|| -Superflyingtacklepounces Murtagh- I LUFF HEEM.
O__O Oh…Heh, hi, guys. Didn't see you there…
WELL THANNN. Here is my first step into my new obsession, The Inheritance Cycle~! :D I love it. They're the best books evah…SMeyer has nothing on Chrissy P! ^_^
H'okay. NAO WE R GO ON 2 THE SRZ BIZNESZ.
They story is EragonxMurtagh, the only acceptable Inheritance pairing, for serious. And there's not enough fics around these parts of these two.
So, this first part takes place near the late beginning/early middle of the book, while Eragon is fleeing from Helgrind and met Arya at Eastcroft. Now they are in the forest, blah. Sitting, blah. Murtagh is flying, yeey!
Aha, you can see who I prefer out of them all. :D
Anyway, hope you enjoy! I know I had a nice time writing it.
To him, Eragon was a great many things. He was a valiant warrior. He was a troubled boy, haunted by ghosts of his past and present. He was his brother.
But mostly, to Murtagh, Eragon was a glass of the finest wine, poisoned by droplets of the fatal Seithr Oil. He was wonderful, something Murtagh longed to indulge in. The Rider was sweet, rich, melodious…warm. But the thought was present- as it was always present- that, once he took a drink, the consequences could be, and would be, dire. The world would riot, his soul could catch ablaze, and his full sense of self would be lost to the punishments of the King. And so, Murtagh could never be able to indulge himself in the fineness of the Dragon Rider Eragon, for doing so would prove likely fatal, and perhaps sinful. And Murtagh was a truly twisted man if he wanted to add Eragon's name to the long list of his sins.
The Rider of the Empire was skimming through the clouds on a bed of shimmering ruby scales and, despite his troubling thoughts, enjoyed every exuberant minute of being free, high above the king's reign. Thorn, the young dragon below him, let out a small bellow of approval, for he, too, enjoyed their rare pleasure of flight. The creature sensed and shared in Murtagh's thoughts, but dared not intrude on them, for he hardly understood the concepts his Rider mulled over in his mind. He only beat his wings and dove closer to the ground. It was important to be close to the ground now; they were on patrol, after all.
Murtagh sighed and scanned the still-faroff land rolling below them, his eyes sharp and wary for the object of their search. Galbatorix had sent them out over his lands to scan the earth for intruders, though the Rider didn't think he could spot a single being that looked out of place from this distance. Perhaps if they were running breakneck speeds across a barren field, then perhaps he could see them.
Thorn snorted louder then he probably meant to. Then perhaps we should land.
Perhaps. For a while, anyway.
Thorn dipped low, almost touching land, and skimmed over the surface of a large body of water like a water-skater glides the width of a puddle. Murtagh couldn't help but smile as stray drops of water hit his face when Thorn's claws grazed the surface. These were the times he felt truly free, free of the King's grasp, free of everything. He felt so liberated, so himself.
Maybe Eragon felt like this when he flew, as well.
"Adurna, Risa." Water from the large body began to gather underneath the large body, forming a shapeless blob until he directed it to the fairly large waterskin atop the bushel of supplies tied to Thorn. Releasing the magic and guiding the water inside, he turned back to the front, assuming his past happiness once again.
The dragon was nearing the edge of the water, which both Thorn and Murtagh had identified as Tiidosten Lake. He pulled up then, his tail brushing the sandy edge of the lake. Flapping his wings and gaining altitude once more, Thorn turned his cat-like eyes around to search for a spot where he could land in solitude. He chose an expanse of trees to the west, and turned and headed there, crossing the main roads littered with Empire soldiers and refugees.
XX---XX
Eragon stretched at his place near the fire, glancing over at the elf-woman on the other side for a moment before returning his gaze to the embers.
Arya was busying herself with braiding pieces of grass together quietly, a habit she took to whenever the duo stopped to camp during the evenings. Eragon had witnessed her fantastic handiwork and marveled at the precision she was either born with or managed to hone all of her long, long life.
Glancing up at her again, he noticed the elf was almost finished halfway with her project. Didn't she just start minutes ago? He thought, but tossed it aside quickly. He knew the elves worked with magnificent speed, dedication and speed in with their crafts, and Arya seemed no exception. She worked with grace, speed, and precision, all common elven qualities. It made Eragon almost want to be full elf.
Think of the things I could do…!
By the time Eragon finished his thought, Arya had completed her projec, and she held the sculpture out for Eragon to see, almost timidly. The Rider could only stare in awe.
She had crafted a scale replica of a dragon out of pieces of grass. The dragon had its wings fully splayed out, and was poised to take off into the skies. The model was so accurate, neck spines lined the grass beast's neck and tail, and spurs tipped its tail and wings.
"There is no way to capture the full beauty of dragons in a small model such as this," Arya suddenly said, jarring Eragon from his transfixion with the dragon.
"but hopefully, you or Saphira can appreciate it." Arya held the small grass creature closer to her. "Flauga sjon Eragon."
The dragon became free from inanimate bond and took to the air, avoiding the fire and landing in Eragon's lap. Awed, he picked it up, happy that he could observe the dragon closer.
"It looks just like Saphira. I'm sure she'll love it," Eragon looked up at her, smiling, "I do."
Arya smiled as well, portraying only a slight amount of humble embarrassment.
"The sun has almost vanished. Perhaps we should put the fire out."
"Yeah."
They proceeded to scoop dirt onto the fire, smothering the flames and embers until they were no more.
Eragon and Arya sat in dim silence for a while, giving Eragon's mind time to wander. He wondered about Roran and Katrina and Saphira, if they had made it to the Varden yet; about Nasuada, and how she was handling everything, including his absence; about Sloan, and where he had managed to wander up to now; about Murtagh and how-
His wandering mind slammed headfirst into a wall of bad memories, each fragment of the mind-wall containing his thoughts and memories of his…brother. That word suddenly sickened him. Eragon considered him and Roran brothers; he barely acknowledged the possibility of Murtagh, traitor of blood and trust,being a true relative. Yet the fact still hit him and hurt him whenever the thought crossed through his mind. But sometimes- and that was now a very rare sometimes- , the thought of being Murtagh's brother appealed to him, once he thought about it enough. He was a decent enough man- well, he was before. He was kind, to Eragon, anyway, respectful, and talented, both with a book and a blade. As a bonus, Murtagh was a very attractive person.
F-for a man, anyway... Eragon added quickly added. He didn't go around looking at men comparing them to his brother, so on his own personal terms, Murtagh was genuinely good-looking.
I am a strange man for thinking of things like this...about my traitorous brother, to make it better! He was grateful Saphira wasn't around to intrude on his thoughts; she'd probably have some very sarcastic comments to put in.
Not realizing how long they had been sitting there, Eragon finally yawned and announced that they should rest.
"We should get a lot of rest if we wish to reach the Varden, hopefully, by tomorrow." Arya agreed, sliding over to her bedding and lying down. Eragon managed to steal one more glance of her before he retired as well. On his way to the bedroll, Eragon decided that Arya might look better with her raven hair cropped to her shoulders, perhaps mounted on a ruby-red dragon sporting armor instead of a dress.
Uhm, okay...
His thoughts both unsettled him and created an uneasy, strange feeling as he laid his head down to sleep.
You're a strange one, Eragon... He imagined Saphira saying to him inside of his mind; a small smile appeared on his face as her imaginary voice filled his head.
Eragon didn't have much luck sleeping that night, but he did have plenty of dreams to keep him occupied through the dark night.
XX---XX
MUAHA. Not much to say here except…the next chapter is bettar, I swears! 83
So leave your comments, suicide letters, top-secret lobster bisque recipes, darkest secrets, sexual invitations, ransom notes, and anything else you can think of in a Review! Tell me how much you hate my guts and wish me dead, and I will applaud you and your lack of a properly functioning brain. =D
Wooo…Later!
Wango Tango