studied nonchalance. He momentarily met the eyes of Nasuada, before shielding his face with a bloody arm. After so many days in darkness the pure light streaming behind her was too much to face. Nasuada squinted in the darkness, certain that Murtagh was in here somewhere. She stepped nimbly down the ramp, stopping when she heard a cry of pain. Inside she winced, but she knew it would never do for the leader of the Varden to apologize to a traitor. She longed to offer him her hand, her help…but no, it would never do. Nasuada hardened her heart and took several steps back.
"Greetings, wretched Murtagh, son of the wicked Morzan." Nasuada spoke with clear conviction, the venom in her voice wounding him far more than the mention of his father.
" Likewise…beautiful, proud Nasuada daughter of misguided Ahjihad." Murtagh's voice was hoarse and bitter. "Have the Council of Elders decided my fate?"
"You decided your own fate the day you betrayed us."
"I never meant to betray…you, the Varden. I had no choice in the matter."
"There's always a choice. You chose wrong." Nasuada glared at him, and then gasped. Her eyes had adjusted to the gloom and for the first time she could see his injuries. "They've hurt you." Concern wrinkled her brow as she knelt on the ground before him. She gently placed a hand on his uninjured shoulder. "Who did this to you Murtagh?"
He flinched from the touch of her hand and backed further into the darkness of the dungeon.
"Do you truly care for …me, my comfort?" His voice was a mix of despair and contempt. His cold rebuke snapped Nasuada back to reality.
"We're civil here in the Varden. I ordered the guards not to touch you, and Trianna, my sorceress, to heal your battle wounds. Clearly my orders were ignored."
" I deserved it…What does it matter? I am to be executed anyway."
"Your sentence has not yet been confirmed. The Varden would have you executed, tortured first of course, as would the elves. The dwarves would like to stone you to death; the urgals prefer to gore you. Angela had some…disturbing, creative ideas. Elva suggested I burn you alive. All agree you should die slowly and painfully…except me." Murtagh's face paled with each new option.
"Unfortunately …thankfully the matter of your dragon complicates matters. With so few dragons left in the world it seems imprudent to destroy one, especially one so young and unfairly abused…just like you… As you well know the connection between dragon and rider is such that they literally cannot survive without each other. There are ways to dissolve the bond but they all require consent from both parties, and Thorn has made it abundantly clear that he would rather die than be parted from you."
Murtagh peered at her cautiously, hardly daring to hope. "So Thorn is to live?"
"Not necessarily. The council may decide to execute you anyway, in which case Thorn would die as well. Either you both will live or you both will die. The matter is being debated as we speak…I hope you live… I hope you live."
The words slipped out before she could stop them. Murtagh dropped his defenses. His tense stance relaxed and his sneer softened into a genuine smile.
"You do?" When he spoke it was the voice of the boy Nasuada had first met; a little afraid, but maybe a little hopeful too.
Nasuada wracked her brain for a way to cover the slip. "As I said it would be imprudent, you're quite valuable… I mean to Galbatorix. We could use you as a bargaining chip…" She trailed off as Murtagh's smile grew. "Yes. Yes I do."
Murtagh crept out of the shadows he was in and took her hand in his. "Why?"
The touch of his skin on hers made Nasuada forget all of her diplomatic training.
"Even though you've broken my…heart, trust I suppose I still…love you, care about you." Hers was not the commanding voice of a queen. It was the hesitant voice of a girl unsure of her future, the same soft tones that had made Murtagh fall in love the moment he met her. Nasuada stood up intending to leave. Murtagh also stood, shaky from his blood loss, and spontaneously wrapped his arms around her
"I've missed you." He mumbled into her shoulder. His blood colored the fine white cloth She longed to reply in kind. Instead she spoke the words expected of her.
"I must go." Murtagh slid to the floor groaning in pain and disappointment. Nasuada dashed up the ramp, through the castle, and back to her tent, aware that both her dress and her reputation were far less pure than before.