A/N: Thanks to everyone who reviewed!!
Warning: Be prepared for a freaking boring and freaking long chapter.
Well, I hated Brisingr. I won't give anything away, but I bloody hated it. Never read a more disappointing book in my whole life. What the hell is the point of these stories now? They'll all go to bloody waste with the way Christopher Paolini ruined the book. (fumes) I'm so pissed at him. Just though I'd announce that.
WELL, I'm really sorry about not updating sooner!! I would have, but I wanted to finish Cousin and Fiance before Brisingr came out, so I stayed away from this one for a while, but now the updates should get back up to at least once a week!! : ) Forgive me if my writing is crappy. Everything's been crappy…
And you know what I think the most unprofessional thing in the world is?? Adding unneeded information. So I agree with Canadian-Girl14 on how pointless half the book was! Just filling space… lol I'm not one to talk because I'm notorious for my fillers, but it still pissed meh off!!
Lol well none of the story will be based on real life experience anymore. Really the only thing was the game Dead Mommy and the moonstones, I suppose.
Disclaimer: I do not own Eragon
Chapter 4- Disappearances
Murtagh examined the scroll that lay unrolled before him with mild interest; it was a map of Alagaesia, and he had seen many of greater detail than this simple sketch, but a simple sketch was all he needed. Near the scroll littered several other untouched pieces of parchment and various similar items, scattered carelessly upon the large brown, rectangular table. He placed a thin finger upon the small portion of the opened scroll marked Spine. "So you're saying," he clarified with an unusually tired drawl, "that there have been reports of rebel movements here lately."
Jormunder, his chief adviser, nodded. "Yes, sire, the information was just received this morning. We have a theory that they have stationed themselves there for the trading posts in Flam."
Murtagh nodded and rubbed his temples. "Yes, Flam is close to the Spine, and the trading posts have been reputed for their numerous amount of weapons." He sighed and scratched his cheek. "Any news of Kuasta?"
Jormunder shook his head, and the dozen or so lesser advisers of Murtagh's cabinet (which was a vast assortment of elves, dwarves, humans, and a few Urgals,) shook their heads obediently. "The Kuasta rebels have so far remained relatively inconspicuous this month, sire."
"Well…good then." He took a deep, relaxing breath. It didn't occur to him how difficult royalty would be when he accepted it.
As far as his cabinet were aware, there were six remaining bands of Galbatorix's old supporters that were active and threatening. They resided in Kuasta, Gil'ead, Flam, Bullridge, Ceunon, and Narda. All, coincidentally, were along the west coast aside from Bullridge.
But, Murtagh reminded himself grimly, those are just the ones we know, the ones that are dangerous. The question was, were there any near Arough? Would they try to harm his family? Yes, six known rebel bands. The unknown ones were what made the king squirm.
Sunlight flooded his chamber, causing Murtagh to groan and massage his skull. "Morning already," he moaned.
It was strange to be dreaming of his discussions with his advisors. He tended to dream of more thrilling things. Wait…dream? Since when did he pass out? He vaguely remembered the night before, and surprisingly his headache was tolerable. He slept like a drunken rock, yet he remembered his dream. He found that strange; usually when he seemed even a tad stoned his sleep was empty.
You don't have much of an hangover when you double over and vomit all over your cousin's wife, a little voice hummed in his head.
Murtagh shivered with humor. That must have been wonderful. How did Katrina take it?
She is still living, young one, responded Thorn. But Nasuada is not.
Katrina will get over it, but what of Nasuada? What on earth do you mean of such, Thorn? Why would you say Nasuada is not alive? I am not enjoying your joke. He tried to act calm, but when Thorn hesitated to answer his questioning his pulse sped up.
I wasn't jesting, Murtagh. Nasuada is in pain. His tone was hard, but Murtagh could feel his concern for his rider crash over their bond. Concern and sadness.
Running his fingers through his knotted hair, Murtagh propped himself up in bed against the cool wall that chilled his skin. His head pulsated slightly, and the effort made him dizzy, but that did not bother him. Thorn, what are you saying? Where is she? He gulped as alarm constricted his chest.
Murtagh… Thorn mentally sighed. I am not the one to tell you what conspired last night. Nasuada must tell you.
So she's healthy? He released a breath he did not realize he was holding.
Physically, young one, physically. But there are many types of health. She is not in any circumstance mentally or emotionally healthy.
Murtagh looked to his left and patted Nasuada's side of the bed, groping for her as is she was snoozing soundly beside him, her body rising and falling as she softly breathed. But the bed was empty. "Thorn," trembled Murtagh, "where is she?"
I am not sure, Murtagh… Silence for a piercing second. Valeo claims she is in AJ's room. You should see Valeo; he is entirely distraught, young one. He cannot even blink without twitching. Result of Nasuada's state of mind.
Murtagh kicked himself out of bed and stumbled slightly as the world spun around him. Focusing, he pushed back the alcohol's affect on him and teetered barebacked out of his master bedroom. Last night's fun still hung on his breath, while his eyes were faintly bloodshot. Staggering down the hall, he burst through AJ's door.
He never would have expected what he saw after that.
Nasuada sat besides AJ's nightstand that held his few books, scrolls, schoolwork, and a single white candlestick almost entirely melted. She fingered the candle's wick absentmindedly, intertwining the thread through her ebony fingers. She stroked the side of the candle like she would a pet. "We should have replaced the candle long ago, Murtagh," she said distantly.
Her tone made the hair on the back of Murtagh's neck stand up; it reminded him vaguely of Elva's voice, how eerie it was being so mature in one so young. The far away atmosphere his wife's speech contained scared him. "I, uh, I shall have it replaced as soon as possible, Nas."
Nasuada chuckled humorlessly. "Murtagh, you should have seen yourself last night."
Guilt masked Murtagh's features. "Forgive me. I was…not myself."
"I imagine." A hard glint formed in her eye, and she continued caressing the candle. "We all were wild. We did not think. We did not care. We did not…pay attention." Her distant gaze became even more unfocused, more absentminded, and Murtagh feared she had finally cracked underneath the pressure of being queen.
"Nas…" he trailed off as her stare instantly snapped back to reality and glared at him with all the malice in the world.
Her cold eyes never left him. "What."
"Could you, perhaps tell me…why you are acting so strangely…sweet?"
At this, Nasuada chuckled anew. A cold, hard, pained laugh that sounded as if she were crying in agony. "'Sweet!' Oh, this is grand. You have not called me sweet since you smashed my prized china!" She took a deep breath and remained staring at him with the eyes of a hawk. "But this is more than some china, Murtagh. This is much, much more."
A sinking feeling crushed Murtagh. He cautioned a few steps closer to Nasuada and cupped her face in his shaking hands, hoping this would calm her down some. "Look, I'll go over to Katrina's cottage and apologize this afternoon about-"
Again, Nasuada chuckled like sharp icicles. "This is not anything about Katrina, Murtagh, and you upchucking bile across her finest dress! This is about AJ!" She ceased stroking the melted wax and abruptly stood up, breaking away from Murtagh's hands.
"AJ?" Murtagh instinctively scanned the perimeter of the room. AJ was no where to be seen. "What about him, sweet?" He tried to touch her again, but she slashed him away with the reflexes of a cat.
Nasuada's hard glint instantly evaporated and was replaced by a look of desperate denial. "Price… AJ's missing. The rebels kidnapped him last night while we were celebrating, and, and, and…" Her knees buckled and she fell to the floor with the speed of a brick.
Murtagh caught her before she could hit the ground. He stared at her flustered form as it trembled. She lifted her head so she could see him, and her bottom lip quivered. "We can't find him, Murtagh, we have search parties roaming half of Arough. He has vanished. We were going to wake you, but the men claimed you needed your rest. They told me to rest, too, but I just could not, Murtagh!" Her tears overflowed into a river of sadness, and the next thing she knew she was being held close by her husband and showered in comforting kisses. "Y-you don't know w-what it's l-like t-to b-be the mother of-f a m-miss-sing s-son!"
No, he had to admit he didn't, but he knew what it felt like to be the father of a missing son, and not just a son, his first born. His heir. "We'll find him," he murmured repeatedly. "We'll find him. Please don't worry; we'll find him."
Eventually, as her husband kept soothing her, Nasuada's sobs faded into a weak gasping. Murtagh grew more and more ashamed with every passing moment. Of only I hadn't become so terribly drunk…
It is not your fault, Murtagh, chimed Thorn in his head. It made his rider inwardly jump; he had temporarily forgotten how Thorn could hear his every thought. How could you have known, young one?
Murtagh suddenly grew angry. Thorn! Quit calling me 'young one.' I'm thirty, and secondly yes, it is my fault. Thorn, I should have told them what I knew! About the man and the note… the note. It had entirely wiped from his mind. Remembering how he stuffed it in his pocket, he dug his had in his tunic searching for it.
"Looking for this?" said Nasuada in a calm voice equally as chilling as the distant one. She held a bloodstained piece of parchment that Murtagh recognized as the letter.
Murtagh made a notion to pluck it from her shaking hand. He blinked in surprise when she did not object as she always did. Truthfully, he had not read the letter himself.
"You knew this would happen," cried Nasuada. "You knew."
"How the bloody hell would I know something like that, Nas?"
Nasuada's eyes were like daggers in the darkness. "Have you even read what you are holding yet?"
He shook his head.
"Well, what are you waiting for then?"
Murtagh nervously gazed down at the parchment. He recalled first seeing it attached to the stick impaling the doorman. Now that he was reading it for the first time, he couldn't believe how small the message was. His name was written hastily on the top, and beneath it were two words:
AJ's next.
A day passed and the prince was still missing. As days wove into a week, civilians began asking why they had not seen a ebony-skinned boy rummaging through the stalls in the market as usual. Murtagh and all the others who were aware what truly happened to AJ, simply laughed falsely and would say, "He was caught drinking at Murtagh's birthday, and now he's grounded for the month." As a typical response, the civilians would mutter something about Morzan, and Murtagh would assure AJ would be another Ajihad, not a drunken Morzan. He was nothing like his father's father.
Murtagh waltzed to the war room. The long table he had seen in his dream was still littered with dirty scrolls. He had assembled his advisors for yet another "important discussion" as he called it. Since AJ's disappearance, he had demanded many of those.
He sighed and met eyes with each advisor. "Men," he finally said slowly. "There is a traitor amongst us."
Each advisor exchanged suspicious and untrusting glances with there neighbor. "…What makes you say this, your majesty?" said Jormunder worriedly. "Are you feeling all right, sire? You have had a long week."
"Yes, I'm fine," Murtagh sniffed. He knew they partially blamed him for his son's vanishing act; if he hadn't been so drunk, the rebels would not have attempted -successfully- to breach the palace. "Mentally, at least. So if you think I have cracked, I assure you, I have logic behind my accusation. How could the rebel band have known I would be at Morzan's castle last week?" It was only last week? It seemed so long ago… He held up the parchment containing the note and told them all that had happened while he visited his birth home. His advisors gasped.
"Sire!" exclaimed a dwarf off to his left. "Why did you not tell us this before!"
Murtagh gave him a hard glare that held a hidden misery. "I've had a long week." As his advisors shifted uncomfortably at his words, he continued saying, "Plus, how could they have known my birthday was the perfect time to strike? They have been tracking our movements, gentlemen, and that means one thing; we have a traitor. Now, I myself am not the most loyal person alive, so if you come forth it will spare you much humiliation and pain. I shall have some mercy on you if you speak up now. If you don't the typical public humiliation will be in order."
None of the advisors moved.
Murtagh clenched his fist. "Very well. I expect to see all of you here tomorrow morning at daybreak. I'm afraid I'll have to raid each of your minds."
The advisors all cursed the traitor under their breath. "Blast it!" cried an elf to his right, "One treacherous coward will cause us all pain!"
"I am sorry, Vanir," cried the king. "But you know it's necessary, and if all of you prove loyal we'll have to go around raiding the rest of the palace hand's minds. Everyone who has stepped foot into my home in the past month will have to be probed until we find the traitor."
The men and women around him nodded dutifully, all agonizingly aware that they would have no time to spend with their families until Murtagh was proven correct, and they discovered a traitor.
"You are dismissed. And don't forget, you are to be in this room daybreak tomorrow."
The men and women filed out, all muttering curses or brooding to themselves silently or speaking assuring words to their king. Once everyone exited, Jormunder was the last left. He turned to his king and bowed. "Your Highness, I-"
"Blast it, call me Murtagh. That is the name my mother gave me and I intend to use it."
"Forgive me, Your Highness."
Murtagh sighed. Eleven years and these people still couldn't get his name right? Murtagh. Just Murtagh. "It is quite all right. Pray, what have you to speak to me of?"
"Simply to inquire after your lovely wife, sire. How is she fairing? It is quite odd for her to not be at the meetings."
Murtagh ran his fingers through his medium brown hair. "She has been rather ill, Jormunder. AJ's disappearance has took a toll on her mental health."
Jormunder's features clouded with concern. "I pray she returns to full health, sire."
"Thank-You." Murtagh smiled sadly and placed a firm hand on Jormunder's shoulder. "You have been a good friend and a wise advisor. I cannot repay you for all you have done for me through the years. I shall let Nasuada know you wish she gets well."
Jormunder grinned at the praise. "You're gratitude is appreciated, Murtagh."
The king nodded, and Jormunder left the war room with Murtagh following behind him. Once he had reached the top floor of the palace, Murtagh shut the door to his room, crawled on his bed, and shook his wife, who had been dozing.
Nasuada rubbed her eyes and looked at Murtagh questioningly.
Murtagh shrugged. "Just wanted to know if you were still living or if you have tried to kill yourself yet." When his black humor earned him a hard glare, he related Jormunder's wishes of her welfare.
This caused Nasuada a grim smirk, but it was a smirk nonetheless. Her gaze was far and her thoughts were jumbled. A fat tear leaked from her eye and dripped down her nose, and for the first time Murtagh understood how much she loved her son. She would rather die a slow, torturous death than to outlive him. He stroked her cheek, the love and sadness encircling them and invading their hearts. Murtagh felt his chest tighten as he whispered, "We'll find him. I promise."
"But the problem is," cried Nasuada, her voice cracking, "is will we find him in time. You saw the note. 'AJ's next.' He could have died a week ago, Tag. And we wouldn't know until we found his body." Before she realized what was happening, she was hyperventilating.
Murtagh embraced her to the point of suffocation. "We'll find him, Nasuada, and he won't be mangled or d…dead…" He began shaking. "He'll be all right." But even as he spoke, he imagined a scared ten year-old hugging his knees and rocking back and forth, a deep gash across his forehead and a few phalanges missing. He gripped his wife tighter as he shook the thoughts away. "He'll be fine." He touched his cheek- it was tearstained. He didn't even realize he had been crying.
A baby's wailing echoed through the floor. "Rosie," mumbled Nasuada. She made a motion to get up, but Murtagh pushed her back down. "Farica or Geneva will get her. They are allowed up here, after all." Sure enough, Geneva's bustled footsteps entered the baby's room and calmed her down until Rosie was presumably asleep again in her crib.
Murtagh sat up and headed to check on his daughter, practically forcing Nasuada to lay back down with magic. When she alas grudgingly agreed to sleep, Murtagh slunk his head through Rosie's doorway to see Geneva rocking her back and forth in a rocking chair with the toddler snoozing angelically on her shoulder. Geneva smiled at Murtagh tiredly, and Murtagh laughed to himself with his mirthless laugh at how everyone had aged ten years since his birthday.
He went to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water from the clear pitcher on the counter. He stared down at the liquid miserably. The water rippled as a silent tear hit its surface. "Draumr Kopa."
The water flickered for a moment, and an image of a scared ebony-skinned boy hugging himself came into view. AJ. Relief flooded the king as he saw his son wasn't mutated in anyway. Leather rope tied around his feet, tearing off the skin and causing his ankle to bleed and the surrounding skin to look raw. A few slashes on the child's right arm and dried blood flowing from his right nostril was all Murtagh could see of his son's injuries. He could have cried in relief. Thank-You, gods, thank-you. He was alive and he had all his limbs!
Murtagh returned to his room with the glass of water and showed Nasuada, who thanked her gods her son was still breathing. She eyes his ankles worriedly. Those ropes chafing him will give him blood poisoning! They can't be clean!"
"Shhh," hushed Murtagh. He released the magic showing AJ's timid figure. "We'll find him before he gets blood poisoning, sweet." Whenever he said "sweet" something was wrong in their life, something that put Nasuada in hysterics.
The begs under Nasuada's eyes were unreal; Murtagh could hardly believe how old she looked. The woman looked twice her age she was so exhausted! "Get some rest, Nas, and tomorrow we'll triple the searches. The assassins and soldiers I sent out should arrive at the rebel encampments come two weeks."
"Two weeks!" Nasuada shot out of bed like a bullet from a pistol. "Murtagh, he could be very, very, very dead in two weeks! We need to fly over to the rebel camps ourselves!"
"We will, we will, don't worry. My thoughts exactly. I can't leave, though. I have to probe minds tomorrow in search of a traitor, baby, and I have other things that need to be taken care of such as court this Sunday."
"Bah! Have Jormunder take over open session this Sunday. Cheated farmers can wait until we find the crown prince!"
Murtagh nodded. "I'll see to it." He headed back to the kitchen to dump the water back in the pitcher; he was no longer thirsty.
He needed to find AJ, he would do anything to find his son, but the people did not know he was missing, and if the people didn't know than how could he escape his duties? He needed to talk to someone who wasn't completely hysterical. He had seen Roran occasionally, but he was busy attending his business as a blacksmith and had his own problems, though Katrina visited often to soothe Katrina. Roran just did not know how to comfort his cousin. He was not the comforting type.
He wished Eragon was there with him. Eragon always had a cord of compassion Murtagh could never understand. The boy had a love in his heart for the world and everyone in it much like the elves did. Murtagh never could love like that. He loved his subjects, sure, but never with the compassion of Shadeslayer. Eragon was a true softy, and Murtagh would never be that caring or comforting to people. He needed to talk to his brother.
Still holding the glass of water, Murtagh whispered "Draumr Kopa," while leaning against the counter. He remembered Eragon had once taught him how to speak with the one you were scrying as if they were really there. He muttered the magical words that allowed him to communicate with his brother.
Murtagh couldn't help but allow a small smile on his face when a brooding boy with brown hair like himself but with elf ears and eyes came into view.
Eragon did not understand. Arya became so irritable over the smallest things! Elves are all that way, young one, said a voice in his head.
I know, Saphira, but I don't understand why they just can't let things go!
Yes, chuckled his dragon. Elves and women are indeed alike; we can both hold a grudge. And a woman who is also and elf is bound to have a slight temper.
Slight?
Saphira growled threateningly in his head. She's sad, Eragon. Her best friend has grown sick with an unknown illness.
Well, it's no excuse to go all up on me about it! I love Trestle as much as the next person, and I care that she has become sick, but she doesn't have to get mad at me.
She's mad at you because you don't act like you care. Saphira's words rang in his head. But nonetheless, I love you.
I love you too, Saphira.
Just wait for her to cool down; she'll get over it.
Eragon nodded and twiddled his thumbs. He teetered on the heel of a chair. His feet were kicked up on the table as he tapped his foot impatiently.
"You always did like to brood."
Eragon froze, his heart caught in his mouth.
That voice.
He stood up and looked around the room warily. "Who is there? Pray, show yourself!"
"I'm not hiding." The voice sounded irritable and so…sad.
"Whoever you are, I don't find this funny! Use you normal voice, I tell you!" The tone was so deep and throaty, just like…no. It couldn't be. He was on the other side of the world! "Who is it? What is your name?" His heart was pounding now.
"Murtagh. It's Murtagh, Eragon, your brother."
"Arya, this is not funny! I am not enjoying your jest! Now show yourself!"
"I'm serious, Eragon. Turn around. I'm behind you." The voice filled the tree like a wild winter's breeze.
Eragon pivoted around half expecting to see Murtagh's ghost lingering behind him. "Where are you!"
"Underneath your nose."
Eragon looked down, and in his bowl of soup he had for supper was the image of a dark haired man with electric blue eyes and a furrowed brown. Amusement tugged at the corners of his thin lips. Eragon couldn't believe what he was seeing. "Murtagh?"
"The one and only." Murtagh's face smiled tiredly, and the bags under his eyes grew larger with the effort.
"Murtagh! Oh, I was just thinking about you earlier! I have missed you so much!" He couldn't express the brotherly love he felt and the longing to visit he had endured. "How is Roran?"
"Fine."
"Nasuada?"
"…Breathing."
"And Katrina?"
"Not as good as Roran but not as bad as Nas."
Eragon frowned. "What is wrong with Nasuada? And what makes you want to scry me all of a sudden?" Truthfully, Eragon had tried to scry his brother on numerous occasions, but every time he did all he received in return was blackness. He never understood how Murtagh could never be scryed.
Murtagh's small grin faded. "She has become ill, Eragon. Very ill… mentally sick, I should say."
Arya entered the tree, apparently in a much better mood than previously. "Good news! Trestle is-" She halted mid-sentence when Eragon beckoned her to come. She gazed down into the soup bowl disbelievingly. "…Murtagh?"
Worry spread across Eragon's face. "I am sorry. What do you mean by mentally sick?"
"Traumatized, I suppose you could call it."
Arya cupped her mouth. "Who has been traumatized?"
"Nasuada," replied both the boys.
"Murtagh…I am truly sorry," she cried.
Murtagh sighed. "I just needed to talk to you guys. I missed you, and…well, I'm a wreck right now. We all are." Before anyone could ask why, he blurt out everything that had happened since his birthday. Before he was finished, his eyes grew red.
Arya buried her face in Eragon's chest. Recovering, she said, "Murtagh, I am so sorry! I remember AJ. He was the cutest baby in all of Alagaesia."
Murtagh shrugged, not really having any desire to speak. "I just scryed you to see if you could give any advice…"
"Murtagh," began Eragon. "No matter how hard you try, the world will always come back and get you sometime. When I say you, I don't mean specifically. Things happen, brother, and they will soon pass. You will find him eventually. I promise you."
"Eragon, may I talk to you alone for a second?"
Eragon motioned to Arya, who looked slightly affronted, but headed to the bedroom anyways. "What?" asked Eragon in a hushed voice.
"Eragon, I don't know how to ask this of you, but…" What was he doing? "If you can, and I understand if you can't… I would like to see you again, Eragon. If it didn't take you long to arrive in the elf land then I was hoping you could come home and visit for a while…"
Eragon was stunned. Did Murtagh just ask him to come home? No, impossible. Angela had predicted he would never return to Alagaesia, and he believed her. But still…
He wanted to go back home so badly. He needed to see his brothers in person, not through scrying. He longed to talk to them face to face. He longed to be with them, not watch them through the water he placed the spell on.
At Eragon's silence, Murtagh nodded. "I understand. It was selfish of me to request such; you have no obligation to come. It's just that…" Tears overflowed, and for the first time in a long time Eragon watched as Murtagh cried. But this was a different cry- he had only seen his brother tear up once before, and it was in such a distant past he did not even recall why.
"Shhh, hush up, Murtagh, it's all right."
Murtagh recollected himself, and, as if it never happened, said stiffly, "We are all so tired, so miserable, so worn out, so anxious, Eragon. I thought that if there was a way, any way, that you could get here quickly, then I would at least offer you our hospitality… Though unfortunately my hospitality has run dry in the past week. We need someone who can raise the families - hell, the whole palace's - spirits, and I knew it would be you and Arya. You two always know what to say at the right time. And, well… quite frankly, Eragon, I miss you, and I know I will be unable to find my son without you. And I will do anything to get him back. I need you, Eragon, I need you to help me find my son. I love him. He'll die." He choked on the word die.
Eragon stared at his brother with a homesick feeling churning in his stomach, brewed together with the pity he felt for the royal family. He could see it in Murtagh's eyes - the guilt, the misery, the worry, the exhaustion. He appeared so tired it made Eragon anxious for his health, and according to Murtagh Nasuada was ten times worse than him. Eragon didn't even want to think about her mental state at the moment.
As if reading Eragon's mind, Murtagh said feebly, "She cries herself to sleep, Eragon. She has so many emotions stirring in her, one moment she's sobbing, the next she's biting her nails, and the third she chucking expensive vases at me. I have never seen her so nervous. She could keep her calm ruling the Varden and never once did she look nervous, but her baby goes missing and she can hardly breathe. It's terrible watching her. I…I…I have put her on suicide watch, Eragon. I know she won't kill herself, but she needs to be under constant surveillance.
Eragon couldn't believe his ears. Is this what Arya means when she wants a child? Would Nasuada love her son so much she would rather die than not know where he is?
Motherly love, little one, said Saphira. Arya wants to love a child like Nasuada loves AJ.
It seems unhealthy.
That is because AJ has been kidnapped by people out to overthrow your brother.
Eragon shivered. That is vile, it is. Stealing a son to blackmail his father.
It is. But it works.
Eragon watched his brother's hopelessness, and he suddenly realized that Murtagh had made this call for one reason. He did not care to pick people's spirits up; Murtagh knew that Eragon as the only one who could help them find the prince, and Murtagh needed all the help he could get. Eragon took a deep breath. "All right," he said. "I will discuss it with Arya. If she says yes, I will grab a map of the world from the village library. It will give me the fastest route to Alagaesia. I am assuming that once we know how to get there from here and vise versa, it should only take a matter of about a week if we ride Saphira."
Murtagh smiled, and Eragon had never seen such a look of relief in his whole life. "I pray to see you in a week then, brother."
Eragon nodded. A look of complete compassion crossed his face. "I will be there, brother. I promise. I shall help you find your son and your heir."
Murtagh gave Eragon the most trustworthy, grateful look he had ever given someone, and Eragon felt that was thanks enough. He bade farewell; Murtagh released the magic ad ended their conversation.
Eragon, knowing Arya heard all of that, swept her in his arms and kissed her cheek. "We're going back to Alagaesia," he whispered in her ear.
"And we will find AJ," responded Arya with her bell voice.
A/N: (fingers ache) Gah. Well I hope that wasn't too boring. It was ten freaking pages, so I hope it makes up for the wait. I'm sorry about the bad quality and all the typos and stuff. Yeah…real sorry.. Lol my stories are all so OOC. XD
Please review!! The more you review, the quicker I'll update!