A/Notes: Posted 10-31-2012

Firstly, I am heartily ashamed that I have not added anything to this story in over a year. I have tried time and again with little success. I know what I want to do, but I can't seem to get there.

The biggest problem I am having is that I am struggling with making a certain scene happen. The more I try the more something else happens instead. I used to think that when I picked up my pen, I was in charge of the story... But now I see that the pen has a mind of it's own. And I wrestled with it, and pleaded with it, and after everything failed, I finally let the pen have it's way... and this is what came out.

Chapter Nine: Training and Toasts

"Dead!" Murtagh hissed. The dulled point of the blood red sword was pressed against his prone brother's back, poised over his heart. His steely grey eyes bored into Eragon, as the younger turned, and grudgingly acknowledged his defeat with a nod of his head. Great gulping breaths of air were pulled into heaving chests; both riders were drenched in sweat and near the end of their endurance.

"Either you are getting better," the younger stated between breaths, "or I am losing my edge... that's four days in a row you have won."

The dark haired elder exhaled in a snort of derision, as he removed the spell from Zar'roc and returned it to its sheath.

"Luck," the elder claimed, before adding, "We have always been pretty evenly matched... but you have inspired me to improve in ways Galbatorix never imagined." Some hint of sarcastic humor in Murtagh's tone spoke of a hidden meaning.

"What are you talking about?" asked Eragon, puzzled brown eyes narrowed with affront. "Surely you can't be comparing my methods to the cruelty of the king..."

"Of course not..." Murtagh scoffed. Then a partial smile lightened his expression, and he used the excuse of catching his breath to consider his next words.

"When I fought against you, under the king's instructions, I never really wanted to win; well not for him anyways." Murtagh's eyes reflected a deeper contemplation. Underneath everything, the red rider's pride would always urge him 'not to lose' against his little brother; even though at the same time, he had secretly wanted 'not to win'.

"I had to follow the letter of my oaths. In that I had no choice. And those oaths were usually aimed at capturing you." Murtagh struggled, trying to explain with words the complexity of his dilemma. "But by pitting me against my brother and my former comrades, the king only inspired in me a sense of dissension."

"I can see that," Eragon admitted, though he was still puzzled. "But how is it that I inspire you to fight your best? You are still opposing your brother."

"This is true," the rider answered thoughtfully. "It may be you that I am facing Eragon, but this is not a real battle. This is willing spar; a test of skill, a chance to improve... If I win this contest, my brother won't end up dead, or worse bound to the king. If I win here, I don't risk losing my only hope of ever being freed from my chains."

"No matter what I did," Murtagh sighed, "winning always meant losing."

The brothers' eyes met and held. Even after everything Eragon had learned from examining Murtagh's mind, he could still be surprised. But the moment was over, and Eragon took the hand his brother was offering him.

"Here... now... I can want to win with every fiber of my being..." and Murtagh smirked as he helped Eragon to his feet. "And you, my brother, have discovered the perfect motivation."

Murtagh gazed into Eragon's face, but when the younger showed no sign of understanding, the red rider sighed.

"I don't mind losing a spar to you, even with an audience... but avoiding the public humiliation of our Rimgar sessions, that truly focuses my efforts and intentions towards victory."

In that moment Eragon fully comprehended, and the grin covered his face. But his initial chuckle of amusement lasted only a few seconds, before his expression changed. And the blue rider looked over at his brother with unexpected concern.

Eragon hadn't thought about how the events might be wounding the elder boy's pride. But now he could see it. Beneath the surface of detached bravado, in Murtagh's eyes there was a tiny hint of hurt.

"I'm sorry Murtagh. I really wasn't thinking. You have enough to overcome without adding unnecessary ridicule to the list..."

Eragon chuckled again, though this time at himself.

"If you could have seen my early efforts to master the initial levels, well... I wouldn't have wanted a crowd watching."

Murtagh blinked in surprise at Eragon's heartfelt apology.

"Really?..." he asked relief showing on his face. "So, no more Rimgar?"

The younger brother balked, taken back by the suggestion.

"That's not what I meant," Eragon corrected. "We will still work on your lessons. We'll just do it somewhere more private."

Murtagh's face fell into exasperation, but it was mostly feigned, and they both knew it. The red rider was actually stunned by Eragon's understanding. It had been more than he had expected, and was certainly more than he deserved. And somewhere within this exchange, a new connection had been forged between the brothers, or perhaps an old one had been strengthened. Whatever it was, Murtagh's heart felt lighter than it had in all his memory...

"Well, if you are bent upon torturing me -I mean training me- then I'll endure my lessons daily whether I win or lose the spar... and I'll give you my best."

Now it was Eragon's turn to be surprised; at his brother's tenacity. Of his own initiative, Murtagh had just picked up a challenge of sorts. It was a self imposed directive, one that showed the elder boy's thirst for self improvement. And the younger smiled at the realization that he had just discovered the best way to inspire his brother; not by force, or baiting, or promises... but by simply providing the open opportunity, and waiting for him to seize it.

That was when Eragon noticed that his brother was staring at him...

"What?" he asked in confusion.

"Why are you grinning?" Murtagh asked suspiciously.

"Well... I think the Rimgar can wait till tomorrow... Let's get cleaned up and take the morning meal."

Eragon had to laugh at his brother's exaggerated relief, and he couldn't resist the impulse to torment him again with the next bit...

"But I'll expect you to meet me on that ledge," he added, pointing to an outcropping nearly ten miles off, "every morning, a half hour before dawn."

Murtagh's groan followed Eragon as he made a dash to evade the older brother's retaliation...

Later...

The tavern was dimly lit, and smelled of sweat, sawdust, and ale, but that didn't dissuade the patrons any. The place was filled with Varden soldiers; most were exhausted from sparring, and all were in need of a drink.

The well built blond woman tended the bar while the owner was out. Her provocative dress and flashy smile charmed the men as she handed out the ale, and in some cases she hovered close to listen to the more interesting talk.

"Auksha," called one of the men at the far table. "Another round over here."

She turned away to reach for the mugs, straightening her bodice while her back was turned. And then she moved with her usual grace and sway across the room to deliver the drinks.

"Here you go boys," she purred with a seductive smile.

Even here she delighted in her ability to capture the attention of the men, but there was still a haze of dissatisfaction over her failure to claim the attentions of either of the dragon riders... for her own interests.

The grumbling coming from the table behind her drew her attention.

"Stop saying that," the larger of the two men snapped. "Eragon is the best fighter in all the Varden. If the spawn is winning their spars, it is cause the rider is letting him win."

"You weren't there to see," claimed the other man with distaste, "and for the fourth day in a row too. Everyone watching was left in foul spirits, and I lost more than a silver crown on the rider."

Laughter burst from the first man upon hearing the other's admission.

"Now I see why you are cross... you boys are losing money on pointless bets... And you better keep in mind that they are both riders, even if one of them is the son of that devil forsworn."

"You're laughing now, but it isn't funny. And it isn't pointless... What if the traitor turns again? How can we trust that Eragon can control him?"

Auksha was so interested in the dispute, and the direction that it was heading that she didn't notice the reason that the altercation came to an abrupt halt. Suddenly the tavern grew quiet, and the patrons focused their gazes on their drinks. It left her with an eerie feeling, and she slowly turned to see why... There standing in the entrance were the two riders in question, and it was clear from their expressions that they had overheard the last bit of conversation.

The taller one was scowling, and he would have probably retreated had it not been for the grip that the younger man had on his shoulder. Pointing to a couple empty seats, Eragon did his best to pretend that nothing out of the ordinary had happened. But the attentive Auksha recognized the uncooperative glare that the red rider was aiming at his righteous counterpart. This was turning into an interesting afternoon after all, and as she watched the riders cross to their table, she wondered how to best make use of the situation.

"Boys, boys," she lightly scolded her silent customers. "What is this?... a tavern? or a wake?" The woman smirked seeing the back of the dark rider stiffen at the sound of her voice. The other rider might have stiffened too, but she hadn't really noticed. At any rate, her words were rewarded with a few chuckles from the men, and seemed to bring a modicum of normalcy back to the atmosphere.

Swinging around to greet the newest guests, the lovely vision put on her most alluring smile and sauntered over carrying two full mugs of the tavern's best. She ended up sitting on the edge of the table in front of the pair, with one drink in each hand...

"What's your pleasure today, boys?"

One of the patrons snorted a laugh, recognizing her blatant invitation, and she shot the man a scathing look, clearing her throat.

"This'll do just fine," Murtagh said reaching for the closest mug. When she held onto the mug, the scowl returned to the rider's face.

Her laughter rang out lightly, bringing a blush to Eragon's face and an iron fierceness to Murtagh's.

"Before you make up your mind, take a good look. What you see here before you is the house's very best." And as if to emphasize the point, she leaned forward setting the tankard of ale in front of Murtagh for his inspection, her expertly fashioned dress flattering her natural figure. It took every ounce of Murtagh's control to keep his eyes raised to the woman's face as he silently lifted one of the drinks.

"You won't find anything better south of Du Weldenvarden..." she tempted.

"What about Arya," Eragon challenged, brightened by the thought of the beautiful elven princess. At Auksha's stunned expression, Murtagh turned his head to hide his amusement, barely able to restrain his laughter.

Somehow the mention of the elven forest must have freed the younger man to speak. Until that moment he had just been sitting there frozen with his jaw dropped. That had been the reason Auksha had focused her efforts on the other rider. But now everything was ruined. The entire place was roaring with laughter, and her own cheeks crimson with embarrassment.

"Fine then..." she rose in a huff. "You can all serve yerselves."

And with that she spun on her heels and stormed towards the door, just as one hapless customer was trying to enter. Not missing a beat, Auksha took the arm of her unexpected, newly drafted escort, threw a smug look of satisfaction over her shoulder, and exited the tavern to another round of laughter.

Eragon blinked and then chuckled, picking up the second mug of ale. The stunned expression on the face of the commandeered soldier had been priceless.

"Wow..." the younger rider commented, still gazing at the door. "She's a bit fickle."

"Thank the stars," came his brother's answer, and the sound of two mugs clinking in a toast never sounded so welcome.

"Heres to the best of the house..." Murtagh grinned as he downed his first swallow.

A/Notes:

Slightly edited 11-24-2012

I had intended so much more for this chapter... but I will have to acknowledge that the timing wasn't really right. Perhaps just getting something posted after all this time will give me momentum to press on to the scene I really want to do.

For all of you who have been UTTERLY patient with me, I owe you much. And I promise not let so much time pass before I update this again.

Kumar... thanks for your unrelenting support and encouragement. I dedicate this chapter to you.