Chapter XXXVI

The Fleet Off Brest

Disclaimer: See Chapter One

Murtagh grimaced as his fingers probed the scar that Zar'roc had left.
That was the second wound he'd been dealt by the sword:
The first by his own father, and now this one by his half-brother.
I'll kill him when he gets back. Said Thorn, not for the first time since Eragon had departed. I don't care what Saphira would think, I'll kill Eragon for what he did to you.
He could have let me die. Pointed out Murtagh.
He'd already had to explain why he'd been covered in blood to Mcbridey, and then to admiral Lenton, and both of them had felt that Eragon should suffer some sanction for his actions.
'Oh he will, but this is between him and me.' Said Murtagh, in truth he had no wish to escalate the tensions between them, and after seeing through Thorn's eyes Orik's judgement, he was conscious that Eragon felt exactly the same way.

'Ho, Murtagh!' Murtagh looked up to see Gringlok stride into the clearing, a pair of tankards in one hand, the other on the head of his axe like a walking stick, and a keg at his side.
'What are you here for?' Asked Murtagh, frowning in confusion.
The dwarf grinned broadly.
'Now that vengeance 'as been done on you, I thought I might offer you a drink in the spirit of friendship, we're all brothers in arms 'ere, us Alagaësians, even if we wouldn't 'ave chosen to be; still, fate's a funny bitch at times and there's no point in dwelling on past wrongs,' said Gringlok, handing Murtagh one of the tankards, then filling the both of them. 'To the future, eh?' Said Gringlok.
Murtagh hesitated.
Gringlok was in an uncharacteristically cheery mood, possibly because with Eragon and Rosarias' formation present in Fienster he and Ornthrond had the night off from keeping the Fleur de Nuit still in residence in the Empire camp honest.
And, the offer was obviously genuine, even if it was in rather bad taste.
'To the future it is,' said Murtagh, clanking his tankard against Gringlok's, before draining it.

When Thorn's crew dragged themselves out of bed,-many of them hung-over from the travails of the previous day,- Murtagh's mood had some what improved, along with his outlook on life.
It picked up even more when they were in the air, as with the absence of so many of the formation,-either due to injury or being called elsewhere,- Thorn was free to fly to as close to his full potential as the harness would allow.
'All things considered, Thorn's in a good mood.' Commented Mcbridey, sounding surprised.
'I am as well; with Eragon's vengeance out of the way we've got a lot less to worry about.' Said Murtagh in something approaching good cheer.

Signals flashed out from Temeraire's back, which Murtagh interpreted as Laurence wanting to know whether he'd be following Temeraire, Nitidus and Dulcia to the fleet, following Excidium's formation on patrol, or flying solo.
'Swole, signal back we'll follow them;' Murtagh ordered briskly.
Excidium's formation didn't need them, and Murtagh didn't fancy flying solo and being ambushed by a vengeful old adversary, the Grand Chevalier chief among them.

Murtagh and Thorn looked on with something akin to distaste as rafts were lashed together to form a platform for the dragons to land on while the post was delivered.

Ever since the week long journey on the transport to England shortly after leaving Madeira, Murtagh had held a deep loathing for sailing 'd spent nearly the whole journey in some form of seasickness-related discomfort, and he was convinced he could happily live the rest of his infinitely extended lifespan without ever having to set foot on a ship again.

Evidently Lady Luck thought he'd had too much good fortune in the past four months and was using the day to balance the accounts.

After a pass over the fleet, the platforms were ready, and having landed with care not to upset the raft's balance, Thorn promptly settled himself as Murtagh slid down his foreleg.
Laurence was already off, having seen Temeraire settled, apparently from what he could gather from the crew's surface thoughts to speak with the Admiral.
Thus set adrift, Murtagh helped unload the post along with the rest of the crews, before taking to pacing.

He felt restless and ill at ease like he was being watched; a notion that had nothing to do with the curious stares of idle sailors over his customary plate-mail armour and longbow, but rather one he associated more with being scryed.
Impossible, I'm warded against scrying. Murtagh assured himself briskly.

'We should've followed Excidium's formation.' Mcbridey said gloomily.
'For once I agree with you, we're just sitting here waiting 'til Laurence is done handing over dispatches and hearing the news; we're rather superfluous here.' Murtagh agreed tersely.
Thorn's head came up and he cocked it to the side in an expression of interest, before letting it sink again.
What is it? Asked Murtagh concerned.
This might get interesting. Thorn replied cryptically.

A few minutes later, and Murtagh found out what Thorn meant, as a lieutenant from the Hibernia arrived bearing an invitation to dine with the Admiral.
Murtagh groaned internally, and resisted the urge to massage his temples.
Thorn, please tell me you want to go fishing or something. Murtagh asked despairingly.
I ate well enough this morning, I'll be fine until we return; go on though, you need a midday meal though. Thorn replied, his vermillion eyes already closed as he prepared to dose in the sun.

Murtagh cursed quietly, knowing there was no adequate reason for him to stay behind.
The crews were inclined to relax and enjoy the midwinter sun, Thorn required no management on his part.
'The privileges of rank, eh, captain?' Asked Mcbridey with a smirk.
'Just shoot me now and save me the torture.' Replied Murtagh acidly, doing his level best not to look as reluctant and despairing as he felt at the prospect at having to engage in polite small talk with a bunch of superstitious ninnies who wouldn't know real power if it blew their ship out from under them.

My skills are super rusty at the moment.

This is more to get a feel for Murtagh's pessimistic, fatalist outlook on the world and prove that I'm not dead.

Looks like any story advancement is going to be in a time-skip during the Sack of Aroughs.

So, I'll apologise for the filler chapter, and hope that I can do something a little more creative with my next chapter.

It's kind of late over here right now, so I probably shouldn't be writing for fear of bad quality…

Thanks to everyone for your patience.

I am sincerely sorry for my extended absence.

First off, my laptop caught a virus, and it was a drama straight from Home and Away to get it back in it's entirety. (long story, it'd take another six pages to explain. Suffice to say that I never knew a charger could cause so much grief.)

Secondly, I've been on a snow trip courtesy of my school to beautiful Mt. Hotham where I learned to snowboard, and managed several spectacular stacks.

And lastly, I've come down with Writer's Block and a case of Original Fiction fever. (I.e. I'm finally making progress with it.)

So, without further ado, I'd like to thank the following people:

For Story alerting: AlienWonton JAtkins.

For Favouriting: SapphireUnicorn, FANFIC HUNTER, Jatkins, Forsaken By All, and selra.

For Reviewing: RahXephon, Hideout Writer, JAtkins and A shade of grey91.

For Author Alerting: wyvern the forsworn .

For Favourite Authoring: JAtkins.

Well, I guess my estimate was too optimistic, but that's life I guess.

'til next time:

No One-liners.