Hello everyone! This is just something I wrote cause hey why not? Warning for lemons and the like. Enjoy.
Disclaimer: I own nothing as usual (except for the oc).
Chapter 1: The Bargain
Murtagh swirled the red liquid inside his cup moodily. He did not want to be here. Indeed he would not have attended at all had the king not demanded his presence. Now it seemed he had come for no reason whatsoever except to watch silly nobles traipse about as they got drunker and drunker.
Dinner had been a miserable affair. The courtiers high enough in position to sit with the king had traded jokes and stories, most of which had already been told on more than one occasion, and were generally in very bad taste. It had been all he could do not to spring up and stab the offenders with the cutlery. But no doubt that would have resulted in unpleasant consequences, so he had contented himself with pushing the food around on his plate. Murtagh rarely ate these days—despite Galbatorix's admonishments that he should keep up his strength—instead he survived on the energy forced to him through the enslaved dragons that the king had so "graciously" gifted him. He simply could not find the will.
But while his plate remained untouched his goblet certainly had not. It had become his personal mission of the night to become as drunk as possible, and so far he was succeeding wonderfully. He had long ago lost count of how many times the seemingly mute servants had refilled his glass, and his head felt pleasantly fuzzy. It was, he thought, a good way of forgetting.
He frowned, watching the nobles as they laughed and danced, and chatted about mundane things. A woman with her face rouged so that she appeared feverish was bowing to a man in royal purple doublet, who tapped his foot impatiently. Behind them several young gentle men were gesturing animatedly. And nearby a woman in a forget me not blue gown was winding her way through the party goers. Unlike the others she appeared slightly startled, like she knew she did not belong here. He could relate to that.
What it wouldn't be like, he wondered, to live like all of them, free of all but the most benign concerns. Once upon a time that might have been his fate, to grow old and fat on fine foods, but he had grown far too cynical and self-aware to be dazzled by this show of power and wealth. Instead he preferred to sit here and drink, and watch the world go by. But even that got boring.
As gently as he could he reached out with his mind to brush against Thorn's conscious. The dragon was sleeping. The king had been using magic to increase his growth again today, something that always left Thorn exhausted. Carefully Murtagh withdrew his mental probe. Thorn had earned his rest and he had no desire to disturb his partner merely because he was bored.
"Are you enjoying the party my lord?" Blinking he looked up to see Lady Adelina Beauson leaning across the table. She had been sitting across from him all through dinner, something that Murtagh already cursed thoroughly.
"No."
"Well that's a shame." She smiled showing even white teeth, "Here I was thinking you'd fancy a dance. But sitting here and talking is soooooo much better."
Murtagh grunted incommunicably but if Adelina was phased it didn't show as she plugged right along. "I don't know about you but this is not the finest feast I've been too by far. Now if my father had been allowed to plan the event then…" On and on she went. Murtagh wondered how much trouble he would be in if he used magic to silence her. Likely quite a bit.
As she talked her blonde curls bounced up and down wildly. He might have found her beautiful with her blue eyes and rosebud mouth had it not all seemed so artificial. She was so pressed and powered and looked uncomfortable in her crisp salmon gown. Still she was likely to get her way before the night was out. No doubt he would eventually give in to her incessant chatter and she would accompany him back to his private chambers. There he would, drunken as possible, use her until he hoped he no longer remembered his troubles. It was just the way these things usually.
Murtagh sighed and scanned the crowd. Some people were dancing but most milled about talking and eating off the little trays servants carried around. While Adelina talked he watched a couple twirl its way around. The woman kept tripping over her partner's feet, but the man didn't appear to mind. He was too busy leering at the other dancers.
"Of course, it's not as though I had any complaints." Adelina was still talking.
Grimacing Murtagh looked down at the contents of his goblet only to receive a nasty shock. The contents were clear. Water. Clang! He cast the cup down upon the table. Adelina gasped then turned to glare at him reproachfully.
"Bastard." Murtagh whispered. He didn't need to ask to know that this was Galbatorix' work. He stood from the table, shoving his chair back with so much force that it nearly toppled backwards.
"Where are you going my lord?"
"To get some air."
"But—"
He didn't wait for her to finish.
Rhind picked her way through the crowd. Around her ladies skirts swirled, great clouds of silk and taffeta. The room was full of smoke. It stung at her eyes and throat. Bawdy laughter and polite conversation mixed into pleasant white noise. From one corner a troupe of musicians added a lively tune to the sounds of mirth.
Only a few courtiers looked up as she passed by, too involved in their own gossip and merry making to notice. To them she would look like just another silly girl, the daughter perhaps of an unimportant noble, not worth their time to bother with. And she was content with that, she was not here to be noticed anyways.
At length she managed to break free into an area of the room relatively devoid of people. She glanced up at the high table. Most of the seats were empty, their occupants having gone to join the celebrations. It was there that the King sat in a grand throne like chair, looking resplendent in robes of black embroidered with gold flames. He studied the partygoers critically fingertips pressed together as if in prayer. At his side a woman dressed in red and silver occasionally glancing over at the ruler beside her. Rhind knew that she must be one of the king's concubines, though she did not know the woman's name. The girl could not have been much older than herself, eighteen or nineteen at most, and she looked nervous and wary. Rhind almost pitied her. Almost.
It was hard to pity someone whose life must have been so easy. Fine dresses, priceless jewels, and attending fabulous parties were hardly something to complain about.
Several empty seats away from the king a man dressed in fine red velvet glared around the room. His dark hair hung down into his eyes, framing a face that was younger than she had expected. In one hand he held a goblet. This was Murtagh, she knew, son of Morzan the dragon knight. There had been many whispers about him as of late, and whispers were after all Rhind's specialty. Some said that he had been in alliance with the Varden but that the king had captured him, other said he had been a spy all along and had only just returned. Whatever the gossips said however, one thing was agreed upon. Morzan's spawn had a nasty temper that was matched only by that of his dragon. He was currently being entertained by Lady Beauson, and looking none too happy about it. She didn't see why. It was common knowledge that Lady Adelina was one of the most beautiful women at court, and one of the richest too. But then the affections of men were strange things.
Looking around Rhind plucked a goblet of wine off a serving table. It was heavy, wrought of gold into which the sigil of the empire had been wrought in a rubies. It was a bit too opulent and gaudy for her tastes, however, she pressed the metal to her lips none the less.
"Lady Rhind!" She turned to see General Harte swaggering towards her. He was a stout man with a great mustache and arms that might have been as wide around as Rhind's whole body. A doublet of heavily emerald brocade covered a slightly bulging belly.
She sunk into a light curtsy, "General."
Harte kissed her sloppily on the hand, the whiskers of his mustache tickling the skin. "Didn't think I'd see you here."
"Nor I you." Rhind smiled icily. She was well acquainted with the general, a loud man with a big head and even bigger sense of entitlement. She had first met him at an event much like this and had disliked him ever since. "Indeed, I must admit I thought you would be in Gilead. I hear the army is being mustered there."
"Yes. Yes." He bobbed his head eagerly, "Probably head out before the week ends."
"You think it will lead to all-out war?" Despite her dislike for the general she could not keep the curiosity out of her voice. Most of her life had been lived in Urubane and to her the Varden were nothing more than monsters mothers used to frighten wayward children.
Harte himself laughed, "It's already a bloody war. Those damned rebels just won't leave well enough alone eh?"
"I suppose not."
"Well that's what happens when you give power to peasants. Sooner or later every Tom Dick and Harry thinks he can rule better than the next man. But never mind all that. We're here to celebrate. Get in a last carousing before I have to head back to that dung heap of a camp."
"To the empire then." Rhind raised her glass.
"The empire!" Harte roared, a much louder echo. When he had drunk he turned back to her face flushed, "But now I've got a proposition for you."
"Indeed?" She raised one eyebrow, voice skeptical.
The general's eyes were greedy as they examined the young woman and Rhind felt a prickle of unease. "I've hear more than a few stories bout you. Us noblemen might not be as bad as women but word gets round. If you're as good as they say you are I'd be willing to pay double of whatever Lord Drayton gave you."
Rhind felt her face redden in anger. "I am not a whore, general. I am not for sale, and even if I was you could not afford it." She turned to leave but one of his hands snaked out, holding her wrist in a vicelike grip. He pulled her forward so that she was forced to look up into his beady eyes. His breath stank of sour wine and Rhind fought the urge not to gag.
"You forget your place. I should make you pay for your insolence."
She was just raising her left hand to place a well-deserved slap across his face when someone spoke.
"General Harte, if you still value your hands I suggest you let the lady go." Harte let go of her at once, so quickly in fact that she stumbled backward. Turning she saw a young man dressed in red, his face a permanent scowl. It was Lord Murtagh.
Harte was stuttering now, his face a nasty shade of purple. The rider cut across his blubbering with a swipe of his hand.
"You have many duties General. I suggest you go attend to some of them." The threat was clear in Lord Murtagh's voice.
After General Harte departed with many a bow and an apology and Rhind turned to Murtagh with a curtsy. "I suppose I should thank you for rescuing me."
Murtagh studied the girl. She looked slightly familiar, dressed in a plain muslin gown of bright blue. Her dark hair had been pulled loosely up into a bun and her eyes glinted in the lantern light
He shrugged noncommittally. "Harte's is a pig."
"Then I thank you all the more. I would hate to have spent my night with that."
He was slightly taken aback. She spoke much more forthrightly than he'd expected. Usually women of her class danced around such topics with backwards phrases and elusive smiles.
She smiled, showing slightly crooked teeth and held out her hand to him, "My name is Rhind by the way."
He took it, her skin was smooth and warm. "I assume you already know who I am, and now you're going to ask if I'm enjoying the celebration."
"No actually, I wasn't. You seemed plenty miserable without me asking stupid questions."
"And what would you know of misery?"
"Nothing, I just happen to be perceptive."
"Is that so?" He raised an eyebrow critically and she flashed him another brilliant smile. He realized then with a start just how alive she was. Not alive in the sense of breathing and a heartbeat, all living things had that. No, she was alive, practically radiating energy. He could not imagine how it would feel to be as free as her.
"I—if I may be so blunt my lord, why is it that you intervened? I had the situation in hand. And, forgive my saying so, but you are not renowned for your kindness."
Despite his black mood that remark brought a little smile to his lips, "You may be right about that, but just because I am not kind does not mean I enjoy watching others fall prey to that pig of a man. Besides, you interest me Lady Rhind."
It was her turn now to raise a brow, "I am not quite sure what you intend by that my lord."
"I am quite sure you do."
"Perhaps," She toyed with a strand of copper hair that had fallen free of her bun, "Though I cannot imagine what it is you desire in me."
She had a fair point. She was not so beautiful as many of those present. And with his new rank as dragon rider no doubt he could have a lady far fairer than she. But there was little enjoyment in that for him and he admired her boldness.
"Let's just say you are not the average." He kept his face and voice impassive, "However, I would not—especially after what just occurred—presume to force you into anything against your will. So I will ask, if I requested you to accompany me back to my chambers what would your response be?"
"Well…if you were to make such a request of me, then I presume I would be obligated to accept."
She followed him down the hallway. As they walked the shadows seemed to grow in depth and length as the candles upon the walls grew less and less frequent. There was a time when she might have been frightened, but the dark had long since lost its hold on her. The sounds of the party had long since faded into the distance, and in the silence Rhind could hear her own breath as well as the click clack of her shoes on the stones.
It was cold in this wing of the palace, mostly uninhabited, the hearths left untended. Both of their breaths rose in white mists that hung heavy in the air. Rhind ought to have been cold, but right now heat flowed through her, as though all her blood had been set to boil over a fire.
She was not sure what it was but something about the young dragon knight that made her heart race. She knew she ought to be afraid of him. Indeed she was, but even as she feared him she was curious. Perhaps it was how the entire world seemed beneath him, or that he never smiled. Indeed, she had not business talking to him in the first place, her orders had been to watch and watch only, but she had teased him. She had tempted fate.
When they reached the door to Murtagh's chambers he uttered a single word and the door flew open, the lock shattered. Her knowledge of magic was limited, but she knew that there were at least a dozen other words he might have uttered, with less damage.
Inside, the room was dark, smelling faintly of musk and something else she could not quite identify. It was not a bad scent.
"Brisingr." A few candles and the fire burst to life, engulfing the room in an orange glow. The interior was luxurious. She had expected nothing less from a dragon rider. The windows were hung with rich velvet drapes, and the walls lined with books shelves. A plush couch and several chairs stood by the fire. Everywhere were the colors red and gold. Another door on the room's far end led to what must be a bed chamber.
She had half expected Murtagh to leap upon her as soon as they were across the threshold, but instead he went to a small table in the corner he poured two goblets of wine from a silver decanter.
"Would you like some?"
"Y—yes." Her throat was suddenly very dry and she took the cup from him, thankful as the cool liquid tickled her throat.
When she looked up she found Murtagh's eyes fixed upon her. They seemed to glow in the firelight and held a sort of hunger. The heat that she had felt in the hallway came rushing suddenly back, and her muslin dress felt far too constricting and heavy.
Carefully she placed the goblet back upon the table, and Murtagh stepped forward. Up close the hungry light was more akin to ravenous. His fingertips brushed against the flush of her cheek, before nestling in her hair. With a sharp tug her head was drawn to one side and the rider planted kisses down her exposed neck. He was forceful, urgent, and she had no doubt that she would bruise.
"You know," Rhind whispered rather breathlessly, "when I imagined this night, this was certainly not what I'd intended."
When he spoke his voice was low, "Whatever your intentions were I'm sure they were far from innocent."
She smiled then, the fire glowing in her eyes, "Indeed my lord? You would do well not to question the intentions of a lady." Even as she said it she brushed back the fabric of her dress, baring her shoulders, and allowed the garment to fall with a muffled flump to the floor. She stood before him in nothing but her corset and thin chemise.
"And you would do well not to tease me." With that he recaptured her in his arms, holding her against him with no chance of escape. He could hear the air go out of her lungs with a little whoosh and then as he began to plant kisses down the exposed skin of her neck a small moan escaped from her lips.
Murtagh smiled inwardly as she yielded to his touch. Frantically her fingers scrabbled at the buttons of his doublet until it fell away. Soon his undershirt followed, adding to the increasing pile of garments upon the floor.
Her hands strayed lower and he was acutely aware of the tightness in his breaches. He was not sure how they managed to make it to the bed chamber but the next thing he knew he was on top of her upon the red satin sheets of his bed.
Even as she traced her lips and tongue across his exposed chest he tore at her gown. The thin white fabric shredded under his grip, but the corset held much to his dismay. He fumble futilely with the laces for a moment before Rhind looked up.
She smiled to see his distress, slight as it was. Despite whatever unnatural powers the Dragon Knight possessed he was still a mortal man. Vaguely she wondered how angered he would be to be known as the man who was bested by a simple corset.
But then a little growl escaped his throat and she could see that if she did not remove it he would try once more by force. Sitting up Rhind reached back and deftly undid the lacing. Then with trembling fingers slid the corset and remnants of her chemise away, so that she was completely naked before him.
Murtagh studied the girl sitting in front of him. The light of the candles played across her skin, making the shadows dance and swirl. Her hair was a tumble of dark curls, much tangled from when he had grabbed her by it earlier. She was beautiful he thought. Not in the way most men might consider, but there was a wild beauty to her, a feralness that filled him with desire.
And Rhind too thought the rider beautiful, though in a darker way. So that as she watched him strip off his pants she could almost imagine she was dancing upon the cliff edge of her own destruction. All dark he was, and even as he was in the fits of passion she could see the cruelness and anger that never really seemed to leave his countenance.
"Do you approve my lord?" She asked sweetly, brushing the tip of one finger across his stomach, to the place were little hairs marked a trail down from his stomach.
Murtagh did not need to answer with words instead let out a moan and flipped her, so that she was pinned squarely beneath him. He wanted her so badly. No. He needed her.
Lifting her head off the pillows she pressed her lips to his ear. "Take me."
He could not wait any longer, it was as if those words had triggered in him a raging animal. Bracing one hand upon the head board he thrust deep within her. Rhind gasped, as he set his rhythm. Her nails scratched wildly at his back, but if they drew blood the young rider was heedless.
As he went harder he lifted her small form up onto him, dipping one hand between her thighs. Rhind moaned, fingers knotted almost painfully tight in his hair. Her head was thrown back, and her back arched under his hands. It was as though the blood in her veins had turned to fire, he could feel it through the paper-thin layer of her skin.
She called out and he realized how close she was to his end. Almost teasingly he withdrew his fingers tracing them up the exposed skin of her stomach. Rhind let out a frustrated whine as she came spinning suddenly back to reality. Above her the rider's lips had pated in a self-satisfied smirk.
"Beg." His voice was husky and raw, the need and anger mixed equally, "Beg for me to finish you. Or I'll leave you as you are." He was not one to hold such a threat, close to his own end as he was, but he let the words hang heavy. He growled then driving forward so hard that she yelped in pain. "Beg Rhind."
She was drowning in him she thought, his scent, his taste. All of it was overwhelming her. As if of its own will her mouth moved voicing the very pleas he demanded.
"Please."
"Louder."
"Please. End it! Please Murtagh!"
He was satisfied for even as she called out he brought his fingers back to her and she was lost. Already unbearably tight she contracted around him so that Murtagh felt as though the air had temporarily left his lungs. Rhind's body and mind had already gone, dancing away on the wave of pleasure when he finally found his release, gripping so tight to her that his fingers left marks.
She lay as she was, surrounded by a haze of heady satisfaction. The window was open she realized, a servant must have left it open earlier in the day, or maybe Murtagh had. Through it a little gust blew and Rhind felt goose bumps rise on her exposed flesh. The silken sheets were warm beneath them, comforting against the sudden chill.
Beside her she could hear Murtagh shift, his breaths tickled her neck, heavy and uneven. Her fingers strayed aimlessly across his skin, pale as spiders to his tanned muscles. She traced patterns, like half remembered stories and he shivered were she touched him. This man she had feared, both for his strength and ferocity, suddenly seemed vulnerable. His eyes lidded with sleep, dark hair tangled, and cheeks flushed, he was not the same monster she had followed from the party. He was just a child, as she was herself.
Even as she sunk into the embrace of dreams she heard, as if from a long way away, her own voice, just a whisper. "Sleep rider."
Murtagh slept.
A/N: wow so that was my first attempt at a lemon, like ever… which was way more daunting to write than it should have been but hopefully it went okay. Thanks for reading :) reviews are appreciated.