Chapter 2

Mir held her head high. She could not allow herself to lose her pride. An Urgal without pride was as disgraced as an Urgal without horns.

"You shall have two ceremonies; one according to elven customs, and one to humans. Thus all involved races will see the marriage as legitimate."

With a glare at her feet, Mir sat in stony silence. "What does law have to do with a legitimate marriage?" She turned her brown gaze up towards her father, her warrior's will rising up within.

Her father, however, was far too used to her, "Now that the subject of consummation has been brought up. Humans usually require consummation on the wedding night; however, Lady Nightstalker has found a way around it. We can fake consummation simply enough"

"What of Queen Night stalker's reflexes? Can she duck my furious blow? I trust whoring me out in some trans-species abomination was not your idea." How could she marry this man? Humans fought like pigs, cowards! She would proudly go into battle, even if she was sure to die; however, a marriage was a far different battlefield, one she was not ready for.

"My daughter, if you do not disperse with such talk, you will force my hand."

"To what? Obviously none forced your hand to sign this... this prison sentence!" Betrayal, anger and revenge swelled up within Mir. Such a horrible victory to be sung about her. Why couldn't it be of her battling Shrrgs in the mountains, or traversing the Burning Plains? Utter hopelessness consumed the bitter stew of agony, but Mir would not give into weakness. She would not cry. Warriors shed no tears. But how could she blindly agree to this in any form?

"I shall saw off your horns."

Mir set her jaw.

So she would marry a pig. She could not bear the disgrace of no horns.

"Here." Her father handed her a slim packet. "This tells of the customs you both shall need to know, and a letter from your betrothed. Read it. Know it. I will accept no less than complete compliance, Mir."

"For my horns, Father- not for you."

"Une?" Mir stifled laughter at another one of the human customs, "How do they believe that through tying one's wrists together, they seek to join two souls?"

"My dear, be soft to them." Her maid was those of the child-bearers, not prone to hardness. "Perhaps you will learn more through this than through battle."

Mir shook her head, "We have to pay them something called a 'dowry,' Une. Women are not free in this world. They are things. A piece in a strand of weaving, but owned exclusively by the weaver! How could my father have done this to me?" Her voice had grown softer, an effect not often taken on.

A wordless clasp upon the shoulder was all she received. Life would indeed be bleak. The man's face wasn't even appealing. He was pink, like a sick, dying Urgal, and with beady eyes like a pig. Disgusting.

"Nasuada!" Eragon gave into the rage he felt, ignoring Saphira's attempts to calm him, and flung a vase against the wall. "I still have yet to understand what you were thinking!"

Nasuada sat on her throne, giving him a bemused grin, "Eragon, do you seek to tear down the castle around my ears?" She stood imperiously, her slender finders resting on the edge of her throne before she waved the ladies and lords of the court away. "Give me freedom from you all for but an hour!" she charged, and they filed out obediently. "And you-" she pointed a finger at Eragon, "-cease this useless muttering."

"Why I ought to-"

"Stop talking, Eragon." He stopped obediently. "Thank the gods you know when not to trifle with me. Now Sit." He dutifully walked in front of her and sat, giving her a glare that meant hellfire should follow shortly. Sitting down wearily in her throne, she rubbed her temples before starting to speak, "two ceremonies will be held, Eragon. One human and one Urgalian." She held up a finger to shush Eragon's protest, "The first one should be simple enough for you to grasp sufficiently. The Urgalian ceremony, though…" she left the sentence hanging as she heaved a weary sigh.

"How complicated can it be? They're just brutes."

She smacked him sharply across the face. "And you are just ignorant." She narrowed her eyes at him, a cruel plot forming behind her sparkling eyes, "And since you seem quite adamant to refute and ignore what I am saying, Eragon, I do believe you've forced my hand. Faricia, come here." The maid skittered over, "Send for Angela. I will allow her to teach him. She seems to have a way with the simple-minded."

"Oh gods." Eragon deflated completely, running his hands through his hair, flustered. "I'm a rider! I don't have to sit and listen to brutish nonsense!"

"Eld Gath, you will sit there until I tell you to go." Nasuada glared at him angrily, and for a moment, Eragon entertained the idea of doing something childish to her, like pulling the water out of a nearby vase and dumping it on her head.

However, before he could do so, Angela came swirling in, Elva close behind with a look on her face that meant Angela was in a cheery mood. "So, my little frog," Angela patted Eragon's head, "I hear from a little birdie you've decided to be a big boy and move on from Arya. And with an Urgal, too! Good boy." She plopped in front of him, handing Elva the basket of herbs and mushrooms, instructing her to dice the mushrooms and grind the herbs.

"Now, Urgalian weddings are quite wonderfully quirky! First, there is a moment to spar over the woman in question, should there be any who object. Fortunately for you, I do believe Nar shall take care of that-"

"Fortunately for me?" Eragon roared "You mean, fortunate for whatever Urgal would cross me on such a day!"

She cocked her head to the side, giving him a curious look, before pulling out a quill and writing something down on a piece of paper.

"What are you doing, woman?" Eragon cried, infuriated.

"Oh, simply writing down my observations for the newest volume of my compilation of influential people. I'm noting you seem to have a problem with your ego, as well as an affinity to forgetting your manners when you become enraged. My name is Angela." She smiled cheerily as Eragon looked as though he was buried in a pile of dirty socks

"Now where was I…? Oh! That's right! As I was saying, the shaman conducts the ceremony, and both of you, considering the woman's warrior background, will wear your battle armor. Then you shall say a brief line or two, stating why you are marrying her, and her in like. Then you will turn to the Shaman, who will chant for your safety on the battlefield. Then you shall each pick a strand of string, whisper into the shaman's ear the color, at which point he will dye them wile chanting over them, and then give them to each to weave. You must flow a strict design when weaving your partner and yours will be especially special, as a human. You must choose an honorific color. I suggest red, for the blood she has spilt on the battlefield, or perhaps brown, to signify her affinity with the earth. Do not, not, not, not, not choose the color white, black, or pink. You then suggest she is a child, and thus, are incredibly insulting to her,"

"Thank god I'll outlive her." Eragon muttered. "Ow!" He cried, as both Angela and Nasuada struck him.

"Now, some simple Urgalian phrases would be…" and Eragon tuned her out, thinking instead that perhaps life would have been better if only he had gotten on that damn boat with Murtagh and Arya.