Thorn and Leaf

From the ground, Eragon could only gape as the shadowed figure came into focus. It wasn't a Lethrblaka. Worse. The creature, glowing and sparkling in the sun like a hot bed of coals, had wings the color of wine, claws and teeth and spine as white as snow, and bright red eyes gleaming with bloodthirsty hunger. A dragon.

The Rider in the saddle wore polished steel armor with a covering helm and held a hand-and-a-half sword. Who…?

Before Eragon could finish his thought, the other Rider raised a hand and sent a shaft of crackling ruby energy shooting from it to strike Hrothgar, the dwarf king. The king's spellcasters, after crying out in pain from their consumed energy, collapsed dead and were soon followed by their leader. The entire newly arrived dwarf host gave a groan of utter despair.

"No!" Eragon screamed, unable to do anything as the battle seemed to pause around him as his energy was too drained. Frantically, he looked around for a source from which he could revive himself and found a stallion struggling for life with a spear through its side.

As he bent down to take the horse's energy, he murmured, Sleep, brother. The transfer didn't restore his energy so much as it soothed his aching muscles from the battle thusfar. At least it helped.

Jumping onto Saphira's back, the lad turned to Orik and shouted,

"Orik, take command of your kinsmen!"

He caught a glance of a concerned Arya across the field but couldn't spare but a passing thought. In one smooth movement, Saphira launched herself into the sky and sped towards the red dragon.

"I hope you remember your lessons with Glaedr," he commented to his partner.

There was no answer but her roared thoughts to the other dragon:

"Traitor! Egg breaker, oath breaker, murderer!"

Then, they both began a fervent assault against the minds of the other pair, seeking to overwhelm their defenses. But the consciousness of the other Rider seemed strange, almost as if it contained multitudes of spirits begging to be released. The other Rider retaliated by sending an incredible attack that caused Eragon to retreat behind his own barriers and search for a mantra Oromis had taught him to keep his head. Even Oromis hadn't been capable of such force!

As the mental siege halted, the dragons collided with bone-crushing force and began grappling at each other for the advantage. While the red dragon was smaller than Saphira, his legs and shoulders were thicker and able to kick her away. They dueled for quite some time, during which Eragon became aware of two new magicians on the Empire's side who were beginning to easily overwhelm the Varden's Du Vrangr Gata one by one. In his mind, he could hear Trianna, the leader, scream,

"Shadeslayer! You have to help us! We can't stop them. They'll kill all the Varden. Help us, it's the –"

He couldn't hear the end of the sentence as the strange Rider stabbed at his mind again.

"This must end," growled Eragon as he watched the red dragon dive underneath Saphira and saw his opportunity. "Catch me!" he yelled, severing the leg straps of his saddle and jumping into the air.

The rush of air made his eyes water and tore off his helm, but the red dragon was unable to thoroughly evade his plan. Lashing out with Zar'roc, he felt the blade sink into the creature's flank and found himself spinning from the impact.

The dragon roared in agony.

Unwilling to use his energy reserves to stop his fall, Eragon waited for Saphira to finally catch him.

"Never do that to me again," she snapped.

"It worked, didn't it?" the young man responded, noting the generous amount of blood left on his sword.

His pleasure in victory was quickly soured, however, as he realized that his stunt had left Saphira completely at the mercy of the red dragon. He hurtled at her from above, keeping her from escaping by his biting and buffeting of wings. The two creatures twisted and lunged at each other until their tongues lolled out of their mouths from exhaustion and they gave in to gliding rather than trying to flap their wings. With his mind still blocked, Eragon said out loud,

"Land, Saphira; it's no good. I'll fight her on the ground."

Saphira merely grunted in resignation as she moved to land on a small stone plateau on the western edge of the Jiet River. She didn't counter his assumption of 'she' in referring to the Rider. While the foe had more bulk and build than his guessed personage, it was a likely assumption – appearances could always be altered by magic. He leapt off of Saphira as soon they landed to test his footing; the other duo landed a few seconds later and the Rider casually slid down to examine the long gash on the red dragon's leg.

Eragon let this take place; he knew the pain shared between dragon and Rider. But it seemed that he waited too long: with a few muttered words and a few seconds, the wound was seamlessly healed. The ease of this caused Eragon to shiver with wonder. At least it wasn't Galbatorix.

As the two Riders met at the center of the plateau, their swords met with fearsome speed, red sparks flying. With light feet and a complex series of quick blows, Eragon was able to force his opponent to the edge of the stone platform; but that was where his advantage ended. The other Rider was able to fend off every one of the lad's attempts, as if he could anticipate every move he was about to make. Only three people had ever been able to do that, and he was only fairly confident that one of them was alive.

His energy reserves were running low to a point where his strength would give out at any minute. Fully rested, he would have been able to defeat this foe; but, at this rate, he was only being pushed back with his fading strength. No, this wasn't Nora. Even if her appearance was magically altered, it wouldn't explain the extra strength – and she would have been far more graceful and nimble in her fighting style.

Zar'roc grew heavy in his hand, his shoulder burned, he gasped for breath, and sweat was pouring down his face. Not even the desire to avenge Hrothgar could spur him onward. He collapsed, but he refused to be killed lying down. Eragon rolled back to his feet and stabbed at the Rider, who knocked Zar'roc aside with a lazy flick of the wrist. The way he then flourished his sword, spinning it in a quick circle by his side, suddenly seemed familiar. With growing horror, he shouted,

"I know you!"

He launched himself at the Rider, trapping both swords between them, hooked his fingers underneath his enemy's helm, and ripped it off.

And there in the center of the plateau, on the edge of the Burning Plains of Alagaesia, stood Murtagh.

"Land near those trees."

"Why?"

"I need time to think before we return to Uru'baen."

"Why?"

Murtagh sighed.

"Just…land, Thorn."

"You died, though!" shouted Eragon. "You died under Farthen Dur. Arya found your bloody clothes in the tunnels. Nora didn't know what to do."

This troubled Murtagh, but only slightly.

"No, I did not die. It was the Twins' doing, Eragon. They took control of a group of Urgals and arranged the ambush in order to kill Ajihad and capture me. Then they ensorcelled me so I could not escape and spirited me off to Uru'baen."

"But why did you agree to serve Galbatorix? You told me you hated him. You told me –"

Visions of those endless tortures fill Murtagh's memory and he laughed madly,

"Agree! I did not agree. First Galbatorix punished me for spiting his years of protection during my upbringing in Uru'baen, for defying his will and running away. Then he extracted everything I knew about you, Saphira, Nora, and the Varden."

"You betrayed us! I was mourning you, and you betrayed us!"

"I had no choice."

"Ajihad was right to lock you up. He should have let you rot in your cell, then none of this –"

"I had no choice!" Murtagh snarled. "And after Thorn hatched for me, Galbatorix forced both of us to swear loyalty to him in the ancient language. We cannot disobey him now."

Eragon face suddenly became solemn.

"It is good that Nora isn't here to see you now. You have become your father."

As soon as his feet touched the ground, Murtagh removed his armor as quickly as possible and wiped his sweaty brow with his sleeve. Nowadays, the only person he could ever show any real humanity to was Thorn. Anyone else and he risked punishment from the king…such punishment. Without Nora, his best friend, to help him, he had lost himself almost completely.

Feeling much freer without the constricting, hot armor, the young man fetched Zar'roc from where he had stored it on Thorn's saddle and gave it a few swings. The heritage it reminded him of was a bloody and horrible one, but it was his only inheritance and it was, at this point, quite fitting for the slave of Galbatorix. It felt good in his hand.

Yes, things were better this way – he was alone and Nora was free…and Nasuada was the leader of the Varden. Thinking of that woman brought a flood of a vision of those deep, enchanting eyes that belonged to Ajihad's daughter. Such grace, yet such strength. Nora, like him, had always been more keen on surviving for herself; Nasuada had thought about nothing but her people. Thorn didn't understand these complex feelings.

Turning to walk backwards, lost in thought as he continued to experiment with his new sword and entered the stretch of forest, Murtagh didn't pay any attention to where he wandered. He could still see a confused and concerned Thorn crouched down in the shaded clearing, so he wasn't concerned. But then he sensed the presence of someone else there. There was a light voice floating on the air, almost as if it was part of the breeze's melody. Naturally, he went to investigate.

The voice paused once when Murtagh accidentally snapped a twig underfoot, but it never completely ceased during the five or so minutes that he crept along.

"What is it?" Thorn curiously asked.

"I don't know. Stay put, but be ready in case I call. I might need those bloody Eldunari again, for all I know."

The singing had gotten loud enough to where he began looking up in the trees to see if the source of the voice was in the branches. Then, something stopped him short. A stocky cedar tree at least three feet wide was shivering violently and spreading its roots further and further by the second. At the moment, the roots, tip to the trunk, spread to be about thirty feet long each. Even as Murtagh stood there hidden in cautious wonder, the lower branches parted and the trunk seemed to sculpt itself into an elegant spiral staircase. The movement finally stopped after about ten minutes.

Then, Nora appeared, wearing a white dress, slim leather boots, a thick brown cloak, and a shoulder satchel. She looked sad and even thinner than usual, as if the king's tortures, whatever their full extent had been, had completely taken their toll. She froze halfway down the stairs, rigid, upon seeing Murtagh standing there. He was still marveling at the tree, as well as her presence.

"So, there you are. How did you do this?" he wondered.

"I found out much about my heritage during my time with the elves," she replied quietly, her voice slightly hoarse as she cautiously eyed Zar'roc. "I see you have your father's sword."

Old bitterness was renewed at that reminder and he gripped the handle a little tighter.

"Your precious Rider is still alive and well, so you need not worry. And you needn't worry about your precious Varden either. They won this battle. But the king will not let it happen again. I was strong enough to defeat Eragon now, and I will be even stronger for next time."

Nora's pale lips parted in faint shock.

"You defeated him – a Rider? How?"

The young man then remembered that Galbatorix had purposefully kept his daughter in the dark about Thorn during her capture…probably so that the Varden would not be warned of him before the battle.

"The red egg hatched for me."

"So you really are his slave, then." It was a statement, not a question. "You really are lost to yourself."

"That's one way of putting it."

Her face had gone blank with this news. Curious as to what she was thinking, Murtagh tried to touch her mind, even to just glean some surface emotion; however, his mental probe only found a mental barrier as thick as ten dragon skins and as complex as a maze. Even for his new power, it was a fortification beyond his comprehension.

"Don't even try it, Murtagh. If you can no longer be my sanctuary, then my mind is all I can salvage. There is nothing left but to fight."

He scoffed.

"It was certainly never much for the people and country."

"Call me self-centered and selective, but no; they were secondary. I will do what I must, but Destiny is now driving me; I have nothing left to fight it."

"You know…I used to have nightmares that you had been seduced by the king. I feared it more than anything. Turns out: I should have been fearing for myself."

For a moment, she looked furious, but the conflict cleared and there was nothing in her eyes but understanding.

"You were my strength, Murtagh."

That hurt. He hadn't felt strong at all ever since Galbatorix had gotten his claws on him. At the moment, he knew he had to walk away; otherwise, his oaths would force him to capture her.

"I disappointed you."

"I disappointed myself. Goodbye, Murtagh."

At that, he turned and walked away from the cold conversation. He wasn't sure how she had sensed his obligation to leave, but it had happened. Lenora was a new woman – hopefully a stronger one.

"I remember when it was together till the end
Now I'm alone again
Where do I begin?
I cried a little bit
You died a little bit
Please say there's no regrets
And say you won't forget
But I'm not lost

I'm not gone
I haven't forgot

These feelings I can't shake no more
These feelings are running out the door
I can feel it falling down
And I'm not coming back around."

- Avril Lavigne

Nora stood there shivering despite the heat. Seeing Murtagh like that had made her remember how close they had been. Even if what she was feeling wasn't love – and she didn't know what it was – he was and always had been her best friend in the world. She didn't know what drove her to this instinct, but she knew what she had to do now. The war was important to her, but her friends came first, as always. Fate could go die in a hole. She intended to make her own path.

For a moment, she looked back towards the direction of the Lamvarden camp two miles off, then towards the tree-dotted area to the south. There was Surda, the eventual goal of Ajihad and his troops. But between here and there were miles of wilderness. No sign of civilization was around there but a few scattered farms and small villages. Yes, Catira and the others would miss her, but she needed to sort things out. She was too confused right now and needed to find herself again. After living with the elves, a new feeling had crept over her – a new power. It needed time.

"When you're torn down, when you're messed up
Don't you give in, no don't you give up
When you're drowning, and you're fading
Always know that I'm always waiting
And I, I won't let you go
No, I won't let you go."

- Avril Lavigne