The Voices Beneath

"Guileless son, I'll shape your belief
And you'll always know that your father's a thief
And you won't understand the cause of your grief
But you'll always follow the voices beneath"

– Heather Dale

Rowena, restless with thoughts of war and love, bent over scrubbing a large pot that had been used to feed at least several dozen soldiers a stew that one of the other women had concocted. Soap bubbles clung to her clothes and hair. The other cleaners had gone to bed at her overwhelming insistence. They needed rest and she needed space to think.

However, it was not long before she was joined by some rather unusual companions. A Werecat had wandered onto the scene at one point, though he left as soon as he heard the arrival of part of Ivanyel's wolf pack. The leader, Gaho she believed the name was, looked around as she entered the large cooking tent and slowly led about a dozen others in laying near the still-burning cook fire.

Next arrived Eedom's dog, Duchess, who stopped halfway into the tent and lowered her head, inspecting the wolves. Rowena expected the mutt to growl, but, after a moment, she walked up to the pack and began sniffing the smallest, a pup. The pup reacted by snapping playfully at Duchess' nose and the two were soon bounding about the tent, chasing each other. Only a few of the wolves watched, and only lazily.

Deciding that it was safe, Rowena went back to rinsing her pot.

Suddenly, a soft, musical laugh interrupted the night quiet yet again. Ivanyel entered through the loose tent flap, holding a leather-bound book to her chest, and moved to sit at the long wooden table. She continued to chuckle at the dog and wolf's antics.

"Do you mind the company, Rowena?" she asked tiredly.

"You can't sleep either, lass?"

Ignoring the question, the elf nodded toward Rowena's pruned hands.

"You are wearing a ring. You didn't have that before."

Rowena blushed a little.

"After this is over, Ajihad and I plan to marry and move to the country. I wear the ring now because I feared that he would lose it in battle."

Invanyel's eyes seemed to go out of focus for a moment.

"A quiet country life isn't in your future."

"Is that so?" the woman replied doubtfully, setting the pot aside and grabbing the last few bowls. "You see the future?"

"While many seers have learned through ceremony and smoke, such as Angela, some magic users can almost see the future at will. You, Rowena, will return to your true passion of innkeeping and Ajihad will discover a new interest in politics. You will be together, still."

"Assuming that we win this war."

"I have invested in it."

"With what?" She was still doubtful.

"With my daughter."

"How so? Lenora left on her own free will."

"So she thinks," the grand lady cooed sadly. "Rowena, what did you feel when you found out who Ajihad really was? Were you angry?"

The cleaner shrugged.

"At first, but, seeing who he was and how important he was, I understood. How could I be angry?"

"Do you have children?"

The monotonous mentality of the scrubbing put Rowena into a careless but contemplative mood.

"No children. No dead husband. No past family connections since my mum died nine years ago. Although, I am, momentarily, the guardian of one of our orphan girls. Why?"

"The power of magic and the strength of anger can be a terrible combination. I doomed my daughter to her fate and she didn't know it. It's imbedded in her mind, always there, ready to show itself when the time is right."

"You're her mother. How horrible could that fate possibly be?"

Ivanyel remained silent for a moment, thumbing through her book with an unreadable expression.

"With the spell I placed all those years ago… Best case scenario, insanity; worst case, death. I placed other, non-magical, barriers to ensure that her true name will always support my plan, no matter how it changes in its subtleties, such as reassuring her that Murtagh would always be hers. Even if he fell in love with another woman, Lenora would always be convinced that she couldn't lose. Because of her loyalty to Murtagh, it is unlikely that the spell will fail."

Rowena had stopped scrubbing and sat down on the other side of the table. The animals had gone silent and still.

"What will it do to her?"

"Her fate is to see Galbatorix's demise, even if it means giving her life to buy time for someone else to lay the final blow. Over the years, as the spell-caster, I have seen flashes of possibilities for her success – always success. They change as she changes. Once, I saw her leading her own personal army of trained magicians, loyal only to her, in storming the throne room and overwhelming the king after they destroyed his strength. That, however, changed when she left Uru'baen for her travels.

"I saw her becoming the apprentice of King Orrin in his scientific efforts and inventing an explosive that took down the king's whole castle with one strike. That, however, changed when she turned down a wagon ride to Surda and instead traveled to Carvahall. I saw Galbatorix finding her in Carvahall and, while he tortured her, Brom slipped the blade of Zar'roc through his heart. That, however, changed when Saphira hatched and they all left Carvahall. Now, I see her surrounded by light…depending on the spell Galbatorix uses, she will die or go mad. Truly mad."

Rowena was rubbing her temples with her fingertips by this point. And she thought she had problems! This lady was mad herself! She took a breath to steady her next words.

"She doesn't know you're alive and you've cursed her to the point of death, extreme pain, or insanity. I can only hope that Galbatorix is killed…and that she won't kill you."

The elf hung her head in utter desolation.

"What have I done?"

Only moments after leaving Rowena, Ivanyel had gathered her strength and performed the spell that transported her directly inside the gates of Uru'baen. She would have to sneak in the rest of the way. Yes, performing such magic was highly dangerous and draining and complicated…for a normal magician. Ivanyel, however, was not only a great magician, but also a naturally talented elf with immense strength and years of solitude, determination, and practice behind her. This was not the first time she had traveled somewhere in this fashion.

Getting into the castle was actually easy enough for her since Galbatorix hadn't changed any of his warding enchantments and, having been at his side playing the little queen for over ten years, she knew the ins and outs of every nook and cranny in that place. No one else would have been able to do it so well, other than the king himself.

It only took her an hour to reach the door she recognized as her daughter's. Noiselessly, she slipped into the room and crept toward the bed, her feet barely touching the floor. A few coals glowed in the hearth, evidence of an earlier fire, and the form on the bed moved slightly as the girl breathed, but everything else was lifeless. Finally, she knelt at the bedside, unseen and completely undetected.

But what exactly was she doing here? She had made her decision long ago, but here she was. This was the first time since her supposed demise that she had been able to simply study her child. She was no longer her little girl, but a woman. Her terrible childhood had given birth to a crueler adult life. As a child, her lack of choice had caused her suffering. The older she grew, the more choices she had; yet, the more choices she had, the deeper she dove into sorrow, woe, and torment, greatly because of what Ivanyel had done.

She saw through that creased brow (even in sleep) the tragedy that governed her dreams, waking and silent. The curse ate at her heart even in sweet sleep. The ever-rotting core of the magical whispers that Ivanyel had left to her daughter all those years ago still hung on the victim's shoulders like a heavy cloak of black night when the dawn seems utterly impossible. The oozing burden of fate laid upon her with neither her knowledge nor her consent struck a blade deep into her heart.

She saw the confusion in her fair, sleeping face. She thought her actions were driven by her love and revenge surrounding Murtagh when the true root of her motivation was founded in the whisperings of her grief- and rage-stricken mother. Murtagh was the thread with which her fate was secured. She would never give him up.

She well recalled the final moments when she held her child. She had entered Nora's room on a night not unlike this and stroked her hair until she awoke. She had sat on the bed with the girl cradled comfortably on her warm lap in a rare moment of safety. She had spoken of strength and loyalty, encouraged her to stay by Murtagh, whispered venomous words of Galbatorix, and sung her to sleep. She still remembered her song, full of the hate and torment of their mutual curse. Her child was no longer a child, but the curse was there, ready to fulfill the queen's revenge.

Remorse suddenly welled up in the lady, threatening overcome her in its abruptness. She had done this. If not for her curse, instead of running off into the face of danger, Nora just may have stayed with the Varden and found some other way to save the man she loved; or, without that desperate, driving confidence that Murtagh was hers alone, she would have seen Murtagh as most people did after his reappearance as the king's servant, as a twisted, utter loss not worth trying to save. Ivanyel softly put her hand on her daughter's head as the words of the song returned to her, telling what she saw in the ever-nearing climax of this conflict to seek revenge against the king.

"Each day you grow older
Each moment I'm watching my vengeance unfold
For the child of my body, the flesh of my soul
Will die in returning the birthright he stole…"

There was a noise outside and the elf stole away behind the dressing screen near the washroom door. The door swung open on its oiled hinges and allowed a dark, cloaked figure to enter. It walked to the edge of the bed and stopped, staring down at Lenora. A glint of moonlight revealed his pleased expression – that smirk, that dominating, relaxed stance of victory, that hungry, planning gleam in his eyes. Often had Ivanyel awakened in her own bed during her time in this palace to find him like that.

She had fallen in love with him, yes, without realizing that he was the monster she had been hunting during their first meeting. His charm and vision had made revenge fall to the background. She still didn't know if he had enchanted her with magic. She had returned to the elves to find them uncaring for her new love (she was convinced that Galbatorix was not the man they sought or that he was falsely accused) and soon left to rejoin him. They had gone to a small town and were married with two clueless villagers as witnesses.

They had vowed in the Ancient Language to never live under a separate roof as long as they both lived (or until a True Name changed, which happened for her). In a moment of passion, she made the terrible mistake of swearing her loyalty to him and was so flattered by his gratitude that she failed to see him slip out of doing the same. One morning, she woke up in their small hut in the woods to find him gone (despite not needing sleep, she had gained a liking for resting eyes and allowing her mind to delve within itself to the point of being oblivious to the world). Then he was gone another day. And another. Every time he returned in the evening, he would refuse to answer her questions concerning his whereabouts. She would try to follow him when she sensed him leaving their bed, but he always disappeared. It went on for a few months like this before he suddenly brought her to the castle of a Dragon Rider named Morzan, who had acquired his grand residence under questionable circumstances.

That was when she began to see the plot unfolding before her. Other Riders would arrive at night and meet with her husband behind closed doors, leaving Ivanyel suspiciously in the dark. Another few days and she was finally invited in, only to discover that they were in fact plotting to overthrow the Dragon Riders and assume control over all magicians by first controlling the entire country. Though she had never loved the rule of the Riders over the general population, this plan shocked and disgusted the leader's bride.

Directly after the meeting, Ivanyel had gone to her room and packed a small bag of provisions, determined to warn the Riders, elves, and anyone else who would listen of this plot. In the few moments while she had been gathering her few needed belongings, the door had been locked and the room secured by magic. She had hit the door and shuttered window with chairs, banged on them with her fists, and attempted to simply shatter them with magic. She had scraped her mind against the barriers keeping her from reaching out beyond the confines of the room. Nothing worked.

She didn't know long she was there with the only event each day being food appearing. She thought her husband was sick in the head and making a big mistake; she still had not comprehended his full potential for evil.

Finally, one day, her window shutters flew open, blinding her momentarily with light. The flapping of great wings caught her attention. Galbatorix was outside her window on a great black dragon. His clothes were grand and he wore an expression of utter joy. "Come, my dove," he had said, "and let me show you my new Alagaesia." She had been concerned, frightened, and uncertain, but she knew the only way of getting out of that room was then and on a dragon's back with her crazed spouse.

It was then that she became the secret queen of Alagaesia. Her vows in the Ancient Language kept her living there and her vows of loyalty kept her from killing him once she saw his true nature. It didn't stop her from sending messages to the Varden and helping them in whatever way she could. Even after her True Name eventually changed, Galbatorix's power and her convenient position to help the resistance kept her at bay. Still, she was a prisoner, trapped going to banquets where she was nothing more than a decoration at the king's side, forced to be his confidante, his plaything, and his comforter.

Then came Lenora. She remembered Galbatorix crowing with glee at finding out that she was pregnant. He had an heir to train, to lead astray, and to conquer. As Nora grew and gained her magical abilities, he began her instruction in both magic and, later at age eight, warfare. She was punished severely when she disobeyed him or failed in a task, leaving Ivanyel to be her consoler. Selena, Morzan's wife, was the queen's only anchor.

Becoming a mother strengthened her and made her realize more than ever that Galbatorix needed to be stopped. Even as she nurtured her child and watched her be slowly molded by the king's twisted mind, Ivanyel knew that Nora was the key to stopping her husband. It quickly became clear that Murtagh was Nora's grounding to reality, so he made the perfect addition to a growing plan. So, she began forming a spell to bind Nora to Murtagh and compel her to make the king's demise her ultimate goal.

Her aid for the Varden was eventually discovered, however, and she was driven out with assassins at her heels. Between her magic and the appearance of a large pack of wolves, she had escaped. After she granted them heightened consciousness and the ability to communicate with their minds, the wolves became her constant companions. After that, her abilities, strength, and hatred had only grown.

Perhaps the queen hadn't been thinking clearly when she had placed those spells on Lenora. As she stood there behind the dressing curtain, however, and watched her cursed husband standing over their daughter like a vulture looking at a carcass, the hate returned. If she survived this, Nora would forgive her. Anything to rid the world of that horrible, cocky, war-mongering, power-hungry, heart-stealing wretch.

Unconsciously, her hand had slipped over the dagger at her waist and her heard the distant voices of the wolves, warning her against rash action. She followed their counsel and, after Galbatorix had left, she left her hiding and began to leave. She turned back upon hearing Nora stir and stilled her with a few phrases of her immortal, cursing song.

"Hush, child
The darkness will rise from the deep
And carry you down into sleep."

He had dreamt this before, long before he had been recaptured by the Twins, when his heart still belonged to Nora and Nasuada was simply a passing fascination. This time, however, the dream was even more frightening. Part of it had come true.

He was kneeling in that horrid throne room, defeated with his new master ranting before him, just like he had during the events leading up to Murtagh's escape. But, this time, the king was happy about it. He was going on and on about his future kingdom and the 'insurance' he was about to bring about.

"I think you will approve," he crowed, his beady black eyes dancing with fitful glee as an invisible door opened to allow a new personage inside the room.

The woman who entered had voluminous black hair that clashed disconcertingly with the blood-red gown she was wearing. Her fine lips were upturned in a malicious, greedy smirk and her eyes that normally reminded the boy of a chilly winter sky were just as dark as those of the king. Murtagh shook his head, unable to understand why Nora would be standing side-by-side with the man she always swore to destroy, even though she was his prisoner.

But then, at the beautiful lady's cue, gray, veiled servants came through the doorway, bringing with them the Varden leader Ajihad, the dwarf king he had killed, the elf Oromis, and Nasuada. The watcher could see shadows of more victims approaching the untraceable light; however, with another signal from Nora, they all stopped and disappeared. Murtagh's heart leapt into his throat as Nasuada made eye contact with him before fading.

Eventually, Nora became the only solid thing visible. Her leering smugness had disappeared and, in its place, was a sorrowful, heartbroken, loving expression. The rich gown, which had before transformed into a dirty, shredded version of her usual practical getup, remained – a sign of her realistic captivity.

Kneeling down with him, the girl reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, her touch like the whisper of a dove to the ears. But her eyes remained the same color of haunting midnight. And her voice – a terrible mix of agonizing pain and inexpressible joy.

"Didn't we swear to not let this happen until he was gone? Why did this happen? How could you let this happen? How can I love you and hate you? How is a heart like a dragon?"

Finding his voice, Murtagh said,

"Nora, you just have to hold on. Eragon cares for you. Thorn saw him kiss you. I have Nasuada. If we survive this we can move on."

Foolish words.

The playing fingers suddenly gripped his hair with painful strength and her voice hardened as though she was about to enter battle – how it was most of the time.

"Eragon. Do you think he would switch his affections from Arya to me? Really? When will you get it through your thick head: I am alone! How could I hold on when I have nothing to hold on for? Nasuada has you; I have nothing. You were mine." The smile returned and the grip tightened more. "You will be mine. Remember? Together forever."

"Nora…"

He couldn't breathe. Cruelty appeared in her eyes as she leaned towards him. As the room darkened, a haunting, angelic voice rippled through his mind, whispering a song he had never heard before, but still knew.

"Hush, child
The darkness will rise from the deep
And carry you down into sleep."

He was back in the throne room, but this time he was curled up on the floor with a stab wound in his abdomen, pain pulsing through his body. The king was on his throne ahead of him with Nora standing beside him, and Eragon stood nearby as well, breathing heavily with his blood dripping on the floor. Also present were Arya, a brown-haired elf, a slightly familiar-looking soldier, Thorn and Saphira. But Murtagh was presently looking at Nasuada, who was chained nearby. By being defeated by Eragon, he had lost his chance to win her freedom.

Suddenly, the king's shout of alarm caused him to look forward.

"You!" he shouted, grabbing Nora roughly by the throat. The girl had a familiar, dangerous fire in her eyes as she looked away from her captor at Murtagh. She didn't care about herself, only him. Shattering guilt shot through the young man. He didn't know how, but he could have stopped this.

Glaring back at Galbatorix, Nora spat in his face and growled,

"Atra ono deyja medh iet baen unin onr hjarta!" May you die with my grief in your heart.

Almost instant a burning, blinding light enveloped Nora from the king. Her eyes wandered to Murtagh one last time before closing, as if to shield themselves from the pain. Galbatorix's cruel smile grew as he tore at his daughter's very soul. Finally, a ripping, agonizing, sobbing scream exploded from the girl's throat.

In silence, she fell to the floor as Galbatorix released her. Murtagh stared dumbly. She was gone.

"Your Name, please."

Soaked in sweat, Murtagh shot out of bed, still feeling like the voices and Nora were following him. Looking at his bedside table, where he had placed the pendent, he discovered that it was eerily glowing. When he reached out to grab it, it proved to be scorching hot and ended up landing on the floor.

Something was wrong. Very wrong. Whatever that dream meant, if it was truly a vision, he couldn't let it happen. If Nora was really willing to give her life in order to give him a chance, he had to stop it. She couldn't give in. She couldn't swear loyalty. He wouldn't let her!

"Each day you grow older
Each moment I'm watching my vengeance unfold
For the child of my body, the flesh of my soul
Will die in returning the birthright he stole."

- Heather Dale