Drowned College Student Reporting! Like I just said, college has consumed my life. Luckily, I have not completely forgotten about fanfiction. I apologize for both not updating and not reading stories for the past who-knows-how-long. A slight case of writer's block hasn't helped, either. I can't promise that it'll improve any time soon, but here you go, for now. Again, this is more of a filler chapter than anything, but it's building up to some pretty big surprises. ;)
Merry Christmas!
My Religion, My Love
Nora yawned widely, covering her mouth with the back of her hand as she stared at the roof of the tiny tent. No privileges for the princess – and she preferred it that way.
Today was a day of rejoicing. The warrior part of her suggested an early morning run or perhaps even the Rimgar exercises taught to her by Catira Ryshal, the whereabouts of whom she had no idea. Her efforts to dig a water ditch with Eedom to supply the Varden with ready fresh water had been perfectly successful. With the help of magic, they had created branches for the creek water to travel down and serve each part of the Varden – the Urgals, the Dwarves, the Carvahall villagers, Surdans, and all the others. It would help ease the preparations of Roran and Katrina's wedding.
Speaking of the wedding, what would she give the couple? True, they probably felt like they barely knew her, the warrior daughter of the Imperial tyrant, but she had been a member of their village for two years. Katrina had enjoyed her company and Roran had respected her…while they thought she was a simple chicken farmer in her forties. What to do?
She donned a soft purple, V-neck tunic over grey leggings and petite black shoes in place of her usual boots, along with her fine black belt with its dagger. She ran her fingers through her curly black hair to eliminate the frizzes and then left it to its own devices. After these quick preparations and splashing her face with cold water, the girl walked slowly towards the area chosen for the wedding, a green field with a small hill. Maybe getting a visual of the scene would give her an epiphany for a gift.
"What is she doing there?" Felda suddenly asked Eragon, breaking through the comfortable chatter into which the six women had finally allowed him as they kneaded the bread dough. "She's just been standing there for the past hour on the ceremony hill, staring at nothing."
Eragon looked curiously up at the hill where Roran and Katrina's wedding would take place. Sure enough, Lenora was standing there just as Felda had said.
"I'm not sure."
"Well, whatever she's doing, she seems to turn everything to ice."
"She's a odd one. I'll give you that. She's a princess, but she grew up alone. Her only friend in the world was Murtagh, and it seems she even came to love him. Now, he's the enemy; she has to come to terms with that. …or we're all going to be in a bit of trouble," he finished under his breath.
Eedom felt a little resentment, followed by instant guilt, as he polished his own shoes himself. Yelivan had been gone all last night and that morning (along with his sword), despite having volunteered to do this tedious work. Honestly, he only wanted to shine his shabby boots to at least look half presentable. It wasn't every day he attended a wedding. Partially, he wanted to put in some extra effort to impress Catira…but no one needed to know that.
Suddenly, the scruffy hound laying at his feet bounded up with a whine and raced out of the tent.
"Duchess?" He quickly stuffed his foot into the half-polished shoe and stood up from his cot. When silence answered him, he put a hand on the hilt of his dagger. "Catira?"
A few seconds later, Yelivan entered, a smiling Duchess at his heels. Quickly handing over the broadsword, which had never looked shinier or newer during Eedom's time of owning it, the boy stepped back with a slight, regal inclination of the head. There was something different about his eyes. They were no longer adoring and humble, but proud and…old.
"I'm sorry, Eedom Stranson," he said quietly, "but I must presently terminate my service to you. You are proving to be a kind man and a strong warrior, but this Varden needs…something more. You have great things ahead of you, son of Virelay, daughter of Evanti, sister of Evandar. If you could see what you really are…so much."
Without another word, the tall, skinny peasant boy turned and left.
"Son…daughter of…sister of who?"
Nora watched Eragon suddenly bolt away from the bread table, mount Saphira, and head back toward the main Varden camp.
"What's happening?" she called to him.
"Soldiers."
And he was gone, the dragon bouncing among the distant tents. Nora was quick to follow suit in racing towards her tent where her sword lay. When she reached it a few minutes later, however, she froze. Her mind felt numb as her thoughts centered on one paralyzing fear. How could she resolve this? How could she get it out? She couldn't talk to anyone.
That was when her eyes found the journal sitting on her bedside table – the magical journal given to her by Angela. Could it really help? She wasn't any good to anyone right now, so why not? She picked up the book, sat down on the bed with her sword beside her, and opened it to the first page. Here goes nothing.
"The soldiers are coming." An invisible pen scrawled her words across the page in an elegant font, like her best cursive. "The problem is: now that I'm more confused than ever…what if Murtagh is there? What if I'm fighting and I see him hovering there? I'll stop everything. I know. The Varden will think me a traitor; I haven't earned their trust enough for them to understand what I go through.
"I'm finding myself powerful, though…so powerful, I could possibly even overwhelm Murtagh and Thorn without the elves' help and bring him to the justice of the people. But, if I did that, he would never forgive me. His oaths would make him bitter and uncontrollable and the Varden would have to kill him. I couldn't bear that. So, am I left with just staying out of the fight? Am I any good to anyone here at the Varden? I want to be; I really do. I just have…loyalty issues. Am I going to this? It has to be soon."
For a moment, Nora sat in silence with the book sitting limply in her hands. It was resolved. She couldn't fight against Murtagh. But she couldn't risk letting the Varden down in the middle of a fight.
"I'm leaving. Soon."
She strapped on her sword and cloak to her back, but left behind the scraps of armor she had salvaged, and ran outside.
Nasuada's steed shifted restlessly as it sensed its mistress' agitation. Where was Nora? Everyone of importance was on the battlefield but her. Why did she abandon the fight now? Did she find the small numbers of the enemy too pitiful to bother with before she could realize how they were slaughtering the Varden?
Suddenly, Angela was standing beside her.
"Good grief," the witch cried. "What is Lenora doing way over there?"
Sure enough, looking out over the battlefield on a distant hill was Nora. She wore no armor; her dark hair was tangling around her face in the wind and a deep purple cloak was billowing behind her.
Nasuada gaze turned stormy upon seeing one the Varden's potential hopes sitting there doing nothing. She paused the conversation, however, when a blood red shadow appeared on the horizon. There was only one shadow like that.
"Unless she's cooking up some fabulous magic up there, she's going to get a stern talking-to later."
"If she plans on being here at all."
The Varden leader tore her eyes away from Murtagh and his dragon to stare down at the top of the woman's curly head.
"What do you mean? I've talked with her. She hates the king and everything he stands for. Why would she go back to him?"
"My dear Nasuada, are you really that blind? Just because she hates the king and would rather die than return to his castle doesn't mean she won't go back there…or even just run away from everything." Because Angela was still watching the battle, Nasuada was unable to see her expression. "Are you really blinded enough to not see that her loyalties have and always will belong to Murtagh. No matter what he's done, she still sees good in him…just as I suppose you do."
"You know nothing," the girl snapped before she could stop herself. "I just feel bad for him; that's all."
"She may not yet realize it herself, but there is only one place for Nora to go, only one place where she feels she belongs and doesn't have to always be this mysterious, strong queen of the night. She lost her mother, despises her father, is surrounded by people who don't understand her… Think on this: Who is the only person who has ever made her feel safe? Who is the only person who understands what it is like to be seen as what she is not? The people here don't trust her yet and they won't have time to try because she's seen how they look at her. You may not see it, but she is more suited to wandering pointlessly in the wilderness rather than…"
Nasuada held her hand up to stop her companion. Icy horror gripped her heart as Saphira and Thorn collided over and over again, grappling against each other to gain the advantage. Yet Nora still remained immovable.
Angela cocked her head with interest at the battle. She was armed and prepared to go into the fray if these peculiar soldiers proved themselves more of a challenge, but the side show was even more fascinating. Eragon finally seemed to be gaining the advantage, with the help of the elves. Murtagh was backing down and retreating; but Eragon was not pursuing. Instead, the boy was staggering about, unable to hold his own weight.
Murtagh, meanwhile, directed Thorn back into the air, towards Nora.
"No!" Nasuada growled. "Soldiers!"
"Don't. You'll only send them to their deaths."
"The Red Rider is about to either capture or kill one of our greatest potential allies in hopes of easing his failure in taking Eragon. Do you expect me to let him do that?"
"You say 'potential' ally, Nasuada," Angela said stoically. "Believe it or not, but Lenora still has a choice to make."
"But she can't…"
"Can't?"
Nasuada bit her lip.
"You can only trust that she knows what she's doing. It is not as if you can actually bend her will to your own," someone else said.
Nasuada turned to look at the newcomer. She recognized him as Yelivan, Eedom's Lamvarden servant.
"You shouldn't be here, Yelivan. This is a place for soldiers. Go back and polish your master's boots," the woman snapped.
"Master he is not and never was. I am the servant of no man," the lad said lowly with narrowed eyes. Angela just stared at him with a strange smile. "It seems your soldiers need a little help."
A howl suddenly resounded from near the Varden camp. Somehow, out of distance, a swarm of about a hundred wolves were racing towards the battle. They ran so fast that, within a few moments of their appearance, they were in the thick of the battle, tearing at Imperial throats while leaving the Varden untouched.
"What? How…?"
One by one, the maniacal laughing was beginning to lessen. She looked bewildered at Yelivan, who shrugged with a mischievous smirk.
"Magic, my lady. That's how."
Nora closed her eyes. The beating of wings resounded behind her and slowed to a gradual stop.
"Why don't you run?" a spiteful voice demanded.
"I'm deciding."
"Deciding. What?"
"Whether to think with my head or my heart."
"Either one seems to get us in trouble."
Abruptly, the girl whirled around to face the shadowy, dragon-riding figure. She couldn't contain herself anymore.
"I loved you! Things were going so well. And you left me! I was alone again! If not for the slim-chance occurrence of being accepted into Arya's family and befriending Eragon, I would have been alone all this time with no one to talk to, and no one to care. I didn't know what to think. Maybe I decided that I didn't love you to protect myself; maybe I otherwise wouldn't have been able to live. Murtagh, I still don't know. What I do know is that you were the only true friend I ever had in my life. You were the only one who ever understood. We needed each other as children and we need each other now.
"At this point, I don't care if I'm in Galbatorix's hands. The only way we'll ever be able to escape this is together. The Varden will kill me anyways. I know. I'm the king's only blood relative and, as long as they think there's even the slightest chance of me claiming the throne, I'm a threat. If I stay here, the Varden will kill me, eventually; if I go with you, my father will torture me and force me to swear loyalty to him…but I will find a way to defy and destroy him."
Murtagh stared down at her stoically, no emotion showing in those dark eyes. Finally, however, he responded with a voice of ice:
"Don't bother."
"Why don't you just take me now?"
"Eragon defeated me…and those wolves have made it so the army won't distract the Varden for much longer. I couldn't risk capturing you without being captured myself."
"All you have to do is snatch me up and fly away."
"Are you mad? Do you want to be in your father's hands?"
"I want to be in…" She cut off her quick retort, her cheeks turning scarlet at the context. "I want to be with you."
"Next time, I won't be able to be so kind."
With a snort, Murtagh wheeled Thorn around and flew off into the horizon without another look back. Ignoring the pang of regret in her heart, Nora ran down the hillside towards the battlefield where Saphira, the elves, and Nasuada were crowding. Her heart was pounding with worry for her friend as he lay prone on the ground, but she knew he was all right; he had defeated Murtagh, so he had to be all right.
"Lenora, what happened over there?" Nasuada scolded as Nora knelt down beside Eragon, panting from the run. "The elves were keeping Eragon from killing himself, so we couldn't do anything when Murtagh landed next to you. Why didn't you take him? You're strong enough, surely."
"She couldn't," Eragon groaned, his eyes fluttering wearily open. The woman continued,
"Or you could have just gone with him. Then it would have at least been clear whose side you're on."
Lenora closed her eyes as her mind reeled and whispered,
"It will be clear before the end of all this. The only thing I truly can care about in this bloody war is Murtagh's safety."
"Do you think you're the only one who cares?"
The girl glared at Eragon.
"He's not getting away with this."
Roran finally found Nora at the edge of the wedding party. It had been a magical ceremony…not only because he was marrying the love of his life, but because of the unexplained golden sparks snowing from thin air and coins simply appearing on the tables.
"Nora, I've asking all the magicians I could find, but none of them did it…"
"Did what?" she blankly responded. Roran was actually a little taken aback by her perfect bluff.
"Golden sparks raining down over the field and bouncing off the ground like raindrops; coins coming out of nowhere and landing on the tables. Where did they come from?"
"The coins were pickpocketed from the Imperial soldiers from the battle and the sparks were just an illusion made from flecks of water and sunlight," she rattled off before stopping herself. "I'm leaving and no one can stop me."
The wedded man laughed quietly.
"I went into the Ra'zac's lair to save the woman I love. I won't be the one to try to stop you."
"Nasuada will. Eragon will."
"You'll convince them. You seem to be the type that doesn't take no for an answer."
"You're right about that." She paused for moment before taking a step forward to embrace Roran. "Never let her go, Roran. Never let her lose you. Being separated from the one you love…you'll never forgive yourself. I have realized that."
"So, you're leaving?"
"I have to. If I can't save him, then, for me, this war is worth nothing."
"Does defeating the king fit into this?"
For a second, Lenora seemed to get distracted by the lively music now being played by the villagers.
"Of course. By the time I'm through, the king will be dead."
Catira couldn't help but tap her foot to the exciting jig. Her elvish instincts told her that the music was illogical and erratic compared to the tunes of her homeland, but her fascination with human culture had made her accustomed to their chaotic ways. She found this music…thrilling.
"May I have this dance?" She turned to the familiar voice and found Eedom standing, his eyes dancing with admiration. "You look lovely."
Cat almost blushed like a human schoolgirl as she thought of her simple elvish gray leggings and green tunic. Still, she was flattered by the human and awarded him with a coy glance and her hand.
"You may."
"Lenora, I need to talk to you."
"Can't stop me, Angie," chuckled Nora as she turned to hand the journal to her friend; however, she promptly went back to packing her bag.
"Lenora…when I told you that the rest of your fortune was unreadable, I lied. I was bound by a promise not to reveal it to you—soon, however, you'll find out about it."
"You…withheld my fortune? Hm."
"Your mother made me promise."
The sifting of belongings instantly stopped.
"Excuse me?"
...I just realized that chapter had quite a few choppy scenes. My apologies. The next one will be better.
