Author's Note:
PGS 345-6, 354: "A second later, a dragon roared overhead... The roar did not belong to Saphira. / He [Thorn] landed close to Nasuada's pavilion, and the earth shook from the impact of his weight. Eragon heard Nasuada's guards shouting; then Thorn swung his right forepaw across the ground, and half the shouts went silent. / Before they reached her [Elva], Eragon heard a muffled scream. He turned and, to his horror, saw Murtagh striding out of the pavilion, dragging Nasuada by her wrists. Nasuada's hair was disheveled. A nasty scratch marred one of her cheeks, and her yellow dressing gown was torn in several places. She kicked at Murtagh's knee, but her heel bounced off a ward, leaving Murtagh untouched. He pulled her closer with a cruel tug, then struck her on the temple with the pommel of Zar'roc, knocking her unconscious."
*Based on the passage above. Underlined means it was directly incorporated into this fanfic. This fanfic is more AU than anything, I'm sure, and I try to account for everything that Eragon sees/hears.
*I take into consideration Nasuada's POV when she first comes to (in a later chapter, after the events of the kidnapping). However, if Murtagh was trying to kidnap me, I wouldn't be able to think rationally as well. ;D
*The timeline in the Inheritance Cycle is a little frustrating when it's not explicitly said, so I apologize for that time comment if it is in fact an error. It's my best estimate looking back into the novels and the Wiki.
*Allusions to my With Grace!verse are included, but it is not necessary to read because it is explained/implied enough in this story.
*CP may very well have a different idea about how this goes down, but I like to hope. It probably aligns with my Nasuada/Murtagh!verse more, anyhow.
*Image was edited in Photoshop.
Anyway, thanks for reading! Enjoy and sé onr sverdar sitja hvass!
~Lucy
THE WORD OF A RIDER
A dragon's roar.
The ground underneath her trembled like it was being wrenched apart. The quill in her hand left an unsightly mark on her paper, causing a heavy sigh to escape from her lips. Nasuada figured it was Saphira landing close by, as her arrivals caused such a commotion. She was too consumed with her duties to question if there was another matter Eragon had for her, among the list that was already piled high on her desk.
Nasuada was tired, but as the inevitable final battle loomed over them, she sacrificed whatever she could to make sure they would succeed. She gave her blood and tears and whatever they deemed necessary of her.
Sleep would find her soon. She was already dressed down in a simple yellow gown and her hair was out of braids and pinned back loosely. As far as she was concerned, she was in no state to receive any guests. They would have to wait until morning.
As she placed her quill back to the paper, Nasuada heard the most unnerving sound: sudden shouting. She heard the yells of her guards, then silence. The rest sounded far away.
Something wasn't right.
Nasuada felt for her bow beneath the covers of her bed, notching an arrow from her quiver and pointing it toward the entrance. The intruder would pay dearly for his mistake with an arrow in his chest.
She waited, sucking in her breath. The cloth of the curtain barring the way to her quarters remained still. Nasuada almost brought her bow down, but she persisted in waiting a little while longer. Fortunate for her, the curtain was eventually pulled away roughly and her arrow flew true to her mark.
The arrow snapped in half at the intruder's feet. To her amazement and anger, the bow in her hand snapped into two pieces as well. No true weapons were in her immediate vicinity – she spotted her jeweled dagger on the bookcase, cursing herself inwardly – and for some reason, she was compelled to stay still and observe the magician before her. Nasuada noticed the red magic and heard the calm, assured voice, but the visual was much more telling.
She gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth. The Red Rider. Murtagh.
It had been nearly six months since she had last seen Murtagh at the Varden. He was just as she remembered, except for his dominating muscles. Murtagh was far stronger, even without the use of magic. She should have held her composure in front of him, but she faced a stark reality that marred her efforts. Murtagh daring to invade the Varden's camp and picking her tent out meant one thing: Galbatorix wanted her.
"Nasuada, please," Murtagh scoffed, looking at the broken bow in her hands. "I thought we were on better terms than that."
She threw the pieces at him. "Are you jesting? You broke my bow! You barged into my camp and you expected some hospitality?" she said, fuming. "Leave before you get yourself killed. Eragon and Arya and the rest will come to my aid."
Murtagh chuckled. "I doubt it. Do you take me for a fool, my lady?"
She considered it. "No. I told you to call me Nasuada."
"As you desire, Nasuada."
"Just stop, please. What are you doing here, Murtagh? If you wanted to talk such frivolities, you shouldn't have made such a commotion."
His demeanor changed. "I think you already know. Don't you?" he replied, his face somber.
Nasuada swallowed the lump in her throat. "Yes."
"Then will you submit? It would lessen the casualties needed for this task."
"I am not being kidnapped by you. I have too much at stake. No words or your magician ways will force me away from the Varden."
"That is not the correct answer, Nasuada."
"I will never submit to you. Killing me is the easiest way."
"Are you aware of Galbatorix? He knows about… Ajihad. The Varden remains steady without his guidance. You are more valuable alive."
Her father's name stung. That fateful day had broken her heart in different ways. A piece of it due to the man standing in front of her, with his fierce, grey eyes and lovely voice. Nasuada could barely stand to look at him.
"True," she said, formulating plans in her mind. They were half-baked at most, but she was desperate for any means of escape. "Do you remember what I said to you before you left the Varden?"
He shifted uncomfortably. "Yes."
"It still holds true, even as you stand before me, threatening to tear me away from the Varden."
She drew up close to Murtagh, lips slightly parted, and stared into his softening grey eyes. Nasuada caressed his arm before looping her own arms around his frame. She remembered. He would too. It left him vulnerable and that's all she needed to do.
He made no move to capture her. His situation was tricky, but not impossible. She would see to it that Murtagh would be free from the baggage attached to his name. It wouldn't be now, but the future looked promising. If her rash plan worked…
There was no time for hesitations. She withdrew the arm closest to his sheath and pulled Zar'roc out of its casing. Murtagh lunged forward but she pointed it in his direction, making him retreat back. He scoffed at her with such derision that she almost fell to tears.
"Do not deny me my inheritance, Nasuada," he said. "You cannot hope to escape from me. Galbatorix expects this. You have done all you could. Your part in the war is complete. You are his prisoner."
Nasuada trembled, her arms shaking under the weight of Zar'roc. No, she had to rule the Varden. She had gone through many trials to get to her current standing. People respected her. Murtagh was ready to take that all away in mere seconds. No, he was cruel.
Murtagh saw his opportunity and seized the handle where Nasuada's hands were not, surprising her. She persisted as long as she could, but a sudden jerk on his end caused the tip of the blade to nick the side of her cheek. Nasuada recoiled with a cry of pain. Staggering back, she placed a hand on her cheek. The blood stained her ebony hand.
He reached out for her, but thought better of it and looked at the miniscule amount of blood on the blade instead. Murtagh wiped it away and sheathed Zar'roc.
"I am nobody's prisoner," Nasuada said.
Murtagh stared hard at her. "Even Zar'roc has quenched its thirst for your blood. It was never supposed to happen! You do not understand how much more difficult it is for me to do this, Nasuada!" he said.
"Then do not do it," she said harshly.
"I do not have a choice! I swore an oath in the Ancient Language! As did Thorn! I am bound to complete my task, no matter how difficult!"
Like all his other tasks? Nasuada felt the pain in his tone. She couldn't comfort him anymore. Murtagh was far too broken since the last time they had spoken. Galbatorix had molded him into his soldier, as malleable as he was, but the King pulled too hard on his servant. The man before her was in shambles on the inside.
"You are different and perplexing, Murtagh," she said at last.
He was more guarded this time. "How so?" he said, his exasperation subdued.
"How so? You attack the Varden and relish it, yet you offer compassion to Eragon and Saphira still," she began, folding her arms over her chest. "You have power beyond belief with magic, swordsmanship, and Thorn, but now you stand before me, offering me a choice in the matter when there is no choice. That is why you are perplexing, Murtagh. I cannot guess your intentions but I know you are different from our first meeting."
"I succeed in hiding my intentions on purpose. You would not understand, Nasuada, or know what I have gone through with Galbatorix."
"You are so frustrating! Do you speak to me like a child, or an inferior?"
"You misunderstand me. I am not being condescending, but truthful. Maybe my motives are not clear enough."
"These motives are only known to you because you are not willing to share."
Murtagh shook his head. "I implore you, Nasuada, please, accompany me freely."
"I will not go willingly, you understand?" Nasuada replied, hastily. "My people need me, Murtagh! You of all people should know that! Oath or no oath, you know this to be true! Your salvation will be taken away as I am taken away on Thorn. Murtagh, you will have doomed you and Thorn to a life of slavery!"
Desperate, Nasuada tore at her sleeves, ripping the material of her yellow dressing gown. She held out her arms side by side, revealing the long, pink scars marring them. They were fully healed, but they would forever remind her of her deed.
"This is what I did to prove myself to them!" she shrieked. "I endured unbearable pain just to retain power in the Varden! You will have undone all that!"
Murtagh stiffened. She could tell that he already knew. They both now knew that they were more similar than ever: young, scarred, and forced into roles they had little choice in. Nasuada came to accept hers, but Murtagh could not. Or else Galbatorix had twisted him into a monster.
"It is still not my choice," he said quietly.
Murtagh looked away. He was pensive and withdrawn. This was the final attempt at escape. If she made it outside the tent, her soldiers and Eragon could protect her. They could drive away Murtagh and Thorn. Even so, they couldn't drive out the searing pain she felt in her heart.
She ran for the entrance.
He caught her by the waist.
Nasuada cursed as Murtagh reached for her wrists. Her last glimpse of freedom was fading before her very eyes. She swore to fight to the very end, even if it resulted in her death. Her poor, squandered legacy!
"Thorn is coming for us. Do not resist me, Nasuada," he warned her.
"I will resist you, Murtagh!" she cried out, pounding her fists against his chest. The wards around him pushed her hands back instead.
"Nothing you can do can harm me. I am protected. Thorn will also be a gentle flyer, if you are worried about that."
"No! I will not go!"
Murtagh sighed. "We have lingered too long. I will drag you out of this tent if you do not come with me freely."
"Do it, you... you coward!"
Anger fueled his cruelty. She screamed. He grabbed both of her wrists roughly and started pulling on them against her will. Her struggle barely hindered his progress, instead causing her balance to falter. Nasuada's gown tore where she had stepped on it. Her panic grew steadily when she realized that Eragon was nowhere to be found – that, and the bodies of her slaughtered guards on the ground next to her tent frightened her.
"I would rather die!" Nasuada exclaimed, fighting him as she was dragged out of her tent. "Kill me! Do it! Grant me this, Murtagh! I want to die and be free. I will not betray my friends!"
She kicked him with all the force she could muster. As before, it simply bounced off his wards. Nasuada continued to struggle with Murtagh as he tugged on her wrists.
"Stop it, Nasuada, you are acting like a child!" he chided her.
"You scorn my sex! I am allowed to defend myself!" she rebuked him.
Nasuada wanted death over chains and torture. (No matter how much she pleaded, Murtagh could not grant it in more ways than one. Galbatorix needed her alive. It was at his hand that he had convinced the King to take her up as his newest servant. It would keep her alive in the long run.)
He pulled her close with one last powerful tug. "I am so sorry, Nasuada," he said earnestly, lifting Zar'roc out of its sheath. "Please forgive me for what I am about to do."
She watched his arm go up and she smiled. He was granting her wish. But it faded as she felt the pommel of the sword strike her temple. Murtagh was cruel she thought.
The blackness consumed her.