Pömnuria Hjarta er Medh Ono

A/N: Big thank you to the few of you that sent me notes about the last chapter. I know it's super frustrating when stories like this get abandoned over a long period of time. It's been a little over seven years since I started this story, and I went through SO many bouts of writer's block, changing interests and life events (I had a baby over this last summer!). I am super thrilled to say that this is the end. This is the last major chapter of Pömnuria Hjarta er Medh Ono (excluding the epilogue). SO, thank you to all of you throughout the years who encouraged me and told me the bare truth about what I was writing. I've grown a lot as a writer, especially through this story, and for that I am tremendously grateful. I hope you enjoy this final chapter as much as I did writing this story for you.

ENJOY!

The flight from Beirland to Parlim wasn't a long one, especially on the back of a fully-mature dragon, but a particularly strong wind from the south made the journey more difficult than necessary. Thorn had to fly higher than normal to avoid the unpredictable tailwinds, and the unexpected altitude was absolutely freezing. On a better day, the cold air wouldn't have bothered Murtagh, but in that moment, the chill seemed to creep through his entire body, originating from the place where Nasuada had healed him. He was starting to realize that the heal was probably superficial at best. Strong enough to keep him together, but just fragile enough that any major blow to his abdomen would tear it right back open. It wasn't Nasuada's fault; she was no magician, after all. But he regretted not asking someone to double-check the integrity of the heal, just in case.

Nasuada will not like that you are keeping things from her again, said Thorn.

I don't want to worry her. Murtagh responded. Not right now.

He could feel Thorn's disapproval through their link. I will not tell her, but swear to me that you will be cautious. I will break all agreements between us if I believe that your stubbornness is being a detriment.

Murtagh sighed in his head. You've turned against me. You didn't used to be like this.

I have not changed, Thorn responded with a huff. You just never saw this side of me because I did not care for anyone but you for so long. He let that thought settle for a moment before following it up in a much softer voice. She matters to me too, bró∂ir.

A soft warm feeling settled in Murtagh's chest and he took a long look at Nasuada, sitting in front of him. She had changed into her battle clothes before they left and had her hair pulled up into a tight knot. Yet, despite all the layers of tempered leather she wore, she still had her arms held close to brace against the cold wind. He leaned closer to her, to give her more warmth. She responded in kind with a tiny sigh.

I understand, Thorn. I promise I'll be careful. For both of you.

Thorn huffed again, probably from how long it took him to come to that conclusion, but Murtagh could feel the relief coming through their link in tiny waves. He gently returned the feeling.

Nasuada sat up. "I think I can see it," she said. Her voice nearly got swept away in the roar of the wind blowing past them. She turned over her shoulder to look at him when he didn't respond and pointed. "Is that it?"

The tiny island was coming up on them fast. Compared to Beirland, Parlim was nothing more than a tiny drop of sharp jagged land in the middle of the ocean, with several steep and heavily forested peaks. The terrain was highly unsuitable for colonizing, but perfect for hiding well-kept secrets. As soon as Muragh laid eyes on it, he had no doubt in his mind it was exactly the place where the Biśud'dhaSprinlay hidden for so many years.

Thorn banked and curved a long circle around the tiny island as he started to make his descent. As they grew closer, it was easier to see the boats beached along its narrow shores. The terrain was too irregular for Thorn to land on, so they had to slide from his side into the shallow waters while he hovered to reach the mainland of the island. As Murtagh looked up at the pointy edges of the island, he pushed a hand through his hair.

"I'm going to need a heading if we're going to catch up with them."

Say no more.

With a couple powerful flaps of his wings, Thorn took the skies once more and disappeared among the swiftly moving clouds. Murtagh watched him go before giving a quiet sigh.

"I doubt that they don't already know we are here, but it wouldn't hurt to try and go into this with a little stealth," he said. He glanced over at Nasuada, who had her eyes up at the jagged peaks of Parlim. His voice lowered a little with the depressing earnestness of his following statement. "There's only so much damage we can do with just the three of us."

She let his hollowing truth linger for a moment before she turned her head down and sighed. "If I recall correctly, this is not a war we are fighting, but rather, a mission we must uphold to prevent a similar tyrant from rising up and causing chaos in Alagäesia." She turned her brown eyes up to meet his gaze. They were surprisingly fragile for how unwavering her voice seemed. "I am not foolish enough to believe that we will escape this encounter without injury. But, I know we will find a way to prevent the future Rasenth has planned for this empire. One way or another."

Murtagh lowered his eyes slightly, trying to ignore the vicious pull that yanked at his heart.

"Besides," she continued on a less dreadful note. "If all goes well, and we truly find the spring you and Thorn have spoken of, then our outcome will be decidedly much more optimistic. Wouldn't you think?"

Murtagh gave her a despondent look. "Rasenth is looking for the Spring as well."

Nasuada responded with a smile, one that brightened the darkness that was starting to settle in his heart. "Then we will just have to beat him there."

His eyes lingered on the gentle way her lips curled upwards and he mirrored the expression, if only just slightly. He allowed himself to reach out and gently take her hand into his own. Her fingers met his, soft and willing. Her eyes were beautiful, he realized, not for the first time. Deep, dark and brown, but gentle and as open as the heart she seemingly wore on her sleeve. He felt compelled to do everything to protect that look in her eyes.

I've found them.

Murtagh let his gaze linger just a moment longer before he turned away to look at the mountain island again. Tell me where.

As Thorn relayed the information about where Rasenth and his men were traveling, he felt a gentle squeeze on his hand. He glanced at Nasuada again, and noted that her expression turned determined again.

"This will work out, Murtagh," she told him. "I promise."

You can't know that, he found himself wanting to say. But he wanted to believe her, so he squeezed her hand back instead.

Finding Rasenth's traveling party only took the better part of an hour, but Parlim didn't make it easy for them. Traversing the island was almost like climbing straight up a cliff side. Years of strong weather had eroded the terrain away, exposing the roots of trees and tumbling heavy rocks several feet downhill. The ground was soft and pliable, and practically crumbled beneath their feet as they pulled their way up. Luckily for them, the difficult terrain wasn't any kinder to their enemies.

According to Thorn's intel, there wasn't very many people in Rasenth's caravan, but they were moving slow. Slower than the environment should have made them. Even without a dragon's eye in the sky, tracking them was as easy as following a wounded deer. In their haste, they didn't bother to cover their tracks, nor did they hide their presence on the island. Murtagh heard them arguing a good way down before they even came into view. By then, he and Nasuada had disappeared behind the trees and into the underbrush.

"Damn this island! If I fall down another ledge—"

There was a loud rustle of leaves followed by a heavy thump.

"Dammit, Brent, if I have to pick your stupid ass up from the ground one more time—" There was a yelp followed by a second heavy thump.

Murtagh peaked between the leaves of the bush he hid behind to get a better look at the two men sprawled out on the ground. Five more men tailed up the hill ahead of them, but the Rider couldn't quite make out Rasenth's location. The man closest to the two fallen ones gave a heavy sigh but didn't make a move to help them.

"Get ya asses off the ground before Rasenth finds out that ya've let the barrel fall again. He'll have both ya hides if one of them breaks!"

At his words, Murtagh's eyes found the large barrel practically hidden in the brush a few feet away from them. It was nothing more than a nondescript wooden barrel that he'd seen a million times before, but they acted as if it was precious cargo. The two men slowly picked themselves off the ground and grumbled under their breath. The second man shoved the first one none too lightly as he trudged over to the fallen barrel.

"Damn you, Brent. I'm not gettin' in trouble for your dumb ass."

The first man rubbed the spot where the second guy hit him with an annoyed pout. "I don't see why we have to lug an empty barrel all the way up here anyway."

"You know why," the first one said. "And don't let Rasenth hear you complainin' or you're not gonna get any of that spring water either. Now get your lazy ass over here and help me with this thing."

As the two men heaved the barrel back into their arms, Murtagh slid a silent look at Nasuada.

We need a plan.

We need to get on equal grounds, she responded. There's too many of them and the ground's too uneven. They'll have the high ground advantage. We'll be slaughtered before we can even get a jump on them.

Murtagh let that thought mull around in his head for a minute. Thorn, what can you see?

The trees are difficult to see through, the dragon reluctantly responded. But it looks as though a clearing waits up ahead.

A clearing is good, Nasuada said. But it doesn't change the fact that we're outnumbered. We'll be wiped out in seconds.

Thorn snorted in their minds. A small caravan is nothing to the jaws of a dragon. I will eat them and clear your path.

Murtagh rolled his eyes, ready to dismiss Thorn's abrasive plan, only to have the rejection catch on his tongue. Actually, that's not a bad idea. Thorn's surprise was as palpable as the look on Nasuada's face. He's right. A small caravan isn't anything to the jaws of a dragon. He would tear straight through them and allow us a chance to find Rasenth without fighting ten people.

I wouldn't just tear through them. I would incinerate them. Thorn added enthusiastically. Murtagh couldn't resist smiling a little. It had been a while since he'd heard Thorn so on board with one of his plans.

Nasuada sighed. Well, who am I to argue with a dragon?

Murtagh grinned. Wait till we're in position, then show them what it's like to see hellfire.

Thorn practically vibrated in excitement.

Twenty minutes later, Murtagh had his back pressed against a tree on the outskirts of the clearing with Zar'roc held lightly at his side. Nasuada stood in front of him with her chest only inches away from his with her long knife pressed against her forearm. She kept glancing away from him at the slowly moving caravan with a million things reflecting in her eyes. Her outward appearance made her seem cool and collected. But Murtagh knew better. He gently reached up to touch her elbow with his freehand. Her dark eyes snapped back to his face.

"Breathe," he whispered.

She closed her eyes and did as she was told. "I'm worried," she eventually admitted.

"As am I," he responded. "But if there's one thing I trust more than Thorn himself, it's the natural fear of men when faced with an apex predator."

As if on cue, a thunderous roar echoed from the skies above. Instantly, the men on the ground dropped what they were carrying and scrambled to grab whatever weapons they had on them. They looked around in fearful confusion, muttering under their breath, until one man shouted, "Dragon!"

A second roar screamed past them as Thorn swooped low, blasting the trees in all directions with the wind beneath his wings and sending the caravan cowering in fear. As he ascended higher to make another pass, some of the men managed to shake off the paralyzing instinctual terror long enough to attempt shooting arrows at him. Murtagh heard him snort in amusement through their link as he climbed higher. With the caravan all frantically looking at the sky for the return of the red dragon, he knew it was time to go. Looking at Nasuada, he nodded once and they jumped into action.

The first few men fell like limp sacks of potatoes to Zar'roc, and a familiar sense of confidence seeped out from his bones. At the sounds of their companions falling, the rest of the group turned on them with tangible fear in their eyes.

"The Rider!"

Someone shouted in alarm as a few of them stumbled back to escape. The others hesitantly drew their swords and aimed crossbows his way. Murtagh grinned. They seemed nervous to fight him – and rightfully so.

He locked blades with the first man, deftly twisting the blade out of his hands before cutting him down. He was upon the second before the man could even prepare himself. Out the corner of his eye, he caught Nasuada expertly disarming her own opponent with a few well-placed blows to his weak spots. He smiled briefly at her precise movements before a crossbow bolt whistled by his cheek. He whipped to the side, disoriented. Just before he could pinpoint who shot it, a resounding explosion nearly knocked him from his feet. He stumbled to the side and turned to see a section of trees blown to bits and on fire. A residual trail of blue-tinged magic drew his eyes back to the caravan where a man in the back struggled to control a blossom of blue energy emanating from a crystal he grasped tightly in his hand.

"Go, quickly!" he said to the man beside him. "Tell Rasenth the Rider is here! I'll hold him off!"

The man took off with a stumble through the trees, leaving six men and the crystal-wielder behind. Murtagh looked between the men on the defensive and the slowly disappearing back of the messenger running toward Rasenth. Nasuada drew up beside him.

"Now what?" she asked breathily. The man with the crystal began to mumble and the wisps of magic began whipping uncontrollably around him.

"Now, we run," he responded. Thorn, now!

Murtagh grabbed Nasuada's arm and charged forward toward the men, just as Thorn came crashing down through the canopy. He landed heavily, shaking the earth beneath Murtagh's feet, and released a devastating roar. The men who stood opposed to him scattered like ants and the chaos began. Arrows flew through the air, fire scorched the hair off the back of Murtagh's neck, and uncontrolled wild magic made the air taste like copper. Murtagh kept a solid hold on Nasuada as she struggled to keep pace with him amongst the confusion. He broke through the weakened line of enemies with ease and was upon the crystal-wielder within seconds. The man's fearful brown eyes grew wide as Murtagh brought Zar'roc down upon his hand and shattered the crystal. A bubble of magic burst out from the destroyed rock and exploded outward, sending Murtgah, Nasuada and the man flying.

Murtagh skidded to a stop a few feet away with his vision blurry and his ears ringing. He pulled himself up to quickly assess the situation. His hand was still latched tightly around Nasuada's arm, tightly enough that he regretfully suspected it would bruise after everything was said and done, but she seemed fine, if not a little dazed. The crystal-wielder, on the other hand, had not fared so well. The arm he had used to hold the sliver of the Floating Rock was scorched from shoulder to finger tips. He lay prone and groaning from what could only be indescribable pain. Nasauda touched Murtagh's arm. Her eyes were on the man as well.

"We cannot allow Rasenth to distribute these crystals to Alagaësia," she said. There was a note of true terror in her tone as she looked up at him. "People will tear each other apart for this power. It will be utter chaos."

Murtagh pressed his lips together and pulled her to her feet. "Then we have no time to lose."

The sounds of the battle and Thorn's roars diminished only a little as Murtagh and Nasuada ran between the trees. Distantly, Murtagh could make out the single messenger as he tore through the forest without abandon. Eventually, a haunting mist began to form between the trunks, making it a little more difficult to see. Just as Murtagh lost sight of the messenger, the tree line broke. The Rider slowed to a stop as an overwhelming sense of déjà vu settled over him. Nestled in the soft blanket of fog lie a large, crystalline pool of water surrounded by trees that almost seemed to shimmer with transparent color. Large exposed roots of the surrounding trees blanketed the bottom of the pond like a web, leading his eyes back to where a grotto of rocks carved from the cliff overhead yawned open before him. A heavy shiver traced down the Rider's spine and left him shaken.

It was the spring. The Biśud'dha Sprin.

Nasuada stepped up beside him, recognizing the look on his face. But, before she could comment on it, something else drew her attention away. Murtagh followed her dark look to see the messenger they had been following standing beside a man knelt beside the spring's coastline. Murtagh frowned as Rasenth's dark eyes turned to them.

"I knew it wouldn't take you long to catch up to me, Rider," he said. He took a deep drink of spring water and slid to a stand. "I had no faith that Drayok would be able to keep you confined. He was always weak and easily swayed. But it's no matter. I wanted a chance at killing you myself, anyway." He wiped his hands on a towel looped around his belt and regarded them more thoroughly. When his eyes made contact with Nasuada, his expression shifted into something almost giddy. "Well, well! Your Majesty! Now this is an honor. I don't believe we've had the opportunity to become acquainted yet."

Murtagh stepped in front of Nasuada and lifted his sword. "And you won't be getting one."

"Now, now. Don't be rude," Rasenth said, leveling a dark stare his way. "Let the lady talk for herself."

Nasuada touched Murtagh's shoulder and stepped forward. She stood squarely, refusing to shy away from his intense gaze. "I know who you are Rasenth Burtonsson, and I know what kind of game you play. I will not offer you any cordial pleasantries when you have threatened the Empire and my rule."

Rasenth's grin grew icy. "Mmm. Cold and cutthroat, just like they all say. It's really too bad; I usually admire such qualities in a woman." Nasuada narrowed her eyes but said nothing. Rasenth took that as an invitation to continue. "You see," he said, causally beginning to stroll along the shoreline toward them. "It's one thing to desire to defeat an infamous warrior like the Red Rider. But for me, killing you has always been a dream. Ever since you took over the throne, Alagaësia has suffered. We've grown weaker and weaker with no true hierarchy to cull the stupid. Compromise is the coward's path to victory and you are its champion." He paused to bow to her mockingly. "All hail, High Queen Nasuada, leader of the cowards and whore to whims of others."

"He's lost his mind," Murtagh said under his breath. Nasuada pressed her lips together and shook her head disappointingly.

"We need to stop him before he spreads any more of his poison to the rest of Alagaësia," she said. "There's no reasoning with a mad man."

Rasenth gave a hearty laugh before letting it die. "It is my dream to return to the era of Galbatorix where the strong reign supreme," he said. He reached over his shoulder and pulled a sword from the sheath on his back. "And the only way to do that is by killing you!"

Murtagh pushed Nasuada behind him and blocked the slice aimed for her throat. He grunted in surprise from how heavy the blow fell upon him. He threw away Rasenth's sword only to have to block it a second later on another side. Not only did Rasenth hit hard, but he was fast—faster than a man of his build should have been. Murtagh needed to stay focused if he was going to get out of the battle without being severely injured.

Rasenth threw another heavy one-handed blow against him and laughed when Murtagh needed a second hand braced against the back of his blade to hold it back. "Just give up!" he said. "Fighting me will change nothing. My plans are already in action. All I need now is the blood of the queen to tip the scales into chaos. Then nothing will stop me! Not even you!"

Murtagh growled and let his anger deflect the attack away. "I won't let you near her!"

Rasenth danced back and held his sword at the ready. "Come at me then, Argetlam."

Murtagh roared and launched into a flurry of offensive stabs that pushed Rasenth back, but the burlier man didn't lose the smirk of confidence. He deftly dodged out of the way before wildly swinging his sword down. Murtagh easily stepped to the side only to be met with blinding pain blasting from the barely healed wound in his side. He stumbled back with stars in his eyes and pressed his hand against it. Copper blood filled his mouth as he unintentionally bit through his lip. Rasenth let out a peal of merriment.

"Your weaknesses are too obvious!" he said, pointing his sword at Murtagh's side. "You've been favoring your side since we started. If you thought you could defeat me in that state, then you have severely underestimated me." He settled back into an offensive stance. "I'd like to say your death will be quick, but then I'd be lying." He leaned forward to strike, but quickly ducked as a knife flew over his head.

"Your confidence will be your downfall," said Nasuada as she stepped up beside Murtagh. "And you will not defeat us."

He glanced at her gratefully and lifted his sword again. He appreciated her help but the knowledge that Rasenth desired her death more than Murtagh's made him feel tense. Any momentary lapse of notice or brief distraction was a potential moment for Rasenth's sword to pierce her heart and bring her life to an end, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Lava began to bubble at the base of his gut as his curse reminded him it was there. The healing word could leave his lips a million times but he wouldn't be able to keep her life from slipping between his fingers. He never regret going down into that tomb more than in that moment.

Rasenth gave them a thin smile and a blatantly hungry look crawled into his dark eyes. Murtagh shivered as his worst fears were confirmed; Rasenth already knew that Nasuada's involvement would be the opportunity he needed to kill her. Unconsciously, Murtagh stepped in front of her, almost to hide her from the ravenous look in his eyes. Rasenth's smile tipped up farther.

"Two against one… I've dealt with worse odds," he said reaching into a pouch at his side. Murtagh saw a flash of electric blue and reacted instinctually, tackling Nasuada to the ground. "Kveylva!"

A sharp crack exploded from beside them, leaving the air sizzling and their ears ringing. Dazed, Murtagh struggled to his feet and wildly launched himself at Rasenth before he could cast a second lightning strike upon them. The burlier man threw the spent crystal away in order to meet Murtagh's attack head-on. Blow after blow, Rasenth met Murtagh's offensive with powerful counterattacks, throwing him off balance and eating away at his energy. Once or twice, the Rider landed solid blows, but nothing seemed to slow the other man down. He merely laughed mockingly, with blood covering his teeth, and continued to wail on him with his sword. Nasuada kept to the back, offering support whenever he was thrown off balance, but Rasenth made it no secret that he was gunning for her. Every time Murtagh would be thrown to the side, the white-haired man would lunge at the Queen, and Murtagh would have to summon every ounce of his strength to launce himself in his pathway to deflect the blow. The extra strain and adrenaline jump he got from the intense need to protect her made his muscles shake with exhaustion. He couldn't keep it up for much longer; he was bound to make a mistake and move just one second too slow and that would be it. And the worst part of it all was that Rasenth knew it.

"You can't protect her forever, Rider," he sneered, leaning heavily into Murtagh as their swords grinded against one another in a stalemate. "Just let her die and allow Alagaësia to reemerge from the ashes!"

"Alagaësia has already been reborn," Murtagh grunted in return. "Spilling more innocent blood to get the outcome you desire will change nothing. It will only cause more chaos and death!"

"Then so be it." Rasenth threw his shoulder into Murtagh, making the Rider stumble back. He stood straight and let his sword droop to his side with a frown. "My vision isn't just a world of chaos. It's a world made only for the strong. Only those worthy shall rise to be the heralds of the new world; a world made from the ideals of Galbatorix and the Forsworn."

"Galbatorix is dead," Murtagh breathed out, "and killing innocents will never change that."

Rasenth's face grew cold. "Ironic words coming from the blood-traitor."

Murtagh's blood boiled at his words. He gripped Zar'roc's hilt tighter and glared at him. "Your vision is one of murder, and I will never allow you to poison the Empire Nasuada has built!"

Rasenth laughed once again, sharp and sardonically. "The weak shall parish under my hand, and if that means that I must start with you, then so be it." He lifted his sword to the ready. "Prepare yourself, Dragon Rider!"

Murtagh grit his teeth as Rasenth came at him again. He moved like a demon, throwing wild attacks from every direction. Murtagh struggled to keep on the defensive. His hands ached from the ricochet of their swords clashing over and over again. Rasenth threw his whole body into an overhead strike that brought sparks up from their swords. Rasenth leaned in close with his teeth bared, causing Murtagh to take an unbalanced step back.

"Give in, Rider!" he hissed. "You won't win!"

Murtagh gripped Zar'roc and leaned in as well. "No, it's you who won't win."

"Is that right?" Rasenth's look grew menacing. "Krehký."

A brilliant flash of blue light erupted from the pouch at Rasenth's side and Murtagh's eyes went wide. How could he have forgotten about the wild magic? He retreated a few steps back to put space between them, but Rasenth flew at him again before he was ready. He raised Zar'roc to deflect the blow, but as their swords connected, a hollow crack echoed through his ears. His heart stilled as the crack splintered across the blood red sword like a web. Disbelief coursed through him like cold water. A Rider's sword was never supposed to break! His brain quickly rehashed the Ancient Language Rasenth had muttered before his last attack. What had krehyký meant again? Rasenth's sword arced toward his face again as the answer finally occurred to him, but it was already too late for Murtagh to stop himself from instinctually blocking it. The burlier man's sword fell with the power of a hammer and Zar'roc, already weakened from the internal crack, shattered into a thousand pieces.

Murtagh stared in shock as a curtain of red shards flew through the sky, only one word echoing in his mind. Brittle.

A second later, Rasenth's sword sliced crosswise over his chest. Agony exploded across his skin as the blade tore through his leather armor and straight into the soft tissue of his pectorals. Blood oozed into his mouth. He coughed and sank to his knees in shock. Blackness swam before his eyes as a huge, agonized roar echoed over the trees around them. Panic that was not his flared up in his chest and Murtagh struggled to send soothing thoughts Thorn's way.

Rasenth gave him a slow smile as Thorn's roars filled the sky. "Ah, that's right. Your dragon. I suppose he must be feeling the same pain you are right now."

Murtagh threw daggers with his eyes at him as he pressed a hand against the gaping wound on his chest. "You bastard—"

Unconcerned, Rasenth stepped forward and lifted Murtagh's chin with the bloody tip of his blade. "Then, by logic, if I kill you, the dragon will die as well. It's like killing two birds with one stone." He gave mirthful laugh. "Or better yet, two nuisances with one sword. What luck."

He lifted his sword and Murtagh squeezed his eyes closed. The wound on his chest felt as though it were draining the energy straight out of him. He wasn't going to be able to dodge the attack, even if he wanted to. Desperation welled up inside him and all the words of power he had been avoiding for months rose to his lips. He could feel the curse burning at his belly, ready for him to commit to the magic. But, as his lips began to form frethya, a loud clash of metal rang in his ears. His eyes snapped open to see Nasuada standing in front of him, her long knife skidding on the ground away from them. She pulled her bloodied weapon hand closer to her chest. Murtagh's heart threw itself against his ribs.

"Nasuada!"

"Stay down, Murtagh," she snapped. "Let me protect you for once."

Everything about her statement made him panic and he struggled to find the energy to stand. She turned on him with fire in her eyes.

"Stay down!" she hissed. Her expression grew softer the longer she looked at him. "Just trust me."

A deep chuckle brought their attention back to the man standing a few paces away from them. Rasenth let his sword drop to his side as the chuckle bubbled into full-blown laughter.

"What irony!" he claimed, pressing a hand to his face. "The blood-traitor goes down and the foolhardy queen steps up to sacrifice herself for him! It's almost as if you all are offering yourselves to me!" He laughed again, long and loud before wiping at a tear at the corner of his eye. "Oh, how disappointing. I was hoping for an actual challenge with this battle." He let his chuckle fall away and settled into a fighting stance again. "Oh well."

He launched into a run, only to skid to a stop when Nasuada yelled, "Stop!" She held a blue crystal extended out in her non-wounded hand. "Take another step and I will use it!"

Rasenth paused and narrowed his eyes. "Is that right? Nasuada, famously anti-magic, wants to use magic to stop me?" His voice was suspicious, but he didn't make any attempt to continue forward. It was obvious that even though he doubted her, he didn't want to push the envelope on the chance that Nasuada was being serious.

"I will do what I must to protect what I love," she responded, holding the crystal threateningly.

Despite the assertiveness of her words, Murtagh could tell from the tremble in her wounded arm that she was bluffing. The crystal she held was nothing more than the one Rasenth himself had used to cast lightning on him earlier. The crystal had no power left, so what was she doing? A roar echoed over the trees, closer than before, and everything clicked.

Murtagh! Thorn's frantic thoughts hit him like a train.

I'm okay, the Rider responded. But probably not for very long. Nasuada's stalling Rasenth. We need you here, Thorn.

I am close, he responded, and when I arrive, he will taste the agony of my fangs for harming you!

Thorn's anger was a familiar one and the pain of his wound dimmed some as the dragon flew closer. Murtagh took as deep a breath as he dared to take and tried to figure out what to do. The spring rippled restlessly beside him as the wind ominously tossed the leaves of the trees on the other side of him. Off to his left lay the broken shards of Zar'roc with only three inches of sharp, jagged blade left connected to the hilt. To his right was Nasuada's long knife. He considered reaching for one of them when movement caught his eye.

The messenger—forgotten during the heat of the battle with Rasenth—fumbled to aim a crossbow. He got his hands under him and turned it on Nasuada. Murtagh had his hands on the knife before he could think, and sent it sailing through the air. It whistled past Rasenth, just barely nicking his cheek as he dodged out of the way, before finding its mark in the messenger's chest. The man gurgled and fell to the ground. Rasenth stared as his body twitched before letting out a sigh.

"Would you stop killing my men?" he asked with an annoyed tilt to his mouth. "It's hard to find the ones that don't ask quest—"

His voice cut off with a sharp cry and he clutched at his face. Blood dripped from between his fingers. He cussed loudly and turned on Nasuada. "You bitch!"

The Queen deftly twisted the short knife in her hand and flicked the blood away. "You were saying?"

He roared in fury. "I'll kill you!"

She smirked thinly at the loss of his cool composure. "You already said that once."

Rasenth roared again, hefting his blade above his head to attack her, only to be drown out by a louder, more ferocious roar. Murtagh's heart lifted as Thorn swooped in from over the trees like a demon. He cut the space between them with a torrent of fire. Rasenth backed away and Nasuada turned to kneel beside Murtagh. Her hands found his chest and he flinched as she put pressure against it.

"Please tell me you're okay," she said. The tiny tremble in her voice betrayed her strong exterior.

"I've had worse," he responded. He winced as she pulled some of her pressure off. "I almost wish we had more of those crystals so you could heal it for me like last time."

Nasuada frowned at him. "This is no time for jokes. We need a plan."

Thorn gave another thunderous cry as he swooped in to snap at Rasenth. The surge of wind from his wings blasted leaves and dirt into air, causing them to hide from it. Murtagh lowered his arm and looked around. Rasenth had his eyes drawn toward the dragon, shouting expletives as Thorn circled around him. He looked discomposed and out of control.

"He's just going to keep attacking us unless we incapacitate him," he said. "How many knives do you have left?

"Just two," Nasuada responded. "I might be able to distract him long enough for either you or Thorn to get in a blow or two."

Murtagh gave her a thin smile. "Between the two of us, you're the only one who's managed to actually do any damage," he said. "Maybe if we both distract him, Thorn can get in there for the finishing blow—"

But just as he said that, there was a blinding flash of blue light so bright that Murtagh was seeing spots for a good couple seconds. Then, a huge boom shook the ground beneath them, sending water from the spring spraying over them. A heavy chill settled like ice upon Murtagh's chest and he didn't even have to look to know what had happened.

Please… Please tell me its not true—

He turned slowly around to look at Thorn lying motionlessly along the bank of the spring. Half his body lay submerged in the water and his head turned just far enough away that Murtagh couldn't see his eyes. The link between them felt hollow and cold, like he was reaching out into an endless void.

Thorn? he called out. Thorn, please…

Desperation seized his heart, but only silence met his pleas. Nasuada sat stunned beside him with her hands lifted in disbelief over her mouth. As tears began misting over her eyes, the reality of the situation finally started to set in. Thorn was down and he couldn't hear his voice. Hopelessness began to swell within him until a sharp, crazed laugh had him seeing red.

Rasenth had a wild look in his eye as he stood with dark blood coating one side of his face and a large crystal jutted in the air above him. The rock whipped uncontrolled blue wisps of magic around it like an unstable star about to collapse upon itself. He laughed again, looking unsettlingly gleeful.

Fury rose within Murtagh like a demon. His hands found the hilt of the closest weapon and he charged forward with his eyes on Rasenth's throat. Bits of Zar'roc's broken blade shattered into the air as he came down harder and faster against Rasenth's sword. The triumphant glee began to disappear from the older man's face as he was forced farther and farther into a defensive stance.

"It's over, Rider! Your dragon is dead," he said. His mocking tone sounded forced, like he was pushing through a curtain of distress to remain in control. "You have no hope to defeat me now!"

The words were like knives to Murtagh's heart. He released a furious cry that tore through his anguished soul and threw himself into his attacks. For a moment, all Rasenth could do was block the flurry of powerful slices that rained down upon him. He stumbled back with a touch of fear coloring his eyes. But as it continued, his counters became more precise and confident. His grin returned as he deflected one of Murtagh's blows with a burst of power.

"Is that the best you've got, Shur'tugal?" he asked.

But just as the words left his mouth, his eyes grew wide and he wheezed in pain. Nasuada ruthlessly yanked her blade from between his ribs. Fear lit in Rasenth's eyes as, in his moment of distraction, Murtagh twisted the broad sword from his fingers. His lips began to form a plea. "Wait-" But Murtagh heard nothing but the sound of Zar'roc's broken blade piercing the chest of his dragon's slayer.

Rasenth gagged as Murtagh drove the sword in to the hilt, allowing blood to fill his lungs. His dark eyes stared wide with disbelief as the Rider slowly began to twist the sword in his chest. Rasenth moaned, causing blood to drip down his chin.

"You don't deserve a quick death," Murtagh hissed through grit teeth. His body practically shook with the force of his fury. "I'll make you suffer for what you've done!"

He yanked Zar'roc out, eliciting an agonized moan from Rasenth, before swinging back for a second stab. But as his arm came down, Nasuada grabbed his wrist. Murtagh yanked away and went for the stab again. Nasuada stepped between them.

"Don't stop me, Nasuada!" he yelled, his voice cracking from sheer emotion. "He deserves to die!"

"I'm not stopping you—" she responded firmly. "And he will die for what he's done. Just don't make the mistake of wasting your time on pointless torture. Thorn needs you. Go to him." Murtagh hesitated, struggling to contain the fire of vengeance blazing in his heart. Nasuada glared at him. "Go! I will dispatch what's left of Rasenth."

Her words dowsed what was left of his reluctance, and Zar'roc slipped from his fingers. Overwhelming grief practically squeezed the air from his chest as he turned to look at Thorn. He felt Nasuada's fingers trail comfortingly down his arm before he turned to run.

His legs felt weak under him and he struggled to stay on his feet as he ran to Thorn. The dragon had not moved since he fell, still laid splayed out upon the shoreline of the spring. Murtagh splashed through the water as he skid to Thorn's head.

Thorn—Thorn, please bró∂ir, talk to me, he pleaded, touching the scales on the dragon's snout.

The link between them remained a yawning, silent blackness in the forefront of his mind. He squeezed his eyes closed and reached as far into the void as he possibly could.

Please, Thorn. Come back.

Just as the hopelessness began to settle in, a ghost of consciousness reached back. Murtagh's heart squeezed painfully tight. It was faint, but it was him. It was Thorn. He latched his mind around the feeling and cradled it close.

Don't worry, bró∂ir. I'm here.

A splash of water to his right caused him to snap his eyes open. Nasuada drew up beside him with a bloody blade clutched in her hand. His alarm settled and he turned his focus back to the tiny feeling flickering along the edge of his cognizance.

"How is he?" she asked.

"He's struggling," he answered, pressing his forehead against Thorn's. "I can feel him… but barely."

Nasuada knelt beside him. "What can we do?"

Murtagh was silent for a moment as he considered it. "Heal him and bring him back."

Nasuada hesitated to respond. "But your curse—"

"I've got to try something," he said back, exasperated.

His mind flitted through a dozen different ideas, all too risky or ill-conceived to even be considered. He could feel himself growing frustrated as his options grew more and more limited. As his mind narrowed in on magic, yet again, he cursed out loud. Why had he been so bullheaded in his curiosity when they had found the Urgal resting grounds? He should have listened to his gut feeling and got out of there the moment something felt wrong. He couldn't even break the curse to save Thorn – it would only end up killing them both. The acidity of the curse licked at the bottom of his gut and he cussed again, unable to hold back the grief-stricken tears. Because of his stupidity, he was being forced to witness the death of his dragon, unable to do anything about it. There was no worse kind of torture.

But if his pitiful life was anything to go by, there was a worse kind of torture, and it came from the sound of his name being cut off by the thump of a crossbow bolt burying itself in flesh. He turned with ice in his veins to watch Nasuada fall to her knees with a sullen splash, her face pale in shock and a short fletched arrow protruding from her chest. As she pitched forward, Murtagh practically threw himself out to catch her.

"No, no, no. This can't be happening—"

Murtagh gasped, but couldn't drag in enough air to keep from hyperventilating. Already her eyes were unfocused and her skin cold. She shivered, her lips moving with soundless words. Murtagh squeezed her close to him.

"Don't speak," he whispered desperately. "You'll be okay. You'll be okay. Just listen to my voice."

Her hand shook as she tried to lift it toward his face. He wrapped his hand tightly around hers and pressed his lips against the cold skin of her palm. The softness of her skin drew a twist of pure anguish from within his chest and an unbidden sob fell from between his lips.

"Please no—Not you too! I can't lose you too—"

Her eyes drew half-lidded and cloudy, but her lips continued to move soundlessly, like she was desperate to get out one last thing she had on her mind. But he could hardly make out her face from behind the tears. He squeezed her close to him and, as a single drop of blood trickled down to her chin, he felt a weak probe against his mind. He practically threw down his barriers to let her in.

All at once, he was swept away by a tidal wave of pictures sounds and images, all of him from her perspective. Every one had a tinge of rose-colored affection and admiration, only bolstered by the length of longing for him. Every single one held him in such high regards. He saw himself as he returned to Illeria, cast in shadow, less like a fugitive and more like a long-awaited companion. He saw himself as he flew with her upon Thorn's back, eyes bright and a small, happy smile on his lips. He saw himself on every in-between, where she had spared a short glance in his direction, but lingered with a swell of emotion. He saw himself through her eyes, not as a Rider or a blood-traitor, but as a person worthy of love. The emotion overwhelmed him and a single thought resonated through both their minds.

I will always love you.

Her mind slowly began to fade away, leaving that last thought to echo through his mind. His heart swelled to the point of pain and he squeezed his eyes closed to keep from outright sobbing. As his mind grew quiet, a sharp laugh drew through his conscious like a vicious blade. Rage unlike anything he had ever felt before blasted through him like an furnace.

Rasenth lay with his hands upon the crossbow that wrought Nasauda's end, cackling like a crazed madman. His wounds glowed an unnatural blue from the inside, the same color as the floating crystals that Murtagh watched him ingest the day before. There was no doubt in his mind that Rasenth had no energy left, only a drive strong enough to summon himself from the brink of death to deal one last blow to end the things that Murtagh loved best. He lay there glowing and bleeding repeating over and over again, "I've won! I've won!"

Gently, Murtagh placed Nasuada down in the shallows of the spring, careful to ensure her comfort, before rising to a stand. He could practically taste the forbidden magic upon his tongue and the wrath of the curse waiting for him to tap into it. Faced with the loss of the only things that truly mattered to him, the agonizing demise that waited for him after he spoke the words of power seemed like a sweet release. He lifted his hand toward Rasenth and summoned all of the energy locked up within him. It swirled within him like a familiar beast and rushed forward as he spoke the word.

"Brisingr!"

Magic blasted through him like a torrent, fueled by every ounce of energy he had bottled up inside for so long. The spell crackled through the air like electricity and ignited an inferno over Rasenth. He screamed something terrible as the hellfire scorched his flesh down to his bones. Murtagh threw his whole being into the attack, willing it to burn brighter, burn hotter, burn longer. The energy drained from him like an open wound, dragging and pulling every essence of his being away with the agonized cry that ripped from his lips. As Rasenth's wails petered out, the absence of energy brought forth the wrath of the curse he had been avoiding for so long.

The first wave of pain was enough to tear the breath from his lips. The second brought him to his knees. Molten lava coursed through his veins as the fire licked at his stomach. An unbidden whimper pulled from his lips and he collapsed into the shallows of the spring. He convulsed as wave after wave of agony battered and tore at him like he was made of parchment. The completion of the spell had left him vulnerable and too weak to fight away its power. Sharp, acidic pain slowly ate away what little sanity he had left, making his mind heavy with every crash of torture that burned through him.

This is it then, he thought. I'm going to die.

He weakly cast the thought outward, but only silence responded. Thorn lay motionless behind him and Nasuada silent, her blood slowly staining the water pink. He was alone. Another wave of agony washed over him and he could no longer hold back the tears.

Fate was cruel. His life had been nothing more than an endless waltz of torture, sadness and pain. He had lived with the whip at his back, tortured and bled by those who had control over him. He always believed that he would die in some horrible, painful way; it was just the way fate had intended his life to play out. But then it gave him Thorn. A bright, stubborn light in his life that chased away some of the shadows haunting his heart. But where there was light, there was someone there to snuff it out, and all the years he spent resisting those who intended to hurt him dissolved away with the first unbidden weep from his dragon. His heart, already lost to the bond between them, shattered to hear Thorn hurt, and the path of darkness he so strongly resisted for so long, swallowed him whole. But even after that, after everything horrible that he did at the hands of a cruel, manipulative tyrant, it gave him Nasuada. A second warm and loving existence that softened the distrustful edges of his mind and tempted him with a taste of what his life would be like if everything had worked out okay.

The taste of happiness lingered on his tongue like a bitter aftertaste. He should have known that his death would have been so much more than just the end of his life. Seeing Thorn go down and feeling his mind disappear, and watching Nasuada take an arrow for him and bleed out in his hands were enough for his heart to die several times over before the curse even had a chance to kick in. Even then, while the torture of the curse shredded him from the inside out, nothing compared to the utter anguish of watching Thorn and Nasuada die.

Tears blurred his vision and rolled down his cheeks. A tragic end to a tragic life. The only thing he could hope for was that his death came easier than the path it took him to get there. He closed his eyes and allowed the darkness pulling at the edge of his mind to overtake him.

"Murtagh…"

Murtagh stirred at the familiar voice in his head. He remembered it vaguely, like a voice from a long forgotten dream, but couldn't place why he recognized it.

"Rest now, Rider. You've suffered long enough."

Yes, he agreed. It's time to rest.

His mind began to drift away again, until a comforting warmth caught his attention. It started from his chest and blossomed outward, sending tendrils of light, golden warmth out to soothe away the burning of the curse. As the encompassing agony began to fade, Murtagh drew in a deep breath and opened his eyes.

Tendrils of water from the spring were warm and alight with a soft golden glow as they snaked across his skin and softly mended the wounds scattered across his body. He watched in awe as the water stitched his skin back together, leaving it unblemished and clean. He took a deep breath as the laceration across his chest disappeared and the pain behind his ribs diminished. Slowly, Muragh sat up and touched his healed chest in disbelief.

A pulse of golden light to his left caught his attention, and he turned with his heart in his throat to see Nasuada's wound glowing. He pulled himself to his feet and stumbled to her side. Her face was still ashen, but as the shimmering golden water knit her skin back together and pushed the crossbow bolt out of her chest, the flush in her cheeks returned. Murtagh hovered over her with baited breath until, eventually, she stirred. Her brown eyes opened slowly and, as she stared at him, her brow furrowed.

"Murtagh? What—"

Her voice trailed off in a squeak as Murtagh embraced her tightly. Tears of relief sprung to his eyes as he pressed his face against the soft skin at the crook of her neck and just breathed her in. Her pulse beat against him, reminding him with every thump that she wasn't dead.

"Gods," he breathed. "I thought I lost you."

She sank against him and he felt her hands touch his back a moment later. "I thought you had as well."

He squeezed her closer to him and let the sobering feeling of relief wash through his bones. He didn't care why or how the spring had healed them, but there was nothing he could have been more grateful for in that moment. But as that thought came and went, there was a stirring in the back of his mind and his eyes snapped open. He whipped his head around to see Thorn slowly open his ruby eyes. A joyous laugh left his lips unbidden before dissolving into a heart-wrenched sob.

"Thorn—" he gasped.

The dragon lifted his head just barely enough so that he could see his Rider. Murtagh.

He gently released Nasuada before stumbling his way over to the red dragon's side. He collapsed into the warm spring water beside his head and pressed his forehead against the scales on Thorn's nose. The dragon gave a low, affectionate rumble that warmed Murtagh's heart. Thank the gods.

The gods are not the ones to thank for this, Thorn responded. Thank them.

Murtagh frowned in confusion and pulled away. Who—?

Thorn snorted and nudged him with his nose a bit. Murtagh glanced over his shoulder toward the small grotto on the far side of the spring. In the warm golden fog that lingered between the shadows of the small cavern, stood a pair of ghostly figures. One was a tall and wiry Urgal with short, curled horns, and the other a medium-sized white dragon with only one wing. Recognition came slow to Murtagh, but when it did, a shiver raced down his back.

"You…" he said softly.

"We sensed the darkness that resided within you the moment you took step into the Biśud'dha Sprin," the familiar voice said. It did not seem as though the ghostly figures were speaking, but rather the spring itself. "A darkness we have known far too well."

Murtagh slowly rose to a stand as Nasuada drew up beside him. Thorn lifted his head from the water before allowing to dip down respectfully. The white dragon responded in kind. The Urgal's intense eyes met Murtagh's, and his lips parted to speak a single line in a deep, mystical voice.

"The curse of Kulkarvek will never claim another Rider's life."

At his words, the entirety of the spring began to glow with the shimmering golden light. Warmth filled Murtagh from his water-soaked boots to the tips of his hair, and the curl of putrid darkness that had lingered beneath his belly for the last year began to fade. When it finally disappeared, Murtagh released a soft, tense breath, and allowed his shoulders to slump. It was almost as if he could feel the scars of his life fading away. It was a weird feeling, he decided, to finally feel the absence of something that had lingered with him for so long, good or bad. As Nasuada's hand gently touched his shoulder, he found the will within him to touch the pool of energy held within him that he had avoided for so long.

"Brisingr."

A tiny blue flame flickered to life in the center of his palm and danced in the soft breeze. When no stabs of pain or waves of agony followed its appearance, Murtagh let out a delighted laugh. The curse was gone! Thorn's mind warmly touched his own and he closed his hand, extinguishing the tiny flame. Looking out across the spring again, he met the eyes of the Urgal and his dragon once more.

"Thank you," he called out.

For a moment, he could have sworn he saw the Urgal smile before their misty images faded away. Slowly, the golden glow of the spring disappeared as well, leaving them standing in clear water once more. A gentle breeze brought a sense of normality back to the moment long enough for Thorn to rise to a stand and release a long, triumphant roar. Murtagh laughed again and took the rough affectionate bump Thorn gave him against his chest. He gently wrapped his arms around Thorn's nose and smiled unabashedly into his scales.

"It's over," he said. "It's finally over."

Thorn pushed an image of Nasuada standing at a distance from them to the front of his mind and Murtagh lifted his head to look at her. She stood with her hands behind her back, but an openly happy smile upon her lips. He reached out, took her wrist and pulled her into their hug. She laughed, and affectionately kissed Thorn's scales.

"I am beyond thrilled that you are okay," she said.

As am I, hjarta-véurr, Thorn responded.

Murtagh smiled softly at their interaction. As the both of them turned their attention back to him, he voiced the thought that occurred to him. "Now what?"

"That's easy," Nasuada said with a smile. "We go home."

It was a simple statement; one she said with such ease. But for Murtagh, home had never been a familiar concept. It was always a foreign word meant for those who had loved ones and a safe space waiting for them to return to, and for many many years, Murtagh never had that. But, as he stood between the woman he loved and the brother of his soul, he realized that was no longer true. He had a place where he belonged; a place to finally call "home". A warm feeling blossomed in his chest and he leaned forward to lay a lingering kiss upon Nasuada's lips before holding his loved ones tighter.

"Yes, iet hjarta," he said softly. "Let's go home."

Fin

A/N: Thank you guys for all the years of fantastic reviews and encouragement. This story has been a pleasure to write for all of you. Please stick around for ONE LAST EPILOGUE CHAPTER to wrap it all up for good. Until next time!

bró∂ir: brother

Kveylva: Lightning

Krehký: Brittle

hjarta-véurr:heart-protector

iet hjarta: my heart