Note: I found the time line! Story begins after the right scene between Murtagh, Thorn, and Eragon and Saphira at the beginning of Brisingr, but before the end of the book. And my school is crazy, so just expect updates when they appear. I will try to keep it regular, however.
Even with the boots, my feet still grew tired of dancing, though it was quite enjoyable. I could see why girls liked it so much. Whirling around a crowded room in the arms of a handsome stranger was rather fun. I indulged my childhood princess/knight in shining armor stories for a moment, and then banished them. This was better than a fairy tale.
Somehow, we had gotten out of the ballroom and were walking around in the beautiful gardens of the palace. He hadn't let go of my hand, and I didn't mind much.
"I didn't think it'd be like this," I whispered quietly, looking around at all the green plants and still pools.
"What did you expect?" he asked.
"Well," I said, glancing at him. "Uru'baen…it's sort of all black and twisty from the outside, as if it was charred. I guess I thought the inside would look the same too." I craned my neck back and stared at the palace. "It's quite pretty, actually."
"Depends on how you look at it," he muttered.
I frowned at the structure. It looked like part of the castle just …bulged out in a particular spot. "Do you know what that is?" I asked, pointing to it. "It looks singularly out of place."
After a quick glance, Murtagh said, "That's the dragon hold."
"The dragon hold!" I whispered in excitement. "So the King's black dragon lives there?"
"Shruikan, yes," he said. "And Thorn."
"Who?" I asked, turning to him.
"The King's Rider's dragon." He looked stiff.
"So it is true!" I exclaimed. "Another dragon did hatch! Oh, what color is it?"
"He is red," Murtagh said.
"Red," I whispered quietly. "And his name is Thorn?" Murtagh nodded. "Oh, I bet he's beautiful." I sighed. "I always dreamed I could fly when I was younger." I chuckled. "Then I'd fall out of bed and wake up."
He smiled a bit. "Sounds like a very good dream."
"What did you dream about?" I asked.
His eyes went very, very dark, and some terrible sadness shadowed his face. "I didn't dream of anything."
I licked my lips, not quite sure what to say. But I had to say something. "Well…it's not to late to start," I assured him. "No one ever said there had to be a cut off date for dreams."
"I guess not," he said, but he didn't look convinced.
Bushes rustled to my right, and I broke eye contact to catch sight of a pair of gold orbs staring at me. Not now, not now! I wanted to scream, but I didn't. He wouldn't come here, not to the very heart of Uru'baen, unless it was important. My gaze snapped back to Murtagh. "Oh… could you excuse me, for a moment?" I asked quickly. "I need to…attend to something. Just for a moment." I didn't stop to see what his face looked like. With that, I walked quickly off toward the werecat that just had to come at the most unsuitable time.
I'm going to kill you, I said, shutting the stable door behind me. Skin you up and leave you for the falcons. I was just having the best time-
What do you think you're doing? He yowled, swishing his tail unhappily. You bloody stupid girl, you could have just ruined everything; do you know that? Your wyrda just changed dramatically in the past hour!
I just…just talked to a guy, I said, shocked at the change in him. What's the matter with that?
Is that all?
Well…we dueled. And then we talked. And then we danced. And then we talked some more…
You really don't know. He stared at me incredulously, an expression I don't think I've ever seen on his human body, much less his cat persona. Bloody stupid girl. That was the King's Rider.
No, he can't be. I stared at him. Are you jesting?
Do I ever jest? He asked me.
A rider. A dragon rider. Murtagh. The elusiveness, the danger, the excitement, why I couldn't sum him up because there was so much more to him than a normal person… I swallowed in consternation
You didn't try to touch his mind, did you? Murgatroyd asked.
No, I said, still trying to wrap my mind around this new and astonishing fact. (He tried to touch mine, but I wasn't going to tell the angry werecat that.)
Well, maybe what I say is finally paying off. Go.
"Go?" I said, startled.
Yes. Get on that horse. You've set off a chain of events that I can't predict, he growled. You've got to go now. And I can't tell you much, so don't ask. Everything rests on you, Aeneid. That's why.
I got on the horse. Murgatroyd wasn't to be argued with in this mood. And for the first time that night, I was afraid.
I was afraid of me.
I didn't even get to say goodbye…I thought regretfully, guiding the horse out of the stable.
Murgatroyd distracted the gate guards to get me through; I don't know how he did it. I bent low on the horse's neck, riding astride and bareback, hoping not to be seen. Home was only a league away. I could make it, I could!
And I did. As the horse came to as stop, quivering and frothing from exhaustion, I fell off it and landed in a heap in the courtyard. Reaching out with my mind, I searched for Murgatroyd.
Nearly there, he said. Get dressed in riding gear and pack some saddlebags. You've got a long ride ahead of you.
Are you jesting?
I thought you already asked me that, he said, and genuine amusement came from the link.
I groaned and got up, sending the horse into the stable with a mental nudge.
My pretty green and white gown lay in a heap on my bed. Now I was decked out in leather trousers, my trusty boots, a white shirt, green vest with pockets, and a heavy waterproof riding cape. The pins were out of my hair, and the red-gold tresses were plaited all into one braid. The borrowed sword was strapped around my waist; I had forgotten to give it back.
I sighed, sitting in my chair, staring at the wall. It had started out a perfectly good night. The duel, while insulting at first, ended on a good note. I had fun dancing. Murtagh was…nice. What was the problem with him? Was it horrible he was a Rider of the king's? I mean, no one likes the King. Actually, everyone hates the King. But that doesn't mean Murtagh is guilty of the same despicable sins. I said he was honorable and just when trying to figure him out –wasn't that true of him?
Come, Aeneid, Murgatroyd said.
I just caught sight of his gold eyes before he disappeared out my door. "Hey! Wait!" I said, dashing after him. He ran down the hall, and pelted after him, running lightly even though only Mother slept in this wing with me, and she was still at the party. Murgatroyd, what about Mother? I asked.
She'll be fine, he said. Keep coming.
He was going down, down, down… there wasn't anywhere to go down here except the… wine cellar. Murgatroyd! I made a promise to my father! I snatched a candle and lit it.
And you broke it telling me about it; remember? Pay attention Aeneid! This is the point!
And just like that, I skidded to a stop in front of the hidden catch. But I promised… I thought, torn. And then, But Father would understand if it's as important as Murgatroyd says. The werecat had never lied to me. I took a breath and pressed the lever to open the door.
Dust was everywhere. It made me sneeze as I brushed the grey stuff away from the lid of the large chest. Murgatroyd, disinclined to get his paws cobwebby, stayed outside. The hinges creaked ominously as I lifted the lid, revealing the long, thin box that held the beautiful sword. It was right on top. I looked over my shoulder at Murgatroyd.
Take the sword, Aeneid, he said, eyes burning.
I let out a slow breath and opened the thing box carefully. As the lid opened, I once again was amazed at the lovely workmanship of the sword. It was too beautiful –like it shouldn't be touched. Hesitantly, I reached for the grip and wrapped my hand around it.
Then all hell broke loose in my head.
I screamed for all I was worth. There was something IN MY HEAD! I was always the one doing the invading, not the other way around! It was foreign, alien, scary, big and…talking.
Roaring, actually. She was angry. Hang on, how did I know it was a she?
BECAUSE I'M TELL YOU, SILLY GIRL!
Oh.
Please, please…this hurts! I managed to get out. The crushing, squeezing pressure abated somewhat. I discovered that I was kneeling on the stone floor, clutching the sword with my eyes squeezed shut. Please…I whispered. What are you? I just picked up a sword!
I am the sword. My name is Wenneveria. Open your eyes, girl.
My eyes flew open and stared at the crystal gem set in the pommel of the sword –a whitish, smoky color that glowed with an imbedded light. A beautiful and frightening sight. Madame, I do not understand.
You do not understand because I have not imparted the information to you, young human. The sword –Wenneveria –whatever, her voice was cool and solemn, carrying a tinge of hidden fire and snapping temper. Learn patience, child.
Yes, ma'am. My name is Aeneid, ma'am.
Do not 'ma'am' me. I am not of you. I am an Eldunarí –a dragon's heart of hearts.
My mouth ran dry.
She continued, I was once a dragon, flying on the wind, bound to my rider, forever free and strong. Now I am only my consciousness and memories bound in this Eldunarí. Ah, to taste the wind and fly free again! But no more. A terrible sorrow reeked from her mind.
I'm so sorry! I whispered in our linked channel.
I have been alone for nearly a hundred years, counting every second –until now.
Why now? What's so special about me? Why me?
You have a task to perform. Blood calls to blood. Her voice grew stern. As do I. All your questions will be answered in due time, but first, put me down and empty the chest into the bag on top.
I did as she said. Loss of contact with the sword left me feeling empty and alone. I grabbed a sling bag out of the chest and dug through what felt like a lot of old clothes. What am I looking for? I asked.
You'll know when you find it, Murgatroyd said. His voice was familiar and comforting when compared with Wenneveria's.
Thank you for being oh-so-helpful, I muttered, and then yelped, "Ow!" My fingers had jammed themselves on something not clothes-like. It was HEAVY. I tugged at the rectangular thing to get it up to the surface of the chest. Finally getting a look at it, I saw that it was another ornate box, like the bigger one, carved in the same style.
It has a padlock, I said. I don't have a key!
I do, Murgatroyd said.
What? I exclaimed, turning around. How can you have–
A round key ring hung from his jaws, and on the iron ring was a single key. Dropping it at my feet, he rolled his eyes. I'm a werecat, stupid. Just open it.
I inserted the key into the lock and turned it slowly. The padlock snapped, I pulled it off, and opened the lid.
Is this another dragon? I asked. For I had no idea what else it could be. It was…large, and silvery-seagreen. Oval like an egg, glowing like the stone/dragon/Wenneveria on the sword… I reached for it, but halted at Murgatroyd's harsh command. What? I asked. Is it dangerous?
In a way, he said. This is one of two remaining dragon eggs in all of Alagaesia, and the only free one. You mustn't touch it, Aeneid. To be a rider is a grand and noble destiny, but it is not your destiny.
How do you know? I asked. I think I could do it! The beautiful egg was just so tempting…
This isn't your path. Not now. You must take the egg to either the Varden or Du Weldenvarden, whichever is the safest route. They need this egg. And you are its courier.
How can I do that? I asked, stumped by the task set for me. I'm just…just me!
You have the sword. Follow her.
My gaze snapped to the sword –to Wenneveria. I gingerly reached for the hilt (again), bracing myself for the mind contact. Hello, Aeneid, Wenneveria said. Have you stopped having hysterics?
I think so… yes. Are you going to help me take the egg to…wherever it is we're going?
Yes.
…I think I can do it, then, if you're with me.
A burst of great pleasure came from the sword. Thank you, Aeneid. So. Let us be off!
Okay, I said, hefting the sword.
"Shh, Blackie, shh," I whispered, calming the horse I had saddled. "It's just old Murgatroyd, don't be scared." The cat was prowling around in the shadows somewhere. Wenneveria was strapped to my side (borrowed sword hidden in the chest), and the egg was safely in a sling around my body. I cradled it carefully. Books found in the chest were stuffed into the saddlebags.
Who are you calling old?
You, stupid! I said.
Children, children, Wenneveria said. I'm older than the lot of you. Shut it.
Yes ma'am.
I thought I told you to stop that.
Yes…um. Yes.
Good.
I mounted Blackie and took a deep breath. I had left a note for Mother (not saying what I was doing, but just that I was alright and not to worry, though I knew she would) and I had everything I needed. Also in the chest were old journals. Wenneveria said I'd need them, so I brought them along. Murgatroyd leapt up onto the saddle and dug his claws in.
You need to gain a lot of ground tonight, he said. We're in for a wild ride. It's also going to rain.
I belted my waterproof cloak over my shoulder. Could've mentioned that a bit earlier, I said.
He smirked cattily, and then burrowed himself under my cloak. His warm body was reassuring, but I knew he just didn't want to get wet. The large, hard egg was snug against my right side, a ballast for me.
You are Aeneid, the last dragon egg courier and keeper of the Eldunarí Sword, Wenneveria said. Ride hard.
"Ya!" I yelled, spurring Blackie onward, riding into the night.
The door to the dark dragon hold slammed. Shruikan hissed angrily, but Murtagh ignored him. That was just the mad dragon's way. He hauled himself up to Thorn's 'nest', as the dragon had dubbed it, and climbed up his leg onto his spiked back.
Your blood burns, Thorn noted. Is it the girl?
She didn't come back! Murtagh yelled into their mental link. She just disappeared. Why?
I am not a sage. I know nothing about females.
Murtagh caught a glimpse of blue scales in Thorn's mind before he hid it from his rider. You certainly think about them often enough, Murtagh grumbled irritably.
So do you, as of late. She is comely, for a human, your fire-haired girl.
She didn't come back, Murtagh insisted. And she's not mine.
And you're blaming her for it.
Murtagh slid off Thorn's back and thumped down against his warm side, annoyed.
Did you have a nice time? His red dragon asked him.
The silence stretched long in the darkness of the dragon hold at the top of the castle in Uru'baen. But finally, out of the silence, one word resonated. "Yes," Murtagh whispered, staring vacantly into the inky black. He had had a good time. Now he was back in the pit of darkness, and he hated it with a passion.
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