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"Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened." –Dr. Seuss
Chapter Twenty-Four: Goodbyes
Murtagh stood on the wall, looking down on the city, and breathed in a deep, ice-cold sigh. The city was still below him, just waking, as dawn broke, tingeing the clouds with pink.
Beside him, Thorn sighed heavily, looking out away from the city, towards Uru'baen.
Their bond pulsed with duty, and love.
You don't want to leave her, Murtagh said, stroking Thorn's neck.
You don't want to leave yours, either.
No, Murtagh agreed, remembering her gentle kiss only a few days before. The thought of it made his chest hurt, like it was cracking open. But we must.
Aye, said the crimson dragon wearily. We must.
Below them, in the city and on the fields, men were stirring, stumbling from their beds, clearing away the snow so the Varden could use the streets once more.
A supply train crawled in from the south, bringing oil and grain up from warm Surda, and some soldiers were already heading out to meet it, scanning the skies for any sign of Imperial forces, dragon or Halfling.
Murtagh knew that some of them half-expected to see Saphira crash out of the clouds and rain unholy fury down on them.
He also knew that it hurt Thorn, to have people think that, and he scratched his dragon's neck comfortingly.
I'm okay, Thorn said. We're doing this to help Saphira. I'll see her again. Besides, the pack will get her out. I trust them.
You trust everyone, Murtagh said, but there was no heat to it. So when did you know you loved Saphira?
Since I saw her in your father's castle, before we rescued Eragon. Thorn's memory went all soft and gentle at the edges. She was beautiful, and fierce, and only concerned for her Eragon, not herself. That's what a Rider's dragon should be.
When did you know you were in love with Nasuada?
Murtagh looked away, chewing his lip. That, he said flatly, is a complicated question.
They fell silent, looking out at the pink-tinged snow.
D'you think the Varden will be okay without us?
Yes, Murtagh said strongly. The King does not dare leave Uru'baen in wintertime. The riots get bigger and more violent with every passing year, and idiots like Tariku aren't going to stop it, they'll just kill people and incite the rest of the city.
Galbatorix's greatest strength as a ruler was his silver tongue. Murtagh had always known this. The Black King could convince a priest to murder his wife, without even breaking into his mind.
It was amazing, and also more than a little frightening to witness.
Galbatorix could calm the crowds, during the riots. He spoke to them, and soothed them, and sent them back on their way without casting a single spell.
Tariku, on the other hand, did not have this gift.
He was a crass, insolent, combative man, who acted like he was superior to all around him—exactly the kind of man the Lower City and the Middlings hated.
The rioters would eat him alive.
So Galbatorix was bound the Uru'baen, at least until the first thaws, which gave Murtagh about three months to travel to the east and back.
With Eragon, hopefully.
The Varden would be fine in his absence. They were always fine, after all. They survived twenty years on the outskirts of Alagaesia, begging and scavenging to eat. They were strong. They were well-settled into Feinster, Belatona, and Teirm, anyway.
They could help each other survive.
And the pack is watching over them, Thorn added.
Aye.
Murtagh turned to look at the clan below; from this high up they appeared to be the size of horses. He almost laughed. Fanged, clawed, brightly colored horses.
Come on. Let's say our goodbyes.
Thorn crouched, letting Murtagh scramble onto his back, and shoved off the wall hard, circling in the frigid air.
The streets were filling quickly now, as people bustled to and fro, going about their daily lives. Thorn circled the city once and descended again, landing in the keep's courtyard with a mighty thump.
His saddle packs rattled.
"You're ready to go, aren't you?" Vé stood not too far away, watching Murtagh with his typical thoughtful expression.
"Aye." Murtagh had been ready since long before dawn, when he had awoken, roused by dreams of walking and black dragons, howling as they were ripped by great, snarling white wolves.
The elf Rider dipped his head. "We'll miss you."
Murtagh blinked. "I will return," he promised. "With Eragon."
Vé tilted his head, fingering his dagger. "If I could believe that from anyone, I'd believe it from you," he said, and bowed. "May you go with light at your back, Murtagh Stormbreaker." And he bowed again, and slipped out of the courtyard.
That was odd.
Thorn shook his great head. Sunna said pretty much the same to me. I think they're bad at goodbyes.
That makes three of us, then.
Thorn nosed him affectionately, offering his neck for support. Murtagh leaned on it, using his dragon and Zar'roc as makeshift crutches.
Farther in, Erik and Konungr were close to Lovissa and Deloi, apparently speaking urgently. Raltin and his dragon were nowhere in sight.
"Murtagh," Erik said respectfully, as the red Rider neared. His beard was wild, but his eyes were soft and kind. He clapped Murtagh on the shoulder. "You will be careful, won'tcha? Don't wanna have t'find us a new leader, now."
Murtagh returned the gesture, gripping the bigger man's shoulder. "We'll be careful. We spoke with Griffin and Lore last night, as well as Glaedr. We've been suitably warned of the dangers."
"Glaedr," Erik snorted, rubbing his head. "Crazy old dragon popped in me head in the wee morning, y'know? I woke up all me neighbors howling."
"He did," Lovissa muttered.
"Glaedr is very old," Murtagh began, but Erik waved him off.
"Don't need t' explain him t'me. I remember him from when we were just hatchlings, before the Fall. Always was an odd one, was Glaedr."
He is my sire, Deloi said dryly.
Runs in the family, then, Konungr chuckled, huge orange tail twitching with amusement.
The bronze dragon hummed, for the first time since Ophelia's death. Hush, youngling.
Youngling? You weren't much older than me when the Riders fell.
Old enough, Deloi retorted, and Lovissa hid a chuckle behind her hand.
Warmth flooded Murtagh's chest. He loved these beings. They were his clan, damn it. Of course they'd be alright without him. They had clever Lovissa, cunning Vé, fierce Erik. They had Konungr, who was huge and terrible, and the quick Sunna, and Deloi who could raise the earth with a flick of his paw.
Murtagh pitied the idiot who got between them and the Varden.
He bowed to Erik, and then to Lovissa, in the style of swordsmen, as Tornac had taught him when he was hardly more than a boy.
"May you go with light at your back," he said feelingly, and then they bowed to him too.
"May the sun watch over you," they murmured back, and released him.
Murtagh moved away from them, because he didn't want to look any more.
He would miss them.
You've gone soft, he told himself. You've gotten attached again, damn it. Didn't you learn anything from the last time?
Thorn nudged his arm gently.
Come on, he said. Arya's waiting for us outside the gate. She says Raltin is with her.
Murtagh nodded. Very well.
He left the courtyard without looking back, limping determinedly through the city as he had done all those months ago, when he awoke to find his world broken.
People gathered on the sides of the streets, watching him go, whispering and calling amongst themselves.
"He's leaving," they whispered.
"On a special mission granted by the Lady herself."
"With the elf princess, no less."
"Stormbreaker! Stormbreaker!"
The voices followed him all the way out to the gate, where Lady Nasuada stood, regal in her finery, chin raised and shoulders proud. She was beautiful.
"Be safe, Murtagh Stormbreaker," she said, and grasped his hand. "Come back."
"I will," he promised her, and she smiled a bit, sadly, standing on her toes to kiss his cheek.
The entire Varden went dead silent.
Murtagh's cheek tingled, and he almost smiled. "Was that wise?"
"No," she said. "Probably not. But who knows when I will see you again?"
Murtagh took a deep, shuddering breath. "I love you," he whispered, low so no one else could hear. "I've always loved you."
She smiled. "I know," she said. Mutters erupted amongst the Varden, tearing free. The supply train drew closer.
"Be safe," Nasuada finally said, and she stepped away from him, back towards her Varden, leaving him with his Dragon Riders.
He understood, and he bowed to her slightly. I will return, he said in her mind, and she sent a warm curl of affection back.
I know. Nothing can stop you, once you have your mind put to it.
Murtagh breathed, and turned from her, and the Varden. He took careful, measured steps in the snow, showing no weakness, Thorn padding at his side, to where Ayra and Raltin stood with their dragons.
Raltin was staring at him, and Arya's face was as impassive as ever, except tinged with something a little like understanding.
"Do you have all you need?" she asked, instead of talking about what had just occurred.
"Yes," he said. "I have a mirror, some weapons, and enough food for three days' flight of the Hadrac."
Arya nodded, checking the saddle bag slung over Faolin.
Are you ready to go, little one? Murtagh asked Faolin. The green dragon's eyes brightened with determination.
Yes.
Good.
"I have everything I need as well," the elf said. "Chiefly the map and the feather."
"Raltin?" Murtagh asked.
The stone-face Rider nodded jerkily, clearly not happy, but not fighting, not yet.
This is for your own good, Murtagh said. This is so you don't hurt anyone with your schemes. Be a Rider, Raltin, not a Forsworn.
"I am fully prepared."
Murtagh nodded. "Excellent," he said, climbing up onto Thorn's broad back. He pulled his cloak tighter and fastened Zar'roc securely.
The other two climbed slowly onto their own dragons, settling in, and Arya quickly checked her supplies once again.
Murtagh noticed that she had Eragon's sword Brisingr strapped to her back, and suddenly, he had an idea.
Wait, he called to her, and hastily dismounted.
Deloi! he shouted.
There was a moment's pause, and then the bronze dragon rumbled back.
Murtagh?
May Arya use Ophelia's sword? Erisdar? She doesn't have a Rider's sword of her own. She's using Eragon's.
Deloi was silent for several long, painful seconds. Ophelia had been his mate, and Ophelia's Rider, Austric, had died over the Spine, leaving Ophelia heartbroken, with only her Rider's precious sword to remember him by.
When Shruikan killed Ophelia during the Battle of the Falling, Erisdar had fallen, and had not been burned with her body, as was custom. It had been found later, and Deloi had been keeping it safe ever since.
So that her memory may carry on, Murtagh said. Swords are not made to be kept gathering dust and tears, Deloi. They're made for fighting. That's how we honor those who have gone before; by carrying their weapons into battle.
Very well, the dragon said, after much thought. I have no use for it, after all, and the Princess of the Elves will honor it will. She may have it. I shall bring it to you.
Murtagh withdrew, satisfied.
Arya gave in a strange look.
"Wait for a moment," he urged her. "Deloi and Lovissa have something for you."
The great bronze dragon soon sailed over the Varden, landing with a snow-shaking thump. Erisdar was gripped tight in his paws, and he carefully presented it to Arya. Her eyes went wide.
This is the sword of Austric, Ophelia's Rider. He was slain by Morzan as he tried to protect younglings, including myself, from the purges. Ophelia kept it, and I have kept it.
Arya stared.
I give it to you, Arya, Slayer of Shades, so that you may be a full Dragon Rider, and you may honor my mate's memory. He dropped the sword into her hands. Carry it well.
I will, she swore faintly, her face shocked.
Murtagh smiled to himself, and thanked Deloi.
"Why?" Arya asked him.
He shrugged. "As a sign of good faith. I am not your enemy. I am your… fellow, I suppose, your brother-in-arms."
"So you convince a dragon to give me a sword?"
He shrugged again, and half-grinned at her. "One day, I will explain it to you."
Thorn? Are you ready?
In response, the crimson dragon flared his wide, strong wings, coiling his muscles. Though he was leaving everything behind, Murtagh could not mourn, or miss them.
He would return.
Let us go, he cried, to his companions, and Thorn shoved off hard, scattering ice and snow, rising on the currents of air until the Varden was a city of ants below him.
Faolin and Talon rose with him, and together, they set off for the east.
Two more tonight! Woo!
~WSS